I am having surgery tomorrow to finally be rid of the albatross in my life called 'lower back pain'. It's a good thing, too, because I think if I have to deal with this for one more night I may very well slit my wrists with a plastic spoon. I am having a Discectomy to repair the severely herniated disc that is impinging my sciatic nerve and causing all sorts of havoc down my right leg. I do not know how I got this, cannot pinpoint it to a single occurrence, but have it narrowed down to one of three events: bouncing down the stairs at OSU last September, shoveling the 4 feet of snow out of the driveway at some point over the winter, or that keg-stand I did that one time because a leprechaun made me do it. Point is, I don't know how it happened - all I do know is that this shit hurts like a son-of-a-bitch and that says a lot, considering I have given birth. And one of those times I spit two kids out at once.
Surgery is a big deal to me, simply because the last surgery I had left me traumatized and suspect of every doctor or nurse who had the unfortunate luck to cross my path in the couple months following the debacle. It was just a million to one shot that EVERY little fucking thing that could go wrong, went wrong, with ME. The surgery itself went great - it was all the shit afterwards that almost made me swear off health care and opt for the Voodoo witch doctor with a chicken next go-around. I have high standards when it comes to service - I want my hotel room clean, I want the Big-Mac I order to look like the one on the goddamn commercial for fuckssakes, and if I order something and you say it will be here in two days, it better be here in two days; not three, not four. So it only stands to reason that when someone is going to be cutting into me and I am going to end up paying top dollar for it, I want that shit to be the highest quality cutting on the planet.
With all that being said, it HAS to be obvious how much pain I am in because I swore I would let disease ravage my body like a sailor having been at sea for years would ravage a hooker before I would allow ANYONE to cut into me ever again. And pain makes one cranky. And desperate. And cranky.
So, to tide you all over until at least Wednesday here are some little snippets that have occurred here in the Hawley home while Mommy Dearest here has been off her pain meds and feels like a veritable crack addict looking for relief. No pain meds for one week before surgery is the general rule - they are infamous blood thinners and I sure as shit do not feel like bleeding out on the table so I am following this rule, unfortunately, most carefully.
* Question of the day: "Are you in any pain?"
Answer: Well HELL YEAH I am in pain. What the FUCK kind of question is this? Is this a serious question, or is this just one of those 'I-don't-know-what-the-hell-else-to-say' questions? Tell you what; let me stand on your back in stilettos, and pull your hair and your right leg together until your head touches your toes. Then, when that hurts, I'll keep pulling. I appreciate the sentiment, but at the same time, I cannot stand empty ended questions like this. I would prefer a "I cannot imagine the pain you are in" kind of question. It says "I really have no idea what you are going through but at least this way I do not ask a dumbass question that is really common sense".
* Runner-Up for question of the day: "So, what exactly are they doing?"
Answer: "I don't really know. I am sure they told me and I blocked it out." The answer I REALLY want to give is this - I don't WANT to know what they are doing. I want to get some drugs, go to the blissful place you go to when you are knocked out during surgery, and wake up to that shit being FIXED. I don't WANT to know they are making an incision into my tissue, going down to bone, moving my fucking spinal cord over so they can cut away some of the disc like some deranged science fair project, then sewing me back up like a rag-doll afterwards. I don't wanna know that shit. I wanna know the name of the medication they sedate me with so that I can file it away just in case I become a street addict. That way I won't ask dumb questions and know what to ask for.
* CLOSE Third to question of the day: "How long will you be out?"
Answer: "Until they are done hopefully????" I seriously just do not know how to answer that one. That is just the best I can come up with. I contemplated giving THAT one first place, but the other two just annoy me more. The better question, which shows a genuine interest in what you are having done, is "How long will the surgery LAST?" With that one, the 'asker' can also gather how much time they have to sit in the waiting room with that pizza I will want when I am allowed to eat. Or those flowers and shit they are going to bring me for being such a brave little soldier.
