Happy Libido Awareness Day!

Ah. It's Valentine's Day. A day to celebrate love by chocolate, cards, and a romantic candle-lit dinner.

It's also time to pull out that sexy lingerie, light the candles, and turn on the romantic music because what is love without love-making?

Nothing like a good romantic holiday to remind us all that we are sexual beings with sexual desires.

Or to remind people, like me, the we have absolutely no libido.

So you go through the motions, pretend everything is going smooth, suggest an early bedtime ("oh, bed you say? certainly") and turn around and fall asleep.

Is the holiday ruined?

Nope.  Just delayed.  But, to be safe, make sure to stock up on extra chocolate and super mushy cards to placate your partner.  It will work, I promise.

Besides, there is always next year.

Until next time, enjoy your libido awareness day.

Why Blogs Need a "Like" Button and Other Completely (Un)Related Thoughts

Since I am horrible, no good, blogger, I am terrible at responding to comments.  I read all of them, and usually compose the best responses, but writing them out seems impossible. Especially with my many distractions--admissions essay, work, Facebook, kids, and my husband.

What I need is a "like" button for comments, then all of you will KNOW I read them, even if I couldn't respond.

*****

Recently, "i think i am the craziest person on the planet" search landed a person on my blog.  I hope they learned the truth that I am sole owner of that title.  Don't you dare take it away from me.

I had other awesome search terms and carefully placed them in categories for you.

You Landed In the Right Place

"Make my husband last sarcastic" (Sorry lady/man, I can only help him become MORE sarcastic)

"sarcastic people have more illnesses" (Clearly)

"parenting fail" (after fail, after fail...)

"menu to gain 20 pounds in one month" (Hello! Birth control!)

"tired of being a mother" (I get it.)

Ummmm....

"how do you install the oh birth control" (read the instructions!)

"real gay moments" (not sure if you'll find what you're looking for here)

"making pee" (BECOME PREGNANT!!)

"gay love making" (no words)

Say it with me, "AWWWW!"

"support my husband for his medical school interview"

"closer i get to you 2011"

"blog post supporting duggar family miscarriage"

"little girl sweet kisses" (I'm going to assume this was innocent)

*****

In lieu of boring you with updates on this pregnancy, I am using Facebook.  If you don't have Facebook, and want boring updates, let me know and I will start an e-mail thingy.

*****

We celebrated Solstice this year with a candle light dinner and toasts to celebrate light starting to increase daily.  It was awesome.

*****

Emily thinks the Muppets on Sesame Street have penis noses.  What do you say to that?  She also told the nurse on our last visit that "Mommy is getting a baby today!" Sorry to disappoint you, girly, but it's going to take longer than 5 weeks for that to happen.

*****

Happy holidays to all of you! I hope you eat as much food as you want and think of me while doing so.  You can bet I would be glaring in your direction as you masticate on all those delicious entrées and desserts while I sit with my puke bowl in my lap and munch on Saltines in the hope that I won't vomit.

Feeling Free, Feeling Good

After a considerably hard weekend, I decided to take two days off from work.  Sickness and pain were my nemeses and I had only one remedy: sleep.  I also made some dietary changes and limited my food to saltines and soup with the occasional sandwich.  For whatever reason, these switches have positively impacted my after miscarriage stuff. While I am still feeling slightly ill, the back pain is almost gone and my mind is just about free of fog.

It's strange, really, to have these excessive emotional highs and lows--to go from hating life to feeling excited for tomorrow.  Hell, I'll take the positives, they keep me going and my world incredibly interesting. Eh, I guess I can handle the lows if they make life exciting and this couldn't be possible if there isn't one (or two, or 10) sh***y day a week.  I know because my Guide to Life says so.

(What is my Guide to Life?  Well let me tell you.  Nah, I'll just redirect you.) (This book is on a pedestal in my household and we read from it religiously.  RELIGIOUSLY I say.  It's my replacement bible.)

(Speaking of the bible, Emily comes home singing new Christian songs that she has learned in preschool about once a week.  My favorite is God Is Great. She sings this every meal time while Ben and I sit and laugh.  It's just so darn cute!  Also, she doesn't like it if I try to change the lyrics to "Emily is great!" or something similar.  I guess she thinks I'm being cynical.  Where would she get that idea?)

