Dawn of the Delightful

The fog lies heavy upon the ground as I gaze out my windows. Through the darkness, it gives the streetlights the appearance of spectres in the distance. It seems at once beautiful and terrifying. A chill races up my spine as I think to myself how perfect this weather would be for zombies.

No, I've not gone off my rocker. Not yet. I've been reading a new book. A book in, what I consider to be a bold, daring style. It is Steve Hockensmith's new novel, "Dawn of the Dreadfuls". It will likely have all of those stuffy, purist Jane Austen fans sniffing their smelling salts and hurling tea cozies. Technically, this novel has nothing to do with Miss Austen, but rather, serves as a sort of prequel to Seth Grahame-Smith's rousing rendition of an Austen classic, "Pride & Prejudice & Zombies". (Naturally, that last bit is not original Austen.)

Those of you with no imaginations can go ahead and roll your eyes. (I'll wait...) However, I find this idea absolutely brilliant. Just think about how many people will pick these books up when they would never in their lives consider reading Jane Austen, herself. Especially teens. Granted, it HAS been awhile since I was in school, but I remember having to read books of our own choosing for class. How many teenage boys would want to read "Pride & Prejudice"? Exactly, but you add in some zombies and martial arts, and they might actually ENJOY it. Then, there are the movie possibilities! I sense a perfect date movie in the making. Frilly dresses and balls for her. The undead and brain-eating for him. Magical.

"Dawn of the Dreadfuls" (DOD) is a smashing success, in my humble opinion. What begins as a shocking occurrence at a local funeral quickly turns the Bennet household upside down. Having been blessed with five lovely daughters and no sons, Mr. Bennet worries for his family's future should the "incident" happen to herald the coming of many more "dreadfuls", as they are called in polite society. Having been a veteran of the first battle against such horrors, Mr. Bennet, much to Mrs. Bennet's dismay, decides sacrificing his daughters' position in society is well worth the price if the training he thrusts upon them is successful. Training in the deadly arts.

The girls, being well brought up, initially have a difficult time accepting their fate. When a mysterious man shows up claiming to be a "master" sent to train them, things really begin to change for the Bennet sisters. In spite of lovely Jane's reluctance to partake of such tasks, and Kitty and Lydia's whispering and giggling, the master manages to push them all to become fearsome warriors. It takes skill to fight the dreadfuls in a dress, after all!

When word comes that a mere one hundred men are all the army will be sending, things seem dire, indeed. The living seem too frightened to take up arms, while the dead crawl from the earth in greater numbers each day. Even with all of their training, will Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters be able to put an end to this plague before it wipes out the entire town?

As I said before, I believe this novel is brilliant. Refreshing and original, in spite of the stench of rotting flesh. I look forward to many more of these twisted-classics from Quirk in the future! I wish I could spend an afternoon hanging out with these authors. Now, THAT would be delightful! Keep up the good work! For more information, please click on the title of this post and protect your head (just kidding about the head part). Thanks!

Morning Musings


Have you ever spent much time considering the phrase "crack of dawn"? Probably not, but you will now. I was doing that very thing a couple of days ago. As I tried to, in a quite vampire-like fashion, hide from the piercing light streaming through every tiny gap around the blackout drapes, my mind began warming up to run its daily marathon. At that point, it's pointless to try to go back to sleep. Especially with Perrin AKA Chatty Cathy bouncing on my bed and starting his perpetual asking of questions. He's lucky he's so cute.

So. The crack of dawn. I challenge you to think of a positive use for that word. Think about it. Cracking a mirror brings you seven years bad luck (or maybe just three and a half if it's not completely broken), a cracked windshield is something you can be written up for, plumbers' crack, smoking crack, crack the whip, saying someone is cracked, step on a crack break your mother's back... Need I go on? I don't think this is coincidence. In fact, I think it's surely intentional. A fitting phrase coined by someone who, like me, was NOT a morning person.

I found this on a website called Romance Reader at Heart.


At the Crack of Dawn: of course we all know this means early. Another American term in origin, the crack was from the German word, Krach, which means a loud noise. Loud noises are usually sudden, and so the Crack of Dawn in the saying refers to the sudden appearance of the sun when its rays first reach out in the horizon of the east. It's first appearance in print is thought to be in Outing in 1887.

