Monday, December 8, 2008

I Have A Person

I love the show Grey's Anatomy. I love Cristina and Meredith's relationship. Right now they are fighting. But I think they will make it. Because they are each other's persons. Quotes from the show that I love:

Cristina: "Mer, why do you care what I think?"
Meredith: "Because you're my person!"

Dr. Torres: "Anyone ever think you two are a couple?"
Meredith: "No, because we screw boys like whores on tequila..."
Cristina: "...then we either try to marry them or drown ourselves."
Dr. Torres: "Huh..."

"You're all dark and twisty inside."

"If I murdered someone she’s the person I’d call to help me drag the corpse across the living room floor."

I have a person. Finally. Someone who will accept my flaws and love me anyway. Who will call me out on my crap and know that it won't ruin our friendship. Complete honesty, no bullshit. Sometimes it sucks, but mostly it's wonderful. Because I know I can tell her anything. She will listen to me if I ask her to and not judge. Or she will judge the hell out of me and keep me in line. And I try to do the same for her.

My only concern is that I work with her. And in the past, when I have had friends at work, when we stop working together, the friendship dissolves. Most times because neither person pursued the friendship, but a few times where I flat out did not respond to the efforts of the other person. And yet I complain about not having someone! Anyway, I just wasn't "feeling" it, and I didn't want it to be forced. Of course right now I feel like that could never happen with my person, but that's because we see each other every day and I cannot imagine my life without her. We shall see.

At this time, I am just ecstatic about have a person.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Lost Innocence

Have you ever seen the movie Nemo? It's a cute Disney movie about a fish who gets separated from his dad and their journey to find each other.

However, in the first scene of the movie, Nemo's mother and all her baby eggs (except for Nemo's egg) get eaten by this eel thing. It's so violent! So I decided I NEVER EVER wanted The Boy to watch that scene. Whenever he watched that movie, we skipped the first scene and just started the movie on Nemo's first day of school.

So they showed the movie at school the other day. And started it from the beginning.

The Boy came home and said something about Nemo's mother and I swear I thought my head might snap right off my neck as I whipped my head around and incredulously exclaimed, "WHAT?!?" How could they show this tragedy to my BABY?!? He was obviously going to be scarred for life now.

He is fine. Duh. I'm still a little traumatized.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Fresh Start

I have been considering starting a new blog and not telling anyone I know IRL about it. No offense to those who know me and read this. I feel like I cannot truly be myself. Although the first reason I am blogging is to have stories for The Boy to remember, the second reason is for myself to have a place to be comfortable expressing myself. And I'm not.

Not In Kansas Anymore

Kansas is gone. She was not being a good kitty. It's not like we weren't thinking she wasn't going to have any kitten traits. We were fully expecting her to climb up in high places, chew on paper, scratch our couch. We were NOT expecting to have a fetish for all things electric.

The cat liked to shock herself. She chewed up our ethernet cable. She chewed up my charger to my iPhone. She chewed the cable connecting the keyboard to the computer. That one caused a good shock, complete with foaming at the mouth.

We didn't even have her that long. And yet she caused us several hundreds of dollars in damages. We honestly couldn't afford to keep her.

The Boy was very sad. But I think he understood. He doesn't seem to miss her very much, he doesn't mention her.

There is some good news in all of this. The people we got her from still had her brothers and sisters and they gladly took her back. So at least she's not dead.

Monday, October 6, 2008

It's Nothing Like I Thought It Was Going To Be

I am so not into my work today. My brother is here today. And really, it is not bothering me. It IS strange to see him. His body is that of an adult, but I still see my kid brother. His voice is deep, but to me it sounds like he’s trying to make it that way, because I remember him with a pre-pubescent squeaky voice.

I figured out what is really bothering me through all of this, which is that my parents do not understand me. The Man went to lunch with my dad about three weeks ago and the conversation turned to me and The Man mentioned how difficult this transition was for me. My dad flipped out and said I ASKED HER IF THIS WAS OKAY WITH HER. HOW CAN I TRUST ANYTHING SHE SAYS TO ME?

The Man said wait a minute, calm down. It IS okay with her, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy for her. He said that my parents don’t provide a safe environment for me to express myself with them which is why I didn’t elaborate on my feelings, but that it is something I want dearly and if only he and my mom would take the time to sit down and talk to me. I don’t think my dad heard a word The Man said.

Three weeks later, and no attempt has been made to discuss anything with me. That makes me think they just flat out don’t care about having a truly open and honest relationship with me.

My dad calls me into his office last week and says, “We’re having a family meeting next Saturday. You need to get a baby-sitter for The Boy. I’m going to say my piece and anyone else who wants to talk can do so. But as head of this family, I’m going to go first. You and your brother, although you are our children, you are not kids anymore, and you need to start treating each other as adults. We will discuss the ground rules.”

What any of this means, I have no clue. I think he thinks I have a problem with my brother because him being here is hard for me. I think he may want us to like “work it out” or something on Saturday. Really, though, by not understanding that any transition with a family member would be complicated, my dad has now changed the focus. Whereas I used to be thinking, Hey, my brother is coming back, there’s a lot of baggage there, etc. everything else that goes with it, now it’s like HEY RED FLAG, YOU’RE PARENTS HAVE NOT THE SLIGHTEST CLUE WHAT YOU ARE GOING THROUGH. And that’s really the hard part of this for me.

So I went to the therapist today (thanks to my person). I went with the intention of finding out how to communicate with my parents about who I really am. He always gives me great communication tools and I figured, once I was armed with whatever that was, I could fix this relationship problem with my parents and move on. I was looking forward to actually having a close relationship with my parents after he gave me the tools to do this. Here is what he said:

“You’re parents are not going to understand you.”

Wow. I was shocked. That was the farthest answer from my head. It never even occurred to me that this could be a possibility.

I was like, Um, what? And he said, “If you’re parents are not willing to be part of this, you can’t do anything to show them who you really are. They have an idea in their ‘box’ of who you are. You don’t fit into that shape, and that’s not going to change unless they decide to change their way of thinking, which they appear to have no desire to do at this point in time.”

My parents have no desire to change and get to know who their daughter actually is, which is way better than the idea they have of who I am. And I have to accept this.

Now I have something completely new to get over. Forget about re-accepting my brother into my life, and now his wife, who is a complete stranger, and oh, by the way, she’s having a baby. And my parents paid for them to move out here, and they are living with my parents, and my dad’s business is going to pay for their health insurance because we can’t have her going to county doctors, mom is going to take her to doctor appointments (she never came with me), all of this when they theoretically couldn’t “afford” to buy The Boy pants, The Boy now has to share his grandparents, etc. But I can easily move past all of that.

But accepting the fact that my parents are not a safe place to express myself. That’s painful to my very core.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Not Enough Wine For This

A million things are running through my head at this point.

Hitting something.
Tell him I'll quit.
Tell him he's crazy.
Tell him HELL NO.
Tell him that's a bad idea.
Don't sound selfish.
He thinks you're selfish.
Do the right thing.
What's the right thing?
What did he say?!?
Why does he want that?
I didn't know he wanted to run his business INTO THE GROUND.
Be diplomatic.

Okay, I stuck with the diplomatic. I had to respond soon or he would know something was up.

"Uuuuuummmmm, I guess it would be fine." I tread carefully. "You know, I realize that I'm going to have to work with people I don't trust, so I'll just have to treat him as a co-worker at this point I guess." Meaning I don't trust him but I would be willing to work with him.

"Okay great!" Is his reply. I guess I gave the "right" answer.

Stupid me. I didn't even stop to think that this would mean he will be here for things like FAMILY EVENTS.

The next day he comes in all excited. Your mother is so happy to have her son back.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

The Basics

My brother got married in February of this year. Here is what I understand from the stories I heard from my parents, who flew out to go to the wedding. Her sister HAS her two front teeth (and that's it), and has a couple of kids with different dads. The girl my brother married, her parents are divorced and alcoholics and stuff. And I think she lives with these people who she calls mom and dad, the dad is a pastor. That's what I know. No judging on any of that stuff, just saying what it is. Depending on what my brother told her, he could seem like a real prize compared to all that.

I DON'T know what my brother has told her about his life. So far I could have cared less.

My grandparents, after much back and forth, have recently been including my parents in correspondence and they've been going to lunches with them. Of course, NOBODY THINKS TO INCLUDE ME IN THIS REPARATION OF RELATIONSHIPS. I'm left behind. Recently, my shrink finally got me to call my grandparents one time and I spoke with my grandmother for about 15 minutes. That was about six months ago. It was the most difficult thing I have had to do in a really long time, picking up that phone and dialing those numbers. I haven't heard from them since.

You have the basics so far. Brother screwed up, family torn apart, I moved out, was told I was being selfish, I got married, I didn't seek emotional help, brother moved away, brother got married.

I would like to stop here and say a few things. I don't think my parents did a good job raising my brother and myself. I know that's a really harsh thing to say, but it's the truth. I don't think they had good examples. I think they tried their hardest to be good parents with the knowledge they had. I have tried my hardest to let go of resentment for their lack of parenting skills. I bring this up because I chose to go to work for my dad and I still try to have a relationship with both of them that resembles a parent/child relationship, or even a friendship, although a distant friendship at that. I enjoy working for my dad, and the freedom it bring me. And he's a great boss. But I'm about to complain about some stuff and I don't want people to be like Well then why did you even go work for him? He's a good person. I'm just having a hard time with this right now. And my brother is not my own child, so I can't understand why my dad is doing the things he is doing.