ANYWAY.

If my life were a musical, I would be singing "The Hills Are Alive" or "Defying Gravity." If only I could attach wires from my brain to the TV so my amazing thoughts could be transmitted to the BIG SCREEN.   Picture this:  Me, in a beautiful dress, singing and dancing my way through life.  It would be priceless.  And entertaining.  Mostly entertaining.

(Have I mentioned that Emily dances like a Hip Hop star?  I guess my regular Zumba work-outs HAVE taught her something.  Like how to shake her hips and booty.  I feel slightly guilty in encouraging her but, frankly, it's hilarious to see my 3-year-old shaking her thing better than most pop stars do.)

AHEM.

I return to work today and I feel like doing some jumping jacks--I am THAT excited.

Is this what feeling free--from anger--is like?  If so, I really like it.

Teaching Values Early

Back in September, Emily wanted to do things that were slightly dangerous--like driving.  Rather than saying no, I explained to her she could drive, when she turned 16.  After that I provided age requirements for everything: chewing gum at 8, working at 18, dating at 49, etc.

A parents greatest pride is when they see their teachings actively followed on.  My point came today, at the grocery store.

Pushing the cart back to the car, Emily yells from within the basket, "I be 21 and I drink BEER!!"

I am so glad we are teaching our children values from an early age.

10 Inevitable Truths of Parenthood

1. When your kid or kiddos are sick, you will think they need rest.  They will think they need to avoid it.  On goes the Sleep To Get Better battle, worse than the Take Your Medicine battle.

2. As soon as you clear your schedule for some valuable time with your kids, they will destroy the house 10 minutes before, leaving a disgruntled, irritated, mama who wants to sleep and/or drink instead of spend that time with them.

3. Once you decide to wake up early to exercise, read, and/or write before your children wake up, they will decide to wake up earlier to join you. And there you will be, awake at 4 am, staring each other down.

4. The mess of your house will force you to think of some sanity-saving idea to make certain areas forbidden.  The kids will figure out your locks, avoid the booby-traps, and pull all the important papers you have stored, pour water on them, and throw them in the trash, laundry bin, and under your bed.

5. After a major temper tantrum, you will sit your toddler down to explain why things happen the way they do.  They will turn to you, give you the most tender expression, and smack your face.

6. Once you nicely fold your clothes and put them away--a task you do once a year--you will wake the next morning to all those clothes in your kids' room strewn across their floors and bunched up in places you didn't think they could reach.

7. You will make the most delicious meal, complete with four courses, sit your family down and endure as your oldest child says things like "I don't like that," or "I WANT CEREAL!" And, after your 2-year-old finishes, he will pour everything he didn't want on the floor, which your landlord has kept carpeted for insanity purposes.

8. While watching your children playing so nicely, you will remark to your husband/friend/associate "my kids are the best of friends," only to have one running to you, blood streaming down their face, the next minute screaming "he/she hit me!"

9. Instead of watching the show they demanded to watch while you wash dishes, or complete some other household chore, your children will be busy making artwork on the walls, the carpet, and the couch with your lipstick, pens, eyeliner, or whatever media source they can find in your purse.

10. Your spouse/partner and you will sit down after a long day to read bedtime stories to your kids.  After you finish, they will tackle you with hugs and kisses, shouting, "I love you!"  Then you will remember that it really is worth it in the end.  Especially once they shut their eyes and leave you with peaceful, slumbering noises--a sure sign you can finally relax.

There MUST Be a Cure for This

I have a serious illness: Sarcastic Foot in the Mouth disease.

It seems that most people naturally have what is called a "stopper" in their brains.  This physical component stops words and/or sentences from coming out that could be taken the wrong way. It also allows a person to think things through carefully before they say something they might be embarrassed about later.  It also reminds them that not everyone appreciates OR understands sarcasm.

Unfortunately, I was born without a "stopper" in it.  This genetic deformity affects 1% of the population, making it rare and deadly.  A baby develops it during the 2nd trimester when the mother overdoses on TV comedies or is around second-hand teenage sarcasm.

When I was little, my parents tried everything to cure my disease. They would say things like "think before you speak," and "remember to not say things that could be hurtful."  I would carefully process these directions; but, the next day, I would inevitably say something followed by turning red, apologizing profusely, and thinking about it incessantly all night long.

