The Break-Up: Part II

Well, here we are, 8 p.m. on a Saturday night and I have been up and out of bed for a good five and half hours now. Still a little headache-y and more than a little tired. Why, you ask? Well, remember about Vodka? I was honest from the get-go and admitted we might be caught in an on-again off-again romance akin to that of Carrie and Big's. If you don't know who they are, please for the love of God, join the new millenium and watch a little Sex and the City. Anyway, point being, last night I was with her.

Now don't get me wrong, in the name of honesty, there were a couple of other smaller indiscretions in the last month or so, but they ended well. She got me again. She knew, knew I had grown tired of her ways and so when I could no longer resist and imbibed, she treated me like a real lady. We had a great time and the next day I was none the worse for wear. Then that backstabbing little bitch had the last laugh.

Cut to last night. Last night was a good time. Had all kinds of fun. We even sang again and that hadn't happened for quite some time. She was in fine form, let me tell you and so was I.

Cut to this morning. OmifuckingodIthinkI'mgoingtodieandwhatthefuckisthematterwiththesunanyway?! These were just a few of the thoughts that coursed through my brain when I attempted to open my eyes this morning. So so so so so much pain. Ow ow ow ow ow. Knife in my head. It was ugly. Then remember about all kids I have? Remember how one is two and crapped his pants at McDonald's a couple of weeks ago? Well said two year old child of mine chose this very morning to crap his pants again, in his room and leave it on the floor. Now I don't know how much you all know about hangovers but this is not good. No, I did not vomit. Thanks for asking. No, eventually I carried my bedraggled dehydrated nauseated ass downstairs and laid on the couch for awhile. I even braved some soup. Then at 12:30 p.m. I decided it was best to nap because speak of the devil, we were going back to McDonald's for a birthday party at 3:30 p.m. Yep, it just keeps geting better. Because I don't know about you, but me, I love nothing more than the thought of McDonald's Play Land on a sunny Saturday afternoon with a bunch of toddlers. Especially when hungover! Yippee!

So I had my nap, got up and removed the seven pounds of mascara from undermeath my eyes and showered and carried on with my day. I ate almost two cheeseburgers and some fries and downed a litre of Sprite. Felt slightly better. Then, then it was time to go home. Now if you've been following along you know I live in a town where seniors reign supreme and no one ever gets real excited about driving much more than 40 km/h on a good day. Today was not a good day. Today my body said, hey Vodka was here, oh look she left a note, let me see what it says, oh yep, here it is: 'Make this dumb bitch pay for thinking she could so easily enjoy my company without paying a dear price'. Hence my body rejecting McDonald's with a ferocity previously unmatched.

Bottomline is, she got me. Again. And likely not for the last time...I need to go lie down.

Should Not Even Be Blogging

Theokay I'm over here now. ha ha. I'm tired. ee hee. Remeber how Vodka and I broke up....we got back toget

Hand Over the Sugar and Nobody Gets Hurt

Today is my EDO. One of the very very few perks of my said hated job. So today, I got to stay home. And, although I get an EDO every third Friday, some are busier than others. Today was less busy. Today I got to have a nap!

This was no small feat. First I had to get my youngest to go for his nap, then I had to tidy up so as not to feel guilty whilst napping, then I had to convince my six year old we should "watch a movie" (read: he quietly watches and I fall asleep) and finally I had to overcome the hurdle of texts and phone calls from my husband. Finally, though, I slept.

Then I woke up. Obviously. Thrilled that I had actually managed a nap and also pleased I would have some energy for the evening ahead. There was something to contend with first though and thankfully there was some Easter chocolate on sale at grocery store today. Since time began, at least in my world, an afternoon nap must be followed by inhaling anything containing copious amounts of sugar all while staring blankly ahead followed by the gulping of a glass of milk. In fact it's best not to even try to engage me in conversation until I've eaten a cookie or four or some chocolate or even just licked a marshmallow. I must have sugar. This is no laughing matter. Before I get it I'm mean. Like don't even look at me sideways or it will be the end of you, mean.

But I've had my nap, had my chocolate and so today, today was a good day.