Now the reasons why I'm even bothering to tell you any of my story.

When I started working for my dad, about two weeks in he says to me: "What would you think of your brother moving back and coming to work here?"


Sunday, September 21, 2008

I Never Did Regret It

I got married in 1999, two years after my brother did this but before all the drama with cutting himself and getting kicked out of the house and moving away.

But I wasn't speaking to him, nor was I speaking to my dad's side of the family.

I wanted to invite my dad's side of the family to my wedding. My grandmother had made me this lovely silk pillow for the rings. I missed them all so dearly and I wanted desperately to invite them to my special day.

My parents, somehow, talked me out of it. Being a stronger person now, I don't know how they did it. It was like, one day you'll regret not having your brother at your wedding and in your pictures. You don't know what's going to happen with the family, he's your brother. Also, they were paying for my wedding and even if they didn't say anything about it, that guilt was already in place.

He came to the wedding and the others were not even invited.

Friday, September 19, 2008


My brother continued to show what I knew at that point to be his true colors. He went to jail (juvenile hall? I don’t know for sure), where I found out years later that my dad told him to tell people he was in there for stealing cars. Apparently some crimes are “acceptable” in jail and others are not and you get the sh!t beat out of you or even killed if you say you did what he did. Uh, I’m sorry, if you molest kids I’m pretty sure you deserve to get the sh!t beat out of you or killed.

After jail, he started “cutting” himself, he withdrew from everyone, may have done some drugs (no I don’t know for sure but why not?), dropped out of high school. All this time my parents are supporting him, letting him live in their home, draining their resources and emotions, saying he just needs us to help him, etc. They took him down south to some facility ($$$) that was “voluntary” (rehab? therapy? I don’t know). My parents stayed in a hotel while he was down there for weeks/months ($$$). He got on some medication for depression and some other disorder, psychopath or bipolar or something. They finally take him home and then he thinks he’s better and doesn’t need to take his meds so he stops. Somewhere along the way he has a job and starts bouncing checks.

None of this is enough for them. Time and time again, they make excuses, all the while I know this will end badly. I don’t give people many chances and I usually end up being right about people and the people who give more chances end up getting hurt. It’s their kid though, is what people told me. You don’t understand because you are his sister. Whatever. I think they’ve been through enough at this point to have enough reasons to kick him out of the house.

The final straw for them was when they found satanic stuff in his backpack. Their pastor advised them that their lives were in danger so THAT was a good reason to kick him out.

So they did. He slept in their backyard a few nights and was homeless for awhile. He eventually convinced some sucker friend of his and his girlfriend to let him live with them. They got married and moved to some other state, Kansas I think? Well, HE WENT WITH THEM. I mean, who does that, and as newlyweds, why would you let someone move with you?

After that, I don’t really know what happened. I was probably early twenty-something at that point and hadn’t spoken or seen him in awhile. I was very angry with him. I hated him. He had ruined our family.

And by ruin our family, I mean my dad’s side of the family was never the same. No more warm, happy holidays. No more lots of cousins to talk to and play with.

My grandparents offered to pay for therapy for me, which was very nice. My parents weren’t speaking to them because they were “siding” with my uncle. I felt like I was in the middle. I don’t know what anyone did to make me feel like I was in the middle. I know that I was put in the middle many times. But at the same time, how could I not feel torn?

I never did go to therapy. I just held on to the hate and the bitterness. I was protecting myelf. If I was still hurt and angry I would let anyone in so nobody could hurt me. I didn't speak with anyone from my dad's side of the family. They didn't try to reach out to me and I took that to mean that they didn't want to talk to me.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

And I Meant It

"Insert child's full name as stated when child is in big trouble!" says my dad. "Keep your voice down. Don't you think that is already a concern of ours?" he said.

What the hell did I care? It would be a great benefit to the WORLD at this point if he were no longer here. I don't really remember any more of the conversation. I went to bed and didn't sleep well.

Either the first night or the next day, I realized that my parents weren't going to kick him out of the house. I wasn't asking them to choose, but I wasn't going to live in the house with a child molester.

At the time, the person who I thought was my best girlfriend was living with her boyfriend. He was verbally and physically abusive to her and she wanted to get out of the house but couldn't afford to live on her own. We agreed to move into an apartment together and she would break up with her boyfriend.

As a side story, and to make another VERY LONG story short, she never did break up with him, he ended up trying to kill himself in our apartment, and three months later I moved out on my own.

My parents were not happy with my decision to move out. My dad said I was abandoning my mother. I'm sorry, who is the adult? Children cannot abandon their parents. That is the definition of being a parent. Raise them and they go away. It's not called abandoning, it's called growing up. They just didn’t like the timing.

Obviously, that was the real reason they didn't want me to move out. But they turned it into something else. They said my friend wasn't a Christian and by entering into a legal agreement with her, I was "unequally yoked." Therefore I was "living in sin" and they got me kicked off as a youth leader at the church we were attending.

To that I have to say two three things:

1. She was Catholic and they don't deem Catholics to be "Christians." Who are they to judge anyone's "Christianity?"

2. I was 18. I should have been old enough to do what I wanted without being under their rules. If the church didn't have a problem with my living with my friend, it shouldn't have mattered what my parents thought.

3. Nobody I have ever discussed this issue with agrees with my parents. I have clearly presented all of the information, including the fact that our family was in a state of great turmoil, and should I have stayed?

I lived in that apartment for three months. Since the day I was born, I had either seen or spoken to my mother every single day of my life. I wouldn’t say we were close by any means, but we were in constant contact. She was a stay at home mom and my dad traveled A LOT so I didn’t see him very much. But for those next three months, my mom did not call me one single time. Not on my cell phone, not on the house phone. Nothing. We saw each other at church and that was it. Talk about ABANDONMENT.

And mind you, this terrible thing didn’t just happen to them. It happened to me too. Because no matter how “adult” you think you are, the age of 18 is still the age of a child.

Moving on.

Feelings of the Heart

The Boy and The Man are driving to school and The Boy is playing an electronic game. For whatever reason, it responded to something really loudly, surprising The Boy. He says to The Man, "My heart felt that." The Man says, "Oh yeah, sometimes my heart feels it when I get scared or surprised by something."

The Boy replies, "Yeah. It's like a monster picked up our car, threw it to Hawaii, and my heart said 'well, that was interesting.'"

Monday, September 15, 2008

WHY Am I Doing This?

I am a terrible friend. Remind me of this the next time I complain about having no friends.

This girl, R, who I used to work with at my old job, she stayed my friend when she got laid off. I really wasn't expecting it and I really appreciated it. I thought, Wow, she's a real friend.

Then I changed jobs and I haven't been there for her. I have been so busy and involved in my new job and I haven't dedicated any time to her. She has texted me, e-mailed me, left me a voice mail, commented on MySpace, etc. And I HAVE NOT RESPONDED. AT ALL. The weird thing is, I have no reason to not call her. I just don't feel like it. What is THAT about? Why WOULDN'T I want to call her? She doesn't even have a fatal flaw (yet).

Any insight? Seriously. I'm going to make myself e-mail or call her TODAY, but why would I do this when I complain about people not being true friends to me?


Do you ever stare at the wall or ceiling and see shapes of animals or faces? Like watching the clouds go by. I wish I could pencil in what I see because when I go back to the same place I never see the same picture again. Also, I think it would be cool to have an entire (small) room filled in with the pencil drawings of what people saw on the wall.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Screwed Like a High Speed Black and Decker Power Drill

I'm putting my whole self out here for everyone to read. So be nice. Really, my heart is raw right now and I'm telling some major family secrets.

Also, I am tagging this as "MAYBE I'll Tell You When You're Older" because it's totally inappropriate for The Boy. But I need to get it out. I can't keep it in anymore.

First, the background.

Here is background about my brother:

My brother is two years younger than me. We were probably close for the first three to five years of his life and by close I mean that we played well together. Blocks, trucks, dolls, "school," etc. After that, not so much. I don't know what it was, if I just didn't like him because he was my little brother, or if he actually was a pest.

Anyway, there was lots of fighting. From stupid stuff like "He's looking at me, she's on my side of the car" when we were younger to me SPRAYING WINDEX IN HIS EYES and him KNOCKING ME OUT UNCONSCIOUS when we were older.

Side note: For those of you who have sons and daughters, please make a big deal out of your sons hitting your daughters. I don't care what I ever did to my brother, 1) It is NEVER okay for boys to hit girls and 2) it is TERRIBLE for a girl's self esteem to see her parents not discipline their son for hitting their daughter and will affect her greatly in her adult years. Love her and don't let him do it. SERIOUSLY.

Being older, I was smarter than him and I cheated when we played games (not ALL the time) and told him he was a loser, etc. And I don't know if it's all my fault or if it was also in part due to my parents parenting skills (or lack thereof) that he actually turned INTO A LOSER.

He was (still is, I suppose) actually really smart. Too smart I think for his grade level and he was therefore bored. He didn't like doing homework. He would not do it at all or do it and then not turn it in. Also, I think as a teen he was very depressed and it went unrecognized and untreated and he was told (not by me) that he just wasn't trying, etc. I think he needed professional help and didn't get it.