I believe it has gotten better now that I am an adult.  I usually only say things 2-5 times a week that cause horrible discomfort in the evening.

The big problem is, I often don't recognize the problem.  I process things this way "wow, this could turn into a serious conversation unless I say [whatever pops into my head] immediately." With most of my friends, they laugh at my silliness and we can all move on.  There are some people, though, that look at me like I am the craziest person on the planet and think thoughts like, "who says that?"

Me.  That's who.

Some examples include, well-placed miscarriage jokes/sarcasm: "The next time I get pregnant, I will be taking bets on how long it lasts," or, when asked if we will be having more children, "Oh sure I'll get pregnant! It's much easier to have more kids when I know I won't actually be having more kids;" telling people how I beat my children into submission by saying things like "if you scream at me one more time, I will smother you with kisses;" finally, I push my atheism on people by reminding them they don't need religion because I AM perfect; thus, if they emulate MY behaviours, they will be good in the next life.

See?  I'm a goner.

I have talked with numerous doctors.  They say there are only two options for cases like mine: immediately start taking an anti-sarcasm pill or go through intense electric shock therapy to re-wire my brain to THINK before it speaks.

As both of these will require a great deal of sacrifice on my part, I think I will forego both options and relegate myself to a life full of sarcasm and a mouth consistently occupied by a foot.

Oh Birth Control, How I Love/Loathe Thee

After the last miscarriage, I had to take what I normally avoid: birth control. Why? To control my insane cycles that included major depressive episodes that my current medicine was not effectively controlling; nausea and/or vomiting; and intense cramping that left me breathless.  Also, the bleeding was mild and came and went over 9 days.

But I have hesitated to take the BC.  My first experience, in the beginning two months of our marriage, was not good.  It turned me crazier than I already was.

However, my doctor explained that it would help with the overactive cysts (another thing that accompanied the miscarriages), keep the bleeding regular, and control my intense mood swings.

So I caved.

And it became my--almost--best friend.  That little pill worked wonders until I was ready to try again.

But the third miscarriage put me into another hormonal/period tail swing.  So I went to my therapist--the red pill--and began a new regimen.  Again, things righted themselves (except for the major depressive episodes, yuck), and all has been good in my world.

Until the scale topped out at 20 lbs heavier than before the miscarriage.  What the hell?  I kind of expected 10 lbs but 20, 20! I think the weight gain might be creating major depressive episodes at this point.  And anxiety attacks.  Oh my.

So I'm going to bid good-bye to my friend.  It's been a lovely relationship full of give and take.  You took my body and I gave my soul.  Or something like that.  For real, though, adieu.  And good riddance.

What type of birth control do you use?  Do you like it?  (Come on, don't be shy.  Sharing is caring. And it makes me feel better.)

image via ladysuite.net

----This week's supportive parenting theme is saying sorry.  How do you say sorry?  How do your kids sorry? Funny stories about apologizing?  Let's hear it.----

Oh the Irony

Last week I felt devoid of interaction.  It had been two weeks since I had complete access to the internet and my brain was degenerating from lack of use.

This week, my computer arrived.  Joy of joys!

Except, the endless time I had before--due to Ben's studying schedule and the kid's early bedtime--has dissipated quickly.  Poor baby Andrew has not stopped crying since 6 am Monday morning.  I thought it was his teeth, but upon further inspection it turned out to be something more sinister : hand, foot, and mouth disease.  Since there is nothing a doctor can do, Andy just has to wait it out.  Gah!

{On an unrelated note, how does he get these things?  I keep our place pretty spotless AND wash his hands, face, and anything he eats off of frequently!  I feel like the worst mom.}

I think this kid has had more strange viruses than anyone I know.  Like the rectal strep he concocted alongside RSV a year ago, and then, a few months later, the weird sores that appeared in the back of his mouth from another rare virus.  What makes things more difficult is he doesn't develop normal symptoms, like a fever or fatigue.  As Ben says, he's inherited my broken prosteoglandin pathway (I don't know what that is either) as well as my sh***y immune system.

Anyway, I have my computer but no time to write so my brain is still going haywire from all the ideas sprouting.  If only it would veg like the rest of my body feels like doing all the time.

