Category Archives: Why Yes! I AM insane!

Bust a Move

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Back in January I herniated yet another disc in my back. To be fair, it was the SAME disc that I’ve injured several times before. This time wasn’t half as bad as others (No wheelchair this time!) but it was still some massive pain. And the pain wasn’t the worse part, the loss of mobility of someone with my energy and lifestyle was truly frustrating.

And of course, maintaining any sort of exercise with that issue is impossible. I couldn’t do laundry or load the dishwasher. I couldn’t make bed without help. I couldn’t even walk my dogs. I put on some weight. I wasn’t happy. I stayed in bed a lot. We had some stuff happen in our house (stress+stress+STRESS) and my mom’s health was declining. I finally snapped out of it, got myself into PT and got back on my feet. I was doing well, actually. Better than I had in MONTHS. No, probably better than I had in two YEARS. And just as I finished PT, got back to walking my dogs and got the OK to go back to regular workouts, my mother passed away.

Needless to say, the past four weeks have been a flurry of hospice, arrangements, finances, funeral, family issues, house issues and the like. People have brought us oodles of food (which I am SO SO SO grateful for!) and sent baskets. We’ve been spoiled, really. It feels good to be spoiled. I feel loved.

The problem is I got off my program.

This week my back started hurting. I know what’s coming and I’m going to stop it, see. I know the pattern, I know the routine. But it ain’t gonna happen this time, yo. IMA STOP IT.

I’ve gained weight again. In fact, I’ve gained so much I am now the same weight I was AFTER I had Bugaboo. And I gained sixty pounds with his pregnancy. SIXTY. POUNDS. I weigh the same as I did NINE MONTHS PREGNANT with Bug Boy. I’m also wearing the same size.

Yep. Since my Dad passed I’ve gained forty pounds.

That was about eighteen months ago. MOMMA AIN’T HAPPY. Now, I’m not as worried about the weight as I am my overall health. I don’t have any energy. The fatigue is seriously an issue. I am winded trying to keep up with the Bugaboo. I can’t keep my eyes open at night. I’ve started falling back into that ole “carb load, eat comfort foods, don’t move at all” pattern. I’m all MEH. And DG ain’t a MEH person, MMKAY?

Now, I know what some of y’all are thinking. “But DG! You’ve had SO! MUCH! GOING! ON!” or “Don’t be so HARD on yourself, yo! You’ve had STUFF in your life!” and “You’ve got these kids! It’s so haaaaaard!”

But those are the excuses I keep using. Again and again and again and again. I’m better than that. I deserve better. My FAMILY deserves better.

No more excuses, yo. I KNOW what I have to do. I know how to do it.

Here I go.

I’ve Got Nothin’

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Day after day I sit here staring at the screen and I write nothing. Or actually, I type nothing, since you couldn’t pay me to write stuff by hand (fine motor issues much?). It’s not for lack of wanting to. It isn’t a lack of trying. Time management? Not my strongest skill but I could honestly find five minutes to slap SOMETHING together. Anything. Heck, I blog about my toenail color. And I do interpretive dances. And yet tens of you still come back everyday!

It’s not like there’s a lack of content in my life. I could blog about my floors (or lack thereof), my dogs (Daisy gained NINE POUNDS. Time for doggy Jenny Craig!) or my backyard (this rain sucks. You can guess what my not-really-floors look like.)

Or my recent roof issues.

Or Bugaboo having the best handstand in his gymnastics class (with typical peers, by the way.)

Or Bug Boy making the honor roll again and crying over a B+ because he is his mother’s child and puts a ridiculous amount of pressure on himself to live up to ridiculous self-expectations.(hmmmmmm sounds familiar?)

And there’s more. So much more. So much more I could share so much more I cannot share. And THAT is the problem. There’s so much I am overwhelmed. In every aspect of my life. I’m in full-fledged survival mode, getting the basics done each day and everything else over and above is gravy. If the clothes are clean, the house is somewhat tidy and there’s food on the table I consider it a successful day.

This is where I admit that Ive been taking care of everyone else and there’s no time left over for me. And yes, I’m aware I need to take care of myself. But trust me when I say there’s been a level of sh*t hitting the fan like no other and there ain’t no way it’s gonna happen.

I’m making small efforts here and there. I finally made a hair appointment (six months later) and got the PT evaluation in so I can start PT next week and get my back healed and in shape. Someone has to keep up with Bugaboo! It’s like running a marathon, but more strenuous. I plan on calling the psych today for an adjustment in my meds (S.A.D. for the win!) and I’ve been spending more time walking and stretching. I’m getting there.

