i dreamed a dream

Tonight I get to go see Les Mis with my mum, my daughter, my sister and my niece. Can you think of a better Christmas present than that? I can not.

Yes I can. I just want to say that there has been a lot of trauma in the near world over the past few weeks and every time I look at my 6 year old I am reminded of how fragile our state is. And the best Christmas present a mother could want is healthy, happy children that have been allowed to stay with her on this earth. I have that. And there are no words to express my gratitude.

But this is not why we're here. Every now and then I get all verklempt, but I'll focus. I promise.

Last night I had a dream. It is pretty par for the course of this sleep cycle I'm in right now. You see, it isn't a good sleep cycle. But it isn't anxiety related so again with all the gratitude. This sleep cycle usually involves lots of tossing and turning and general unsettlement. Apparently unsettlement is not a word but for Christmas I want it to be a word so let's just say it is.

Everyone okay with that?

Good. Moving on. When I am in this particular sleep cycle, which I'm sure has a name but I do not know what it is, I dream a lot. Really vivid, whacky dreams that leave me highly unsettled when I wake. I will now share one I had last night.

Last night I dreamt I wanted to throw a party. So I did. Except no one I knew would come so I invited strangers. (This is sort of like real life where I wanted to throw a New Year's Eve party but no one wanted to come so I cancelled it. Anyway, obviously my subconscious took issue with it.) So a bunch of young single strangers show up to my dream party and they bring the best food I've ever seen. So strange for a bunch of young singles, right? The party is pretty lame and Amelia, my beautiful living 6 year old, keeps pestering me for a piano lesson. (You see, in real life I am her piano teacher and she's had one lesson since September because I am the worst mom/daughter piano teacher on the planet.) In my dream I finally succumb to her incessant pleading and give her a piano lesson right in the the middle of the party. When we're done I turn to the group and everyone is gone. And it is only 8 pm.

Lame.

So I eat the leftovers and go to bed. In the morning I decided to NEED to workout. (Now, in real life this is something that is plaguing me. I have not worked out in months and I know I need to but there is some sort of block there that I can't seem to bust through and obviously my subconscious has caught on.)

So I try to find my elliptical and low and behold I see it in the middle of a concentration camp where young foreign children are being forced to march around in their school uniforms getting sprayed with water if they laugh at me.

I have no clue what my subconscious is doing with this. Let's not ask it. And in my dream my friend Shelley keeps following me around and refuses to get me water when I ask for it because I keep calling her Shelley after she's told me a million times she's changed her name to Katrina.

Geez Louise, cut me some slack dream Katrina, don't you see what I am dealing with here?

So I don't get to work out because I look at the clock and I am supposed to be showered and at school. As I am going inside to shower, after having busted through lines upon lines of soaking wet foreign children in uniform laughing at me, my mother comes around the corner to inform me that 3 young adults and a snake died at my lame party and she had the bodies removed so as to not upset me unnecessarily.

Um. Thanks?

And people wonder why I don't like to sleep...

christmas in photos

Nieces who don't want their pictures taken.

And nephews who don't want their new Christmas jammies.

Stuffed stockings.

Santa doing "his" thing.

Christmas morning. Ahhhhh....

Handsome husbands.

Teenage boys and their plaid.

Teenage girls and their makeup.

Happy children.

And making pop for breakfast, of course.

To pooped out nieces.

Equals one very merry Christmas at our house!

from us, to you.

Merry Christmas, from the Dabels!

please give

Today I spent the day in my comfy clothes working my brains to death on this correspondence course. I can put it off no more.

This does mean that I did not shower yet and therefore will not be doing a vlog.

Weep no more, my loves. All will be well.

There is so much to say and talk about but there just isn't time. Naming my new truck, wearing pants to church and the newest wee angels that went to heaven last Friday. My heart shattered, I can not even fathom...

But alas, not now. For now please go over here and if you are looking for a charity to donate to this holiday season please consider Art à la Carte.  There are many sick people in the hospital who don't get to spend Christmas at home with their families and some of them may never leave at all.

Thank you.

thirsty, anyone?

Meet my new friend, Popsie.

And Amelia......

the devil's dessert

The devil is chewing me up but instead of spitting me out he's covering me in chocolate and whip cream and devouring me whole.

Jerk.

Is this month over yet?

the formula for life...and stuff

There is a formula for everything in life. As mothers, and women, I believe we are pros at figuring out real quick-like what needs to be done and how it's going to be accomplished.

When tackling homework I have a formula for getting it done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Basically, what it comes down to is deciding what can be done with the loudness of children around and what needs to be done in solitary confinement.

So, you lay it all out and stare at it. And then you put it in order of what is due first or of the utmost importance. I can do this part in my head now since I'm not as stupid as I used to be.

Ahem.

And then, once it's decided what is due tomorrow, or the next day, you decide what can be interrupted 326 times and what can't.

If it can't be interrupted then you sit and do it as fast as you can before the kids get home from school. If it can be interrupted, begrudgingly, then you save it for the after dinner crowd.

And believe me, there's a crowd.

And that, my friends, is the formula for successful homework doing.

*takes a bow*

i'm not dying, or anything...

I should be doing homework and studying since finals are only a breath away. But having been out of the house for 11 consecutive hours today I have decided that I would rather sit on my duff, have Modern Family from however many weeks ago playing in the background and blog.

And yes, I did not vlog yesterday. And this is why: I have a cold. It's not terrible. I'm not dying or anything. Not that it matters, no one is here to take care of me.

Or bury me.

Anyway, I went to school and felt terrible. I came home and promptly fell asleep. I slept hard and woke with a level of bedhead akin to 14 hours of hardcore sleep.

I opted out. Youknowwhatimean?

So today I am better. I can breath through both nostrils and I'm only a 5 (out of 10) on the stuffed up scale. Whatever, I'll live.

It has come to my attention that I have no concept of the calendar when it comes to school exams and the such. For example, the first paper I had to do for my communications class was due a whole week sooner than my brain thought it was due. That sucker came up out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me.

And then there was a test in Italian I thought was on a Thursday. It was on a Thursday. The Thursday before I thought it was on.

I, then, made sure I was on top of things because I was tired of being sneaked up on like that. I have a delicate constitution, you know. And that was not a poop reference, Heather.

(Apparently snuck is not a word. Who knew?)

I was all over the date of my second paper but I still didn't write it until the weekend before it was due so then I wondered what the point is of making sure nothing sneaks up on me?

My Italian final is on December 3rd. Which in my head is two weeks away but the calendar says it's less than a week away. And although I know the calendar to be right I can not seem to wrap my head around how I keep getting it so wrong.

You may be wondering what it is I'm trying to get at and let me tell you that I wondering the same thing. I am also wondering if it might be true that I can't blog with the the tv on. It's distracting.

Here's a tip for you. If you are a woman and you are anticipating having menopause at some point in your life then you should go on a diet now and lose a thousand pounds because, I kid you not, once you have menopause you will eat and eat and eat.

You will eat all the food.

There will be no end to all the eating.

I say have menopause because that's what it feels like. I don't mean in menopause, like in a hot tub or in the money. I mean have menopause. Like I have the plague, or the flu.

Or goitre.

It's time to end this and apparently I have other things I should be doing. Like folding laundry, or so the 9 year old has ever so kindly asked of me.

Little punk, fold your own laundry. Can't you see I'm up to my eyeballs in food over here because I'm neck deep in the menopause?