At least I've had one positive from this experience: a painful reminder of those newborn days.  I think I might be done with having babies.

{Please note the sarcastic and/or sardonic undertones.}

Back In Action

Meet Betty the Bomber.  We sold our broken down van and bought this in April.  We packed her full of everything we could--clothes, essential toys and books, our photo albums and other memorabilia--and sold the rest.

This is how the past two months have looked.

Travelling

Six weeks visiting family (and being homeless--literally without at home AND internet, but family graciously provided both).

Thirty-two hours of driving on the road.

Seven different states.

An 11:30 pm arrival to our new, but empty, home.

Over 1500 miles and we all arrived in one piece, well...except for the microwave and Ben's fishing pole.  Everything/one else? A little battered but happy.

Moving In

Four days and 10 stores yielded great results:

Cupboards full of dishes, pots and pans, and food.

Fridge full of goodies.

Drawers packed with utensils.

Living room decorated with a coffee table, sofa, couch, chair, and TV.

Dining room fitted with dining table and chairs (and plastic to cover the carpet from toddler messes).

Settling In

Favorite meals served once again (including the cherished hot dog spaghetti--with the hot dogs burnt).

Suitcases full of dirty laundry unpacked, washed, folded, and put away.

Toys and books stored in a convenient location.

Internet and cable hooked up.

Yes, we are [in our new] home! Furniture, dishes, and all!  

As I've had limited time to access the internet, I feel a bit lost.  Tell me, what have all you been doing? Feel free to link to some of your favorite posts, I would love to read them! I've missed all of you dearly.

A Very Bleak Future Indeed

I think I have ostracized each of you.  I deeply apologize.  My emotions are much more stable when thinking about the miscarriage.  I also don't feel so fragile.  (That doesn't mean I'm willing to talk about it, yet, just that I'm not as easily wounded.)  I feel more comfortable talking about certain aspects of what happened, just not confronting what it might mean for the future.  So, for now, I will skirt the issue.  Please don't feel uncomfortable e-mailing me.  I value my friendship with each of you.

WARNING: Graphic and extremely sarcastic post ahead.  Proceed with caution and don't eat while reading.  Thank you.

When walking into the store to buy pads or diapers, we inevitably pass through the incontinence section.  Since Ben and I are so mature, we always crack some lame joke about one of us needing it and giggling like high school boys.

Little did I know, Ben would soon have a legitimate reason to mock me.

Wednesday found me taking care of the kids without any help.  As usual, since Saturday (when the whole m business went down), I was having my bleed fest and making regular trips to the bathroom.  I noticed I only had 6 pads.  I didn't think anything of it.

But when I went through 4 in 2 hours, I started feeling a little concerned.  I mean, I couldn't very well go to the store while pints of blood poured from my vagina--you know?  So I thought about plan B.

Unfortunately, before a plan actually formulated, I was on the last one.

"Um, how long can I stretch this pad out," I thought.  My answer came quickly enough.  "Mommy!  Blood!" Emily cried while pointing to my pants.

"Sh**," I thought (and maybe said but I seemed to have blanked that moment out).

I looked across the room and saw the diaper box.

I did the only reasonable thing I could think of.

"Emily! Can you give me a diaper?!" I said while running to the bathroom.  Soon I heard the pattering of her feet across the carpet and into the bathroom.

"Here Mommy! Oh no! Blood!"  Emily said, with a very devastated voice.

"Dear God, please do not allow Emily to remember this when she gets older," I thought, calculating the expense for the years of counseling she would need.

"Thanks!" I said as I took the diaper from her and attached it to my underwear.

Now I can say I have something in common with babies and the elderly population.

I Caved

College football season has begun.  Once upon a time,  I would've dreaded this time.  It was one more thing that took Ben's attention away from me.   This year, though,  I am looking forward to it.  Nay,  I am encouraging football watching.

My thinking changed completely last year when football pulled me through the last month of contractions.  Every night I would lay on the couch trying to find some comfort in the awful sensations that wouldn't lead anywhere, and watch football with husband.  It's hard to hate something that you have bonded so close with.

So.  This year?  I was excited.  Unfortunately, our mode of football viewing was discontinued when we changed internet service providers.  As we don't have a TV,  we were stuck.  How were we going to watch our beloved Cougars as well as the other 8 games during a week?

