Masked Intruder

I know, I know, I have been gone for a few days.

Excuse me.

I had a good reason. I was feeling a little under the weather. One of those lingering coughs that just wouldn't go away. And when I threw out my back during a coughing fit on Saturday night, I decided that maybe this cough that I had been ignoring for a month might need a little medical intervention.

So I went down to the clinic, and the guy at the counter who registered me didn't even look my way when I walked up to his window - just grabbed my insurance card and started typing.

"And why are we here today ?" he asked, in a voice that showed that he really didn't give a shit *why* I was there, and actually, my being there was interrupting a really high stakes round of farkle on his facebook page.

"I have this cough, and it's been bugging me for a while and....." I trailed off, because he had now turned his back on me. He turned back around and practically threw something at my head.

"Put this on" he barked. "White side facing in".


I would just like to reassure everyone reading this, that yes INDEED it is embarrassing to wait in a room with 50 other people, who are obviously sicker then you, wearing one of these. To see the look of horror on the mother's faces as they stand up and move seats, hustling their kids to the far other side of the room while glaring at me for seeking medical attention. At a medical clinic during after hours care. How Dare I.

So as I assumed from the beginning, it was no big thing. Walking Pneumonia, Bronchitis, some other infection of the lungs....I wasn't contagious. They skipped the lung x-ray because it doesn't really matter what I have, exactly - whatever it was, I needed antibiotics, and I got them.

So now it's 10 days of shade, extra fluids, and yogurt.

Lots of yogurt.

What would it take to get you in one of these today?

I feel dirty. Filthy. I have a real issue with people being condescending, and the one place where I always feel condescended to is a Car Dealership. (((shudder))) Yuck Yuck Yuck.

I buy the vehicles in this family, and take care of all of the maintenance, etc. I negotiate the loans, sign the papers, get them registered, the whole deal. It's all me. Sometimes I'll ask Sam what color he wants, but usually he is relieved to not have to deal with any of it, and is happy with whatever I bring home.

Last week we discussed trading in the wagon for a MINI Cooper.
squeeeeee !!!!!!!

Oh, man. The things I could do in a MINI. The things I have DONE in a MINI - but that was long ago, on a small island in Ireland bumping along narrow dirt roads with a lovely young man named Ronan, in his sunny yellow MINI called Bertha.

ANYHOOOO.
The dealership where the wagon is serviced is, conveniently, the MINI dealership. SO I asked one of the salesguys for some assistance. First they appraised the wagon, and offered a super low-ball trade - about $4,000 below the Kelly Blue Book recommended trade in, and about $7,000 below the KBB private party sale value. SO of course, I politely said "No thank you" and decided to list it for sale. In order to sell it, I needed to get something fixed - so I brought it in to the dealership to get serviced. (Are you following this ? The same dealership.)

SO, I drop it off, and the salesman calls and says "I see your car is here on the lot - I have someone who might be interested, can I show it to him?"

How Convenient.



Since I am at home without the car, of course I say yes.

He then shows the car, and sends me an email telling me what is wrong with it, and why I need to reduce my price, and that I should accept something less. Much less. And then he said "Personally, if you can get (names a price) for it, I would do it in this climate."

Conveniently, an hour later, I received a phone call from the guy who had seen it earlier, offering that EXACT PRICE.

Isn't that special.

Some quality time on my hands and knees

Well good morning.

I am sitting here, alone, with 7, wait, no....6 - oh, but's it's Wednesday so FIVE HOURS of solitude stretching before me.

Fuuuuuuckkkkk.

I launched a blog 2 days ago that is going to help keep me sane in this (very) empty nest I call home. 4 days a week, I will be flying solo. That means I can eat and drink and pee whenever I want to. If I decide to go to yoga, I can just jump in the car and go.

I CAN JUST GO.

But not right now. Right now, I am heading into the kids' rooms with moving boxes.
No, we're not moving. Or at least, or family isn't moving.