Sudden loud noises at dawn sound pleasant, huh? Of course, the sudden part was what we are meant to understand. Either way, I don't care for anything sudden in the morning unless it's more sleep. Fat chance of that! Once Perrin is awake, he sees to it that everyone else is awake too. I can hear Abby yell at him to go away when he tries to get her up. She's not a morning person, either, but he's persistent. Unfortunately for him though, Abby doesn't find him as cute as I do. She is not above resorting to physical violence if she really wants to go back to sleep. From there, it all spirals downward with astonishing speed.

Now, whenever you wake up bright and early, you, too, can sit in bed and wonder about the crack of dawn. Then, if you're lucky, you can roll over, pull the covers over your head, and go back to sleep. Sleep a couple of hours for me while you're at it.

Time Flies


Four years ago, I had one of the most interesting and exciting days of my life. I got up before the sun to head to the local hospital for a labor induction. My body was feeling the strain of lugging around another human being inside of it for months and I was more than ready to meet the sweet little boy that kept trying to push his tiny foot through the skin of my belly. Don't get me wrong, I still think pregnancy is an absolute miracle, but it's far from comfortable toward the end. Anyone who says differently is being blackmailed.

I half expected it to be a long day. The other half of me thought that, this being my second child, things might go quickly. Especially, since they had the first time around. I filled out the various forms and got settled in my room around 6:30-7:00 in the morning. They put in an IV line and started a Pitocin drip to get the contractions started. Heath and I watched television and I tried to catch a few more moments of sleep. Around 11:00, my OB came in and did the usual "check" to see how things were coming along. She said I was at about 5 cm dilated. She broke my water and said she had to head over the a neighboring hospital for a C-section delivery, but that she'd be back to check on me after that and lunch. She also gave the okay for an epidural. I admire women who brave the throes of labor without medication, but that is NOT me. I told the nurse to send the guy right up and get the epi going. He showed up about fifteen minutes later and hooked me up. Normally, it doesn't take long at all for the epi to take effect, but another fifteen minutes later, I was still feeling a LOT of pain on my left side. So, Dr. Feelgood had to come back in and give me another dose. This time, it worked wonders. The nurse told me to lay on my right side and that she'd come back in about fifteen minutes and help me roll to the other side.

I finally felt like I could fall asleep. Mornings are not my favorite thing. My dad had shown up so Heath had someone else to talk to and I didn't feel so bad about sleeping. Pretty soon, I started to doze off. A short while later, through my semi-conscious haze, I started hearing these weird, wet sounds, but since there were two men in the room who were not shy about bodily functions and the expression thereof, I didn't really give it much thought. A heard a muffled cry and I remember thinking, "Awww, the people in the next room must have had their baby!" as my eyelids fluttered.

The next cry was much louder. In fact, it chased all thoughts of sleep from my mind instantly and my eyes flew open. Heath, my dad, and I all realized at the same moment that the crying was NOT, in fact, coming from the next room. As a less than motherly phrase passed my lips, Heath jumped out of his chair and tore back the blanket covering me. Lo and behold, there was our infant son squirming and crying, having delivered himself entirely without my knowledge. My dad ran to the hall and yelled for the nurses. Like a flock of loving mother hens, the nurses filled my room almost as quickly as if they'd been beamed down from the Starship Enterprise. There was a flurry of excitement as they began their rituals of cleaning up and checking vital signs. They were all in shock, as was I, that I hadn't felt a thing and it all happened so fast.

In moments, our squirming, darling little bundle of boy was snuggled happily in my arms beginning what will likely be his life-long obsession with boobs. When my OB came by after lunch, she was more than a little surprised. I asked her if she'd ever seen another delivery like mine. She told me that she'd delivered thousands of babies and had only seen it happen once before. Apparently, my delivery was the talk of both hospitals that day. While, I'm sure I was the envy of more than one new mother, when things settled down, I had time to really think about what happened. What COULD have happened. What if he hadn't cried and hadn't been able to breathe? What if my body hadn't instinctively reacted and pushed him out? What if he'd gotten stuck? But these things didn't happen.

That night, as I stood holding my precious son by the window in my room, the snow fell softly outside and I had one of those moments when everything was perfect. It was dark, Heath was sleeping on the roll-away bed, the snow was falling in huge, fluffy flakes, and everything was quiet and peaceful. One of those moments you never forget.



Today, my sweet baby boy turned four. Where did the time go? He's growing up to be such a loving, caring boy. He feels things deeply and personally. He's my snuggler. God was watching out for him the day he was born, and I know He still is. I am forever thankful He chose me to be Perrin's mother. I'm beyond lucky!