I came up with a solution.  One that even shocked my husband.

I suggested we buy a cheap TV and get cable.

I know.  I must have lost my marbles.

Anyway.  My husband took me up on the offer.  Last week, he found an awesome deal on Craigslist (or some on-line thing) for a $10 TV.  He contacted the cable company and bought a very basic cable package for $20 a month.

In a couple of days,  we will join millions of other Americans by watching multiple college football games at the same time.  More accurately,  I will blog while my husband watches football and provides a running commentary on what is happening.  Since I am remarkably capable of doing four things at once,  I will write, listen, watch, and comment without missing a beat.

And I will have an excuse to eat hot wings.  I love hot wings.

Just Call Me Dr. Ferber

In case you are wondering, I am doing fabulous, the pain is gone and I am sleeping much better.  Really, though, you guys rock.  Your comments made me laugh.

My new laptop arrived yesterday with all its, uh, refurbished glory.  It is speedy and oh-so-wonderful.  I think it will solve all my time problems.  Okay, maybe not all of them. Everything that the laptop does not solve will be resolved by three words: crying it out. There is a certain member in our household who keeps me up at night with his crazy sleep habits.  My husband.

When he is under duress, or just plain tired, he tends to sleep rather poorly.  This, in turn, means that I sleep even worse.  Take a few nights ago.  We went to bed at a decent hour (around 10),  talked for a few minutes, and fell asleep.  A few hours following, he was up and moving--first, he checked his e-mail, next he ate a snack, and finally he curled up on the couch, the position I found him in an hour later.  If that wasn't enough, when he was back in bed he was constantly moving and jumping up to check his alarm clock.  And then, when it was time, his alarm clock started buzzing.  And buzzing.  And buzzing.  Until he decides to get up an hour after his set time.

After struggling through this for most of our married life, I have decided to use Dr. Ferber's advice with a few of my own alterations.

First, I am going to lock Ben in our room and sleep on the couch.  Next, when starts to jiggle the door knob, I will turn on my mini iPod.  Finally, I will be persistent and continue with my vigil until he sleeps through the night.  See? Easy peasy.

Since I am so sure that this will be a success, I have already started my book.  I am debating between titling it Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Wife or The Happiest Wife On the Block. Any suggestions?

Where are the Lemons?

I can't find the lemons today, I think they made a run for it.

Perhaps they disappeared when my daughter dropped my phone into her cereal bowl. Or when she threw her food on the floor.  For the millionth time.

Maybe they hid yesterday,  after Emily threw all her crackers on the carpet and walked over them.  Repeatedly.  Or when she got into the laundry detergent while I was trying to nurse Andrew.

I think they decided to take off when Emily refused to go to bed and sat in her crib crying.  Until I couldn't take it anymore.  Until I realized she was starving and felt horrible for not figuring it out sooner.

Perhaps they realized my mistake when I decided to read The Hunger Games in order to relax.  They could have at least warned me first.

I guess they could have been scared away when Andrew woke up screaming at 1:00 am and Ben told me it was time he cried it out.

I wish they would have shown up when I was still wide awake at 4:30.  Company would have been nice.

They probably ran away when Andrew woke up at 6:00.  They must have seen my frustration peak when I brought him into bed at 6:30.

I think, though, it really started with the dishes.  They surely realized my mistake in not cleaning up immediately following dinner.  I guess they recognized my exhaustion and decided against pushing it.  There is only so much I can do when I am facing these things alone.

I hope they come back soon.  This semester isn't getting any easier.

*****

Congratulations to C at Kid Things for winning the copy of Aidan Donnelly Rowley's novel, Life After Yes.  I know you will enjoy it!

One Year Older and Wiser Too

Despite all the verbal hints, written notes, and ripped magazine pages strewn around our house, my husband did not send me to a luxuriously furnished cabin on a remote island with the option of ordering takeout for all three meals.  Maybe next year.

I can't complain, though, because I was given a much better gift.  For the first birthday in two years, I am not pregnant!  Let me explain why this is important.

• Because my belly isn't abnormally large, I can fit into a sexy outfit and head out to my restaurant of choice.