But all their shit is.

I have had it with all of the little pieces of crap all over this house. The clothes that don't fit but always seem to end up back in the drawers. The laundry that ends up in closets and under beds and behind furniture instead of, oh, I don't know, IN THE DAMNED HAMPER.

I'll take before and after pics, just for you.

What to do when you can't pick up your kid on their first day at Catholic School

This morning Sami took a few hours off of work, we dropped both kids off at school and went straight home to celebrate our newly empty nest with some "grown up time".

I know what you are thinking. It so wasn't like that.

First I made panicked phone calls trying to track down Lucy's TB test results because otherwise she wouldn't be allowed to go to school and my newly empty nest wouldn't be as empty as I had hoped.

Sami went and bought lumber.

After 30 minutes of working the phone, I was sick and tired of grownup time, so we decided to go back to our roots. We drove to the cafe where I got completely wasted on a bloody mary, then Sami drove me home and I went to bed.

I had a whole plan. I really, really did. But honestly, 3 hours without someone asking me questions non-stop and begging for food left me disoriented. Or maybe that was the vodka.

Whatever.

How far I will go to avoid conflict

This morning, just now, I caught myself ducking behind the island in my kitchen, to avoid being seen by a neighbor.



I AM NOT EVEN JOKING



This neighbor probably couldn't give a shit less if I was in my kitchen, but still the compulsion to avoid any sort of contact was so strong that I got down on the kitchen floor.



Have you seen my kitchen floor lately ? It's pretty gnarly down there.



So to summarize:

I am insane, and I need to mop.



Things in my little world have been bumping along, and everything is leading up to TOMORROW. Tomorrow is the day when Lucy starts school, and tomorrow morning at 8:05am I am going to walk through the door a free woman. (Until 2:05pm. But still. FREEDOM.)



And so begins the rest of my life. Mother, yes. For sure. But also, an individual. An individual at home alone. Let's hope I can get off the damn floor and leave the house.

Sexual Healing is not as good as a chiropractic adjustment.

Yesterday as I left for work, my shoulder was a little sore.

Hm. Maybe I slept wrong.

By about 11am, my shoulder was throbbing.

By 1pm, my shoulder was up somewhere around my earlobe, all clenched and tight.

At 3 I went to the chiropractor, who's first question after seeing my face and my earlobe-kissing shoulder was: Are you going to puke ?

He has good reason to ask this question - it wouldn't be the first time I threw up at the chiropractor. The fact that he continues to see me as a patient is testament to his desire to heal.

Because dude, I need some healing on a regular basis, and not the Marvin Gaye kind.

So I lay there, and prayed that I wouldn't throw up, even as I felt myself slowly reaching that point, with the waves of nausea and pounding head and aching shoulder. I tried to distract myself. I tried to adjust my position. I tried to concentrate on my breathing. I was a mess. So after being adjusted, and not really feeling much better, I drove home. It was date might, we had a friend planning to come watch the kids, and reservations at a posh restaurant and DAMMIT I was going to go home and get my shit together and have a romantic evening.

But first, anti-inflammatories, muscle relaxers, and other controlled sustances.

So I followed my usual "Oh my god I can't turn my head and I think I am going to yack" routine. (And yes, I do have one of those, thankyouverymuch).

I took my pills, and sat down to eat something per the instructions on the bottles. That actually didn't work out so well. Realizing that things were going from bad to worse, I decided to lie down. When I woke up, worse had gotten worser. And I don't really give a shit if that's not a word - it's exactly what happened. Things Got Worser.

In a moment of optimism, Sami left to pick up our friend to come watch the kids. After he left, I stood at the bathroom mirror chanting mantras about not throwing up, and cleaning the mirror to distract myself. The combination of opening my mouth to chant, and smelling the Windex, was a lethal combo.

About 10 minutes later, I called Sami on his cell, cancelled our evening, and went back to bed.