So Long, Farewell!


I figure there's time for one last post in 2009. I suppose I should reflect on all that's come to pass this year, but once was enough for most of it! I'm not one of those people that blames things on the year being a "good" or "bad" year. I don't think that makes any sense at all. I mean, I'm all for nonsense, but that's just silly. I chose to make the decisions I did and I know I'm the one to take the blame (or honor on very rare occasions) for them.

I'd like to think that I learn more each year. That I get wiser or something. I'm not entirely sure that's the case, though. I know I make enough mistakes that I ought to learn something. I get tired of learning them the hard way, but it seems to be the only way I know how!

In general, I'd have to say that I'm not at all sorry to see the end of 2009. I wish that I could go to sleep tonight and wake up to an actual fresh start. To a nice clean house, paid bills, a full bank account, a happy family, a stocked kitchen, healthy, well-behaved pets, a full tank of gas in the Rendezvous, etc. Heck, let's throw in world peace while we're at it!

It hasn't been an easy year, but as I sit here on my couch with my two darling children watching a marathon of the Three Stooges, I know I wouldn't trade my life for anything. It's more fun watching the kids laugh at the Stooges than the show itself. Those people who think black and white shows are dumb are really missing out. Some of the best stuff was filmed in black and white. I love that I get to share it with my kids. I like knowing that we can watch something together without my having to worry if they're going to be exposed to inappropriate things. There's far too much out there waiting to rob them of their innocence as it is.

I hope 2010 is a far better year for all of us. I'm sure it will bring its share of challenges, but may we all meet them with grace and overcome them. May we all be showered in blessings and never take for granted the things that really matter. I wish you health, wealth, and happiness. I also wish you a creative, slightly disturbed sense of humor. Although, really, if you didn't have one of those already, would you even be reading this? Happy New Year!

Here, Kitty, Kitty!



You'd think that with all of the nice things I've done for animals that I'd have pretty good karma in that area, but NOOOOOOOO! I take in a skinny, matted, stray cat, get him vaccinated and have his mats shaved off, feed him, let him sleep on my pillow at night, and what does he do to thank me? He gets onto the kitchen counters and eats anything he can find. He then pukes it all up in what he seems to view as his own private litter box. MY dining room! Oh, yes. Not only does he puke all over it, he pees all over it, as well. And he has the nerve to look at me with that spiteful expression on his face when I refuse to feed him immediately after he pukes on my floor!

Angry Kitty is bringing out my dark side. I mean, I have yet to find poo on the floor anywhere so he must be using the litter box for THAT. WTH?! I don't get it. I suppose we go get his furry little balls nipped off and see where that leads. There has GOT to be something wrong with this cat. The more research I do on the subject, the less I think it's a UTI. I mean, he's been this way for almost six months! He doesn't drink water excessively and he doesn't cry when he pees. He cries when the other two cats beat the crap out of him, but not when he pees.

MY research has certainly led to some interesting information, though. Apparently, some male cats (the ones who haven't had their furry little balls nipped off) get a kick out of spraying in electrical outlets. And I thought OUR cats were weird! I can just imagine having to tell the insurance company that your house caught fire because the cat was cross and sprayed the electrical socket. It makes me appreciate the quirks our cats have.

Lola will not drink water from a bowl. She will only drink water from her paw. She dips it into the bowl and licks it off. She also enjoys ice cubes in the bowl. She likes to sleep with Perrin at night, even though she is Abby's cat. She rolls over on her belly when she wants to be loved. If she sees a bug on the ceiling, she meows at you until you lift her up to reach it or leave the room. She reaches her paw as far under the door as she can when I'm in the bathroom. She loves to wrap herself in plastic bags. She is the smallest cat in the house, yet she beats up on Angry Kitty several times a day and he has yet to fight back. He growls and whines, but that just encourages her. She likes to have her forehead scratched and rub her mouth on the tip of my nose. She races me up the stairs at night and does a happy dance when she sees me in the morning.