Here is background about my dad's side of the family:

My dad did not have a good childhood. He was the result of an affair, which ended his birth mother's marriage with the man she was married to. His birth mother did not stay with the birth father and therefore my dad grew up without a dad and with a mother who resented him and also an older brother and sister who knew everything and resented him for their parent's divorce and were relentless about reminding him of this constantly. And if you thought the windex and knocking me out was a bad story, you're not going to like my dad and his brothers relationships. They used to beat each other on the garage floor to see who could make the other pass out first. As one person would climb up the tree to the tree house, the other would throw nails in each others heads to see if they could make them stick. These and many other stories were relayed to my broher and I at inappropriate ages. I remember these stories very vividly because they haunt me.

In addition, another haunting story I was told at a young age, my dad was molested by his uncle. With a wire hanger. That is all I know. I don't even want to know that much but I don't know if his uncle was caught or if my dad even told anyone.

In high school, he met a guy and went to his house for dinner one night and his family was a loving Christian family and accepted my dad for everything he was. They pretty much adopted him and I think my dad started living with them. He now had three brothers and two loving parents.

That is who I grew up knowing as "Granny and Papa" and all of my uncles and their wive were my aunts and they all had tons of kids and they were my cousins and we were all very close. Holidays, Christmas espeically, was so much fun, big and loud and full of good food and presents and laughing and bursting with warmth and love.

Here is the background of the situation:

I turned 18 and graduated high school in 1997 (that would make me 29 right now for those of you who are trying to do the math). That summer, something awful happened. My brother was babysitting my three cousins, two boys and a girl (she was five), the cousins whose dad was the guy my dad met in high school actually. He babysat them during the summer while they were out of school. Without going into the detail of how it was discovered or what exactly happened, my brother molested my girl cousin and her neighbor friend.

It ripped our family apart. Everyone.

This is another thing I remember that my parents did a few times. I would come home from doing something really fun and then they would give me really terrible news.

Once, I went to a roller skating birthday party and I had such a blast, I was probably on the biggest fun a high a girl that age could be (I think I was nine or something). All I had to do was come home and go to bed and my day would have been safely remembered as a really great day. Tell me the bad news the next day. But my parents called me into the kitchen and told me that my great grandmother had died. I was devastated. I was very close to my great grandmother and I was young and had just recently dealt with the death of her husband, my great grandfather, to whom I was also very close. He told me that if I ate burnt bread that I would get curly hair (it didn't work). The great day was completely erased and eclipsed by that news.

So, not to stray from their "normal" style, I came in at night from having fun although I cannot remember what it was as this eclipsing news would change my life. My brother was watching television and my parents were sitting at the table in the other room. I was headed to bed when they called me in. Couldn't let me sleep one more night in peace. Sit down, they said. I sit. We having something to tell you, they said. This happened.

WHAT? I couldn't even believe it. HOW could he do this? I HOPE HE KILLS HIMSELF, I said.

Stay tuned.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Didn't Know That Existed

I didn't know stuff like this existed.

Check out the T-Shirts too. They are so funny.

I would get the Blue Eyes button and The Man would get the Drummers button.

Which button would you get?

Friday, September 5, 2008

It's Not a Race Track

The Boy let Kansas into his room this morning. Shortly thereafter he comes into our room and says, "I tried to let Kansas in my room so that she would sleep with me. But apparently she thinks my room is a race track."

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Privacy FAIL

The Boy is big on privacy now.

This is difficult for two reasons that I can think of right now:

1. He's five and cannot do everything for himself.
2. We have a small house.

Last week The Man told The Boy to please go to the bathroom and The Boy made The Man go into the bathroom (at our house) with him, but told him "Don't look okay? I need privacy." And The Man had to turn around and stare at the wall while The Boy used the facilities. Then The Boy covered up and gave The Man permission to "look." Then they leave the bathroom and The Boy pulls his pants down and tells The Man, "Look at my penis!!!"

Oh, yeah. A third reason just came to me about why privacy is difficult:

3. He likes to pull down his pants and show us his junk.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Tag You're It

So I was tagged. It's never happened before, or at least, not that I was aware of. I'm not even sure I know what it means or what the point is.

I was tagged by tinycandi to share six things about myself.

There are "rules:"
1. Link the person who tagged you - done. See above.
2. Mention the rules on your blog - done. See what you're reading.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours - done. Except for that I think they are pretty spectacular as far as quirks go, yes?
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them - I'm rebelling. See really below.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged - again, rebelling.

1. Nosy/Curious/Paranoid. These all roll into each other. I am curious about life and people and I love knowing things about people. But this bleeds into looking into peoples homes - WHEN THEY LEAVE THE BLINDS OPEN AT NIGHT WITH THE LIGHTS ON. I'm not like creeping up to our neighbors house and peering into their windows. I just crane my neck as we drive by and wonder/imagine what conversations are being had. I think that is why I love blogs SO MUCH. It's like a little window into people's lives. Not being able to have answers to the nosy, curious things leads to the paranoia. If I don't know what's going on with someone, they must be plotting against me. Or my brain thinks of very creative, IRRATIONAL alternative scenarios. It's not healthy.

2. Cleanliness. I am serious about things being clean, neat, tidy, organized, etc., and my hands top the list. I don't really want to go into it more than that. Let's just say that I should purchase stock in Dial or Method, and probably in some lotion stock too, like Lubriderm or Cetaphil.

Seriously, anytime you want to contribute to payment of my therapy, I'd REALLY APPRECIATE IT.

3. Opinionated/Indecisive. Many times I am too opinionated, so much so that my mouth can get me in trouble because it speaks before my brain checks it. Other times I am so indifferent about things that it is a wonder I have ever made any kind of decision in my life AT ALL.

4. Independence/Stubbornness. I don't like being pushed into decisions, even if it's more of a suggestion. If I don't feel like doing something, I won't do it, and I'll hold on to the feeling of not wanting to do it, a trait I'm sure my husband wouldn't mind disappearing. FOREVER.

5. Unrelenting Grudges. I don't forgive people who hurt me. Not in such the complete blanket way that it sounds because obviously The Man has hurt me and I have forgiven him. I am talking about what I find to be unjustified actions. Of course I deserve certain hurts, such as insults hurled at each other during arguments, and I am willing to forgive as well as admit wrong doing and saying I'm sorry. But if I cannot figure out for the life of me why you have done this to me, and will even consult with unbiased third parties in order to gain perspective, then it's over. I will never EVER forgive you or let you in again. There is no chance for you. To protect myself.

6. Soft Heart. Despite all the sarcasm and hardness, I really do have a soft heart on the inside. It doesn't take much for me to tear up during a movie, a good book, heck a commercial with puppies in it. Kids, old people, and I don't know how to be politically correct about it, but "special needs" people - I care for them all very dearly, even those I do not know but perhaps just see walking down the street.

I know I'm supposed to tag six blogs, but I hate that. It's like an online chain letter. I don't want to pressure anyone to do this. So I'm not tagging any blogs. Tinycandi didn't know me and said she was tagging new people and that is awesome for her and I appreciate it.

Take it or leave it.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Good Bye For Now

I didn't take my pill for the last three or four days. I'm probably going to start taking it again tomorrow, lest I start to really go crazy. I'm starting to feel it coming on already , as though everything around me is screaming at me "I'M NOT PERFECTLY PERPENDICULAR ON THIS SURFACE." or "I'M NOT CLEAN TO YOUR PERFECT STANDARDS, THEREFORE, GERMS MUST BE CRAWLING EVERYWHERE." or "EVERY SINGLE ITEM IN THIS HOUSE IS NOT WHERE IT BELONGS, YOU CANNOT REST UNTIL THAT STATEMENT IS TRUE." And so on times a million. Literally, a million.

It's been nice blogging these last three blogs without my pill to curb my thoughts. Can you tell a difference?

Of course, I will be back again, as I always have the occasional lapse. Until then.

The First Day

The Boy started kindergarten yesterday. I had been trying so hard to play it cool for his benefit. Everyone around me continued to ruin it by asking if "Mom" was okay and how was "Mom" doing, no doubt putting unnecessary pressure on him that, not only was this going to be hard enough for him, but now he is causing me some kind of stress as well.

I took the day off, knowing that although work would be a good distraction, I needed a day of reflection and freedom to express my feelings rawly (is that a word?) and honestly. The Man made him breakfast and I packed his lunch. I remembered that the lunches my mom made for me were so special when I was in school. On the bad days, it was the only thing that made me feel better. I would sit alone, quietly, and I wept as I ate the peanut butter sandwiches she made, knowing that my mom had touched the food, and even if she hadn't thought about it, I knew it was made with her love for me. I don't know if I have ever told her that, or if I ever could. I wonder if The Boy will ever feel that way about eating the lunches I make for him, but just in case, I intentionally push all of the love out of my heart into the knife as I spread the peanut butter on the bread, hoping that he will be able to feel the difference from any other sandwich I have made for him.

He picked the color combination of his uniform he preferred, a sky blue polo shirt with the emblem of the school embroidered on the chest, and navy blue uniform shorts, complete with a worn brown leather belt, crisp white ankle socks, and brand new sporty Sketchers. He looked so adorable I just wanted to smother him in hugs and kisses. We took the obligatory first day of school pictures in front of the house, pictures of his desk and his cubby, where I snuggled his lunch bag and in my mind I sealed the front of the cubby so that no bad thoughts would penetrate the box and ruin my love sandwich. The Boy would call it "protect." His cubby is "protect."

I think we lingered a little too long. I wanted to drop him off and go, let him start swimming in his new little world. But we looked all around the room at the concepts with which he was already familiar (calendar, weather wheel), and the new concepts (losing your teeth chart). I saw him start to wilt and I just wanted to get out of there. I knew he would be better off without us. He hugged my leg, not in a desperate, screaming attempt to keep me there, but in a defeated sort of good-bye way. Eventually we left. It was the toughest good-bye I have EVER had to say. And I've had to say a lot of tough good-byes in my life.