Today things are not much improved, but they are better - I am not nauseous, and can open both eyes and walk around. But I am still mighty short-tempered, which is just fun for everyone, let me tell ya. I put on my big girl panties and took Lucy to meet Hello Kitty, and ran an errand for work, and remembered to buy the dog food.

As far as I am concerned, I have done my part. And it is in everyone's best interest that I call it a day and go get a massage.

If you're happy and you know it shout "AMEN". Or F YOU. Whatever works.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that was without a doubt the most intense parent orientation ever. I always feel like a total fraud at these things - something I have heard expressed numerous times in the past few years by other parents who just do not understand how they came to be, well, the grownups in this situation.

It started when i went to pick up my babysitter - who is the daughter of a friend of mine. The very fact that I have friends, who's children can babysit, makes me nervous. And I was not comforted by the fact that when we went to get in my car, she went to get in the backseat. Not in the passenger seat, where someone old enough to be responsible for my children should sit - but the back seat. I think she's old enough to not need a booster seat anymore, but really, WHO KNOWS ANYMORE. So I told her to come get in the front, which she did, reluctantly. (Was it my driving ? Did I smell bad ? WHAT ?!?!?!?) We went back to the house and picked up Sam, and he and I walked over to the school together.

I realized right off the bat that perhaps we were in over our heads, when the NAMETAGS for the PARENTS said "Jesus Loves Me".

Listen, Jesus might love me. Really, who doesn't ? But I don't need the nametag. Or the t-shirt. Or the license plate.

So I eschewed the Jesus sticker for the "Hi My Name Is" sticker, and went to find my seat, trying not to make eye contact in case they realized that there was an honest to goodness HEATHEN in their midst. And of course, despite the basket FULL of nametags, the teachers weren't wearing them - so in my panic I immediately forgot everyone's names and subsequently had no idea who anyone was.

We started off with an art project. We were supposed to trace our hands, and cut the outlines out and then decorate them. Then we were supposed to write a little love note on a paper heart, and the whole thing would be put together for a bulletin board, so that each kid had something in the room from their parents. Sweet, right ? So we got right down to business. I cut out the tracing, and then started to draw. Red fingernails, of course - Lucy's favorite. But then I decided to get real creative and turn those little red nails into FLOWERS - another of Lucy's favorite things. With black dots in the middle to make them look more flower-like and then I leaned back to get a real good look and OH MY GOD I DREW A HAND COVERED IN POPPIES THEY ARE GOING TO THINK I'M AN OPIUM DEALER. No, probably not, but of course, I see red flowers, I think "Afghan drug cartel". That's just how my mind works.

Sami, on the other hand, was getting all DaVinci on his hand, tracing every fucking crease and line and shadow and callous. It was like a damn medical journal illustration by the time he was done - he even used constrasting colors to create depth. Jerkoff.

Then we had to write the note - a responsibility my husband gracefully pawned off on me, knowing I would not argue in front of the other parents. So I sat there and threw out suggestions for sentimental messages we could leave for our youngest child. "How about 'Behave yourself''" suggested Sam. "How about 'I hope you listen to the teachers better then you listen to us?'" "No whining". "Don't forget to wash your hands". The other parents looked at us in dismay - we were clearly off message.




And then it was time for a sing-along "If you're happy and you know it shout Amen" was first up, and I thought that maybe my husband's head would explode. He rubbed my back and had a big grin plastered on his face that said "What the hell have you gotten me into?" Meanwhile all of the other parents were clapping and singing along, oblivious to our palpable discomfort.

Thank god, because I was a little concerned that if they realized how freaked out we were - how far from Jesus we had actually fallen, how lost we were from the flock, that they might try to baptize me by the end of the night.

After an hour-long slideshow going over each page of the school handbook, we were released, and rushed back to make sure that our house was still standing (it was) and the babysitter had not called her parents for backup (she hadn't).

We brought her home (in the front seat again - the horror !) and her father came out to greet me and see how things went, and probably sniff my breath for traces of communion wine or margaritas.