*RUNNER UP: "Is there anything I can do??"
Answer: I have to be careful with this one. There ARE those who ask this and are genuine in their request to see if there actually IS anything they can do. They really want to know, and you can usually tell by the tone of the question if they are, in fact, sincere. You just KNOW with these people that if you say "yeah, can you _________ (fill in the blank)" that they actually WILL do that because you need them to. Then there are those that you really only speak to in passing occasionally that ask this just to feel better themselves that they asked, but REALLY don't give a flying fuck what you need. Just because deep down I am a cocky bitch I REALLY want to reply, "Yeah. While I am at the hospital, I need you to go de-worm my dog. We don't believe in medication, so what you have to do is take the gloves that are in the cabinet................ I know he is a 100 pound Lab, but he REALLY likes the de-worming. THEN, when you are done with that, I really need someone to finish ripping up my carpet, fertilize the yard, paint the trim, and buy me some groceries so I am ready to go when I get home." Just to see the blank stare on their faces would almost be worth them asking this.
* When getting my pre-op testing done, the nurse is taking blood. I have the veins of a newborn I think - they are fucking tiny, squiggly, and are probably the size of a road map you are trying to look at from across the room with no glasses on. They SUCK. It is the genetic betrayal that is my legacy, and until they have 'Vein Reconstructive Surgery' as an option I am stuck with them. I always tell the unlucky bastard that is about to stick me with the battle ahead of them - I figure it is only fair that I warn them that in the course of attempting to find a usable vein in me, they may very well leave the room in tears so frustrated that they re-think their career in nursing and opt for a more leisurely position at McDonalds or something.
Nurse: Wow, you have the smallest veins.
Me: Ha, yeah, I know...sorry, I am a hard stick. There isn't enough water in the world to fatten them up.
Nurse: Well, lets see what I can find,....................hmmmmm............................okaaay......................hmmmm............wow.......................(the dots each represent a fucking 10 minute span of time she is feeling up my veins, like some sort of vein molester or something)
Nurse: Wow - I cant find anything - lets check the other arm.
Me: (thinking, FUUUUUUUCK!!!!!)
Nurse: Wow.........................................hmmmm............................haha, I cant find anything on this arm either....................................................
(the vein molesting continues....)
Nurse: Wow, you're worse than my boyfriend - he has small veins. I take butterfly needles home to practice on him. I've only been doing this for a year and, wow...
I QUIT LISTENING at that point because ONE, I don't want to know what the fuck you do to your boyfriend at home unless I give you a credit card number first and watch that shit online and TWO, don't subtly tell me that you don't think you will be able to find one because you are INEXPERIENCED. LIE TO ME FOR FUCKSSAKE!!! JUST LIE!!!
Nurse: Okay, let me go get the other Nurse. She knows what she is doing.
Me: (grrrrr....fucking FANTASTIC. How bout you go out and get that homeless guy down the street - he looks like he could find a vein drunk off his ass....)
NEW Nurse: Lets see what we have here - (molest, poke, done.)
The moral of the story here is this: if you have small veins, treat a blood draw as if it were an interview. Tell her up front you need to see a damn resume first, or just save both of you some time and get the nurse that has been doing this for awhile.
Or bring that homeless guy in with you - I bet he has the skinny on those drugs I want, too. Just wish me luck tomorrow. If you just think about me for a second around 1:30 or so tomorrow afternoon, that is all I ask you to do for me.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
It would be interesting to see if you can macrame after 7 or 8 beers, but count me out.
It's funny how Friday nights as an adult take on a whole new meaning. When you are young, you SWEAR you are gonna drink every night and party with your friends and marry the hot romantic Old Spice Commercial guy and live on a yacht while you vacation off the coast of France and buy diamonds and horses and 50 pairs of shoes and shit.