Geez. Give me a break.

ruined woman

You know when you call the school to tell them that your kid won't be there and that bossy computer voice tells you to leave your child's name, their homeroom teacher and the reason for their absence? As soon as that computer starts telling me what to do I start with the whole "go on, I dare you to tell me what to do. I DARE YOU."

And then I grow up a little bit and remember it isn't my main ambition in life to make everyone hate me, as much of a doable goal that might be to attain. Today I called the school and that bossy computer started to tell me what to do and I sucked it up. I left her name and her homeroom teacher's name and then I sweetly added "Amelia is home with me today." And after I hung up I added "and it's none of your business that we bought junk food and pop and are having a total party and that I am forcing her to skip school for no good reason other than I've completely neglected her for the past week because I have been slammed with homework myself and I missed her and since she's only in grade 2 I don't see that it matters much if she misses 4 hours of school."

I will add to this here blog, to lessen the blow of my atrocious parenting, that I had to take my truck into the shop, again, and the logistics of getting her to and from school seemed much less fun than the junk food and pop type fun we are having instead.

Not so graceful segue....

I brought to my own attention that my house is a pigsty and therefore, since I am home and all with no vehicle and nothing but time, that I should clean it. So that it is what I am doing.

Okay, no I'm not. I'm blogging. Which is sort of like cleaning. No? A cleaning of the mind? Still, no? Okay, I'm not cleaning.

I will be though. I promise. I have a meeting here in a couple of hours and it would behoove me to clean.

This brings me to my next item of business. The man. The man is on a 5 nights gone and 2 nights home routine and it is ruining me.

I am becoming a ruined woman. But not in the traditional sense. As it turns out, I sleep like the dead when he's gone. Like a log. Like a log that is dead. I sleep and sleep and sleep.

And I like it.

I don't have to deal with the weird, back sleeping snorting and grunting. I don't have to deal with the 27 point turns he does in the night just to roll over. The turns that are required to turn a Mac truck around in a very tiny parking lot. I don't have to deal with the touching and poking and just general you're-in-my-space kind of issues.

And I mean that in the least dirtiest way possible.

A couple of weeks ago he punched me in the head while I was sleeping. Did I tell you that? Well, he did.

I kind of like the sleep. Youknowwhatimean?

I mean, I miss him, I really do. I really really like my husband but this "alone in the bed" thing should not be scoffed at.

Do not scoff.

I am afraid now that when he returns home for good I WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.

My concerns are legit, I dare say. Too legit to quit.

Anyway, menopause sucks. Thought you should know.

Happy weekend.

not helpful

Some things are helpful. And some things are not helpful.

Youknowwhatimean?

happy weekend

Fridays are awesome. Especially the ones where I have school and the children DO NOT. I did not take that into consideration at all when I was contemplating this little endeavor. It seems to happen a lot.

Thankfully, they are old enough to watch each other. But securing their getting along-ness more often than not, and by that I mean every single time, involves threats of removal of favourite things or the destruction of their well being. These threats sound something like this...

Me: Do not fight and if you do I will take away the xbox for one hundred years!

Them: Yikes, that's a really long time.

Or, me: Do not fight or I will make you sit on the same couch and hold hands for one hundred years. 

Them: Ewwwwwwww.

Or, me: Do not fight or you will lose all good things that you had, have and ever will have for all of eternity and then some.

They rarely fight when I am gone. Being the little dears they are they save it for me when I am home and on the toilet. Or in the shower.

Little loves of my life.

So....I'm up to my eyeballs in homework. Essays and exams and class presentations. What, pray tell, is the point of the class presentation? Other than to add a foolish amount of unnecessary stress to the life of an already stressed out student.

There are moments when I am most certain I will fail all my classes, that I don't stand a chance. So I work work work until I am 87% blind from the work and then I take that last 13% and I stay up extra late reading books that have nothing to do with university. This allows me to wake up the next morning bright eyed and ready to fret the day away.

I am a master at my art.

You know who was a funny cat? Socrates. He was a funny funny guy and I would very much like to have him over for dinner. I would serve cheesecake and not hemlock. I am positive that through my powers of persuasion I could teach him that drinking Diet Pepsi by the goblet-ful is a wise and productive endeavour. Maybe he could help me persuade the man to come to the dark side.

That is....the dark side of academia.

Happy weekend.

date night

Have you ever seen the movie Date Night? That movie was hilarious. I loved it, but not the point.

This past weekend I saw the movie Argo with the man. Now...have you seen that movie??

That same night the man was invited to go see Skyfall with the boys and I heard him tell the person on the phone that he couldn't go because he was taking his wife out to see Argo.

And people wonder why I like him.

Anyway. Argo. Have you seen it? Holy crap. Never have I seen a movie where during it I thanked my lucky stars that I was medicated for anxiety because otherwise I'd be breathing into a paper bag and wishing for a quick death. I have never, ever, ever been that anxious or stressed out in a movie. Not even The Blair Witch Project stressed me out that much.

In fact, just writing this gives me heart palpitations and the running piggies. I chewed all my nails off.

The movie was amazing, if you were wondering how I felt about it. Unbelievably good. Despite the moaning lady behind me. Talk about anxious. And stressed. Good grief, lady.

I don't know why Ben Affleck gets such a bad wrap. I really like him and he's a great director. The man hates him. Which is just so sad.

So sad.

After the movie we were arguing, again, about the merits of Ben Affleck as a human being and the man said, "Name one good movie he has been in before this one."

To which I said, "Name one bad movie he's been in."

To which he said, "Daredevil."

To which I said nothing, because he had me there.

Daredevil was a really terrible movie and strangely enough, I think I own it. I have no idea what that's about.

As we were driving to our favourite little haunt known as CoDo for our favourite Pho he said he wanted to try and explain, again, his feelings towards post secondary education. To which I said, "No thank you. I have PMS and I don't want to hate you right now."

To which he said, "Take a deep breath and listen to me."

I promptly started to ignore him and instead conversed with some friends via facebook on my iPhone. He talked and talked and talked about how he thinks post secondary education is a giant money grabber (and I agree) and a huge waste of time (I do not agree, obviously). In his ideal world, that is.

But here, on earth, in reality, where things are real and people go to university and no one cares what he thinks, we do what we have to do if we want certain jobs.

Anyway, enough of that. We'll save that for another time. I should say though, that he totally supports me finishing a degree and he understands why I have to. He just thinks it's...stupid?? We ate our dinner happily and lovingly and agreed, again, to disagree, but less than we usually disagree because he worded things differently, this time, and those things were much less offensive to my premenstrual ears than they usually are. Am I still ranting?

Good heavens.

After we ate our soup and drank 3 litres of water to sooth our burning mouths he looked me dead in the eye and said, "Should we make like babies?"

To which I looked him dead in the eye right back and hesitated to make sure I heard what I thought I just heard. I said, "And...what?"

To which he smiled and said "And head out?"

And that, my friends, is how the Dabels do date night.

i inhaled, for sure

I am nothing if not a helper of the people......




You're welcome.

numb bum and the oh henry

I don't know what it is about Wednesday afternoons but I am always sleepy on Wednesday afternoons. I come home from school and fight a couch crash all afternoon long. It's torture.

Right now I am waiting for eggs to boil because I want me some egg salad. Without yokes, course.

So, last night was the election but we're not going to talk about the rage in my soul induced by said election. I will say this though, I hate politics so much I can't even find the words to express myself coherently. It just seems that election time brings out the nasty in people and I never walk away from an election without losing respect for many a soul.

Enough said because I'm PMSing and this could get ugly.