I fucking WISH.

I'm going to parent's orientation at the catholic school. So Help Me God.

And so we begin our career as the parents of a Catholic School Girl.

As you might imagine, I am very concerned with my outfit for tonight - parent orientation.

I was thinking I might go with THIS



But I'm not sure if the rest of the parents will agree to the choreography. Whatever, I thought tonight was supposed to bring us TOGETHER, people.

How about THIS, then.

Because, like Britney, I have many personalities. Clearly.

I think it's time to install the storm shutters - or just nail some plywood over the windows

We live in a house on a corner lot. I love having the breezes and the light a corner lot allows, but the lack of privacy ? It sucks.

Just last week, a friend (who used ot live down the road) informed me that she had a clear view from her house directly into my living room.

Awesome.

This point has been driven home by another (current) neighbor, who informed me that her husband had walked down the street to say hello, but we "were eating dinner" so he didn't want to interrupt.

So basically, someone walked down the street, looked in the windows to see what we were doing, and then after assessing the situation for a period of time decided not to interrupt.

These same neighbors look in our windows as they drive by. I know they are looking - because if I look up, they wave.

So today our plan is to go to Lowes and buy some new window coverings. We have curtains up, of course - the heavy velvet kind you can't see through - but we don't keep them completely closed all the time, which apparently we should. In the meantime, I am going to suggest that Sami spend all of his time standing in the living room - naked. Because if they are going to be looking, we might as well give them something to look at.

When your kids are so annoying that your ASS calls for backup.

My phone rang yesterday afternoon, as I was in the middle of yelling at my 8 year old for being a complete and total schmuck. He was upset because his PSP hand-held video game-y thing had not been charged while he was at school, and he was not going to have entertainment on the drive to town.

To illustrate his frustration, he got in the car and began flinging copies of Highlights magazine at his sister's head.

I launched into a heated lecture about how unpleasant he was being, and that is when my phone rang.

I held up one menacing finger, signalling both my need for quiet, and the fact that I was NOT DONE YET.

Then I answered the phone. It was my aunt, who seemed a little confused.

"I got a call from this number."

"No, you didn't, it's me, but I didn't call you."

"OH !!!! I heard someone talking about how unpleasant someone was being and I didn't know who I was listening to ! It was YOU !"

sigh.

So I filled her in on the parenting fail I had just experienced, and she laughed and luaghed and laughed because she obviously lost her mind sometime after giving birth to her 4th daughter.

Because my daughter is just as unpleasant as my son these days.

It's hot, she's lonely and bored and her school doesn't start for another few weeks - a fact which she holds me completely responsible for.

I am ruining her life.

If you don't believe me, you should read the book she brought home from the library last week.

Just like my aunt, the librarian laughed and laughed and laughed as my 4 year old daughter, who couldn't even see over the counter, tossed the book up on the circulation desk for check out.

I am going to make sure we have a better day tomorrow. Starting with bloody marys at daybreak. Who's with me.

And right on the heels of bitching about the mortgage

I have to figure out our car problem.

We have two cars. We don't necessarily *NEED* 2 cars, but it is convenient, isn't it ?

After deciding months ago to only have 1 car, I totally wussed out, and didn't sell the second car. So as I continued on with my fancy 2-car self, I kept thinking.....we only need one car, we only need one car, we only need one car.....

It's making me nuts.

It's not about the cost. It's about trying to figure out what we NEED in this life, and then getting rid of the excess.

In other words, I feel a purge coming on.

I have a feeling that in the next few weeks, most of my possessions are going to be carefully sorted, and massive amounts of STUFF will be put out in the driveway for a fancy yard sale. A yard sale featuring most of my stuff.

I have to really buckle down, and get serious. That means going through the attic too.
And THAT is a scary, scary proposition. Not only because I use the term "attic" very loosely, and what it is, is a glorified crawl space with lots of nails sticking out of the ceiling - but because it is horrifically hot up there.