We went home and I watched a movie, answered some calls from work, and folded laundry. My heart ached for my boy. It was finally time to pick him up. He was enthusiastic as he told us all about his day. The new surroundings, the new kids, the old kids, everything. I don't ever recall him being so animated about educational things. It made me feel so fulfilled for him to have the desire to tell us about his day, instead of respectfully replying with bored responses. A moment I will cherish forever as I know it will not last.

Something really cool that happened is that we went to Borders Book Store on Sunday and I found this book. We read it together, snuggled in one of their cozy red over sized chairs. He really loved the story and asked if we could buy the book. How could I resist? We bought it and then The Man even read it to him Monday morning before school. When we picked him up, we discovered that this book had been the center of their day. They read the book, did a worksheet on it, cut and pasted the story together, and he made his own Kissing Hand with brown paint. It made me feel like a really good Mommy to have picked out that book to read to him and purchase for him.

Today consisted of him acting up before and after school. I am shocked that just two days of kindergarten could affect him in such a severe manner. Apparently I'm not the only one who doesn't deal well with change. It makes me realize how small and childish he still is. He dresses like an adult, so many times he speaks like an adult, and he understands things that are far beyond his age. Yet, he only knows to misbehave as a response to dealing with new feelings and surroundings. We still have so much work to do.

All in all it was a good experience. It's not like I had a choice. I have spent time wondering if it is harder for me to deal with this because he is my one and only. I don't have any other kids who will be having their first day. He is the first and the last. My baby, growing up so quickly and I never will be able to do it again. But I also wonder if it is harder for others. To dread two or more first days of kindergarten! I don't know if I could live through that, knowing what I know now. So now I'm done with The First Day Of Kindergarten, and I can focus on something else until The First Day Of The Next Milestone comes along.

Monday, August 11, 2008

My Brain On Me

I always figured everyone thought the same way I do. I recently discovered that is not the case. Which actually makes sense, but ya know, I'm all self centered 'n' stuff.

I hear that some people think in colors, others in images, maybe in numbers, and I'm sure a million other ways. I think in thoughts and words. After a big day of typing, I see my hands typing all my thoughts as they go through my head. On most days, and bear with me while I sound crazy, I think voices.

Just one voice actually. Mine. But it's everywhere. I'm thinking laundry, work from today, dinner, work for tomorrow, typing a blog, playing with The Boy, cleaning the bathroom, petting the cat, scratching that itch, what to wear, what we're doing this weekend, replying to that one e-mail, listening to music, watching television, reading a book, remember that one time when this happened, BLAH BLAH BLAH. It never shuts up and it all happens together in one milli-second. It's a lot to take in all at once. I mostly get used to it since it's been that way all of my life. It's hard though because I feel like I am unable to totally focus on ONE thing. And that makes me sad that nobody in my life will ever receive my undivided attention.

It's also hard because it makes falling asleep very difficult some nights. Some nights I'm just so exhausted that I fall asleep right away. Other nights I cannot stop my brain. It is always going. Trying to stop thinking only makes it worse. My therapist tells me to just let the thoughts flow in the hopes that they will eventually go away. I guess it works, like thinking yourself to sleep. I wish I had the ability to turn it off. Just turn off my brain. I wonder what that would be like. No thoughts. Just quiet. And stillness.

I wonder how The Boy will think? I think it's like me because he is always talking non-stop. I think it's hard for his brain to shut down also. How do you think?

Sunday, August 10, 2008

I Am Woman

Thanks to the link I saw on Kelvin Kao's site, Puppet Kaos, I no longer have gender confusion:

Likelihood of you being FEMALE is 100%
Likelihood of you being MALE is 0%

Site Male-Female Ratio

Saturday, August 9, 2008


That's no typo; it's how The Boy pronounces the word "interrupting."

Apparently, picking me up from work is quite the interruption to his day. Since changing jobs, I now work closer to home than I did at my last job. But The Boy tells The Man, "Mom should walk home, cuz I'm sick of going to get her."

Do you feel the love?

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Caffeine Is Potent

We don't let The Boy drink caffeine. For obvious reasons. Our sanity. Oh yes, and health.

However, we very infrequently allow him to have a teeny, tiny sip of our soda, which could possibly contain caffeine. Nothing was even mentioned about caffeine.

On one such occasion it was a Saturday afternoon, around 2 p.m. He took a small drink of my soda. He was fine for the rest of the day and went to sleep at a normal hour, as one would expect.

The next evening, he is acting SO crazy and we are like, What is your deal, kid?

He retorts, "It's the caffeine."

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Size Matters

The Boy believes that you continue to grow as you age. I understand his logic, but the people he sees on a daily basis defy this reasoning.

We drove by a retirement home and the shrubs in the front were trimmed to spell out the name of the home. The Boy asked, "What does that say?" We reply with the name of the home and then he asks what that means. We explained the concept of a retirement home to him.

He wanted to know how old people are when they go there? One hundred? Yes, one hundred would be a good age for someone to go there.

His reply: "When I'm one hundred, I'm not going to fit in the retirement building. I'm going to go into retirement when I'm 49."

Monday, August 4, 2008

Stupid Squid Soap

I fell for the marketing. I admit it.

I saw a commercial for this soap and I was like WHAT A GREAT IDEA. So I found it and I bought it. And I tried it before The Boy did so I could show him how to use it.

Let me preface the rest of this by saying the hand washing is a serious business for me. I have ideal hand washing situations that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, others that are tolerable, and finally, scenarios that are completely unacceptable and I'd rather lick my own hands clean than wash my hands in that environment. Probably most people don't spend that much time thinking about washing hands. But I do. And so this experience was important to me.

The idea is that you press down with your palm on the pump and you get a red circle on your hand while the soap goes into your other hand. Then you rub your hands together and when the squid soap takes the red off your hand, you know your hands are clean.

It didn't work.

Even though it's the last thing that didn't work for me on the soap, I'm going to say that FIRST OF ALL, THE FREAKING RED DOT DOESN'T COME OFF THE HAND. Being a semi-professional hand washer, it drove me nearly insane to continue to scrub my hand with the squid soap, cold water, more squid soap, warm water, my regular soap, scalding hot water and some steel wool, the red dot was still there. I stopped short of cutting the dot out of my palm, but don't think the thought didn't cross my mind.

Now, of course The Boy wouldn't be nearly as neurotic about getting the red dot off his hand, but still. If you tell him your hands are clean when the red dot is gone, the poor kid is going to think he can't clean his own hands!

Second, and this could just be a matter of preference, but I like light and foamy soap. I like the bottles that are a liquid and the pump comes out white and foamy, floating like a cloud in your palm. The SQUID SOAP is cold and gooey. It squirts out much the way I imagine the ink spews out of a squid. So if that's what they were going for, they succeeded. Otherwise, IT SUCKS. I can't imagine it cleaning anything well at all with it's sticky, gummy MESS.

Other than the good IDEA and the cute package, the squid soap sucks.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Can I Haz PMS

I love LOL Catz. I saw this one this morning and I just love it. I'm not experiencing this right now, but The Man can surely attest to the fact that I have been that Lioness before. And the poor Lion, cowering in the corner. Now I feel bad.

more cat pictures

Monday, July 28, 2008


A few years ago, The Boy said "'Member when Mommy crashed at Wal-Mart?" My jaw dropped. I have never IN MY LIFE crashed at Wal-Mart. I have crashed a lot of other places, but never Wal-Mart. Not that there is anything wrong crashing at Wal-Mart.

When The Boy said that, The Man looked over at me like What have YOU been hiding?

I denied everything. It NEVER happened. I swear! And I was being totally honest. I have no idea what that liar kid was talking about.

The Boy thought my reaction was SO funny that every so often he would say it again. For like two years. I think The Man really started to believe him!

Finally, I asked The Boy he had to stop saying it because I didn't remember it and I didn't want Daddy to think I was lying. So I wasn't saying either person was right or wrong - I just asked him to stop saying it. I probably had peace for about two months.

Then yesterday The Man was driving somewhere with The Boy and he starts talking about it AGAIN.

The Man: "I don't think Mommy likes you talking about that dude."
The Boy, dead serious: "But Dad. It really happened."
The Man: "Can you tell me what happened?"
The Boy: "We were driving to Wal-Mart and the light turned red but Mommy didn't stop in time and she crashed into the car in front of us and nobody got hurt and nobody's car got broken and then we went to Wal-Mart. And on your date tonight, you tell Mommy I said that and she's going to be like NO WAY and you can tell her Yes, I'm serious, don't you remember? And she'll remember."

He told me all this on our date, and I don't remember. But I'm so sick of hearing about it that I told The Man that we'd tell him I remembered so he would finally stop talking about it but that I'd blog about it so that when he reads this in ten years, he would know what I really think.

And that my friends is called THE LAST WORD.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Obligatory Apple Post

I have new stuff.

The Man and The Boy stood in line for EIGHT AND A HALF HOURS at the Apple store to purchase the iPhone for me on the day the new iPhones came out.

I did not ask for this. He was going to stand in line with Salty and Mrs. Kitty because THEY were buying a new iPhone. I thought it would really be a waste of time to do that and not go ahead and get me an iPhone. Since he was there anyway. And I was due for an upgrade. So it was really all about timing.