Speaking of ugly, I am having a terrible hair day and I just put on my fat pants.

Speaking of fat pants......just kidding, I will not speak of fat pants.

The man is coming home tonight for a few days. Apparently he's going to court tomorrow morning to sue the pants off a developer who paid some guy to pay the man but then that guy kept the money after the job got done and someone here is a lying skunk and I'll give you one guess and a hint as to who it is. It isn't the man nor is it the developer but alas.....what are you gonna do? Someone has to get sued.

Right?

You know who I want to sue? Halloween. I want to sue Halloween for 362 billion dollars for pain and suffering. First of all, it was cold this year. AmIright? Like really butt-fetching cold. Actually, I literally had numb bum.

My bum was numb.

It was so cold the people in the houses felt bad for the children and were putting handfuls of candy into their bags.

Secondly, candy by the handful? What is this insanity? There was so much candy. In years past I have let my children go hog wild with their candy. Eat it till it's gone, is how I mother children with candy. It's usually gone within two days. I can hold out for two days and then I don't have to worry about all the disgusting goodness tempting me from little Halloween bags in the corner.

Not this this year. Still gads of candy left. And why are Reese Peanut Butter cups so dang tasty? And those cute little brown Oh Henry's??

I love you, cute little brown Oh Henry's. I love you.

Let's review, when it's freezing outside and you have only an hour left to live because it is so freezing cold the children get three times as much candy?

Next year, warmer weather please. My bum thanks you. In more ways than one.

single woman

The man left me. He moved to Edmonton.

This is tragic, is it not?

He is contracting a huge project up there. He says he'll come back eventually. I hope he's telling me the truth. However, he did move into my brother's basement and my brother has 4 small children. If that doesn't send him home kicking and screaming, I don't know what will.

He left yesterday afternoon and I have been in a "mood' ever since. I am trying very hard to be supportive but he forgot to take four children with him so I'm having to dig deep.

Youknowwhatimean?

So, probably, for the next 2 months, or 4 months, or eternity, you'll hear me bemoan my existence on a regular basis. Allow me to apologize now to reduce the risk that all the many "I'm sorry, I'm whining again's" you're about to hear will eventually mean nothing.

I truly am very sorry.

I hate being a single woman. I do not care for it one little bit. I much prefer being married. And to someone helpful, to boot. This deep-seated unhappiness I am feeling at the man's absence can only mean one of two things. One, I have a really great marriage and I don't like to be separated from the love of my life. Or, two, I am completely co-dependent.

Let's not speculate.

Yesterday I drove to or from the dance school 6 times. In the fog. Naturally, the man had to pick a Thursday to skip town. Figures. Have I mentioned how much I hate Thursdays? And today I got up, showered and went to the ONE class I have on Fridays to find out the TA cancelled it 5 minutes before. That's not annoying at all.

So on that note I wanted to welcome you to my new-ish, and hopefully temporary, life.

Hey Edmonton, as much as I loved you in years past, you can suck it now.

Mmm hmm. Suck it.

check my swagger, fool

Wanna know what I got on my Italian midterm?

Thought so...

sins of the mother

I need to clear up some vlogging disasters. First things first. My nutritionist did NOT come in 5th! He came in 4th. So if there was any googling going on this might clear up some stuff.

Secondly, I use the term "omelet" loosely. Please don't go out and eat a bunch of omelets thinking my guy has approved that. When I say omelet what I actually mean is egg whites and no cheese.

Yeah, I know, it just lost all appeal. 

I do fry up some veggies to add character.

Still no? All right. Moving on.

Thirdly, I owe my mother an apology. I burped in the video and did not excuse myself. I am sure she's appalled.

But you know what? Now that I think about it, I think she owes me an apology. I do believe she might be responsible for my love of pop. Yes, that's what we call pop addiction around here. 

A love of pop.

I burp because I drink pop. So therefore, by that rationale, my mummy made me burp. 

Excuse you, mummy. 

On a completely different note, I think it's time to hold a world wide seminar on how to walk the halls, turn corners and go through doorways when there is an option of two doors at the university. I swear, this generation of young people has been taught nothing by their mothers.

Stay on the right side, people. Stay to the right.

This is not rocket science.

the one where i talk at myself

Welcome to my first vlog. It's long. I don't apologize for it.

And yes, I burped.

all things awkward

It's Friday. Which I love love love. And I love it because it means that I survived another Thursday. I hate Thursdays, they are brutal. Yesterday I was gone from 8:30 am until 10 pm.

That's brutal, right?

Part of that was my fault. I showed up an hour early to pick up my sassy teeanger from her dance class. I had nothing with me to do or read so I was forced to play on facebook on my iPhone for an hour.

Forcibly forced. Against my will. Yes. I was.

You don't believe me, I can tell.

I had lots of time to think and this is what I thought about. My clothes. I thought about my clothes and how since I've gone back to school I have to wear big girl clothes every single day. I don't have very many big girl clothes and wearing the same thing over and over actually feels awkward, more than anything.

And a bra. I have to wear a bra every single day. And mostly all day. And how wrong this just seems to be. Bras are awkward. And awful.

I thought about how crappy my clothes are because I don't really have any. I have sweats and t-shirts and grungy, depressive, wear-around-the-house-and-never-ever-ever-in-front-of-actual-people kind of clothes. But real clothes??

This reminds me. Let's update my weight loss, shall we? It might explain some stuff. It was my birthday last Wednesday and some time earlier this year I committed to losing 30 pounds by my birthday.

What was I thinking? I don't know.

Did I do it?

Nope. No, I did not do it. Did I lose any? Yep. I did.

Twenty-six pounds.

Or ventisei. As the Italians like to say.

And you know what? I'm cool with it. Actually, I'm perfectly happy with it and very proud of it and it's 4 pounds short but so what? It's 26 pounds away from where I was 4 months ago. And that is 26 pounds of pure awesome, right there.

So back to my clothes. I want to go buy clothes but I really shouldn't until I can fit back into all the wicked clothes I bought the last time I lost a ton of weight.

Yes, we've done this before. Sigh.

Are you still all wondering how I am doing it? I know some of you are because I get emails asking.

Well, I'll tell you but not today because it's a whole post on it's own and I need to do it justice. Plus, this is not at all where I thought this was going.

I did buy a new pair of pants yesterday (two sizes smaller than the last pair I bought) to help get me through the awkward my-pants-are-too-big-but-I'm-still-too-fat-for-the-pants-I-already-own phase.

That was really hard to type.

So, raise your pop to smaller pants, a 26 pound weight loss, having no clothes and these here flowers I got for foster parent week which is so wrong considering I haven't fostered in 3 years.

Talk about awkward......

3 million percent. the running piggies and also, the end

Three weeks after I popped that little white pill I was walking through the University campus and I caught myself smiling.

I should stop here because really, what else do you need to know?

Except maybe the fact that I hadn't found myself to be happy in a moment for a very long time. Not that I am not ever happy, because I absolutely am. But never just on my own like that. Not for a long, long time. And never in a moment where I would normally expect to find myself feeling frustrated and annoyed. Snappy and rude. Wishing I was somewhere else, doing something else, wondering why I can never just be calm and feel at peace in a moment. This is the moment I seemed to be stuck in, living every minute of every day.

In this particular moment I felt happy and calm. Everything was easy, as it should be. In that moment.

And in that moment I didn't have the running piggies.

I felt 3 million percent better.

I thought that maybe, just maybe, the little white pills were working. And then it happened again and again and again. I found myself often feeling happy, and excited, and peaceful.