So the attic experience involves sweat, dirt, bugs, injury, and the risk of falling through the ceiling to the floor below if I slip off the carefully positioned planks of wood stretched between the beams.

Remarkably, tackling the attic is not my biggest concern. My biggest concern is - this is going to take a few days (weeks?) to get organized. What in the name of GOD am I supposed to do with all of the stuff I decide to sell, before the sale ? I don't have a garage. I don't have a real "porch". I don't have a shed.

I don't have a clue.

In which I discuss the unfortunate interactions with Chase Bank. And yes, I am naming names.

I am writing this post because I CANNOT be the only person dealing with this, and quite frankly, despite all of the nasty exchanges I have seen online regarding whether a loan modification is deserved, or warranted, I think we need to lend our voices to the growing crowd of Obama supporters, who believe that his programs are good programs in theory, that are being managed badly by the institutions responsible for enacting them.

In other words, Coco (a?), you can suck it.

We got up at 4:30 AM in order to call Chase Bank to discuss our loan modification application. With Coco (a?)

We have done this 3 times in the past month, but we hadn't been able to speak with Coco (a?) before today. I am not sure if that is a blessing or not - we shall see in a few weeks if what she told us at 4:47am will come to pass. (Note the time stamp, apparently, specific details are key to confirming conversations with Chase Bank about loan modifications. Or not, because even with names and dates and specifics, we were basically called liars for claiming that we had submitted an application, and followed up and confirmed (multiple times)that the application was complete and so on and so forth.)

A little history: We requested an application for loan modification back in April. we got the paperwork in May, and submitted it, by registered mail, each and every form requested was provided, checked off on the check list, and confirmed complete and correct. 6 weeks later we got a letter saying that a tax form was missing. What the fuck, Coco (a?)

We had definitely sent it, and we were VERY upset that the form containing our social security numbers and signatures had been misplaced. We were told that maybe it was not filled out correctly, rather then missing. Coco (a?), you are such a tease. So we got a new form, filled it out again, following the instructions on the form to the letter (including NOT signing it this time, as directed) and faxed it. And confirmed that it had been received.

And then we waited, and called a few times, each time confirming that they had all necessary information, and that our application was "pending".

Then last night, we got a nasty collection letter, saying our application was cancelled, because it was incomplete. And that they were reporting us to a credit bureau, and that they would begin proceedings, and on and on and on.

Only, we are up to date on our payments. Not in default at all. What are they going to report us for ? And that is when I started to get really nervous. I don't own this home - the bank does. They can do whatever they want. If they decide they want their money back, and I can't give it to them, they will take my house away. Apparently, even if I make payments on time each month, they can send threatening letters that leave me reaching for the vodka after the first paragraph.

Which would lead one to wonder: if we can still pay each month, why do we think we should qualify for a loan modification ? And the short answer is, our ability to pay each month is coming to an end. We were sold a shitty loan which enabled us to (barely) afford the house at the time we bought it. We were assured that when interest rates went down later on, we could refinance to a better loan. We weren't new to mortgages, and had owned several houses before (sometimes two or three at the same time). Refinancing and juggling was something we were familiar with, and had done for years. Always paying on time, as agreed, somehow. I wasn't about to start marketing a line of real estate videos, or anything, but we were doing all right buying houses, improving them, and selling them again. This house had a lot of potential, and was the least expensive home on the market in this town. Another good investment. Or so we thought.

We had just put our previous house on the market, after deciding to move closer to work and town and school. This move was supposed to save money. When we found this house (again, the least expensive house on the market at the time) we still hadn't gotten any offers on the home we were selling, but we decided to go for it, and pull from our savings when needed, in order to get this house. Holding two loans would suck, but we had some savings, and we thought it was worht the risk. Refinancing would be easy.....just as soon as those rates went down. Fast forward 4 years - when rates finally did go down, so did our home's value. And the previous house took a looooong time to sell. As a result, we no longer had the 20% equity we had put as a down payment, and the almost $100,000 invested in the house building an addition and improving the existing structure was gone too. We no longer qualified for a better loan. And the shitty loan we have is a 5 year fixed, and 5 years is coming up fast.