So you grow up, and yeah - you party it up a lot and eventually get married to, well, not the Old Spice Commercial guy but someone who at least uses Old Spice body wash. Okay, so maybe not Old Spice - Lever 2000. And he's just so cute you forget about buying the damn horses. The diamonds and shoes still get bought. Even though they come from Payless more often than not and those diamonds are really chips. The vacation is a weekend at friggin Dollywood - not exactly Monaco. But that shit's expensive when you're buying the house in the suburbs and paying off student loans. Still, it's all good.
Then you realize the older you get the hangovers get worse from all that partying you are still trying to accomplish. You get bored one day and decide "Gee, lets add some kids into the mix." So you 'party' again, but this time its a better party because there is just two of you and well, I digress.......
You have kids. You love them and worship them and SWEAR that you will step out in front of a Monster Truck Rally sized gaggle of rabid hilljacks before you ever let anything happen to them. But you still feel that urge to let loose from time to time, even though the hangovers are REALLY bad now and there's that 'thing' that you have to have your kid at in the morning and there is only a plate of butter and some 28 day old eggs in the fridge so you have to grocery shop with the $24.72 left in your checking account so you really can't afford the beer (diamonds and shoes ARE expensive, after all...) and the other kid has a project due but they are puking everywhere due to some violent-ass flu that he got while attending the fucking party at PukeECheese the day before and............
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!!
I guess my point is this: When did becoming a parent mean that you have to instantaneously surrender your sense of self?
This question popped into my head last night and haunted me for hours afterwards. My Friday now consisted of hanging out with some good friends downing a couple beers (who CARES that it was on Facebook and I was actually AT home, IN jammas, DOING THE GODDAMN LAUNDRY). We were childishly poking fun at a group of mothers who were discussing fucking coloring pages you can print off and the joys of cornstarch, water, and food coloring to create quality family time and how you can turn your goddamn rotting christmas tree into a sanctuary for springtime birds. We laughed and drank and commented on how we felt the sudden urge to macrame sex toys (Thanks SO much Cindy F. for that one...). We joked about rumbling with these bitches, West Side Story style. Martha's and Ho's.
Then I just got PISSED. Ghetto style, old fashioned pissed. Who the hell is anyone to determine how good or bad of a parent I am simply because I have a drink or two or keg and still want to wear shit from Abercrombie and act like a MILF? So I cuss sometimes. A lot. Okay, every other friggin word. I CAN turn that shit off whenever I need to - not like I go into parent teacher conferences with a 44oz in my hand and asking where the fuck the classroom is. So I have a warped and very deranged sense of humor. Does that mean I am going to burn in the depths of hell? Please tell me so I can grab my tanning lotion real quick.
If printing coloring pages and doing weird shit with corn starch and whatnot is in fact your cup of tea, more power to you. If you are happy catering completely to your family with a friggin sunshiny smile on your face while wiping their asses daily, then I am thrilled for you. If you think that not cussing or drinking is going to produce better children in the future than I can turn out, well, now you have got another thing coming.
I could simply laugh and say, "Don't Judge me!!! I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME!!!!", but I cant. Not my style. Gotta say it.
I stated once before I already won your dammned Mommy Olympics when I gave birth to twins vaginally. I also won Best In Show when I gave birth to my 9lb 11oz 'midget' with no fucking drugs. I bake cupcakes for fucking birthday parties until the sun comes up. I coached soccer. I do shit with colorguard. We have family game nights and movie nights and go hiking. We color with chalk on the driveway until you cant see the ass-tastic driveway underneath. I wake my kids up at 1:30 in the morning to drive to the middle of nowhere to watch the fuckin meteor shower, and then we have pancakes afterwards. We have cupcakes for breakfast on birthdays because its AWESOME. Ive gotten up at 3 AM to sprinkle glitter from the windowsill to my daughter's pillow so she will think the tooth fairy is real. I've nursed every flu, chicken pok, skinned knee, earache and nightmare and YES - I have gotten completely shitfaced after each trial and tribulation and STILL managed to have three children on Honor Roll who at least SEEM to be very happy, well rounded individuals. They have huge aspirations in life, want to be doctors and lawyers and shit, and my oldest refuses to have sex until she accomplishes what she wants in life FIRST. And guess what?? I did that LAST one without even stepping foot in a church. Is that GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU??