Charlie loves food. It shows, too. He REALLY loves those tiny marshmallows. He frequently sits and stares at me with his big green eyes opened as wide as they will go and his head cocked slightly to one side, like he's trying to figure out what's wrong with me. He likes to stand up on his back legs and touch my butt when I'm in the kitchen. (Typical male.) He chases his own tail and randomly attacks the chaise lounge in the basement. He likes to sit in the tub while I wash my hair over the side of it. He goes crazy for things with feathers, especially Perrin's little feathered rooster. He sleeps with Abby, even though he's Perrin's cat and he avoids Abby like the plague when she's awake. He sleeps on the couch with me until I go to bed, then he sleeps on Abby's pillow. When he was a kitten, he liked to knead my head with his paws while he nibbled my hair, purring all the while. At least, until Heath got sick of the noise and made him stop.

We've only had them for about a year and a half, yet I can't imagine life without them. Those two furry little kittens we brought home together. A brother and sister for a brother and sister. They could have turned ugly with all the man-handling the kids did, but they've been nothing but nice. They have to be two of the most awesome cats ever. Of course, it's hard to remind myself of this when they decide to play tag all over the bedrooms and 2:00 in the morning! I guess I just need to remind myself that it could be worse. They could be trying to pee in the electrical outlets.

Not-so-super Nanny



I've come to the conclusion, not for the first time, that my children watch far too much television. Although, it's one of the things that keeps me sane. My live-in babysitter. I should likely be ashamed, but if the programs they're watching are educational it's different, right? It's investing in their futures. They learn science, geography, foreign language, and countless life skills.

Still, every so often, there are things that make me question my dependence on TV Nanny. When the kids start quoting infomercials, for instance. Abby was taking a bath today and I overheard her talking about her doll's hair. She said it was so smooth and silky, she must have used the InStyler on it. Oh, boy. I've created a monster.

I should just be thankful they aren't in charge of buying things in this house. We'd be buried in Shamwows, Green Bags, Bendaroos, Paperonis, Snuggies, and goodness knows what else. They're convinced that they NEED everything they see on the television. If only I could harness this power somehow... Put myself on the TV whenever I want them to do something. They'd probably actually listen to me for once. With my luck, I'd probably manage to leak through to every television set in a three county radius and be too humiliated to ever leave the house again.

Thus, I must try harder to entertain my children in a more constructive way. In spite of their urges to be DE-structive. Do things the old-fashioned way. Play outside more or make blanket tents in the basement. TV Nanny will have to deal with being used a little less. Not that she works all that hard to begin with. The kids are hardly a captive audience. It's a miracle if they sit still for half an hour at a time. I just hope the Ritalin gives me the edge I need to have a hope of keeping up with them!

Another Day, Another Pill


Now that I've been made aware of my ADHD, quite a few things are beginning to make sense to me. Not the things that keep me up at night like how a television show can have a "mid-season finale", but things that I always thought were just bad habits. Oh, they may still BE bad habits, but I have something else to blame them on now! For one thing, the fact that I probably fund half the year's salary for most of the librarians at the public library with my late fees. I wonder if they'd accept a doctor's note? Yeah, probably not...

I tried the Adderall for a few weeks. Since I didn't notice any changes, I am now on Ritalin. *sigh* It gets tiring trying so many different medications in an attempt to simply function with some semblance of normality. I keep thinking that if the ADHD diagnosis had come up earlier, I wouldn't have had to try all those anti-depressants. Years of medication wasted on a symptom while the cause went untreated. Of course, then I start thinking, what if I don't really HAVE ADHD? What if I just got one of those psychiatrists who tells everyone they have it and hands out meds like candy? I guess if the meds start to work, I have nothing to complain about.

In other news, Mother Nature deigned to grant us one perfect autumn afternoon to visit the pumpkin farm. The kids seemed a bit more cooperative about having their pictures taken. The pumpkin patch itself was a disappointment, though. It was either tiny, lop-sided orange pumpkins or perfectly shaped green pumpkins. We ended up buying our pumpkins at the grocery store this year. Part of me feels like that's cheating, but the kids had no interest in green pumpkins. What was WITH those, anyway? Were they sick? I highly doubt the Great Pumpkin would show up in a patch full of green pumpkins!

Unlike last year's nearly sweltering Beggar's Night, this one was cold and rainy. Yay. The nice part was, the kids didn't seem to notice. They were so excited I didn't hear them say they were cold even once. Maybe the furry costumes had something to do with that. I wasn't sure I was going to get Abby's finished in time since I waited until the last minute to start working on it. I blame the ADHD. I DID get it finished, though, and she looked adorable. The jokes they told were a bit strange since they made them up on their own. At least people didn't have to hear another dumb joke for the hundredth time that night. They got total originals. Total.