What's that? What are the running piggies, you ask? Well, let me tell you all about them. The running piggies is what my acupuncturist calls that awful feeling around your heart when you suffer from anxiety. It's that heaviness, that pressure, that gathering sense of panic that fills your lungs and consumes your soul. There was a team of little piggies (or is it a herd? or a flock? or a gaggle? or maybe a murder?) Yes, there was a murder of piggies running around my soul. Like someone fed them only sugar. Upheaval. They were trying to get out. Or ruin me. They were always there.

It was constant.

I didn't know how badly I suffered from anxiety until it went away.

It has now been almost two months since I took that dreaded first pill and I have stabilized. There is still a titch of anxiety, there's supposed to be. Feeling too good is a red flag. But the running piggies are gone and if you suffer from anxiety you know that those running piggies are exhausting and have the potential of keeping you from your life.

I've been reinserted back into my life, which is such a good thing because my life is so full and busy. Someone needs to be in it, living it.

So, what does medicating for anxiety have to do with PMDD and insomnia? Good question. And this here has been my experience:

If you get rid of the anxiety you'll sleep better. That just makes sense if it's anxiety keeping you awake at night. Am I sleeping better?

Oh, yes, baby. I am sleeping better.

Now the PMDD can be a real nuisance. And the meds do not take that away, except for the running piggies, of course. Well mostly, but you can't have everything, can you? Actually, maybe if I started heroine I could have everything but...

Wait...no. That isn't right. Heroine is bad. Don't do drugs.

My point is, what is my point? Let's see...my point is...I feel great. The anxiety is gone for the most part and the part that isn't gone can be dealt with with some deep breaths because there are no more running piggies. The dreadful insomnia induced headaches are gone, which as it turns out are also completely exhausting unto themselves. My energy is through the roof. I can just go and go and go.

Me now compared to me a year ago are two totally different people. And trust me when I tell you this is a good thing.

I believe there is a moral here somewhere and I don't believe it's if you aren't feeling happy you should pop pharmaceuticals because I am not a pill pusher nor do I have an aversion to feeling.

Everybody should be feeling something. It was the lack of feeling anything that kept me from trying the meds in the first place. I was afraid I would never feel anything. That I would be numb. It's important to feel. This I know.

But now, I also know that sometimes in life we need help with not being sucked into an abyss of feeling bad all the time. That it's okay to explore your options and to take your time to do that. It's okay to trust the people you love and your doctors and maybe try something new even though you're terrified.

But more importantly, you need to know you. And if you feel that you don't know you then you need to spend some time getting to know you because you are the bomb and bombs are awesome.

Huh?

All right, time to wrap this up. I'm sure I have a bazillion more things to say on the matter and I'm sure that over time I will say them. But right now I need to get on with life because life will only hold off for about 30 minutes when I am trying to blog something. After that it starts screaming in my ear for attention.

"I'm coming. Hold your horses!!"

That was me hollering at life. Good day.

And the end.

3 million percent. part 3

"You'll take the drugs. That is what you'll do." The man said this to me like it was a no brainer. How was he so sure? How could he be so sure when I was so unsure? He is just a man after all, what does he know of hormones?

Only that he's lived with me for 17 years. Whatever.

"I don't know..." was my response as it usually is when I am riddled with capricious and vindictive hormones.

"Well, I know. I'm telling you to try them. If it doesn't work then it doesn't work. But you're going to try."

And with this I began the pondering that led me to unload and seek advice from some very smart and wonderful friends (you know you are!) who backed up what the man said.

Do it.
Do it.
Do it.

Why was everyone so against me?? I did not want to medicate. Why was everyone so on board with the idea? Are they wanting to watch me ruin myself? I couldn't figure it out.

Oh waiiiiiiiit a sec......they aren't against me. They are pro sanity. And I am insane. So therefore, if I take the meds I might find sanity and I won't ruin me by refusing to get better which might just be...ruining me.

Okay, now I get it.

I am the one who is a sleep deprived, hormonal hurricane of irrationality and unreasonable-ness. I'm the one who has no clue, everyone else gets it.

Sort of.

And just like that, I gave up the control I thought I had of an issue I actually had no control over. I decided to take the pills. And with the promise from the man that if I turned into a zombie or a homicidal maniac he would take me off the pills I popped the first little white magic maker.

Or so I hoped.

Fast forward three weeks, I am mostly over the stomach upset I was told I would experience. I am waiting and waiting and waiting for any sign that the pills are taking away my anxiety.....

3 million percent. part 2

Sooooo, where were we? Oh yes, the sleep doctor.

If I was to wrap up that visit without boring you to death with all the gory details it would be this:

I walked in exhausted, beside myself with fatigue and an inability to make my own important decisions. I walked out with a mood disorder and a prescription for anti-anxiety medication.

Yep. I did. I walked in tired and walked out tired and crazy. At least, that's how I felt at the time. Just another crazy girl roaming the earth.

I was mad.

Who are we kidding? I was down right pissed off. I would be damned if I was going to be another drugged up, zombie-fied Mormon housewife who is so overwhelmed, or bored, with life that she needs to pop a pill just to get out of bed in the morning.

I wanted to lament and cry to the world about how everything is so hard and why can't I just ask the doctor, "Why can't I sleep?" And have him respond with, "You will, after I wave my magic wand and click my heels together three times."

PMDD. Ever heard of that? I had and for many years I thought I might have it. I googled the crap out of it and denied myself help because I am so anti-labelling.

Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder.

That's the new me. Just a girl, a mom, a wife. A woman with raging, uncontrollable PMS and.......

.....and that's not all.

"You have anxiety," he said to me.

"Um, yes, I know," I replied.

"No. You have an anxiety disorder. And it's keeping you up at night."

"Yes........I know."

The realization that this was in fact what was keeping me up at night finally being said out loud, by me, was the scariest thing I think I have ever done.

Besides writing this all out, of course.

That doesn't mean anything though when I sat firmly upon my pedestal and announced that I refused to be medicated. "There has to be another way," I said to him.

He shook his head no. "Take this prescription. Go home and talk to your husband. Take some time to let it sink in. If you decide not to take the pills then call me and we'll talk. Otherwise I'll see you in a month."

I took that prescription out of his hand, shoved it into my bag, walked to my car, closed the door and screamed.

I screamed at him. I screamed at the world. I screamed at stupid Willacy, I screamed at my kids and the man, I screamed at God. At life. At messed up menstrual cycles and messed up heads...

If mind over matter could have triumphed that day I would have minded that matter right in the youknowwhat.

I have always wanted to use the word gobsmacked. I think this is as good a time as any.

The drive home was long and confusing. I needed to talk to the man. And later that evening I complained about how silly the whole thing was. "What do I do?" I asked him. You see, I had PMS that day and felt completely incapable of deciding what to make for dinner never mind whether or not I should start pumping anti-anxiety meds into my system.

"Well," he said, "I'll tell you what you'll do..."

3 million percent. part 1

Oh mercy, where do I start? So much to say, so much to catch up on. I think I'll start filling you in and when this post gets too long I'll throw in a cliffhanger and you'll be dying until I come back and tell you more.

Yep, that's what we'll do.

So, here we go.

Telling you this feels a lot like peeing with the door open. Youknowwhatimean? I'm putting it out there. All in. Totally honest. I prefer to be that way, it's easier than trying to keep things that I really don't mind talking about to myself. Hopefully this doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. Even if it does, you'll keep reading, because that's what people do. They take solace in other people's dysfunction.