I'm Gross

Let me start by clarifying I'm not gross in the sense that I "eat my own dandruff". And if you don't get that, please stop reading right now and go rent some old SNL; preferably the best of Chris Farley. Now to carry on...right at this very moment, about four feet away from where I sit is some form of animal vomit. I'm pretty sure it's dog vomit. Why am I writing about it instead of cleaning it up? Because I'm exhausted. Plus I'm passively aggressively ignoring the vomit. If I pretend it's not there, maybe it won't be? It seems nearly every day I clean up some form of human or animal waste or excretement. Can anyone say glamour?

Why am I so tired? Bad night of sleep. Lots of fresh air yesterday. I slept well until about 3 a.m. when my ever loving husband began to alert the troops with his nasal passages and throat. Snoring. First a tried a few gentle taps to let him know I loved him but not the snoring. Eventually I gently laid a hand on his chest and asked him if he could maybe move (before I smothered him). And wouldn't you know it, without violence, my usual tactic, he stopped and it was quiet. Then my stomach rebelled. My stomach and I aren't the closest of friends...and last night I tested her limits with a combination of milk, ground beef (we had tacos for supper) and Doritos. My stomach is not a big fan of any of those things, nevermind all three in one night. So at 4 a.m. I was in my kitchen downing a big salty glass of Eno. Yum. Not. But that blessed stuff did the trick and back to bed I went.

Cut to the work day. Busy busy. Lots of people. People making me want to say bad words and drink. And just overall a busy day. Then I drove home from Regina and was fortunate enough to have a vehicle with an Ipod jack so...time for a dance party!! Yes, to burn off some steam I sang and danced a good portion of the drive. Point of interest, the minivan I was driving, which I believe is a Voyager (I don't know though) has excellent cruise control and steering. I could let go and snap and gyrate all with an impeccable sense of rhythym and keep well on the beaten path! FYI.

So lack of sleep, irrations, job stress and a dance party...and now puke. Hey Monday, how've you been? Ooo, one last thing, I did get to enjoy the scent of actual rotting human flesh today. In comparison the dog barf is not that bad....off to the paper towels I go.

My Wish

My wish, today, was that my six year old had chicken pox.

Last night he was having a bath when I noticed a spot on his thigh that very well looked as though it could be the beginning of chicken pox. I was thrilled. Odd reaction you say? Well, I took the day off work yesterday because my daycare was closed. Nothing thrilled me more than the prospect of potentially staying home for the rest of the week if he indeed did have chicken pox and his little brother caught them too.

So this morning I dragged my butt out of bed at 7 a.m. and got into the shower. I feel it's prudent to point out that I have been off for the last four days and not once in those four days did either of my two youngest children stay in bed until 7 a.m. A-holes. Anyway, I got up, showered, got dressed and began the humanizing process (read: hair & make-up). It was getting later and later and my son (well both of them actually) was still asleep. Maybe this is a good sign, I thought. Maybe he's not feeling well, hence the sleeping in. So I dawdled. Did my hair first because it doesn't hurt to have my hair done but I really really didn't want to put make-up on unless I was going to work. However, still he slept...so finally I caved and put make-up on and thought, oh well, I'll be pretty at home for once.

Then, he awoke. I'm telling you I checked every square inch of that little boy's body. Nary a pox to be found. Reeling from disappointment I covered him back up and went and broke the bad news to my husband. He kindly offered to get out a red marker but I declined. I did happen to have one small shred of dignity left that stopped me from becoming a full out Munchausen Mama.

Off I went to work. Defeated and in no way prepared for the shitstorm that was about to hit me once I got there. Nor was I prepared for my two year old to actually shit himself in the McDonald's Play Land tonight.

Well, there you have it, another day, another healthy child, another pair of training pants rinsed out in the toilet....life is good?

A Letter to My 16 Year Old Self

March 24, 1994

Dear Me,

Hold on. Funny way to start a letter, I know. In this case it has a number of meanings. Hold on, because in less than three hours your life is about to change forever. Hold on, because in less than three hours you are going to meet one of the most important people in your life. Hold on because in less than three hours you are going to be a mother, a parent, a woman? Hold on, because soon, really soon, he'll be here.

At first you are going to be very surprised when they say "It's a Boy!" You, at 16, want a girl. You, at 16, in all reality wanted someone to dress up. You, at 16, think this is going to be nothing. You, at 16, don't know that the minute you look at him, it never mattered what you "wanted" because you just fell in love for the first time. You have babysat hundreds of times. Babysat your brothers countless hours, babysat other people's children, you, therefore know it all.