So you can take your corn starch, go have a good time, and let me have mine. Talk about me behind my back, feel good in the fact you think we are doing a horrible job with our children, and rest assured in the knowledge that I don't give a shit WHAT you think.
Besides, my children are so damned 'well-rounded' that it will be my daughter taking care of your old ass someday. Put THAT in your glass and drink it.
So you grow up, and yeah - you party it up a lot and eventually get married to, well, not the Old Spice Commercial guy but someone who at least uses Old Spice body wash. Okay, so maybe not Old Spice - Lever 2000. And he's just so cute you forget about buying the damn horses. The diamonds and shoes still get bought. Even though they come from Payless more often than not and those diamonds are really chips. The vacation is a weekend at friggin Dollywood - not exactly Monaco. But that shit's expensive when you're buying the house in the suburbs and paying off student loans. Still, it's all good.
Then you realize the older you get the hangovers get worse from all that partying you are still trying to accomplish. You get bored one day and decide "Gee, lets add some kids into the mix." So you 'party' again, but this time its a better party because there is just two of you and well, I digress.......
You have kids. You love them and worship them and SWEAR that you will step out in front of a Monster Truck Rally sized gaggle of rabid hilljacks before you ever let anything happen to them. But you still feel that urge to let loose from time to time, even though the hangovers are REALLY bad now and there's that 'thing' that you have to have your kid at in the morning and there is only a plate of butter and some 28 day old eggs in the fridge so you have to grocery shop with the $24.72 left in your checking account so you really can't afford the beer (diamonds and shoes ARE expensive, after all...) and the other kid has a project due but they are puking everywhere due to some violent-ass flu that he got while attending the fucking party at PukeECheese the day before and............
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!!
I guess my point is this: When did becoming a parent mean that you have to instantaneously surrender your sense of self?
This question popped into my head last night and haunted me for hours afterwards. My Friday now consisted of hanging out with some good friends downing a couple beers (who CARES that it was on Facebook and I was actually AT home, IN jammas, DOING THE GODDAMN LAUNDRY). We were childishly poking fun at a group of mothers who were discussing fucking coloring pages you can print off and the joys of cornstarch, water, and food coloring to create quality family time and how you can turn your goddamn rotting christmas tree into a sanctuary for springtime birds. We laughed and drank and commented on how we felt the sudden urge to macrame sex toys (Thanks SO much Cindy F. for that one...). We joked about rumbling with these bitches, West Side Story style. Martha's and Ho's.
Then I just got PISSED. Ghetto style, old fashioned pissed. Who the hell is anyone to determine how good or bad of a parent I am simply because I have a drink or two or keg and still want to wear shit from Abercrombie and act like a MILF? So I cuss sometimes. A lot. Okay, every other friggin word. I CAN turn that shit off whenever I need to - not like I go into parent teacher conferences with a 44oz in my hand and asking where the fuck the classroom is. So I have a warped and very deranged sense of humor. Does that mean I am going to burn in the depths of hell? Please tell me so I can grab my tanning lotion real quick.
If printing coloring pages and doing weird shit with corn starch and whatnot is in fact your cup of tea, more power to you. If you are happy catering completely to your family with a friggin sunshiny smile on your face while wiping their asses daily, then I am thrilled for you. If you think that not cussing or drinking is going to produce better children in the future than I can turn out, well, now you have got another thing coming.
I could simply laugh and say, "Don't Judge me!!! I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME!!!!", but I cant. Not my style. Gotta say it.