I'll try to get some pics up before Christmas, but don't blame me if I don't get to it right away. Blame the ADHD.

I'm Sorry. What?


I need to be better about writing here. I honestly don't know how you people manage to survive without knowing what's going on in Castle Hyder. *rolling eyes* It's always so exciting around here. I mean, the grass just keeps GROWING! Actually, it really does keep growing. It needs to be mowed one more time before winter gets here, but I can already see that it has about as much of a chance to get done as I have of winning the lottery without buying a ticket. Same thing happened last year. I'm starting to think I may need to teach myself how to start the lawnmower. The only one we had growing up was a riding mower. Goodness knows what kind of trouble I'd get into, but at least none of my plants would be massacred.

Anyway. I finally got to experience a visit with a REAL psychiatrist. Not exactly what I expected. He was in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and slip-on sandals. The sandals were promptly kicked off upon entering his office so he could put his feet up on his chair. His office was painted in an ocean theme. I'm guessing to compliment the fifteen foot long fake swordfish mounted on his wall. (Or was it a marlin? Are they the same thing? One more thing to Google, I guess.) Once I got over the lack of shelves full of books, calmly painted walls, slightly dimmed lighting, and a couch to recline on, I rather enjoyed myself. He seemed to enjoy my dry sense of humor, especially when it was aimed at the student leading the interview. Yeah, I know. It seems kind of weird to have someone sit in on your session like that. I mean, you're sharing personal stuff, right? I figure I can give him some interesting stories to share with his psych buddies. Besides, I can't be the weirdest person he's met. Can I?

After the general interviewing was over and we were discussing my symptoms, Dr. B (as I shall henceforth refer to him) asks his student what the diagnosis is. Student Winston (I'm not making that up) couldn't quite decide between bi-polar and ADHD. Dr. B claims I have ADHD.

Huh?

How is it that I've seen SO MANY people in my battle with mental illness and NO ONE has even MENTIONED ADHD? I've probably had it for years. In fact, Dr. B thinks that's probably what caused my depression. That's why it's been so resistant to treatment. The depression is a symptom of the ADHD. Without treating what's causing it, it won't go away. Makes sense. So he put me on speed. Yup. Amphetamines. The one drug I refused to partake of in my "party days" is what may be the cure. Although, this stuff is CLEAN and it's LEGAL. I've been on Adderall for about a week now, but I can't say I really notice a difference. I'm still tired a lot. I still have almost no motivation. He did start me on a lower dose though, so maybe we'll have to fiddle around with it until we figure it out. I just can't believe he said ADHD. I always assumed it was kids who had it. You know, the troubled kids or the not-so-bright ones. Dr. B says that a lot of the people with ADHD are actually incredibly intelligent. My perceptions of it have been significantly altered. I still have a lot to learn about it, but I'm more open-minded about it now.

Other than that, things are pretty much the same around here. Abby irritating Perrin. Perrin irritating Abby. Back and forth. All day long. I'm going to have to try something different because whatever I've been doing isn't really working. Abby, especially, needs to learn some restraint. I actually stayed to watch her at ballet tonight. Oh. My. She could NOT stand still! The other little girls all stood nicely in their rows, but Abby would take off at random times and run across the room or start jumping up and down. I'm glad she's having fun, but I don't want her to be the trouble-maker in the class! I felt like all the other moms were whispering about her to each other. Probably me being paranoid about the herd of soccer moms because I don't fit in, but you never know. They're probably not Stepford wives or anything. I'm just not like them. Plus, they all act like they've known each other for years. I'm the new kid in school. Which is a strange feeling for me since I've never actually been the new kid in school.

I just realized I've got infomercials on TV. I should be in bed. Or, I could stay up and learn how to make millions with internet shortcuts. I could make $7,000 a WEEK! Oh, this guy made over $40,000 in his very first week! Where's my cell phone...

Fantasy vs. Reality


Heath and I are still trying to work things out. I'm taking things one day at a time, but trying to look to the future, as well. This time, I'm trying to keep a more realistic picture of the future in mind. I'm going to leave the fairy tales where they belong. In books. I think I've spent too many years dreaming of things that are just not possible in real life. Built up these fantasies pieced together from various books and movies about what a perfect life would be like. I tend to forget that they are movies and books because they are someone elses escape from reality. I keep waiting for the magic to happen never realizing that the only magic I get will be of my own making.