And I’ve gotten the boys squared away. No more broken bones! Things seem to be going back to normal. Well, you know, as normal as it gets here. We did opt to add an ADHD med back in for the Bugaboo because, well, it’s spring and he’s pretty restless and Elopement Season is in high gear right now. We’re shooting for NO CALLS to the police this year. I think that’s attainable, no?

So, dear reader(s), I’m trying. I’ll attempt to get something on this here blog once in a while. Maybe a pop quiz or a reader participation post. Perhaps you can help me pick wall colors or look at pictures of my dogs. In any event, IMA TRY.

In the meanwhile, this is the extent of my midlife crisis right here:

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How to Start an Internet Firestorm in Eleven Easy Steps

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So, you wanna start an Internet Firestorm?  Learn to Troll Comments? Start an uproar on FacePlace? Then this post is for you! You, too, can start a ruckus in a few easy-peasy steps!  Just follow along and hang onto your hats!

How to Start an Internet Firestorm in 11 Easy Steps (Because I always go to eleven).

By Marj Hatzell, Doctor of Google (D. of G. Get it?)

  1. Post an article referring to a scientific study refuting a medical myth or misinformation. People comment on article supporting study and information
  2. Agree with fans and friends commenting on post.
  3. More people comment with their own experiences.
  4. Person comes out of woodwork for “anti” side and begins litany of disjointed, misspelled, random sentences, spouts tirade of veiled insults. Asks for studies, links and information to support the “outlandish” claims by people who comment and person posting article
  5. Person posting article and several people who comment provide 20-30 peer reviewed, independent studies and links for their enlightenment.
  6. “Anti” person mentions the words, “Evil Big Pharma,” “Government conspiracy,” and celebrities who have degrees in Google  Another random person who isn’t a doctor but plays one on tv pipes up and asks if there are any studies not done by government or drug companies who are making a profit off of sick people. Hilarity ensues.
  7. Person posting article and even more people who commented post 20 more links of non-pharma and government studies, information about who funded those studies and links to journals done in other countries.
  8. “Anti” person freaks out, cites anecdotal evidence. “You just need to listen! We don’t need medical degrees! I googled it and you can believe everything you read on the Internets! You just need to live my life for one day to understand! My nextdoor neighbor’s uncle’s former co-worker told me this total random thing that they read on HuffPo!”
  9. Commentors and article poster: ???
  10. “Anti” person: “Your (sic) insulting! I’m unliking and unfriending you! You CLEARLY don’t have any education and you CLEARLY don’t care about ______ (insert cause here).”
  11. Commentors and article poster: Um, profit?

Bad Toaster Oven Karma

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Appliances hate living in my house so much they make the decision to stop working, in the hopes of getting put on the curb with the trash and snatched up by a junk collector to be given a second chance.

The latest was the toaster oven. We’re on our fourth or fifth one in sixteen years of marriage. Or we were, anyways. Two weeks ago we had yet another cheapo counter top toaster oven go kaput, complete with flames and smoke. Fortunately I was standing near it when it happened and could unplug and extinguish it RIGHT AWAY. Unfortunately, this had to happen right before Christmas and the last thing I wanted to spend money on was a new appliance.

Unless it was a beautiful, new appliance I’ve been coveting drooling over for years. Ahem.

Anywho, toaster oven. It ceased to function. And Mr. Fixit (aka The Guy I Live With) wanted to try to fix it and IMMA ALL HELL TO THE NO. Because burning our house down? Not high on my list of priorities at the moment. And the Bugaboo, he needs a toaster oven. We’re trying to teach him to be more independent and it’s age appropriate for him to throw some tater tots and chicken fingers (gluten-free, of course!) in the toaster oven to make himself food. Right? I mean, instead of eating them frozen out of the fridge as he usually does. So. Toaster oven. I sent The Guy I Live With to a local house wares type of place that lets you use those 20% off coupons? Well, he came home with this:

OOOOOhhhhh. Aaaaaaahhhh. Shiny.

OOOOOhhhhh. Aaaaaaahhhh. Shiny.

Needless to say, Momma was happy. Because Momma has wanted that PARTICULAR Countertop Convection oven for a very, very long time. Happy Christmas to me! And next year’s birthday. And next year’s anniversary. Because it was $$$, y’all. But oooooh sooooo worth it. This thing is quite the gadget, I can assure you. It senses how many freaking pieces of toast are in it. It cooks to perfection. It pretty much does everything but predict the future and make twenty-dollar bills. I lerves it so hard.

Except.