Amiright?

I have hesitated saying anything for a variety of reasons. At first it was shock and then it was denial and then it was acceptance. But I was too busy to give it the attention it deserves.

I have some time now, so...shall we?

Remember when I would blog about how I never slept and then I took that goofy sleep test? The results came in. And those results sent my life down a completely different path than anything I could have possibly anticipated.

On August 21 I went to meet with a sleep doctor. Did you know that sleep doctors are psychiatrists? I didn't know, until half way through our little discussion that he was a psychiatrist, and I was shocked when I found out.

I don't know why.

He told me that I did not have sleep apnea but that clearly something was causing my insomnia. He then proceeded asking me 1000 questions and with every answer I could see him pulling thoughts from the inner recesses of his mind. Changing courses of questioning as we went. I spent the most of the time wondering where the heck this was going.

After 45 minutes he told me I had three options.

1. Come into the clinic and do the $800 over night sleep test that would confirm I did not have sleep apnea.

We both agreed this would be a waste of time and money.

2. Allow him to diagnose me. Allow him to treat me. Meet monthly until we both agree that we are treating the right thing and go from there.

3. Do nothing. Live a tired sleepy life. Attempt to cope.

I asked him what he would do. He said he believed he could help. He said he wanted me to let him try.

I was too tired to argue...

the mysteries of the universe

My latest pieces are up at Art a la Carte. Good thing too since I've been so neglectful of this here blog.

I'm writing a paper on the mysteries of the universe and I'm having a dickens of a time since I find the universe to be so confusing and all.

So, go read these for now and remember to hug your people after. Tell them you love them because apparently one of the mysteries of the universe is cancer.

The Loneliness 

and

And So Am I...

the healing powers of honey boo boo

Is there a condition where one is incapable of learning a new language? Cuz...I think I have it. I'm pretty sure I failed my Italian exam yesterday and it put me in a mood for the rest of the day.

And not a good mood.

I was pretty bummed about how baffling the entire experience was. But I don't want to talk about it.

Have you ever had a moment when you totally doubted your own abilities? It's not even a 'can I do this?' It's a full blown 'I can not do this.'

Yesterday I doubted that I can do it. And yes, I said I didn't want to talk about it but I totally lied.

Last night I asked the man if he thought it was possible to be incapable of learning a new language. I was looking for an answer that involved more of the "not for you, love. You can do anything you set your mind to." And not the answer I got which was "Yep, totally."

I may have watched all the faith I had in myself drain out of me and onto the floor.

So then I moped. And fretted. And wondered how likely it is that I will not be able to pass this class.

Woe is me.

But then we watched some Honey Boo Boo to drown the sorrows because, seriously, watching that show makes me think anything is possible.

And then there was the epiphany.

If a show like Honey Boo Boo can be made then I can learn Italian.

This is just simple logic.

what the acca?

Acca is H in Italian. In case the title was confusing unto you.

This is gonna be quick since I have an Italian test tomorrow and another an exam on Thursday and I AM FREAKING OUT about the entire thing.

This is the problem. I feel old and rusty. My brain has been sitting around, shrinking and growing, dying and regenerating and just plain old being dysfunctional for the past 15 years. And now, all of a sudden, I'm asking it to retain stuff.

Like a whole other language.

It's hard, I'm forgetful and out of intellectual shape. My brain is sore.

So, I've sort of been ignoring the bloggy blog and I think it's because I have so much to say and I don't know where to start. And then there's the whole school thing and the 4 kids thing and the house thing and that bloody awful thing we call the laundry.

The laundry is a sneaky branch of the Satan tree that sneaks up on you and demands to be washed and then mocks you mercilessly as you fold it all for 90 minutes late on a Sunday night because not only do the kids need clean clothes for school but so do I!

You are an evil awful thing, laundry, and I will never defeat you. Can I call Uncle?

I am skipping my institute class right now to babysit this little dude while his madre works up at the temple.

Did you catch that? I threw some Italian in there for you. I hope you're impressed. I know I am.

The temple open house starts today and the bad news is that the temple isn't done. (So much bold and italics, I'm feeling extra dramatic today.) Anyway, I don't care that it isn't done. It will get done and I am excited to see it tonight. We get to sneak in with all the neighbours on this special neighbour sneak peak day.

Anyway, off I go to memorize io's and tu's and lui/lei's and why the heck do Italians need so many rules to speak?

Cielo abbi pieta.

How do you do the little accents on this laptop? Anyone??

22 pounds...down

So it's taken a couple of months but it's finally arrived. Another ten pound weight loss. Actually it's 12 that's gone. I said I would check in every 10 but today marked 22 pounds down and so here I am. Checking in.

It sure is slow going, let me tell you. But it's all going in the right direction so there will be no kicking any gift horses around here.

I did want 30 off by my birthday which is very quickly creeping up on me. It'll be close, I'll try really hard. I promise.

My birthday is only 3 and a half weeks away. I have 8 more pounds to lose by then. It can be done.

There is something that I can't get off my mind though. There is a brother/sister duo in my Italian class that are from Tunisia North Africa. They were saying in our last class that they would take a fishing boat and row to Sicily for the day just for fun. I need to know, why would anyone leave that and come to Canada? Why would you leave the most beautiful place on the planet and come to this cold country THAT ISN'T ITALY!?

Someone ask him and let me know. I would ask him but he might be the most annoying person I have ever encountered and I prefer not to look at him.

Yes, these are the things that I ponder whilst lying awake night after night. Speaking of lying awake, I have lots to tell you on the matter of my personal insomnia. And I will. When I find my inner courageous beast. I think she's hibernating deep within my soul.

Stay tuned.

what is this? a broadway musical?

Part 1

Picture it. If you will. A university theatre with hundreds of seats bolted to the floor. The room is almost full of very young people. I am also in the room. I am not so young but I am younger than the old guy who is clearly ancient so I'm still young...ish. On this day, which was yesterday, I decided to sit up closer to the front because it turns out I'm not as young as I think I am. My eyes don't work like they used to and this professor uses an overhead projector.

Yes, you heard me right. An overhead projector. With transparencies. It's like I stepped back in time. My time. When I actually was young.

If you don't know what this is, google it.

So I sit on the second row. There are 175 young people behind me. With their fresh ears and fresh eyes. We are waiting for the class to start. Most of us are on our smart phones or laptops answering facebook messages and texts and other various important things.

The professor walks in, makes his way down the long stairs to the front, he puts a CD into a CD player. Yes, I said CD and CD player. Stop interrupting.

The William Tell Overture comes blasting out of this tiny machine. It's blaring and I can see clearly that this has bolstered the professor's enthusiasm for what's about to happen next. He begins to talk. He's yelling, actually. He's a yeller, it's how he teaches. He's a passionate man, what can I say? I can see his mouth moving and I do hear every 7th word when he happens to pass in front of me in his crazed pacing. All I can hear for certain, though, is the infernal music. He's throwing his hands around. He's flushed. His body language is telling me that he is a true believer of what he is professing.

He is pacing, pacing, pacing.

All I can think is that if I'm on the second row and I can't hear him then when is one of the young people in the back going to do something about this insanity?

After a moment the professor looks up into the audience, never pausing with his words, and notices that someone has their hand up. He yells out to them, "Yes, I love comments! Go ahead."

The comment maker says something no one can understand due to the racket coming from the CD player.

The professor puts his hand to his ear and yells, "What was that? Speak louder!"

The comment maker repeats herself.