Anyway, I knew in my heart that it would take all day to do this. The Man, The King of Knowledge, did not have the same feeling in his heart. He thought he would get to the store and MAYBE wait two or three hours. Tops. Okay, if you're sure, I'll let you take The Boy and you guys can go have fun, whatever, good luck!


Here is my new iPhone, which I am IN LOVE WITH.

And here is my our new iMac, which Salty GAVE TO US. I LOVE SALTY.

Thank you SO much Hunny Bear for waiting in line for what must have felt like a million hours to you. According to The Man, you were the BEST boy and I can't believe you did that. You are so sweet.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

I'm Not Dead

I swear. I'm still here. I am just disturbingly busy and when I have time to relax, putting energy into creative writing is not the first thing on my mind.

I have wondered before when I come across old blogs if the people just gave up or if something happened to them. Did they not put blogging as a priority any more? Or did they get in a car accident and loose all use of their fingers and they can no longer type? I really do wonder.

If I die, I have put in My Last Will And Testament that a death entry be written in my blog. As of right now, it will be The Man's choice of wording, but eventually I'll write a death blog to include in My Last Will And Testament.

It's the right thing to do.

Friday, July 11, 2008


The Boy used to say "nickles" instead of "nipples." Which gives a whole new meaning to the phrase If I had a nickle for every time I...

Anyway, he and I were cuddling with Kansas and he saw one of her tiny pink nipples poking through her soft white fur. He said, "What's that?" And then this happened:

Me: "That is her nipple."
The Boy, looking at me skeptically: "Are you serious?"
Me: "Yes. She has six of them."
The Boy, totally freaking out: "WHAT?!?"

So I explain to him how people usually only have one baby at a time so they don't need as many nipples as kitties do. Kitties can have four or six babies at time, so they need more nipples.


The next day, The Man and The Boy are doing whatever and The Boy says, "Did you know that Kansas has eight nipples?" The Man was unaware of the previous conversation and was shocked by this seemingly out of left field comment. But he said yes, he did know that. The Boy says it's so she can have eight babies and The Man agrees.

Then The Boy says "If she had sixty nipples she could have sixty babies."


Driving home from my parent's house last night, we are all in the car and The Man asks me, "Did you tell The Boy something about Kansas' nipples?"

I chuckled and said yes. I wanted to hear what was behind this question. So he told me the above story and I giggled at the hilarity of it all.

And the The Boy shrieks from the back seat, "LET'S TALK ABOUT NIPPLES!!!"

He asks me what nipples are for. And I wondered why he accepted my explanation of number of babies versus number of nipples if he doesn't know what nipples are for.

Because if there is no correlation in his mind, I might as well have told him that Kansas needs more nipples than people because cats don't eat broccoli. Or some other nonsensical response.

We told him about the purpose of nipples and gave examples he could visualize (i.e., a cow). And he said, "Well, the milk I drink doesn't comes from a cow." Because he drinks lactose free milk. So he thinks it doesn't come from a cow. THERE'S a trick.

By that time we were arriving home and I asked him to please stop shouting nipples until we got into the house because it's really only a word we use with our own family and not with anyone else.

Oh and also; the ENTIRE INTERNET.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Coloring Conversation

While coloring today.

The Boy: "Whatcha drawin' Dad?"
The Man: "A waterfall"
The Boy: "Wow. That's expressive."

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

My Friend R

I received an e-mail from my friend R this week. Her cousin was diagnosed with acute leukemia out of nowhere. She went to the doctor because she had a severe headache and was weak. She thought she had a sinus infection.

She is getting treatment at Stanford. She is only 35 years old, a mother of two totally adorable little girls and she was super healthy. She worked out three to four days a week and watched her diet. It just goes to show u that cancer can happen to anyone. ANYONE.

And that kind of puts the whole job thing into perspective. For me. The Man - probably not so much.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

No Work For The Man

We heard about THE JOB today. Can you guess what happened? Um, yeah, he didn't get it. What the FRENCH, TOAST? There were two positions available and only three applicants, or at least that is what they said. And from what The Man said of the two other applicants he saw, they gave the jobs to a really fat guy, and some kid who looks like he just received a degree in Drum Geeks from Pimple University.

The worst part for me is that I could just see the disappointment all over his face. AND I CAN'T MAKE IT GO AWAY. Hugs, kisses, reassuring, more hugs, speaking poorly of the company, more kisses, acting seriously goofy, NOTHING. He is still disappointed.

And I am really bummed.

Thursday, July 3, 2008


I found Skittles (in their bag) in my purse that The Boy didn't finish at the movies the other night. It's the little things.

Feet, They Have Served Me Well

The Man hates feet. So no foot massages for me (poor me). He once told someone that although he hated feet, they had served him well.

I thought it was strange that he hated feet so much. As it turns out, he's not the only one (Darling, you should NOT read this post. Trust me.).

Testing Whether Or Not You Are A Robot

If your heart doesn't melt when you watch this, then you are dead inside.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Post 300

My darling boy. I do love you so much. I'm sure you're sick of hearing it. I just spent the last four days with you without Daddy. I loved every second of it. You were so good. It was like a dream. And I miss you so much today. I can hardly believe how much I miss you right now.

I love seeing your compassion for things. You really have a tender heart and I hope your father and I nurture that characteristic so that will always be so. We recently got a kitten and my heart just melts whenever I see you care for her tenderly. When we first brought her home, the way you pet her was a little awkward because you were not used to handling such a small, fragile life. But now you are fine with her. You know how to play with her and pet her gently. Of course you are still a boy and you chase her and yell at her "NO Kansas!" when she appears to just be sitting there, but she's actually doing something you don't like (like sitting there? I'm not sure). But you kiss her good night and say good bye to her when we leave the house. And you told me you love her more than Mommy and Daddy. Which didn't even hurt my feelings because I just love that we raised you to have the capability to love something so much.

This will be a story that I have no doubt will embarrass you sometime in the all to near future. But I'm going to tell the story anyway. You love Build-A-Bear. That's not so bad in and of itself. After all, you are five. But this is the latest Build-A-Bear friend you picked out, complete with a pink dress and pink shoes. To be fair, you liked the shoes because they are Sketchers like yours (although your Sketchers are NOT pink). I think it's awesome that you don't care what color something is - if you like it, you like it. And you say that now you have three Build-A-Bear friends who are boys and one that is a girl. That's how simple it is to you.

As another example of how simple life is for you: we helped our friends unpack their moving truck last night. Salty showed you a giant Lego Star Wars box and said if you were good that he would let you help him put it together. The five adults knew that meant AT ANOTHER POINT IN TIME, since the thing has like a million pieces to it. So none of us thought to mention to you that we wouldn't be putting it together that night. (Also especially considering that four out of the five adults had been awake for like 36 hours). But when we were done unloading the truck, in a house full of boxes, you asked if you were a good boy and when I said Of course! you thought that meant we could put the Lego set together. It broke my heart to tell you that we couldn't do it and then watch you melt down.

Your imagination is starting to take off. I hear you talking to yourself, to your "friends" (stuffed animals), to Kansas, to your toys. I love it. I pretend not to notice because if you see me watching you, you will stop. But I'm listening.

I am sad about Kindergarten. I'm sad that Daddy won't be your main caretaker anymore. I'm sad that you are no longer a baby. Even though you insist you are a Big Boy, which you are, you are still just a tiny person to me and I want you to be my baby forever. I hope that we don't require too much of you. I can only imagine that since you are an only child and you spend most of your time with adults that you will grow up too fast. It is my heart's desire for you to enjoy your childhood to the fullest extent possible.

You still let me shower you with hugs and kisses and cuddle with me, but I see you changing in other ways that let me know you are growing up. You don't like to just hold my hand anymore. You associate it with crossing the street, so you will only hold my hand to cross the street and then squirm your little hand out of my grip the second we step on the sidewalk and say, "Mommy I don't have to hold your hand now because we aren't in the street." You are right, and I let go, but I still want to hold your hand. I like it.

I wish I could say a million more things so that you would know how much I love you in this very moment in time. My heart just aches from almost bursting.

In Which I Crawl On My Hands And Knees Begging For Caffeine

Hi, my name is RubiaLala and I am addicted to caffeine.

I really am. Apparently some people are more likely to get addicted to stuff than others because The Man can take or leave whatever and never gets addicted and I'm like a freaking basket case if I don't have coffee every morning by 8:30. Or if I take Tylenol PM at night for two nights in a row and then not on the third night, I'm like a crack addict in rehab, complete with vomiting and angry outbursts.

So my dad used the last of the coffee at the office yesterday AND DIDN'T TELL ME. I got here this morning and HAD NO COFFEE. I literally started crying. I'm dead serious. It is the worst thing that has happened to me since I started working here
(I know, boo hoo). I immediately started shaking and feeling light headed. I crawled over to the phone and called The Man and in a barely audible voice I requested that he come back to the office, where he had just dropped me off, and pretty please bring me some unused coffee grounds so that I could live through the day.

Earlier today The Man said he felt like we didn't need him because The Boy and I had so much fun while he was gone on his trip and to that I say YOU PROVED THAT YOU ARE AN INVALUABLE PART OF OUR FAMILY TODAY WHEN YOU BROUGHT ME COFFEE. For that alone I will love you forever. And also thanks for having The Boy with me.


I made this quiche for dinner when a friend brought her kids over and it was a mini girls night while the boys played video games. I basically pulled this quiche OUT OF MY A$$, which doesn't sound very good. But it was. I decided which ingredients to use and then I just looked up how many eggs I should use and the temperature and time I should cook it. It was DELICIOUS.