Remember that part about teaching the Bugaboo to be more independent?

(You see where this is going, right?)

Sooooo I sort of had my newborn nephew the other day and Bugaboo was home from school. Normally I watch other children during the day because I cannot handle Bugaboo and another kid all by my lonesome (sometimes I get my neighbor’s daughter to come and help because she LOVES! BABIES!). Anywho, the nephew needed some sustenance, because it turns out you have to FEED babies. Like regularly and stuff. And although our kitchen is open to our family room, separated by a mere half-wall, I was sitting with my back to the kitchen. And a few minutes into the bottle for the baby, I heard DING! And smelled something a little…off.

Except it was on.

The toaster oven, I mean. The Queen Mother of all Toaster Ovens was operating without my knowledge. And the Bugaboo was in the kitchen. Behind me. Where I couldn’t see him.

That’s when I stood up with the baby and saw this:

Melted plate. Did I mention the toaster oven is NEW?

Melted plate. Did I mention the toaster oven is NEW?

And in case you don’t know what that is, I’ll give you a hint: Blue IKEA kids’ plate. With chicken nuggets on it. Melted in my brand-spanking-new counter top convection oven.

The good news is this is precisely when my neighbor’s twelve-year-old came over to ogle the baby and she was quite useful as I heated and scraped and heated and scraped and heated and scraped (lather, rinse, repeat) until the plastic was all removed from the rack and the toaster oven. And I never turned my back on Bugaboo in the kitchen again! THE END!

But wait, there’s more!

Then this past weekend, Bugaboo was camped out on the couch sick. His brother was in the basement playing with a friend, The Guy I Live With was outside doing yard work (read: hiding in garage) and I was tossing Frisbees and tennis balls for the dogs. For a whopping two minutes. Which is precisely the moment Bug Boy ran outside shouting, “MOOOOOM! A PIPE BURST AND WATER IS POURING DOWN THE BASEMENT CEILING!” And I ran inside to see water dripping down the step from the kitchen into the family room, water pouring down my kitchen counter like a cascading waterfall, water running under the BRAND NEW TOASTER OVEN while it was still plugged in, an ipad sitting on the counter top and the new spigot pointed over the counter and turned on.

So not a burst pipe. But let’s just say I had a lot of water to sop up very quickly while simultaneously unplugging and drying out electronical device who were resting very innocently on my kitchen counter.

Now. Stick a fork in me, I’m done.

How to Win Mommy of the Year

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The following message has been approved for all audiences and is intended to be SATIRE. As in, JOKING. KIDDING. DROLLERY. You dig?

"SCUSE ME. BUT DG IS THE BEST MOTHER OF ALL TIME. OF. ALL. TIME.

SCUSE ME. BUT DG IS THE BEST MOTHER OF ALL TIME. OF. ALL. TIME.

You know, I have this goal to be Super Mom. And not just Super Mom, mind you. SUPER AUTISM MOM.

(No, not really, this is me, being facetious)

I can’t help but feel the pressure. Especially during the Holidays. There’s some sort of imaginary competition going on. Like we’re all trying to be the Bestest at Everything. All I see on Pinterest?  Overachieving Moms making bento box lunches with food cut into stars, flowers and happy faces and little handwritten notes with calligraphy  Elf on the Shelf in various poses, in near-professional photos depicting his various (creepy) escapades and hijinx   Homemade shoes, hats, mittens, clothing, stockings, all knitted or sewn with homemade tags in super-hipster pattern and colors.

When do people find the time to do this crap? I’m lucky to have two extra minutes to rub together to grab a nap. Do they stay up all night doing this? I mean SHEESH. Sometimes I get dinner made before 5pm. I might catch up on the laundry, provided no one gets sick or wets the bed. If they do? Then it sets me back four days. I mostly get the sink emptied each night and the clean dishes run through the dishwasher (THANK YOU FSM FOR DISHWASHERS). And the floor? Let’s just say it hasn’t been properly mopped in a long time. You don’t wanna know when, either. Thank goodness for swiffers and damp rags. That’s all I’m gonna say about that!

Who the heck are we competing with? I mean, besides ourselves? Oh. Right. There IS NO competition!  We ARE competing with ourselves. And putting tons of pressure on ourselves. And then getting our panties in a twist when we don’t achieve these ridiculously lofty goals. And feeling guilty that we’re not as cool/hip/interesting/involved/achieving as other moms.

Dudes? You cannot compare apples to oranges. Moms are like apples and oranges. And watermelons, bananas, kiwi fruit, mangoes…the list goes on. We’re all Absosmurfly awesomesauce in our own special ways. In fact, it turns out we’re not doing such a lousy job after all.