I stated once before I already won your dammned Mommy Olympics when I gave birth to twins vaginally. I also won Best In Show when I gave birth to my 9lb 11oz 'midget' with no fucking drugs. I bake cupcakes for fucking birthday parties until the sun comes up. I coached soccer. I do shit with colorguard. We have family game nights and movie nights and go hiking. We color with chalk on the driveway until you cant see the ass-tastic driveway underneath. I wake my kids up at 1:30 in the morning to drive to the middle of nowhere to watch the fuckin meteor shower, and then we have pancakes afterwards. We have cupcakes for breakfast on birthdays because its AWESOME. Ive gotten up at 3 AM to sprinkle glitter from the windowsill to my daughter's pillow so she will think the tooth fairy is real. I've nursed every flu, chicken pok, skinned knee, earache and nightmare and YES - I have gotten completely shitfaced after each trial and tribulation and STILL managed to have three children on Honor Roll who at least SEEM to be very happy, well rounded individuals. They have huge aspirations in life, want to be doctors and lawyers and shit, and my oldest refuses to have sex until she accomplishes what she wants in life FIRST. And guess what?? I did that LAST one without even stepping foot in a church. Is that GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU??
So you can take your corn starch, go have a good time, and let me have mine. Talk about me behind my back, feel good in the fact you think we are doing a horrible job with our children, and rest assured in the knowledge that I don't give a shit WHAT you think.
Besides, my children are so damned 'well-rounded' that it will be my daughter taking care of your old ass someday. Put THAT in your glass and drink it.
Friday, March 19, 2010
It's official - I will accept my award for WORST MOTHER EVER now. Thank you, Thank you.
(Repost from October, 2009.)
Let it never be said that when I strive to do something, by God, I don't go all the hell out. Never one to do anything half-assed, I really exceeded even MY expectations this time.
I sold my son's Wii.
Thank you, thank you - wow, this award was SO unexpected - I didn't even have a speech ready.
I made my son take a 0 on his homework a few weeks ago because his continued irresponsibility forced him to forget his homework several times. He just assumed we could make a copy of his sister's homework and he would be home free. Um, no, I do not play that way. Take the '0', suffer the consequences, and be grounded in the meantime.
The last few days have been quite hectic - my elbow, my friend Colleen's daughter, getting ready for Homecoming weekend - nothing is ever exactly 'calm' around here, but this week has just been exceptionally crazy. Add into all of that craziness the fact my twins both have science projects due tomorrow. These projects were assigned two weeks ago - hardly enough time, in my opinion, to conduct a really cool science project, but oh well. Do your research kids, start typing the shit you need for the boards, and I will help you put it together.
Wednesday night, 9:42 PM - I have just come home from Columbus, I am tired, I am cranky, all this is already equalling a cold dark night in the Hawley home, about to get colder:
Me: Where is your research?
Them: Well, my project is blah blah blah blah....
Me: Okay, where is the research you have done?
Them: What research?
Me: (my blood pressure is starting to rise out of control...) Uh, the research that will tell you why or why not your project will work the way it is supposed to - the research that you are supposed to use to write your paragraph which is due tomorrow...you know, research.
Them: We haven't done any.
WHAT THE FUCK???????????????????????
Panic mode sets in. Angry mode sets in shortly thereafter. Insane mode is quickly approaching.
After quite sometime helping them do research, I tell both of them I am contemplating making them take the '0' on the paragraph and to go to bed. Here is where the 'Insane' portion of the night begins.
Me: You two need to learn that YOUR homework is YOUR responsibility - you have told me you have been working on this, I find out 48 hours before project is due that you haven't done shit, and so now you may very well have to suffer the consequences. I will decide if you are taking the zero - go to bed.
(Crying from Mackenzie...Johnathon is surprisingly calm...)
Johnathon: It's okay Kenz - we will only hafta miss 15 minutes of recess - no big deal.
I think I felt the remainder of my eggs go sterile at that exact second, as my body knew I was gaining an animal instinct leading me to possibly eat any future young I may produce.