I used cooked spinach, sliced ham, mushrooms, and grueye cheese. My new favorite cheese.

I served it with a salad - raw spinach, strawberries, sliced almonds, and balsamic vinegar and olive oil for the dressing. It was all very yummy.

When I told The Man what I was doing, he said, "Wow, you're taking your friendship with M to the next level, huh?" Because I normally don't cook new things for people I like. Because I want them to keep liking me.

Monday, June 30, 2008

Curses on Sunday

I wrote this on Father's Day and I didn't post it because I didn't want to make a rash decision when I was angry. Now that I go back and read it when I'm not angry, I think it's funny. So I'm going to post it. It's honest and I want The Boy to see everything we go through, even the ugly times. It's not always easy dude.

I would like to preface this post with this: I love The Man. He is an excellent husband and father. I am a wreck this morning and this is what I am feeling. I'm not being nice and I know it. I'm going to say it anyway, but just know I still love him and still think he's a great man. The Boy knows we fight. We don't hide it from him. We try to fight fairly in front of him. I know that these words are not fair fighting. And to that I say, Hunny Bear, sometimes we are human and we don't fight fairly, but we still love each other. Actually, he currently has NO CLUE that anything bad has happened this morning. I feel good about that much.

Hi, welcome to the WRATH OF MOMMY, a similar environment to the LAKE OF FIRE. To answer the question that I KNOW is running through The Man's head right now - NO, I DID NOT TAKE MY PILL THIS MORNING, OKAY?!? And I didn't take it yesterday either.

What does that mean? It means I'm a little f$%*ing irrational. Am I TRYING to ruin "YOUR" Father's Day? NO. But it becomes my goal to do so when you ask me that.

Please note that IN EXCHANGE FOR BITING YOUR HEAD OFF, I am being an EXCELLENT mother to The Boy. Because I blew off steam at you, a person who SHOULD understand, I did not yell at The Boy for no reason, a person who CANNOT understand.

You will never understand what I have been through this morning, or what I am going to go through for the rest of the day (I didn't even know what I was going to go through that day. I just had a feeling). What really hurts though is that you don't even care. No. This morning is supposed to be ALL ABOUT YOU and I'm just here to RUIN THE PARTY. Well, guess what pal? (Did I just say pal? What is this, an after school special?) You wouldn't even BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE a father today if it weren't for ME.

Do you know what else? Even though I have not taken my medication, my feelings are still valid. They might have been less intense if I had taken my pill, but I still would have had these feelings. I may have acted in a way that didn't make you want to have me committed, but I still would have been angry and hurt. Just because I missed out on a couple of pills doesn't mean my feelings aren't real or important.

I have done SO much this morning JUST FOR YOU. In fact, I started doing things YESTERDAY that would benefit you this morning. I made lists and packed things and did laundry. I spent time drying my hair so it would look nice for you, instead of letting it air dry and be all wild and crazy, which is easier for me. I am wearing a dress that you think I look fabulous in, even though I am self conscious about the way I look in it. I'd rather be wearing sweats. I got up with The Boy so as not to disturb you in your routine. I kept everything organized so that all you would have to do is walk out the door when you were ready. I listened to you, encouraged you, appreciated you.

Here is the response I got based on your actions.

1) "I can't remember to wash your coffee stuff because coffee doesn't matter to ME, so it must not be important."
(I'd wash it myself but the sink is FULL of dishes, p.s. that's YOUR job)

2) "I don't care what you wanted The Boy to wear, today is Father's Day and he'll wear what I picked."
(I hope he spills all over your precious outfit s#!$head)

3) "You are not worth traveling across town to pick up, AND you aren't even worth STANDING OUTSIDE FOR TWO MINUTES to hand you the car keys."
(F&#$ you a$$&0!@)

Here is what I think you should do. Get your a$$ back in the car and come pick me up. Before you get here, go to Starbucks and order my favorite drink. Which you know because YOU JUST LOVE ME THAT MUCH. You will pick us up in the PRINCESS EXPRESS, drive casually back to church while I am allowed to relax and sip on my favorite coffee drink.

In summary, I HOPE YOU HAVE A Happy Father's Day. Punk.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Kansas The Name

When we got Kansas, her name was "Jeri." She was not a Jeri. On the way home we thought of lots of names. Some were too silly - toilet, leaf, table. Some were too predictable - kitty, fluffy. Some were too Pokemon - Skiddy, Glameow, Meowth. We wanted something special. Then I came up with Kansas. It was perfect. It fit her and it was special.

The Boy watches a show called Phineas and Ferb. The sister's name is Candace. But The Boy called her Kansas. We didn't correct him because we love hearing words from his point of view and we know it won't happen forever so we enjoy it while it lasts.

We explained this to The Boy. He did not like it. He said for a few days that "Kansas isn't a 'speshul' enough name." He kept wanting to think of other names for the kitty. We told him that maybe we could change it later but let's try Kansas for a little bit. Every day for the next five days he asked if it was time to try a new name yet. No, we told him. Let's wait. It's only been one day since you last asked. Give it more time.

He told my mom today that he thinks the name Kansas will work.

Saturday, June 28, 2008


I am very particular about routines. Many people take this to mean that everything must be perfect. This is really not the case.

For example, at my old job, we labeled everything with label makers and everything had a specific place, secured in a file. Perfect. Did I like it that way? Sure, it was nice. But at my new job, I make file labels with a Sharpie and stuff the papers into the file, loose and random. More effective or efficient? No. It's totally not perfect. But it's the routine. Even though it's unorganized, it's an unorganized ROUTINE. And that's most important.

Another example of a routine, good for The Man to note: I don't care HOW you drive to the office in the morning. But for goodness' sakes, PICK A WAY TO GO AND STICK TO IT. I can't listen to anything you're saying if you take a different route to work every day.

Easter Weekend

I never posted about this, although I think I threatened to. This happened in our community on Easter Weekend earlier this year. A tree fell. On a car. Nobody was hurt, so I feel it's safe to say that this was FREAKING AWESOME.

The firemen already cut the top of the tree off in this photo. This is the street we use to drive to our house. It was totally blocked. I know, big inconvenience for US, right?!?

It cut this car in half. COME ON, THAT IS JUST COOL.

The strangest thing is that The Boy and I came home from church and this had not happened yet and then like two hours later The Man calls and says Hey I can't get in what's going on with this tree? And I'm like What tree? We didn't hear it fall or anything. So I guess that answers that question - if a tree falls and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound? NO IT DOES NOT.

Lost and Naked

Sounds like a bad dream. I just miss my best friend.

I feel lost without him by my side. Nobody is here to share looks over The Boy's head when he says funny stuff. Nobody is here to hold me while I sleep. Nobody is here to listen to me. He'll be back tomorrow but I miss him terribly RIGHT NOW. We've been having fun without him. The Boy is being surprisingly amazing. His behavior is beyond anything I could have imagined. But he misses his Daddy and so do I. I realize how much he needs his Daddy. And I realize how much I need his Daddy.

I feel naked because he took the camera with him and I feel exposed without my camera. Which is ironic because it's the camera that exposes things. But it doesn't expose me. I like to hide behind it and now I can't. I just have to sit here and be me, not focusing on something else. At least I have The Boy to focus on.

I can't wait for you to be back, Darling. I need a hug.

Friday, June 27, 2008

Start Up Experience

When I started looking for new jobs awhile back, I came across a few ads that said "start up experience preferred." I couldn't understand why that mattered. I helped a friend set up his office for a restaurant. Minimally. But it didn't seem that hard. What kind of "experience" would be necessary to fully start up an office?

The "experience" they are looking for is called "patience."

Because if you don't have that quality and you try to set up a new office, you will most likely throw your computer, loaded with dumba$$ Windows Vista, off the second story balcony, purposely eat wet coffee grinds for breakfast, and finally, jam a pen in your eye, just to get your focus off the pain. The pain of TRYING TO DEAL with two Microsoft programs that are not compatible with each other, people whose job it is to set up phones who CANNOT SET UP PHONES, and all the while still attempting to do a dynamite job so that your dad doesn't re-think his decision to hire you.

Fortunately for me, I have a five year old. Which means I'm The Queen of Set Up Experience. Thank you, Hunny Bear.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Salty And Mrs. Kitty

They are moving. Here. They will be here in three days. The Man left today to go help them move from six (very large) states away.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008


We got a cat. I've been wanting a cat for, um, FOREVER. I grew up with always having a cat and we had two cats when The Boy was born but one cat got really sick shortly after he was born and we, uh, sent her to live on a farm. The other one peed on his stuff and snapped at him. We sent him to live on a farm too. I was very very VERY sad. It just wasn't fair.

The Man has been really iffy about getting a cat. I always beg him and think I'm tempting him when I drag take him into the pet store and show him tiny little kittens playfully wrestling each other. He never caved so I finally gave up.

Last week we went to Target to get something (and ended up spending a million bucks but that's another story). The pet store is right by the Target and The Boy likes to go in and look at the mice, birds, cats, and watch the dogs getting groomed. The Boy and I went in first and looked at the cats in the front were on our way to look at the rest of the store. When The Man catches up with us, he mentions having a liking for one of the kittens.

We drop a couple of Benjamins and we're on our way home to play with our new kitten.