The professor shakes his head, he does not understand, he can not hear. He says, "Let me turn the music off, I can't hear you."

He walks to the other end of the room and turns the music off. He asks the comment maker to repeat herself, again. "What did you say?"

She yells back, "I said....I can't hear you!"

I love this class.

Part 2

Later in the class he sings Doing What Comes Naturally from Annie Get Your Gun.

And asks for audience participation. To which he gets some.

As we leave he presses play on his CD player. And once again the William Tell Overture comes blaring out.

Fade out...


Part 3

Things I learned in University this week:
I can count to 20 in Italian.
I can say the alphabet in Italian.
I can tell you who I am, where I`m from, where I live, and what I do. In Italian.
I can tell you where every single toilet is, but not in Italian, between where I walk in the doors and where my furthest class is. This old lady pees a lot.

chicken nuggets and bruce springsteen

Mi chiamo Catherine. Ciao.

Today I had my first day of university in 18 years.

How crazy is that??

It was no big deal, really. I'm learning Italian so it's only the biggest deal ever.

Last week I was a ball of nerves about the whole darn thing. Every time I thought about it I got the trots.

There was a lot of trotting last week.

To help alleviate some of the trotting nervousness I physically went to the University and found my classes. And then I pulled out my handy iPhone and timed myself getting from one class to the next. The fact that the only two classes I have are separated by a measly 10 minutes left me and my big tushy reeling.

It takes four minutes and 52 seconds to walk from one class to the next.

My big tushy can handle that. There is, however, some sweat involved which, last I heard, was good for big tushies becoming smaller tushies.

I knuckled up, like Rocky, and after class I hit the bookstore to get my text books.

It was Xanax worthy.

And as I was standing in line waiting to pay $275 for two classes worth of text books I had the thought that it is a good thing I do not have a prescription for Xanax or, I think it's safe to say, I'd be a zombie by the end of this ordeal.

I listened to We Take Care of Our Own by the Boss all the way there. By the time I got there I was so pumped up I could have cleaned Rocky's clock.

And then I made chicken nuggets and french fries for dinner.

It's going to be a crazy busy year. Crazy. And busy. And it might just be awesome.

where's catherine?

Yesterday I guest posted over at Mommy's Weird. She's a little off but so am I so we mesh. I first "met" her online when I dissed a radio personality here in Calgary and she agreed all radio personalities have massive egos and are hard to argue with because they think they are so hot.

And then I found out she's a radio personality.

Whoops.

She probably doesn't remember that.......

Anyway, I wrote a post and stuck it on her blog. Go read it.

everywhere a cluck cluck

Recently the man discovered the wonder and amazement that is the iPhone. He loves it as much as I do. In fact, I think it might be safe to say, he loves it more than he loves me.

Or he did, at first. Until he realized, after watching a youtube video about welding really loud in bed one night and it made me so mad I left the room and watched tv until 1 am, that I make a better bed partner in the long run than his silly iPhone.

Anyway, I introduced him to Words With Friends. Which I really like but am not awesome at, despite the fact that I consider myself to be wordsmith of sorts.

Okay, no I don't.

Okay, yes I do.

I was highly addicted to Draw Something once for 42 hours but after I'd drawn a campfire for the 70th bazillion time and the guesser guessed it before I even started I knew the game was stupid and I abandoned 19 games.

If you were one of them then I am deeply apologetic.

Okay, no I'm not.

Words With Friends, however is the one game I have stuck with through thick and thin. And now, the man likes it too. We always have two games going at the same time. Once, when he was getting so whooped by my wordsmithy ways, he resigned. I countered that attack by resigning a game after he scored like 9000 points with one word. He was flabbergasted and I was all "Oh, you don't like how that feels?? Well buster, in this house we don't resign, no matter how bad we're losing. Capiche?"

He saw the error of his ways and instead of resigning he's just stepped up his game. But now he's hard to beat.

Seriously though, how am I supposed to get ahead when I'm dealing with this?



It's like a super lame version of Old MacDonald Had a Farm. And I've been dealing with it for the last four moves.

He thinks he's such hot stuff with that score. But I can't compete when all I see is a cluck cluck here and a cluck cluck there. Here a cluck there a cluck. Everywhere a....

insanity

The best way to predict future behaviour is past behaviour.

Someone said that once. Not sure who. I will insert disclaimer here: it wasn’t me. But I heard it and I remember it and it’s the gosh darn truth.

Someone also said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result every time.

So, now that you have these two tidbits of stellar advice staring up at you let me tell you this about myself. I am insane. And my past behaviour indicates that I will be insane for the rest of my life. For example; and believe me, I have plenty of examples. There are six people in my house. Four of them are children. Which leaves two adults.

Me and the man.

Since there are so many children, on occasion, I feel the urge to go out. Or get out? Or break out? Escape? However you say it, you know what I mean: get some fresh air, see a movie, run some errands, stare at a brick wall.

I’m easy.

Most of the time, when I leave, I have the other adult in charge. And most of the time, when I come home, the kitchen looks like a bomb went off in it. Yes, I said “bomb went off”. It might sound cliché but it isn’t, really. It’s a fair and accurate depiction of what my kitchen looks like upon my arrival home. (And if you are a woman then I believe you know what I’m referring to. And if you don’t then you can just suck it.)

I gave up years ago asking why he didn’t lift a finger to clean the kitchen and it’s because the answers aggravate me. If you don’t want to know the answer you don’t ask the question. Our mothers taught us that, am I right?

Where is this going? Indulge me.

This summer was busy, as are most summers, but this one especially. There were a couple of times I took the four children away from the house for an extended period of time, on my own, for a holiday, leaving the man at home, alone.

Alone, at home. Just him. By himself.

Each time I went away I missed him tremendously. Thinking about him lovingly and longingly. My nerves bouncing around my gut awaiting the moment I walk through the door and fall into his warm embrace. Listening giddily as he whispers in my ear things like “I could hardly breathe while you were gone. You are my heart and soul.” And “You are so beautiful, I missed you so badly I ached inside.” And “When you take the children away from me and leave me in this great big cavernous house all alone to fend for myself, I have all kinds of time to marvel at your amazing skills and talents as the mother of my children.”

I may have an over active imagination. Or I may have spent too much time reading Outlander. Never you mind.

I drive home from these somewhat painful excursions to my love as fast as the law will allow me and come running through the door expecting my visions of grandiose love to become a reality. But instead, I get smacked in the face by my kitchen. A crime scene, so to speak. Where a mass murder of dishes/plates/bowls/utensils has occurred on the counter. The dishwasher having been spared this grotesque nightmare. Salsa moulding in the sink. The casualties are endless.

And so is my dismay.

Because this is how it always is. And past behaviour has shown me that this is how it always will be. But the fact that I envision something entirely different every single time I leave him at home with or without the children only to find that upon my return I can’t speak for hours until the fury within my soul has burned its burn goes to show that I am insane.

Insanity isn’t easy, I’ll have you know. In fact, it’s exhausting.

I am a tired woman.

i'm back, i think.

All right. I'm back. And I's gots all kinds of stuff I wanna say.

Come back tomorrow and maybe I'll say some of it.

Maybe. Or maybe not.

But probably.

We'll see...

she's taking a break.....she needs a break.

If you can name the movie the title of this post is from then you win the big prize!

Name that movie!




Soooo..........I'm taking a break from the blogging, as you can tell.

I'm just not so sure anymore.......

Maybe it's the summer. Maybe it's not. Maybe it's just me being moody. I think for August I'll be done and see how I feel in September.