And then, here it goes:
Me: Guess what - see that Wii I grounded you from? Say goodbye - I'm selling the damn thing.
INSANE crying then ensues, the oldest spawn throws a complete fit with a "HEY!! I DID MY SCIENCE PROJECTS!!!" and all three kids go to bed.
This morning, I think the son feels I am blowing fluff up his ass - I am not going to sell the Wii, and Elizabeth seems amazingly calm for something that is not her fault, so he just gathers all of that stimuli as "shes full of crap." (side note - Elizabeth is only calm because she doesn't give a crap since she never plays it anymore anyway...)
Nope - I posted the following Craigslist ad as he got home from school:
Wii Gaming system with 2 'wii-motes' and nunchucks. Will throw in third wii-mote and nunchuck for free (works fine but the battery cover is chewed on the wii-mote) Four games included: Wii Sports which came with system, Lego Star Wars, Final Fantasy Chocobo's Dungeon, and Super Monkey Ball Banana Blitz. All cords and the sensor are of course included. Selling to teach my son a very valuable lesson that grades are more important than video games, and priorities do not include Zelda or what level he conquered today. Would prefer he conquer his spelling list and his science project. $170 FIRM - he invested way more than that money wise into it so this is a VERY fair offer. I am not interested in trading, holding it until you get your allowance, or bartering for anything else. Cash Only.
Cheap, (used consoles at Gamestop are $169, so this was comparable to other offers I saw for used systems) Ad was up for 10 minutes. Buyer contacted me, drove straight here from Fairborn, gave me the money, and is gone. Johnathon is devastated.
I am sure he hates me, I am sure everyone thinks I am nuts. I, however, know this is the ONE way to get his attention. I aint messin around, and if you think your balls are big enough to play with me bring it on.
You'll be doing your science project and looking at the hole in the entertainment center where the Wii once sat.
Let it never be said that when I strive to do something, by God, I don't go all the hell out. Never one to do anything half-assed, I really exceeded even MY expectations this time.
I sold my son's Wii.
Thank you, thank you - wow, this award was SO unexpected - I didn't even have a speech ready.
I made my son take a 0 on his homework a few weeks ago because his continued irresponsibility forced him to forget his homework several times. He just assumed we could make a copy of his sister's homework and he would be home free. Um, no, I do not play that way. Take the '0', suffer the consequences, and be grounded in the meantime.
The last few days have been quite hectic - my elbow, my friend Colleen's daughter, getting ready for Homecoming weekend - nothing is ever exactly 'calm' around here, but this week has just been exceptionally crazy. Add into all of that craziness the fact my twins both have science projects due tomorrow. These projects were assigned two weeks ago - hardly enough time, in my opinion, to conduct a really cool science project, but oh well. Do your research kids, start typing the shit you need for the boards, and I will help you put it together.
Wednesday night, 9:42 PM - I have just come home from Columbus, I am tired, I am cranky, all this is already equalling a cold dark night in the Hawley home, about to get colder:
Me: Where is your research?
Them: Well, my project is blah blah blah blah....
Me: Okay, where is the research you have done?
Them: What research?
Me: (my blood pressure is starting to rise out of control...) Uh, the research that will tell you why or why not your project will work the way it is supposed to - the research that you are supposed to use to write your paragraph which is due tomorrow...you know, research.
Them: We haven't done any.
WHAT THE FUCK???????????????????????
Panic mode sets in. Angry mode sets in shortly thereafter. Insane mode is quickly approaching.
After quite sometime helping them do research, I tell both of them I am contemplating making them take the '0' on the paragraph and to go to bed. Here is where the 'Insane' portion of the night begins.
Me: You two need to learn that YOUR homework is YOUR responsibility - you have told me you have been working on this, I find out 48 hours before project is due that you haven't done shit, and so now you may very well have to suffer the consequences. I will decide if you are taking the zero - go to bed.
(Crying from Mackenzie...Johnathon is surprisingly calm...)