It may sound sad, but it's not like I'm going to abandon fantasy altogether. I'm still going to read books and watch movies. I'm just going to make every effort to remember that they are only for entertainment. Not for attainment. Goodness knows, I NEED an escape from reality now and then!

In other news, the kids are doing great. Abby had a trip to Urgent Care last week to see if she needed stitches in her hand. She has learned that pinching the rat while he is sleeping is, perhaps, not the best idea. She ended up not needing stitches anyway, but it was pretty deep. The doctor actually asked me if we were going to have Templeton destroyed! WHAT?! Why? It wasn't HIS fault! Geez! If somebody pinched ME while I was sleeping, Heaven help them! It made me angry. Yeah, he's a rat. So? They make excellent pets. Far better than hamsters or gerbils. Besides, how many PEOPLE do you know that bathe themselves from head to toe six times a day? Yeah. That's what I thought. If you do know any, chances are they're safely locked away somewhere. It's just like people being judgemental of pit bulls or rottweilers. They're great dogs, but because there are so many bad owners out there, they get a bad rap. It's tragic.

I'd better not get started on animal rights or I might go on for hours.

We've started homeschool and Abby loves it. She doesn't enjoy having to write the same letter over and over again, but I keep telling her that the more she practices them, the better she'll be able to write them. She gets frustrated when she can't make a letter right the first time, but once she finally DOES get it right, she's so proud of herself. Perrin is even learning a bit along the way. He learned how to write capital "I" and little "i" just by watching Abby. He did really well, too!

Abby and Perrin have actually been getting along really well today. It's weird. They've been playing princess. Both of them wearing pink princess dresses. Abby decided she was the queen and Perrin was the princess. She informed him in her most queenly voice that he had to do whatever she commanded. I love it when they talk in different voices. It's so silly. I don't even mind that Perrin is in a dress because they're actually getting along! If he starts asking me to curl his hair, THEN I might worry. Until then, I'm going to let them enjoy a little bit of fantasy. Reality will become their burden too soon anyway.

My Scarlet Letter


If I ever wondered what it felt like to be Hester Prynne, I know now. Yup. I had an affair. I'm a whore, a slut, a liar, a cheater, a harlot, and adulterer, whatever you want to call me. Don't feel bad doing it either because you won't be the first or last. And believe me, nothing you say could come CLOSE to the things I think about myself. I suppose I really had no business getting married anyway. Condemning another person to spend the rest of their lives with me is cruel.

So, what happened? Why? I wish I knew what the "why" was. As for what happened... I think we all know what goes on during an affair. It was someone I met on the movie set. It didn't feel like reality. I knew it was wrong and yet I couldn't seem to stop myself. Was it the things he said or the way he looked at me? Maybe, but I should have been stronger. I guess I just wanted to believe I was in love. Needed to believe it, even. I mean, if I can fall in love again, it means I'm not broken and that there may be hope for my marriage after all? Yeah. It doesn't make sense. As much as I tell myself love is not just a feeling, it's a choice, I can't seem to live it. Maybe I just have no idea what love really is. At least, not between a man and a woman. I obviously am a failure at it whatever it is.

My entire family is, of course, behind Heath. I'm the one in the wrong. I don't even know how many people know about it all by now. All anybody wants to talk to me about anymore is the affair. Like that's all I am now. The Cheater. At least my mom had the decency to be honest enough to say nobody should be surprised. And my dad told Heath he would have divorced me by now if he were in his shoes. Heath's lawyer told him he could easily get full custody of the kids and have me committed. So you tell me. What do I have left? Am I getting all that I deserve? Not enough? I don't know how much more I can stand. I'm just trying to survive until my psych appointment at this point.

Heath says I'm not trying. He's mad because I haven't apologized or asked him to put his ring back on and I don't want to talk about it every single day. What am I supposed to do? I mean, how do you apologize for something like this? He only sees what he wants to see and nothing I say makes any difference. Nobody sees what's going on inside me. I manage to cover the hurt with a blanket of anger because it seems like what people want. I'm not allowed to be sorry or sad or cry. Oh, no. That would make me seem like the victim and since it's all my fault I have no right to pity or concern. No matter how raw and bleeding I feel on the inside, it's not enough. I still deserve more. More pain. More sadness. More loneliness. It will never be enough.