• Because I am not sick, I can actually eat the food at that restaurant.


• Because I don't feel weepy, I won't cry because I can eat the food.  (Okay, maybe I will.)


• Because I'm not exhausted, I will not fall asleep during the movie I choose for tonight's fun activity.


• Because my body doesn't hurt, I will not have to sit down every 5 minutes to rest.


• Finally, because my moods are somewhat regular, I will not be upset with my husband.  I think this is Ben's favorite reason.

I am not quite sure who to thank for this fabulous gift (because I obviously do NOT practice abstinence), so I will send a million thank you cards to God.  I think He can redirect them if needs be.

Congratulations to the three that correctly guessed my age.  If you promise to still be my friend, I will tell the rest of you.

-------

Did you promise yet?

-------

All right.

-------

I am 23.

-------

Don't hate me.

-------

To honor my birthday, I am closing the comments.  Now go do something fun!!

I'll Have A Guilt Sandwich, Please

I am feeling pretty full these days.  I have engorged myself frequently on a guilt sandwich.  Nothing like a guilt sandwich to make me feel deliciously bloated.  I don't normally share recipes but I think I'll make an exception for this case.

Start with two slices of household guilt.  This can be anything, like the dirty dishes, unfolded or dirty laundry, or a messy living room.  It makes it even tastier when you have extra thick slices.

Spread the household guilt with some tangy blog guilt--worries over unread e-mails from blog friends,  little to no time to comment on your favorite blogs, or not responding to comments.  Remember, the more the better.

Now for the best part: family guilt.  I usually double this.  You have many options to choose from--unmade phone calls to siblings, arguments with your parents, no time for you spouse, and doubts about your mothering capabilities.  I usually go for spousal and mothering guilt.  I like it hearty.

Top this with the condiments of your choice.  A slice of not keeping in touch with your friend here, a slice of unchecked tasks lists there, whatever suits your fancy.

Sprinkle this with some yummy self guilt.

Top all of this with the other half of your household guilt and you have yourself a delectable guilt sandwich.

I like to take humungous bites of this sandwich daily.  And, the best part is, unlike other sandwiches, the more bites I take the bigger it gets!

Yes.  I like me a big guilt sandwich.

My Kids Hate Me

Before I continue, I want to make something clear:  I can't complain about my night's sleep.  When I am tired, I am completely to blame.  However, I can complain about my babies recent naptime sleeping--or lack thereof.

I find naptimes to be slightly more essential than nighttime sleep.  See, it is during naptimes that I take a shower, do the dishes, and write.  It is also during naptime that I gather my energy to make dinner, take walks, and start laundry.  So, when nap times are compromised, I become grumpy and my house becomes dirty.

Lately, my kids have been doing tag napping.  You know, when one falls asleep the other wakes up.  It is very aggravating.  It has led me to the conclusion that my kids hate me.  This must be true.  Why else would they put me through so much torture?

Now, if you are looking to excuse my children, it is because you don't know them.  Sure, they might look angelic,

but deep down they are devious little creatures. I should know.

Take Andrew.  He used to sleep moderately well.  He would at least give me a half hour to an hour of good napping 3-4 times a day.  I can do that.  Lately?  He has been fighting sleep.  After vigorous rocking, he might close his eyes.  But, the instant I put him down--BAM! He wakes up.

I did expect this.  He is 4 months after all.  His sister did the same thing around this time.  It doesn't make it any easier.

Emily, on the other hand, sleeps pretty well hen she wants to sleep.  If she does not want to sleep, she is grumpy.  She whines and has melt downs when I give her something besides cookies to eat.

After a day or two of their ornery sleep habits, I pout.  I'm pretty good at pouting.  I will put on a movie (I'm on a classics roll right now) and let them go crazy while I sit and inwardly moan and groan.

It's funny when epiphanies hit.  While writing this sarcastic, and somewhat true, post I realized something.  I really have a good life.  Sure, my kids may drive me nuts with their non-sleeping habits, but I know that phase will end too quickly.  Before I know it, they will be leaving the house.  Then I will have quiet.  I will be able to nap when I want and write when I want. Strangely enough, I'm sure I will miss this time.

I  think I will go and kiss my little babies' faces.  This sleeping thing will not last forever,  the joy they bring to me will.