Johnathon: It's okay Kenz - we will only hafta miss 15 minutes of recess - no big deal.
I think I felt the remainder of my eggs go sterile at that exact second, as my body knew I was gaining an animal instinct leading me to possibly eat any future young I may produce.
And then, here it goes:
Me: Guess what - see that Wii I grounded you from? Say goodbye - I'm selling the damn thing.
INSANE crying then ensues, the oldest spawn throws a complete fit with a "HEY!! I DID MY SCIENCE PROJECTS!!!" and all three kids go to bed.
This morning, I think the son feels I am blowing fluff up his ass - I am not going to sell the Wii, and Elizabeth seems amazingly calm for something that is not her fault, so he just gathers all of that stimuli as "shes full of crap." (side note - Elizabeth is only calm because she doesn't give a crap since she never plays it anymore anyway...)
Nope - I posted the following Craigslist ad as he got home from school:
Wii Gaming system with 2 'wii-motes' and nunchucks. Will throw in third wii-mote and nunchuck for free (works fine but the battery cover is chewed on the wii-mote) Four games included: Wii Sports which came with system, Lego Star Wars, Final Fantasy Chocobo's Dungeon, and Super Monkey Ball Banana Blitz. All cords and the sensor are of course included. Selling to teach my son a very valuable lesson that grades are more important than video games, and priorities do not include Zelda or what level he conquered today. Would prefer he conquer his spelling list and his science project. $170 FIRM - he invested way more than that money wise into it so this is a VERY fair offer. I am not interested in trading, holding it until you get your allowance, or bartering for anything else. Cash Only.
Cheap, (used consoles at Gamestop are $169, so this was comparable to other offers I saw for used systems) Ad was up for 10 minutes. Buyer contacted me, drove straight here from Fairborn, gave me the money, and is gone. Johnathon is devastated.
I am sure he hates me, I am sure everyone thinks I am nuts. I, however, know this is the ONE way to get his attention. I aint messin around, and if you think your balls are big enough to play with me bring it on.
You'll be doing your science project and looking at the hole in the entertainment center where the Wii once sat.
If drinking the Kool-Aid is bad, then bring me a pitcher of it.
Today is the day I officially start sharing my randomness with more of the world that is not subjected to the rantings of my Facebook or Myspace pages. Testing the waters there, I only allowed my friends to experience the inner workings of my sometimes deranged mind - deranged may be putting it loosely. It was comfortable there; they KNOW me. They know my idiosyncrasies. They know I am a loon. They know I am a now haggard representation of the inner hot 19 year old I used to be.
I am a married mother of three, living in a world of competition in the Mommy Olympics and acting like I am still that 19 year old kick-ass-now-and-take-names-later kind of girl. My 'notes' and 'blogs' on Facebook and Myspace centered around the craziness that is my life - I am a drama magnet. It follows me everywhere and when bored, I admit I create it also. My kids and my husband are my life and soul - yet they can EAT my soul at the same time. I was told by a publisher, "You should write about it....that's some funny shit". Shit is always funny when it happens to someone else, but especially when you can relate to the same distinct smell.
So I do it; write my life's hell and blessings at least weekly. My oldest daughter initially didn't like the fact that I was yakking about her everyday blips all for the purpose of potentially making a buck off of her misery, but now loves the fact that I do. I suppose she feels like a celebrity and I am the friggin paparazzi following her. My youngest ones, boy and girl twins, are still blissfully unaware that I use them almost daily as blogging fodder; however, I suspect they caught on to my game when, during my high school reunion, everyone kept saying, "So THIS is the infamous Johnathon. THIS is the infamous Mackenzie". My cover was blown.
I used to wonder if somehow I was causing irreparable harm to my children in the way I handled their everyday bullshit; I do not think children come equipped to handle my 'in your face, take it like it is' attitude. It must be genetic though, because they are turning out better than I could have hoped for. I have to be doing SOMETHING right, right??