Have a great couple of weeks until the dreaded 's' word starts.



Seriously though, name the movie.

russian polygamist gypsies

It's Friday. Again. How does it get to Friday so fast? You would think it's a good thing but it's really not when you look back at the week and wonder what the heck you did all week.

Hmmm, let's see. Yep, that's what I thought. I did nothing.

It's hot outside, yo. And as much as I like the heat when I'm on holidays it turns out I'm one gigantic baby when it comes to being baked inside my house all day.

Go outside? Are you insane? It's really hot outside. Why would I do that? Besides the fact that this family of mine is so lazy it's a bit humiliating actually. We really need to be more active but alas.....

So this is what kept my mind occupied this week:

The landscaping at the temple is seriously underway and I can hear the big machines moving all day long. I can't wait until it's done, it will be so beautiful. And quiet.

I spent no less than 9 hours trying to organize my university schedule. It was hard and exhausting. And it was for only TWO classes. I don't remember registering for school to be so time consuming and tricky...in the days of yore.

I was having a hard time picking the classes that fit in the Intercultural requirement. Turns out I need 4 and the choices were not my cup of tea, which would explain why I need so many. I have already taken all the 'extra' courses that interest me. Now all that's left is the mandatory communication courses and this intercultural stuff.

So...a few weeks ago I picked some classes that fit the schedule pretty well and then let it bother me for weeks that I wasn't excited about either of them. This week I sat back down and stared at the computer endlessly researching every choice I had and being disappointed with them all.

Canadian studies? Really now. No thanks. The History of Taiwan? Why does such a class even exist?

No offense to Taiwan.

I do have the option of learning another language but I dismissed it because......

I don't know what that because is. Because it's every single week day. And I was trying to avoid that. Being a part time student, in my mind, did not involve going to the university every single day.

But, apparently it does, because I am learning Italian. And, well, I'll be. I am freaking excited about it.

In 2007, the man and I went to Italy and it was there that I decided that learning Italian would be the coolest thing ever. I stuck it on my bucket list. So I'm not sure why I pushed the opportunity away when it was thrown at me and stared me in the face and gave me the stink eye while I researched taking The Age of Totalitarianism.

What was I thinking?

So I changed the schedule. I do have to go every single day but I get to learn Italian which will most likely give me an air of mystique that will intrigue people more so than my mystique-y air-y-ness already does.

And I'm excited, which is sort of the point, is it not?

Anyway, I wasn't even going to tell you about that but it just slipped out.

My laptop is doing this thing where the cursor jumps around while I'm typing and my sentences get all jumbled and it's not only confusing but really aggravating and I want it to just fix itself so I stop raging.

The other night I was called in to see a member of our Bishopric to get a new calling (job at church). I hate new calling day. Everyone spends new calling day praying for a calling they want and not a calling they know they hate.

Once again, God is sticking it to me because I was asked to do the calling I have hated most in my life to date. I can't say what it is yet but I can say that when he asked me to do it I could hardly contain my physical response. My head rolled back and my face went all ragey and I fought back the urge to scream,

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

And then I said yes. I would never say no to a calling but man oh man, may heaven have mercy, I could not hide how I felt about it.

And then, to kick me while I was down and make me feel about 2 inches tall, he asked me to speak in church in Sunday. You'll never guess the topic.

Yep, humility. That's right. Message received.

Loud and clear.

I have this friend named Jessica, or Jess. We met when she moved here in grade 7. She introduced me to Cadbury Mini Eggs back in the day when you could only get them at Easter.

She writes this quirky little blog and today it made me laugh real hard-like at 7:15am. I'm not sure how she swings it but she lives a life that leaves her with the best stories to tell. She takes the best trips. She builds the coolest houses and she may be the only person who moves as much as I do. She's a whirlwind of entertainment.

Today, in her blog, in an oh so casual sort of way, she told a story about how she was driving along with her family in the mountains and decided to stop at a remote hot pool and who just happened to be there? But a group of Russian Polygamist Gypsies. And she said it like "oh...look who's here? It's those Russian Polygamist Gypsies we all hear so much about."

I mean, seriously??

Only Jess.

once there was a standoff...

So the other day I noticed some police cars sitting in the parking lot of the church across the street from my house. I thought nothing of it.

And then I lost my voice and was overcome with a fatigue so complete I thought I was asleep when really I was awake.

And then I had to go to Ghost Dam and pick up the man and it was all I could do to not fold in on myself and scream 'uncle' to the sleep Gods.

Upon reentering my house I asked him to make food for the children, he inquired about all the police cars and now a fire truck and a giant motor home type police mobile unit thingy across the street. I responded, in a sexy and sultry yet slightly husky voice, with a flippant "I don't know, maybe it's a standoff," and then I dragged my sorry butt up to bed where I promptly succumbed to sleep even if it was only for one hour. You see, I can't even nap right.

Later, the man came up and said a friend had called and said he saw on the news that there was a standoff nearby.

Well, of course there was. And I knew exactly where it was since I had been watching it all day. Never mind the fact that as far as standoffs go this one was lackluster at best. So I came downstairs with my iPhone and decided to pay closer attention since I had verifiable proof that a standoff was in fact happening.

I decided to live tweet and facebook the event since I was pretty sure that in not doing so I would grow old and die with regret.

So I watched and I watched and I had a few thoughts:
- if this was in fact a serious standoff wouldn't the police seem a little more...I don't know, serious? Instead of all the "hanging out" they were doing?
- if this was a serious standoff, wouldn't the police ask the guy with the kid on the pink bike with training wheels to maybe take it elsewhere?
- if this was a serious standoff would they let people walk their dogs within distance of getting their heads blown off?
-wouldn't there be a swat team or something equally as cool?

After I started to doubt this alleged standoffs existence I decided to check the news. After all, isn't that what serious reporters do? They make broad announcements all over the interwebs and then check their facts? All the local news had ended so I had the man check online for some info. He read to me what he found and the info he read told me that either the news people had their location wrong or the standoff was in fact NOT at the church but close by and the church was the staging area.

Oh brother.

And then there was a super cranky, detail obsessed, anal retentive woman on twitter who was so hung up on my wrong details that she made sure I knew it every 2 seconds until I called twitter 'uncle' and begged her to relax. At which point she did, thank the heavens. Who has that kind of energy anyway?

So I called off the live tweeting because there was nothing going on from my vantage point. Which is a borderline tragedy. It isn't everyday you get to live tweet a standoff.

And then I reminisced about the time when I was a kid and one morning my mum told me that our neigbour two doors down had sniper shot his wife through her windshield as she was coming home the night before. He then hid out in his house until the swat team tear gassed him out after a standoff with police.

And I was perturbed because she let us sleep through that.

And now I wonder why the standoff Gods keep me away from all the excitement. Is there no justice?

life's greatest question

Holiday Mondays don't mean the same for me as they mean for you. And this is why....

Last night the man was answering emails and then he turned to me and said, "What are you doing tomorrow?"

He never asks me this because I think he typically knows what I am doing at any given time. And due to my not secret disdain for busy, crowded places, especially busy, crowded places on really hot days, it's a safe bet I will be at home, where it's only slightly crowded.

And hot.

I didn't respond fast enough to his inquiry for his liking and I think I mumbled out a question, mostly taken off guard by his inquisitiveness into my daily happenings, and said something like, "why do you ask?"

To which he responded with, "I think I'm going to go to work." Like there was any doubt as to where the man was going to be today.