We are realizing something, very quickly. We are fucked.

The only way to get assistance is to be in default. We can't keep paying our mortgage if we want to get this loan modified. We must drain our meager savings account and ruin our credit rating in order to get any kind of assistance at all.

Which seems counter productive to getting better loan terms, and will affect every other aspect of our life.

We have worked very hard to pay this loan for the past 4 years. VERY hard. And we are coming to the part of the story where I start to think it is not worth it anymore. I do not understand why the bank would not want to just adjust our interest rate to the current market rate, and let us get on with out lives. It would take 5 minutes. They adjust credit card rates in a single phone call (or at least, they did last year) so why does it have to be so god-damned difficult ? What if they just did an across the board mandated loan modification to get this whole thing started, where every loan paying more then, let's say, a 5.25% interest rate was brought down to a 5% fixed 30 year term, with an option to pay interest-only or principle and interest for 3 of those years. And that after that, if there were still people in distress they could deal with it on a case by case basis.

Because we could just walk away, our savings intact, go live in a nice rental somewhere, pay literally 1/3 of what we pay for our mortgage right now (which is not only a testament to how shitty our loan is, but also to how much the rental market has been affected) and reduce our stress by 200%. But that would leave destruction in our wake. Destruction that we would be able to overcome fairly easily with a bankruptcy filing or 7 years of our usual on-time payments until our report cleared. In the meantime, with the money saved by not paying this stupid mortgage, we could save up and pay CASH for something else, and not involve a bank at all.

So.

What to do when they don't make it easy.

Hiding in the hotel room with pills and the minibar

In the effort to have some quality time as a family, we are staying at a hotel for the weekend. We had a lovely family dinner last night where I only had to threaten my children a handful of times, so that was just fabulous.

And I remembered to bring everything I needed except for shoes, so poor POOR me I had to go buy a pair (or two) en route to the resort.

I even brought a pillow, to avoid the migraine-inducing hotel pillows. What is it about pillows that are not my own ? I can't stand them, and they all make my neck hurt, which inevitably leads to a migraine. So I brought my own pillow. But I had to sleep sitting up anyway, because of this stupid STUPID cough that is just not going away.

And I am getting a migraine ANYWAY. Fuck.

HOWEVER Sami, in an effort to be helpful, and because he has known me long enough now to think ahead, brought along 9 different bottles of pills in our toiletry kit, "just in case". So I have my migraine meds, my muscle relaxer for the neck spasm that leads to the migraine, the anti-inflammatory for the inflammation stemming from the spasm, and then just a selection of antibiotics and cough syrup.

I love this man.

If there was anything that was going to bring us back together, and help us reconnect, it is my husband remembering to bring my pharmaceuticals. All of them.

Luckily, our toiletry kit - purchased by my mother who ALSO knows me very well - is the size of a small suitcase. So, plenty of room for all of my pills, heat packs, menthol patches, and every other damn thing I am petrified to travel without.

So I am here in the hotel room (deluxe ocean view, thankyouverymuch) looking at the, um, deluxe ocean view, and taking my medications and sitting in the air-conditioned shadows. In a moment I will return to my husband's side, where I will lie under an umbrella and thank him for remembering my meds by letting him apply lotion to my legs.

I know, I am the best.

Gone Baby Gone

I am taking a few days away - not a dramatic reaction to the trauma of yesterday but merely a few days of time with just me and the family.

Because I have been down with this fucking flu, it is hard for me to sort out whether I am upset because I don't feel well, or because of a series of slight misunderstandings and small differences of opinion, or......more than that.

Good god I hope it's not more than that.

It can't be, right ?

I mean, it's nothing. I'm sure.
A bump. A hiccup.
A time to reconnect and reorganize and reprioritize.