I feel like everyone just wishes I would disappear. Let them raise my kids since they could do it much better than I could, right? I'm only a disappointment anyway. Everyone would be better off if I wasn't around. Just start walking. Can't take the car since I can't afford gas. No one but the kids would miss me, and they're young enough they'd forget me in time. Not that I'd survive long without them. I know how dark and depressing it sounds, but that's how I feel. Disposable. Useless. Utterly replaceable. Totally forgettable.

So. Am I sorry? More so than anyone will ever know. My head is so screwed up right now that I don't even know how sorry I am yet. I'm still trying to grasp the full weight of the situation. I'm sorry I wasn't stronger. I'm sorry I hurt so many people. I'm sorry I'm incapable of loving a man. I'm sorry I cheated. I'm sorry I was born. Nothing I do will ever be enough. Poor me, right? Getting just what I had coming to me. I guess I never really expected to find love anyway. Not really. I mean, I hoped, but I never really believed it. I used to have dreams. Now I have nightmares. Only fair really.

I don't know what my future holds. I'm not optimistic. According to Heath's lawyer, I should just give him the kids and commit myself so they don't have to do it for me. The kids are the ones who are really going to suffer. Heath will have to put Abby in public school and Perrin in daycare. Abby won't get to do ballet. They won't have parents really. Heath will be working and I'll be locked safely away. No more play dates or trips to the library. And they didn't do anything to deserve it. Everyone will simply blame me. It IS all my fault isn't it?

What do I do now? Commit myself? Disappear? Grovel? Fight? Cry? Give up? I wish someone would just tell me. I'm certainly not capable of making the right decision on my own. I guess I'll get what I deserve.

A Piece of My Mind


Don't worry. I'm not going to rant about the things that upset me. MOST people would assume that reading the title of this post. Perrin, however, has not yet grasped this concept. He takes it literally. Allow me to explain in greater detail.

Abby and Perrin had gotten into a giant bag of Skittles yesterday. Since Perrin was puking, I confiscated the bag and hid it in the couch cushions. This morning, Perrin found it again. I was feeling generous, so I allowed him to have ONE handful to share with Abby. He trots off up the stairs and is back less than a minute later. I know what's coming and so does he. My eyes are begging him not to start this battle, but it's as if he can't go a day without one.

Perrin reaches for the bag and I say, "No. I said ONE".

I take the bag and hide it behind me as he starts to wail. Getting no sympathy from me, he seeks out Abby upstairs. This is what I hear.

Perrin: "Mommy hid the Skittles again!" (Of course he's crying and shouting all this.)

Abby: "Behind the pillow again?"

Perrin: "Uh-huh." *sniffling*

Abby: "Is she sitting in front of the pillow?"

Perrin: "YES!"

Abby: "Oh. *pause* Well go give her a piece of your mind!"

At this, I yell, "Abigael!" and she gets quieter than I thought possible. (They've yet to figure out that my over-hearing every word they say is not a super power.) I hear Perrin stomp down the stairs. He stands in front of me with his lip still sticking out in that oh-so-adorable way and says to me, "I'm gonna give you a piece a my MIND!"

I raise my eyebrows and wait. He then proceeds to make a throwing motion with his right arm in my general direction. I'm guessing it must make perfect sense to a three year-old. It IS kind of a dumb phrase. I'm doing quite well at keeping my cool until he says, "THERE! I gave you a piece a my mind! It's just what you needed!" He ends this display by stomping back upstairs to tell Abby that the deed is done, leaving me alone to giggle helplessly.

I know, I know. I shouldn't let him talk to me that way, but seriously. It was so funny I couldn't bring myself to open my mouth until he left for fear of him being encouraged by my laughter. Besides, for once he was using his words to express anger instead of his hands or feet. That's progress, right?

So, that was my happy thought for the day. Just thought I'd better write it down. You know, for posterity.

New Things


Isn't it strange how little things can change so much? I'm not a poster child for self-esteem, but after getting my hair done today, I feel awesome. I actually feel *gasp* PRETTY. No WAY! Yes, it CAN happen. I don't actually need validation from someone else to get there, either. I'm not model material or anything, but I'll settle for average pretty! I mean, I'm a mom of two and, in spite of all my kids do to age me at an increased rate, I look pretty good. Wow. It's weird having self-esteem! I kind of hope it lasts!

So, I got "new" hair today. Yay for me. Perrin got something new today, as well, it would seem. He was following me around the house talking to "Jason". It took me a few minutes before I really started to listen. I turned around and asked him who "Jason" was and if he was his imaginary friend. He looks up at me, all seriousness, and says, "No. He's not IMAGINARY. He's INVISIBLE."