Here is a little insight into the parenting I was raised with. It was always like this, no matter how old I was or if my actions were positive or negative. This was always the reaction:

When I told my mom about the cat, she said, "Oh. Does Dad know about this?" I'm sorry, how old am I? Oh yeah. TWENTY-NINE. I've been able to keep a child alive for five years. I think I can handle a cat.

Monday, June 23, 2008

It's Time, Part I

On January 8, 2003 I went to the doctor for my weekly check up. I had one concern, which was that there was a large bump towards the top of my large tummy, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t the babies head. It was too late in the pregnancy for the head to be up there and I really did not want to give birth to a breech baby.

My OBGYN was concerned enough to do a little sonogram there in the office. He checked at the bump ended up being the baby’s behind, not the head. He searched for the head but could not get low enough to see it – it was really low. But he did not mention any of the magic words, like the baby has “dropped” or anything. Which I always thought was a strange term. It’s not like they drop out of you, so where are they dropping from and where are they dropping to?

We went home and went to bed, thinking we had at least a few more weeks until the due date came. And from some of the stories I’ve heard, maybe even longer. Sometimes these babies like to stay inside well past their due date. If genetics were to play any part, I was born one day before my due date and my brother was born two days before his due date. I was all ready to stay pregnant for quite some time. If you remember, I hadn’t found out that I was pregnant until a good two months into the pregnancy so I had technically only been aware of my pregnancy for six months. I wasn’t one of those girls who knew the exact date of her pregnancy and carried past her due date who was READY to be done with the whole pregnancy thing. I was still just getting used to it and having fun growing a life inside of me.

I woke up at midnight to use the restroom as I had grown accustomed to doing during that part of my pregnancy. Apparently the bladder makes a nice pillow for babies to sleep on. When I returned to bed I noticed a little twinge. Figuring it was nothing, or maybe Braxton Hicks, I settled back into bed and started to drift off. About five minutes later I felt another twinge. I laid there with my eyes open, wishing this would stop so I could go back to sleep. Another five minutes, another twinge. I didn’t want to wake up The Man, so I sat up and quietly watched the clock for an hour. Every five minutes I felt something, and as the hour past they started to get stronger. Could these really be contractions? I thought they would be farther apart. Or if they were this close together, I thought they would be heavy duty. Maybe I have a really high tolerance for pain?

Finally, at 1 a.m., I woke up The Man. We spent another hour monitoring the spasms. He confirmed that they were only minutes apart. We called my mom and asked her what she thought we should do. She suggested calling the advice nurse. We did and she said that my description would normally solicit an ambulance call. We assured her that we lived near the hospital and that we would drive there immediately.

It was January 9, 2003. I didn't know it yet, but this is going to be your birthday.

Friday, June 20, 2008

I'm Awesome And The Man Is a Bloody Wanker

I'm flattered to say that The Man thought that this picture was a screen shot I STOLE from some web site. I'm flattered because that must mean it's a good picture. And that makes me AWESOME. Think about how much MORE awesome I could be if I win THIS contest. Really. Stop and think about it.

Okay, now that you have thought about it, let me tell you why The Man is a BLOODY WANKER. Only because I said it here, and it doesn't sound like actual cursing. At least not in America. Or, at least, not in our house.

But seriously. The Man didn't read that post very well. Because it SAYS "I don't know where my mom found this..." Which would mean if I took the photo from a web site, I WOULD KNOW WHERE SHE GOT IT.

Now I'm on a mission to find it.

I find this. Which is really cute and has the suction cup. But no smiley face.

Then I found this. It has a smiley face AND a suction cup. Getting closer. But it's not a toothbrush.

And then, finally, I find it. Here, on UK eBay! OH MY GOSH, I swear to you, I totally titled this post with Bloody Wanker LONG before I found this toothbrush.

It all comes full circle; the UK speak and the awesomeness.

Pretty Cool

My dad is going to be on BBC Radio tomorrow morning, talking about his business. Which I think is pretty cool. It's not like boring local AM radio. It's like...hmmm...what's the term? Oh yeah, WORLD WIDE.

However, in the process of setting up this meeting, I begin to feel very uncultured. Because let me tell you, I am a true California girl. I'm all "Yeah!" and "Like, YOU know." ALL the time. I try to speak professionally as much as I can, but words like "yeah" instead of "yes" are more common than they should be, and I'm sure I still sound like a high school cheerleader, especially over the phone, when people can't see that I'm really an almost 30 year old GROWN UP who has been working in the corporate world for 10 years.

Anyway, this BBC radio guy kills me. I feel bad because he's staying at the Holiday Inn. Which is not my fault. We didn't set him up to stay here or anything, that is all his doing. The Holiday Inn is not in the greatest part of town. It's next door to Food 4 Less, the local warehouse grocery store. Which is fine for me. But I don't live where there's a real life, actual QUEEN. And I don't say things like "I will ring you back." Or "Has he been on the telly?"

So I returned a call to him and I say, "Is Simon available?" I think I'm being really swift with those words instead of "Hey, is, like, Simon there?" And he says, "This is Mr. Simon." MISTER Simon? So I feel like I've insulted him right off the bat. As though I shouldn't be so FORWARD with him. And then I start right away into responding to his message, which I admit, was a mistake. Normally, I like to ask people if this is a good time for them because I hate it when people call me up and then act as though I have just been sitting around waiting for their call. But I got all flustered with all his "Mister" nonsense. He waits for me to finish, like the nice Brit he is and then ever so politely informs me, "I am in the middle of an interview right now. That is why I am whispering. May I please ring you right back?" Oh, excuse me. Why did you answer your BLOODY celly if you're in the middle of an interview?

What a wanker.


I don't know where my mom found this, but she did, and she bought it for The Boy. He couldn't wait to show it to me, and I know why. It is so stinking cute. If I had this as my toothbrush I would never stop brushing my teeth. It even has little suction cups on the bottom so it sticks to the counter.

My Mom Hides Chocolate Around The House

She does this so my dad doesn't eat it. Once he finds a spot she changes the hiding place. She has shown me before where she hides stuff because she'll get it out when I'm there for us to share.

I've been here for five days now and I haven't been able to find any. She's getting really good.

Not The Weekend I Expected

La dee da, I'm going along in my weekend all smiles and laughter. Granted, it's only Saturday at 7:30 in the morning (why am I awake again? oh yeah, it's called THIS PART OF PARENTING SUCKS). But I had my last day at my old job and I'm scheduled to have a date with my husband and some friends. Dinner and a movie. Sunday is Father's Day and we are having lunch at my friend's restaurant (YUM) and BBQ dinner at my parent's house (DOUBLE YUM).

So I'm skipping along (or trying to keep my eyes open so that I can at least WATCH The Boy kick my behind in Wii Tennis), and then WHAM! My dad calls.

Me: "Hello?"

Dad: "Hey Blondie."

Me: "Hi Dad! How are you?"

Dad: "I'm fine. But your mom's not okay. We're at [insert local hospital name here]."

Me: "What? What's wrong with her?"

Dad: "Well, her arm has been tingling lately and then last night one side of her face went numb but she didn't tell me until this morning. We called the advice nurse and they convinced her to go in immediately and get checked out. We just finished registration and I wanted to call and let you know so that you would know but also to let you know that we probably shouldn't watch The Boy tonight."

Me, totally dumbfounded: "Okay, thanks Dad."

Dad: "And also, we have been trying for months to get our alarm company out to the house to fix our alarm. They are supposed to be there at noon today. Can you hang out at the house until they get there and until they leave?"

Me: "Sure Dad." (What am I supposed to say? Your alarm guy can go to hell? I don't think so.)

We hang up and it takes all of my willpower to not go shake The Man awake to hold me while I curl up in a ball and sob uncontrollably. Instead, I go on the computer and consult Dr. Google. Dr. Google confirms what I suspected. STROKE MUCH?!?

Needless to say, no date night. I can't remember the last time we had an overnight date night. It was two weekends ago, but I can't remember it. Because THAT IS WHAT PARENTING DOES TO YOUR BRAIN. I love you Hunny Bear. Anyway, the three of us did not fare so well together on Saturday.

We end up spending the ENTIRE day at their house, which felt like an eternity.

My Dad updated us with she has to have a CAT scan but the one at that hospital is BROKEN (WHAT?) and so they have to ambulance her to county, my dad can't take her. Then they have to bring her back in the ambulance to the original hospital to discharge her. She got to the hospital at 7 am and did not get home until 4:30 that afternoon. They said she was fine but set up an appointment for her to see the neurologist on Thursday (yesterday). Meanwhile, HER FACE IS STILL NUMB.

I try to insist that they cancel the BBQ but she says, "No no. I asked the doctor and he said it was fine if we have a BBQ." Okay, Mom. Whatev.

Fast forward to lunch with the in-laws at our friend's restaurant. I get a call on my cell phone. GUESS WHO? My dad.

Dad: "Your mom isn't feeling well. She's nauseous. Can you pick up some ginger ale on your way over for the BBQ?"

Me: "Yes. But DAD! Don't you think we should cancel the BBQ? It's still not too late." My aunt and uncle live in the Bay Area, a little less than two hours away, so I'm thinking we could catch them before they leave or at least before they get too far to turn around.

Dad: "No. Your mom insists it's okay."

Me: "Alright. See you." CRAZY PEOPLE.

I am really stressed now and not a very pleasant person for the rest of lunch but I figure IT'S THE LEAST I COULD DO considering how often I get pissed at my in-laws.