It's time. In fact, it's overdue. Obviously.

I have spent the day sitting here like Goldilocks, wondering who ate my porridge and sat in my chair. And no one had better have fucking slept in my bed, is all I'm saying.

You know what I'm saying ?

I am usually very confident in my marriage, in my role in our family and in our life together.
And the fact that I am questioning anything is GOOD. There is just nothing worse then taking things for granted. So a little shake-up is good. Healthy.

Just a little one though. That's all.

What it feels like to be replaced

Tonight I came home from work to discover my house cleaned, and someone else logged in to my facebook, blogger, and other internet accounts on my laptop.

Someone else tucked my children into bed, saw my husband off to work, and welcomed him home again, all without my knowledge.

The duvet I had spent the day wrapped up in on the couch, shivering and coughing before I left for the dinner shift, was now neatly folded, with my heating pad resting on top.

The dishes were washed.
The counters cleaned and rearranged.
The bills neatly stacked.
The kid's rooms straightened.

It was as though I was walking into someone else's house.

My husband didn't see what the fuss was about. A friend needed help, he had gone to help her, and while he was doing the work, she had come over here and watched the kids.

He didn't call me and tell me this was happening, so it was all a big surprise. He probably hoped I wouldn't find out. That he could just run and do the work and get back, and tell me vaguely that the kids had hung out with our friend for a bit while he did some work.

But of course, when he got home and saw everything cleaned and straightened, he realized that what had happened while I was gone would have to be explained.

As I walked in the door, at first glance I wanted to cry. Someone had touched all of my things.

As I clicked over to facebook, I was logged out, and another woman's name and email was in the log in box. I came to check my blogroll, and I was signed out of blogger, with the same email address now in the log in field. I felt like every part of my home had been touched and changed in some way. Adjusted to fit someone else. And I was breathless.

I want to say I feel violated, but that is such a strong word, and I know there was no ill will, and it was all amongst friends, but. No. Yes, this was his friend, and yes, he gave her permission and yes, it was just for a few hours. I can see how someone would think I was over-reacting. Someone like my husband, who doesn't see what the problem is.

But this, this is a problem. Someone saw my home in less then guest-worthy condition. Someone had access to my internet accounts on the laptop I left in my kitchen while my husband was home with the kids all night - or so I thought. Someone made themselves at home in my house with my husband's blessing, and without mine and I feel........gone. I feel like it must feel when a spouse remarries and someone else is living in your house and helping to raise your kids and using stuff that used to be yours. Except, it all happened in 3 hours. I left at 5:30 and got home at 8:45 and Oh. My. God.

And What. The. Fuck.

That little voice

Sometimes you have to be very close to the edge, very close indeed, to get some perspective.

The past few days have been spent online, basically around the clock - I mean, what ELSE is there to do at 1am ? I have been reading and reading and reading and my kids have been sitting around staring at me during their waking hours as I encourage them to stay as far away from me as possible, and simultaneously hack into a paper towel.

Sweet. Nice visual.

But of course, as children are wont to do, the sicker I got, the more they wanted to snuggle, and hug and kiss and chatter endlessly trying to cheer me up and entertain me and get me to forget about my troubles for a while.

And as I pulled further into my shell, they pulled back - harder. So I acquiesced.

I lay on the sofa between them, staring through glossy eyes at a series of g-rated movies, dozing off and shuddering awake, and when the medication wore off enough for me to safely drive a car we would take a quick jaunt - to the grocery, or out to get pancakes or some other soft/cold/vitamin packed treat like a smoothie or soup or ice cream.

And in those drives, the cheerful chatter would continue unabated. They probably talked the whole time I was asleep, too.....gently patting my hand or my head (or rubbing my boob because GEEZ I must have breastfed for too long) and murmuring gently in my ear.

And finally in the midst of all the noise and chaos and bickering in the backseat, as we were pulling into the driveway and I was preparing to drag myself back to the couch, I realized something.