As for the fancy lunches, elves, homemade clothes and the like? I let my kid buy lunch at the school cafeteria when he chooses (THE HORROR!), I do make homemade Halloween costumes (Because I’m cheap thrifty and he usually picks something obscure) and I give my kid pretty much every book he asks for (he’s the kid that NEVER STOPS READING). But that’s about as good as it gets. I don’t stress over not getting all the housework completed in one day (because there’s always tomorrow) and my house is messy or dirty sometimes. It’s always an hour away from being good for company but not so dirty I’d be embarrassed if someone popped by. Like my Nana told me, “No one ever went to their death bed complaining they didn’t clean enough. They always wish they spent more time with their families.”

I’m gonna be Aiming Lower** for now on.

(** speaking of Aiming Lower, you know I write there sometimes, right?  So go see me sometimes. And if you’d be so kind as to click that “Like” box over there that would be super duper awesome of you and stuff)

 

Locked Out

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Let's see, what kind of trouble can I get into while Momma is locked out?

Let’s see, what kind of trouble can I get into while Momma is locked out?

Well, that was certainly an interesting weekend.

It started innocently enough. We thought we’d take advantage of the warm weather and get some things done outside. A few shrubs that need to be pruned in fall, a few dead plants that needed to be trimmed back to the ground for next year, leaves that should have been raked. And since it was warm and beautiful and perfect outside (60! The first day of December!) we were all about being outside.

Except for the part where I woke up and sneezed for two hours straight. And couldn’t breathe and I wanted to take an icepick to my ear to jab a hole in it and relieve the pressure. You know, nothing special, just the usual fun at Chez DG!

Anywho, we did our chores, ran errands, took the kids for haircuts. The whole weekend was a blur, honestly. But it felt good to do things like pull out the stove and clean around it, dust and vacuum hidden crevices and wipe a few things that hadn’t been wiped in a while. Because nothing says RELAX! DECOMPRESS!  GET RID OF STRESS!  Like finding out what has been under and behind your stove for five years!

And I got it in my head that this was THE PERFECT DAY to try to teach Bugaboo flossing. You know, the kid who doesn’t like anything in or near his mouth? Who has massive oral sensitivity? Who gags at the sight of playdough? Who steals our toothbrushes and eats our toothpaste and couldn’t be bribed with all the chocolate chips in the world to brush his teeth thoroughly?

Yep, him. Great idea, no?

So. Flossing. He HATED EVERY SECOND OF IT. Cried real tears, even. But he has crowding in his lower teeth and the dentist begged me to try it. And since I’m Mother of the Year (Yes I am!  Bug Boy said so!) I did try it. And sorta-kinda regret it but hey, it’ll get better each time we do it, right? RIGHT?  (No, because I tried it two more times since then and it’s like putting a cat in bathwater, complete with screeching and razor sharp claws. I mean fingers.)

So back to work we went. Cleaning. Raking. Filling in the minefield of holes my precious angel of a dog dug because she has to bury bones and did you know that some dogs will try to bring you voles and worms and bugs as presents? (And this includes attempting to dug up a nest of yellow jackets in the ground last week and getting stung in the eye. And an emergency vet visit on Black Friday and the vet is NEAR THE MALL.)Such a sweet pup!

And then…

Wanna know what’s almost sort of funny? When you’re out front of the house fixing some decorations on shrubbery and your husband is behind the house doing yard work and he comes inside, sees the front door open and locks both doors because Bugaboo is sitting in the kitchen and then husband hops in the shower and then you turn to go back inside, only to find both the front screen and steel doors locked so you go to the back sliding door and the anti-break-in lock is on and the side screen and steel doors are locked so you can’t even use the spare to get in (because the spare key is for the steel door, not the screen door and there’s no way to open the screen door because it is padlocked. Yes, padlocked. So Bugaboo can’t get OUT) so you bang on the door and ring the doorbell while Bugaboo dances by several times with a loaf of bread, then some rice, then some m&ms while you beg him to open and unlock the door and you point to the door and he gives you the hairy eyeball and shakes his head nononononoNONONONO and finally the husband hears you banging ten minutes later and lets you back in and when you say, “Bugaboo, why didn’t you let mommy in?” he giggles and runs out of the room with a handful of chocolate…

I’m sure the neighbors found all of this amusing.

Pretty ordinary weekend. Nothing special. Same ole, same ole. Nothing to see here, move along, move along..

.I swear, I can’t make this shiz up.