We get to the house and everyone is there. I go in and see my mom, who is lying on her bed in the dark at two o'clock in the afternoon. I take her some ginger ale and talk to her a little bit. She seems to have a migrane too. I go back out and talk to Dad and everyone and he thinks she should go back to the hospital but she doesn't want to spend another day there. She just wants to lie in her bed. My dad suggests taking the BBQ SOMEWHERE ELSE.

Here is a pause in the story to tell you the housing situation.

First, my parents have a very open, 1800 square foot home with a living room, a separate family room, a dining room, and lots of seating in the backyard as well.

Second, we can't go to my aunt's house because, like I said, they live two hours away.

Third, my grandparents TRAVEL AND LIVE IN AN RV. There are nine adults and one child. I don't think we're going to fit, considering it's a pretty tight fit for my grandparents.

Fourth, and finally, that guessed it - our house. Our house is two stories. The entire house is 1051 square feet (that's right fifty-ONE. They all count). But the first floor is at least half of that, maybe a little more? We'll say 600 square feet. And there is a kitchen, laundry room, walk-in pantry, and half bath down there that are not for "lounging" if you will. So ten people in my living room and dining room. It was going to be cozy.

Unpause and back to the regularly scheduled story telling:

We pile in our cars and head over to our house. My mind is racing as I'm thinking of all the clean up that needs to be done. I make a mad dash into the house and throw the clean laundry and The Boy's bike upstairs in our room. The Man cleans up the sink full of dishes and cuts himself on broken glass in the process. Oops, my bad.

It ended up being a lot of fun. Everyone was open to the fact that this was not the perfect scenario. My aunt and uncle went to the store and bought charcoal and lighter fluid, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, BEER AND WINE.

And everyone had a grand old time.

My mom? She stayed home from work on Monday because she still wasn't feeling well. It was nice to have here there on the first day working for my dad. She went to the neurologist today, where they said she probably had a mini-stroke (scary much?). They put her on one asprin a day and are monitoring her blood pressure because it was really high yesterday. Also, they are going to do a survey of her neck arteries or something to see how clogged they are? - something like that.

Just to assure you that she really is okay, she told me that she was sitting in her hospital bed and she got bored of reading. She noticed that the noises going on in the room next to here were bathroom noises - i.e., flushing, sink running, door closing, etc. She couldn't here anyone doing their business, but that was her guess. So what does she do? SHE KNOCKS ON THE WALL. And as she is telling me this, she is cracking up so hard she can barely talk. Maybe they should have given her a psych consult while she was there. Jeez.

So I'm still scared and nervous because no matter how much my mom can drive me crazy, she's still my mom. And I love her.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008


Dear Comcast,

If you need to cast a cute kid for any commercials, I've got one for ya.

I came downstairs and The Boy had been watching (a pre-approved channel) television.

He says to me, "Mom, do we have Comcast?"

I say, "Yes."

He is relieved. "Good. Cuz their faster."


Busy and Happy

I remember now what it is like to be BUSY at work! And I love it. I am so happy. I know it's only the second day and I'm still in the "honeymoon" phase. But for real, this is A-MA-ZING.

The day flies by faster than something that flies really fast. I was thinking a bird, but let's go with rocket ship.

And I am already SO much more relaxed. It used to be that when I got home all I wanted to do was drink hard liquor nothing. Like sleep or veg out in front of the television. Which is not good for The Boy (or for me). I wasn't in the mood to read a million books to him (or one book a million times). I wasn't in the mood to play with him. And I had no patience with him. But yesterday, I had the MOST patience with him. I was the best Mommy. And it felt GOOD.

I'm not even stressing that I don't know everything already. I used to think I should know everything RIGHT NOW, and I cried when I made a mistake. I would stress out all the time if I didn't know the answer to a question. Maybe it's because I'm older and more mature. Maybe it's because it's my dad. Or Maybe it's because of all the meds. I'm going to hit this one from the maturity angle. Yeah, that's it.

I am disappointed about one thing. Less time to spend reading my favorite blogs! And writing my blogs! If that's the most I have to complain about, then I'm happy.

Yesterday, we had a meeting on the couch. I wore sweats.

Today, I wore a skirt, but it is a comfy skirt. I wore flip flops. I sat out back on the porch swing and pet the cat while I returned phone calls.

Tomorrow, The Boy is going to spend the day with me. I'm wearing sweats again. And we'll play with Play-Doh at the kitchen table.

Monday, June 16, 2008


In December 2002, I went to the doctor and he said that I had high blood pressure and did I have a stressful job? Um, yes. Besides the fact that my job was my baby at the time, it also actually demanded a lot from me and I often times worked a minimum of fifty hours a week, and quite a few times I would be in the office at 6 a.m. and I wouldn’t leave until after 9 p.m. that evening. So he told me I had to take it easy and put me on disability. My last day of work was December 20, 2002. I was planning to come back to work six weeks after the baby was born.

I didn’t go back to work until January 3, 2005.

Friday, June 13, 2008

I'm Done

I'm all done at my job. I walked out of there at 3:21 p.m. I thought I would be more sad. I thought I would cry as soon as I got in the car. I did not.

I feel really great about leaving. They already found a replacement for me (someone within the company who was laid off, so technically I saved someone's job YAY me). And I'm excited for the new adventure I am about to embark on.

Good-bye office!

Lamaze Class

We signed up to go to a series of Lamaze classes. I think there were six classes. We went to the first class. Holy Braxton Hicks, Batman! It scared the living daylights out of me and we never went back. I decided that I was NOT going to give birth and that I would be the first person in the world who raised their child in-utero.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

The Pants Story

I thought I had blogged about this already but I looked through my posts and whadayaknow, it's not there.

I have a teeny, tiny shopping addiction. As evidenced by three separate times in our lives when we had SEVERAL credit cards maxed out, adding up to a number I am not proud of and will not reveal.

Before The Boy was ever conceived...wait, back up farther. Before The Man and I were ever TOGETHER, I had a 50 gallon Rubermaid container stuffed with brand new children's clothing. I'm not even going to try to defend The Container.

It didn't get any better after The Boy was born. I bought him everything from regular retail clothes from Old Navy, Gap, Gymboree, Janie and Jack to high end designer clothes from department stores and boutiques (i.e., Seven for all Mankind jeans, Antik Denim jeans, Ralph Lauren, online boutiques, boutiques in San Francisco, Sacramento, etc.).

In partial defense, and to push for you to look favorably on me, I have sold everything I bought on eBay after he grew out of it. So it's not a total waste. It's an INVESTMENT.

I didn't think anybody would notice the brands, or how many clothes The Boy had. I didn't shop for these things for status or for other people to notice. I shopped for them because they were special and The Boy deserved special clothes because I LOVE HIM SOOOOOOOOO MUCH. I especially did not think my parents noticed his clothes because they were never into designer labels. When I was a kid we shopped at Mervyn's and JCPenney's. And there's nothing wrong with that. But that's why I thought they wouldn't be paying attention.

Also, I never thought I was doing anything in excess until this happened (the story I am about to tell you). I just thought I was providing for my kid to the very best of my abilities.

My parents have purchased only a few articles of clothing for The Boy over the years. Maybe a handful of things when he was really little (less than six months old), one or two things after that, and then at about two years old it really halted to a stop. And I was really surprised. I thought they would love doting on him and buying him all kinds of clothes. One day, I think The Boy was about three and a half, I asked my mom, really casually, "Mom, why don't you buy clothes for The Boy? I thought you would love doing that for your (ONLY) grandson. Is it because he's a boy? Like, if I had a girl, do you think you would buy more? Since girl stuff is so much cuter and frillier?"

Her (very cold) response: "Don't you think you do enough of that for everyone?"

I was shocked. I felt like I had been slapped across the face. I honestly did not know how to respond to that. So I didn't. I just dropped it. But on the inside, I resolved to prove her wrong. I was going to go home and count how many clothes he had. I was sure it was going to be a small amount and I could prove to her that we were PRACTICALLY DESTITUTE and she should buy her grandson some DAMN CLOTHES!!!

I got home and decided to start with his pants. All of the pants I counted fit him at the time.

There were thirty.

I did not continue counting any other articles of clothing.

Scrap It

When I stayed home with The Boy for the first two years of his life I started scrapbooking. I even became a consultant for one of those big name scrapbook companies (aka PYRAMID SCHEME), which I could probably mention by name (you could figure it out on your own, I think there's only one) but that would be much less mysterious than not naming it at all so let's go with that.

Of course I ended up with A MILLION dollars worth of product and it's very overwhelming. Besides being overwhelmed, I don't even think I do a good job. My favorite pages are pages that I copied from someone else. I'm just not creative like that.

It was easier to scrapbook when I had a regular camera with like, real film in it (I know I'm old, spare me), and the pictures were physically in my hand. Now I just put everything online on Shutterfly and MySpace and then I don't do anything with them. I'm lazy and I don't want to go ALL THE WAY to Target to pick them up, or even ALL THE WAY to the mailbox when they get delivered (have I mentioned lately how much I LOVE laziness?). And I certainly don't want to spend money on the pictures when I could be spending that money on pants for The Boy (a story for another time). Or an iPhone. Or cake.

I have probably scrapbooked twice in the last six months and only because my mom guilted invited me over to her house and I made her promise to feed me lunch and cake. What I would really like to do is OHMYGOSH GET RID of all of the scrapbook clutter in my house that I never use. Imagine the space I would have. For pants. And cake.

But then I feel like a bad mom for wanting to sell on eBay the tools needed to preserve The Boy's memories. Do you think the MySpace photo albums are enough? And will that last forever? Or some other online memory keeper?