Thank GOD for these kids.

These kids fucking Saved My Life by being born, by being mine, by being in my life every day. That's not drama, and it's not the narcotics talking (the sweet, sweet narcotics that I usually refuse but in this sickness have come to appreciate as they quell my cough and soothe my aching).

They saved me from myself. From being a self-centered loud-mouthed bitch on wheels with a huge infertile chip on her shoulder and a phone attached to her head and a laptop attached to her hip.

So I am just sitting here today being thankful and I don't have a damn thing to say except my kids are definitely my badge of honor, my source of pride.

I Did That. We did. Sami and I did. These amazing kids are OURS and they are AWESOME and I am thankful and grateful and humbled and privileged and honored.

And this weekend, and in the previous weeks, as I retreated to the internet world to read about the lives of others and update my fucking Facebook status every 5 minutes, I was taking time away from THEM.

And I suck.

And I am sorry.

And while I love you internet (O, how I love you, madly, truly, deeply) I love my kids more. While they are in school you can keep me company, but the rest of the time, every moment that I have with them, will be cherished.

Even when they are being little bastards and I want to spray them with the hose.

Because I know that without them, my life would be very different.....and I like my life the way it is, thanks.

What I've been doing and why you should care

I'm just kidding. You shouldn't care.
And I haven't been doing anything but lying on the couch watching Netflix and whimpering.
Oh, and working. Stupid stupid stupid I know, but we don't really have a plan for sickness at the restaurant - we have a tight shift and a small staff and we all need the money, honey.

So, I dosed my self up with horse-tranquilizer sized doses of pain medication and muscle relaxers which make me less likely to collapse in a coughing fit.

And washed my hands often.

And didn't touch the silverware.

Or the glasses.

And I waitressed my tired little heart out.

Until my co-workers sort of cornered me, and said that someone was being sent home.

And that someone was me.

I tried not to be offended. They gave me the option of staying, but. It wasn't really an option. We all knew it. I was sick. It was time to throw in the towel. So I went home. And cried a little bit. Because my chest hurt. And because I hate being sick. And because I am a whiny little bitch. And then I fell asleep. I woke up when my husband (who was pretty annoyed at this point) turned on the ceiling light and woke me up. Turns out, he had gotten a phone call while I was sleeping, and Lucy was supposed to be at a birthday party down the street.

Whoops.

The present was at the end of my bed - unwrapped. Just add that to the list of things I was not handling responsibly. I pouted for a while, mostly because I felt like an ass. But also because I was sad for my daughter, who was picked up and carried at a high rate of speed (by my husband, her father, in his sweaty work clothes) to the party. He didn't put her in her party dress. He didn't know about the present until after he came home and woke me up. So she attended high tea in a dirty Paul Frank t-shirt. The party was supposed to be from 2:30-4:30. At 4:25, all of the children were escorted off the property - I spotted them from the living room window and Sami went running back up the street again with the (now wrapped) birthday present clutched to his chest, to retrieve our 4 year old from the cul de sac where they were all getting handed off to parents.

Party. Over.
Why didn't I think of that ?

Take your update and shove it

When I wrote my last post, I was so smug.

"More later" I cheerfully added to each paragraph.

Stupid stupid stupid. I jinxed myself.

There will be no update, because I feel like death warmed over and I want nothing more then to sit here and sob softly into this entire roll of Costco toilet paper. It is so good to have goals in life.

I am about half way though, and I have another roll on deck for later in the day.
I am *supposed* to go out tonight for a friend's birthday dinner, and I am so on the fence......I don't feel like eating, I can't taste anyting anyway, and my throat feels like I maybe gave myself a tonsillectomy after work this afternoon without anesthesia. Except I have already had my tonsils out. So it's gotta be something else.

Whatever, you know you are probably going to catch something just from reading this........

It's 2:23 am and I am going to go sleep sitting up clutching a heating pad and waiting for the break of day.