At this point he got up and went to bed. After which ensued a really irritating texting convo I won't bore you with.

The point being, and who I am kidding, there is no point but regardless, I found it weird that he asked me my plans and that he also announced he would be working. So my super sleuth senses started to tingle and I wondered what the root of this conversation was.

The root is simple, he is working because he can and because he hasn't worked since Thursday.

So why all the chit chat? Don't ask me because I simply don't know.

What I do know is that on Saturday I had a day off from work. Amelia said, "A day off from what work?" I sighed and maybe rolled my eyes. Yes, I rolled my eyes. I then began the planning of how much I could cram into one day and how long I could stay away before the people sent out a search party.

I gave two instructions to the man before I left for my day.

One, pack the tent into the bag for me.

This is how I camp. I pack us all up. I set up the tent. I camp with kids alone for days. I throw everything into the truck and return home where I proceed to do 20 loads of laundry. What? You don't believe me? Well......you probably shouldn't. It was more like 7. Or 20.

The man always packs the tent away for me. He's good that way and saves me the serious headache of trying to maneuver the tent back into the too small bag it came in.

So that was the first instruction. Which didn't happen.

The second was to keep the freshly cleaned kitchen clean. I cleaned it. It was clean. Just keep it that way.

Now the tent? That may have been asking too much but he agreed so I went with it. But the kitchen? Keeping an already clean kitchen clean? Come on now.......

He had the boys unload the dishwasher. It was empty. And every plate and cup and utensil we owned was either in the sink or on the counter.

Okay, again with the over exaggeration. Not every single plate and cup and utensil. It may as well have been though. It was a disaster.

Now not that it was all his fault. I did come home and get him and take him on a date with me. So he wasn't here but the children were and they were doing their darndest to aggravate me with the undoing of my clean kitchen.

Where am I going with this? Well, lets see. I am going insane with this. Trying to find the fine line between doing my job as mommy and housewife and being dumped upon with disregard and dis-courteousness is hard. It's chore unto itself.

The line is fine. So fine I think it's made of fishing wire. No one can see it but me. But that's because I am the only one paying attention.

And this, my friends, is life's greatest question. Not where did we come from? Or where are we going? Or how are babies made? Or why is the tent so hard to get back into the bag? Or are overalls cool again?

It's 'why am I the only one paying attention around here?' Asked by yours truly. Every single day of my life.

There is no garbage bag in the garbage so instead of putting one in let's just dump our garbage all over. Someone will come and clean it up.

I want microwave popcorn so instead of unwrapping it and and throwing the plastic out I will leave it here on the counter and someone will come over here and clean it up.

Instead of hanging my wet towel on one of the two racks that someone has lovingly provided I will leave it on the floor and someone will come and hang it up.

Instead of putting my shoes on one of the numerous shoe racks in the house that someone has so strategically placed for the convenience of others I will leave them on the floor and then yell at the dog when she eats them.

Well that someone has something to say on the matter. And it's going to be said in a family meeting this evening. And it's going to accomplish one of two things. Either the people in this house will start to "pay attention" and do their share or a certain someone will be spending a lot less time cooking food she doesn't eat and washing clothes she doesn't wear and cleaning up the popcorn mess of which she did not eat one single kernel. That someone will be spending more time reading her book and writing her book and doing what she wants since doing what we want seems to be the acceptable form of behaviour around this particular establishment.

I will keep you posted. But in the meantime, here is some food for thought. Overalls are not cool or cute and in all honesty, never were. Unless you are under two and they are corduroy and say something like Osh Kosh on them.

Carry on.






Post edit: as I was writing this very post the man came home from work to get a tool and while he was here, without being asked, he put the tent into its too small bag. He wasn't asked or reminded. He just did it. So although it's two days late it's done and I don't feel like strangling him with the fine line. Anymore. For awhile, anyway. Until I trip on that fine line again, which I expect to happen at any moment........

end of camping thoughts on a friday and such

It's Friday today. Who knew? You probably knew. Time doesn't exist when I am camping with the kids. I have missed the camping so much. We missed the last two summers because of a little nightmare called Willacy. Remember Willacy? Well, don't. We're moving on.

I think, if there was no bickering ever, I could camp endlessly. Endless amounts of camping. In a beautiful spot with a beautiful lake. Some food and some friends and some books and I would be good for a very long time. But maybe I would need more opportunity to shower my body if I was somewhere for an extended period of time.

It is here I would normally mention that Wasa has no showers and so I didn't shower for over a week and it was gross.

But I wouldn't want you to know that about me so I won't mention it.

I mean, I did clean myself. Just not traditionally. And since the man wasn't with me I didn't bother shaving. At all. Ever.

It reminded me of the time I worked at a Young Offender Wilderness camp for a month. Talk about grungy and dirty and all kinds of foul. Except then I came home every 5 days to shower and clean up.

At Wasa......nope. Just real outback kind of dirty.

It was liberating. And awesome. Try it.

Or don't. Whatever, I don't care,

I'm off the rails, as per usual. Anyway, I get so lost in time. The days melt into each other. The same routine, if you want it. Or not, if that's what you want. No schedule, no deadlines, no one telling you you have to be somewhere.

It's glorious.

We had a great time. I think, though, my kids are getting to that age where just being with me all the time isn't working for them. I force my kids to spend a lot of time together and it used to be great. But now I am seeing that they need more than just me and each other. They get tired of each other. Bored. I may need to coerce another family to come with me next year.

I love my kids but I feel their pain with all the togetherness. I think I have spent entirely too much time alone with them this summer. We could all use a break. I am taking one tomorrow. They have all been informed.

I missed the man tons. Like a lot.We didn't speak once while I was gone. We texted lots but not hearing his voice does all kinds of crazy things to my brain. I have bad dreams about him flaunting his new $1100 tattoo at church. These dreams make me wake at all crazy hours of the night fuming mad.

(He does not have tattoos, mum. No need to worry.)

When I texted him to tell him how angry I was that he would get a full back tattoo of a Popeye anchor and not tell me, he texted back and said not to worry, he would never get an anchor tattoo.

He would have got the Hamburglar instead.



My tent is so tall that even on my tippy toes I can not reach the roof. I know you were wondering, just too polite to ask.

I did not miss the puppy though, not one little bit. In fact, I never swore once, in my head or out loud the entire time I was gone. Since I've been home I am feeling all trucker talk urges returning to my soul.

This doggy is beeping annoying. Beepity beep beep beep.

I'm sad about how fast the summer is going but I think it's only because once September hits things are going to explode into a chaotic, frenzied, whirlwind of craziness around here. It scares me a little wondering if I will be able to get everything done and still have the house standing at the end of the day.

If you are wondering about my opinion on the book Outlander, and I know the majority of you are dying to know, this is it, in a nutshell:

Although it was the silliest book I have ever read in my entire life, I will admit to being 100% entertained 85% of the time. The day I finished it I did walk, in all my shame, into the book store and buy book number 2.

Yes, I did. I am sorry. And embarrassed. But it's summer. Silly reads on the beach are how it rolls, are they not?

If you read it, you will start to hear all your thoughts in a Scottish accent. And if you are anything like me then you will start to voice those thoughts out loud but you'll sound more like a pirate than a Scotsman. And when the cashier asks you "is that all?" and you respond with an "Aye..." then you'll know it's time to take a break and maybe find another grown up to talk to.

That is all I am going to say on the matter.

Talk about reading....I think this kid of mine knows how to do it right. She was living the dream whilst camping.

My dream........

She has a hard life, no?