So, while looking for inspiration, or at the very least, SOLACE in the fact that I was not alone in the world of mothers who swear like a drunk sailor, drink like they are still in a sorority, and still turn out very well rounded children with some semblance of success, I found my home. My soul sisters. The EXACT same thing I was doing. Moms who drink and swear.
Like a fat kid stumbling across 50 free cakes, I was giddy. Almost in TEARS giddy. I came home to the motherland. There are actually other moms (and DADS! ) out there who tell it like it is. They drink. They cuss. They spew venom that even I had not encountered. And they love their children more than life itself. I felt like I had joined the cult I have forever searched for and joyfully partook of the free kool-aid.
I stayed up until the wee hours of the next morning reading and reading. The cults leader, Nikki, shares DNA with me, I am sure of it. I was instantly addicted to her wit, her style, her outlook on life and family and kids and the fucking insanity of it all. That publisher was right - there IS a demand for this shit. There ARE more of US out there than these crazy assed Stepford Wife Wannabes. I am now sure of it. We are REAL LIFE. So, with his persistence and pushing, I am officially joining the blogspot for continued exposure.
Nikki - thank you for what you do. I thought I was nuts writing blindly until I found you. If I end up being half the awesome bitch you are, I will be thrilled with the outcome.
I am a married mother of three, living in a world of competition in the Mommy Olympics and acting like I am still that 19 year old kick-ass-now-and-take-names-later kind of girl. My 'notes' and 'blogs' on Facebook and Myspace centered around the craziness that is my life - I am a drama magnet. It follows me everywhere and when bored, I admit I create it also. My kids and my husband are my life and soul - yet they can EAT my soul at the same time. I was told by a publisher, "You should write about it....that's some funny shit". Shit is always funny when it happens to someone else, but especially when you can relate to the same distinct smell.
So I do it; write my life's hell and blessings at least weekly. My oldest daughter initially didn't like the fact that I was yakking about her everyday blips all for the purpose of potentially making a buck off of her misery, but now loves the fact that I do. I suppose she feels like a celebrity and I am the friggin paparazzi following her. My youngest ones, boy and girl twins, are still blissfully unaware that I use them almost daily as blogging fodder; however, I suspect they caught on to my game when, during my high school reunion, everyone kept saying, "So THIS is the infamous Johnathon. THIS is the infamous Mackenzie". My cover was blown.
I used to wonder if somehow I was causing irreparable harm to my children in the way I handled their everyday bullshit; I do not think children come equipped to handle my 'in your face, take it like it is' attitude. It must be genetic though, because they are turning out better than I could have hoped for. I have to be doing SOMETHING right, right??
So, while looking for inspiration, or at the very least, SOLACE in the fact that I was not alone in the world of mothers who swear like a drunk sailor, drink like they are still in a sorority, and still turn out very well rounded children with some semblance of success, I found my home. My soul sisters. The EXACT same thing I was doing. Moms who drink and swear.
Like a fat kid stumbling across 50 free cakes, I was giddy. Almost in TEARS giddy. I came home to the motherland. There are actually other moms (and DADS! ) out there who tell it like it is. They drink. They cuss. They spew venom that even I had not encountered. And they love their children more than life itself. I felt like I had joined the cult I have forever searched for and joyfully partook of the free kool-aid.
I stayed up until the wee hours of the next morning reading and reading. The cults leader, Nikki, shares DNA with me, I am sure of it. I was instantly addicted to her wit, her style, her outlook on life and family and kids and the fucking insanity of it all. That publisher was right - there IS a demand for this shit. There ARE more of US out there than these crazy assed Stepford Wife Wannabes. I am now sure of it. We are REAL LIFE. So, with his persistence and pushing, I am officially joining the blogspot for continued exposure.
Nikki - thank you for what you do. I thought I was nuts writing blindly until I found you. If I end up being half the awesome bitch you are, I will be thrilled with the outcome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)