No, you don't.

What you haven't done is babysat someone you love more than yourself. Not to say you don't, and still do, love your brothers. But this person, this little boy, is so much more than you even know. To this day, 15 years and 364 days later, you are still wondering at what and who he is.

The other day, Justine, the girl you will give birth to at 19, told you (at 32) that you can be proud and "talk about it out loud". At first, you didn't know what she meant. Then she said in health she learned that something like 90% of all teenaged mothers drop out of school. She learned that a majority of the children of teenaged mothers struggle at school, academically and socially. You however, will not quit school. No way, there is too much to prove, for one, and no way are you going to let that little boy down....

So when he's two weeks old, you are going to pack him and yourself up and drop him off at daycare and go to school. Two morning classes. Then you'll take the bus back downtown and pick him up and then catch another bus and go home. You'll do your homework. You'll parent. You'll overfeed the poor little guy until he spews. You, at 16, will assume crying must mean hungry. But he'll be okay and so will you.

He'll be more than okay! He will delight you day after day, make you laugh uncontrollably until you cry; make you cry out of sheer pride, make you weep out of fear of having disappointed him...

When he's two he will delight in nothing more than dancing, with his back facing you and his Nana, wiggling his butt in perfect rhythym to whatever music is playing. At two, he will decide, around the time his sister his born that his shirt, any shirt, "is too busy" and that's why he won't wear it. At six, you'll break his heart when you tell him you and his dad aren't going to be married anymore. At ten, he'll amaze you with the ease in which he picks up a guitar and plays it, seemingly effortlessly. At 15 you'll burst with pride watching him play football.

At every age, he'll make you laugh. He's funny. He's musical. He's smart.

So hold on. Hold on when, sometime during the day of March 25, 1994, you and he will be alone in the hospital room and you'll have a moment of sheer terror. You'll wonder what the hell you're doing and how you're going to do it. It's not going to be perfect. It's going to be better than perfect because you're going to grow together. When he's 15 he's going to hug you and still want to talk to you and make you laugh when you don't think you can.

So to you and to the little boy, set to come along at 1:02 a.m. March 25, 1994, hold on, you're going to make it.

Anger is My Friend?

At one point in time a little birdie told me it had been suggested I am a very angry person. No shit. However, I was still somewhat offended. I think what offended was the suggestion I should not be angry. I still find this baffling. Don't get me wrong, every once in awhile I try to give myself a good pep talk about positive thought and attitude and how there really truly are people who are much worse off then I am. Then I find out that either my husband can't collect EI or the phone company is threatening to cut off service by the end of the month or my daycare is closing. It becomes difficult to find the up-side.

I'm generally a cynic. A pessimist. A realist. All of the above. As I've said before I'm okay with that, most of the time. This statement about my anger had me questioning who I am. I had some people tell me not to change. My husband was one of them. Apparently he finds rage charming. Although maybe not all of the time, heh heh. Co-workers, well the ones I call friends, say the same. My mother didn't suggest I shouldn't change but validated my anger. Lucky for her. Just kidding. Kind of.

I have been impatient since Day One. Bitterness has come with age. I don't mind anger but I dislike bitter. Bitter is not nice to be around. Bitter is not funny. Bitter is self-pity in disguise. And that is a fact. I've been doing a lot of feeling sorry for myself. I'm trying to quit. I'm trying to focus on positive things. I'm trying to maintain a semblance of control over my life and learning there are certain things I can't control. And that's the hard part. I crave control. In the past four months though, I've really had to face sometimes, life is out of my control.

Bottom line is, if you find me angry, I can't promise that will ever change. If you find me bitter, I'm working on it. If you find me at all interesting or entertaining, thank you. However, if you do not find me or this blog entertaining or interesting; if you take offense to the language used, you should probably stop reading now. I've been trying to curtail some of the language recently but it is a big part of the way I speak, sophisticated or not, so it will remain a part of this blog, as I see fit.

In the meantime: "chin up", "the sun will come out tomorrow", there's always a "silver lining" and all that jazz.

See, I'm getting better already...