Well, duh. How could I have made such a ridiculous mistake? I must be out of practice in the un-see-able friend department. To be fair, it HAS been awhile since I've had one. (To those of you who would argue this, I say...Well, I say nothing, but I stick my tongue out at you. ) Why "Jason"? Is there some kid in his Sunday school class named Jason? I mean, I have friends named Jason, but nobody my kids have ever met or heard of. Maybe some character on television? Weird. Abby's "friends" are Larry and his girlfriend Daphne. Between Veggie Tales and Scooby-Doo, those names make sense. But, Jason? I have to admit I expected a touch more creativity from my child. *sigh* Oh, well! I haven't seen ( HAHAHA ) Larry or Daphne for awhile so I doubt Jason will stay for long.

We also have new grass in our backyard! This, my friends, is MONUMENTAL! When we bought the house, there was this giant patch of mulch in the backyard up against the house. I think there was a pool there somewhere at one point. We've hated it. Heath decided to get it taken care of this week. For $300, we had about 600 square feet of sod INSTALLED and the mulch hauled away. YES!!!! I no longer have to wear shoes outside at ALL! Now we just have to keep it watered for a week or so. If it dies, I may set fire to it in a fit of rage. Since it's right next to the house, let's all hope this doesn't happen. I don't think our homeowners' would cover that. In fact, I'm quite certain they frown upon that sort of thing.

It's been a good weekend thus far. Tomorrow night, we're going to go see a friend of mine play guitar downtown. I'm really looking forward to it. The kids are going to spend a couple of nights at my mom's so I may actually get some sleep if I shut the cats out at night. Here's to hoping the rest of the weekend is as good, if not better!

Greetings from Somalia!


(Is Somalia still one of those countries where people are starving?) I write to you tonight from the land of No-food. Actually we HAVE food here, we just taunt you with it then lock it away and laugh while you starve. At least, this is what anyone who talks to my kids would think. To hear them tell it, we NEVER feed them. Never mind the fact that entire bags of grapes have disappeared mysteriously mere hours after being brought home from the store. Or all but one slice of a large pizza. I've never seen two small people eat so much!

I'm not exaggerating when I say I hear "I'm still hungry" at least 347 times a day. Each one of them eats more than I do everyday. How is that possible? I mean, I know they're growing at a faster rate, but really! I'm starting to think they have worms or something. Is it really normal for kids to eat this much?

Naturally, I feed them before I get myself food. However, as any parent knows, the food on YOUR plate (despite being EXACTLY the same as the food on their plates) always tastes better than what you gave THEM. They just KNOW it, and they WANT it. NEED it. This is where I become inconsistent in my parenting. Sometimes, if I'm feeling generous or just too tired to care, I give in and let them have a bite of my food. Other times, I growl at them until they back away. Figuratively speaking, of course. They can sense when I'm weak. They come at me together or, if they're feeling extra clever, one will convince me that they need something in the other room so as to distract me while the one left behind snatches provisions for both of them. They think they're sneaky, but they've yet to figure out that crumbs/smears around the mouth are a dead giveaway.

I've toyed with the idea of putting out a bunch of healthy food someday and just seeing how much they can actually eat before they stop saying "I'm still hungry" like a broken record. You know those professional eaters? Yeah. My kids would put them to shame. I KNOW they didn't get this from me. If they were Hansel and Gretel, the witch would have been eaten along with her house before she had time to realize what was happening.

What worries me is, if they're this bad NOW, how on EARTH am I going to afford to feed them as teenagers?

Still Here...


Wow. Has it really been almost a month since my last post? My how time flies when you're feeling down. Yeah, I'm still kind of stuck in the dark place. It's as if I'd found something I'd been searching for my whole life. I got to enjoying it for a short time and then it was gone. Now that I know what I was missing, I will never be complete without it. And yet, it is out of my reach. It looks like I'm going to have to learn to live without it, at this point. I've been shut out in spite of my fervor. My tears are wasted.

Too deep, isn't it? *sigh*

I wish I had something exciting to write about. I mean, it's not like I'm a boring person or anything. I'm intelligent and I have interesting interests. I'm pretty well-read. I love music. I'm fairly decent at art. I like movies. I play video games. Maybe I shouldn't admit that last one...

What I'm saying is, why can't I do something interesting once in awhile? Not interesting enough to become fodder for the tabloids, but interesting enough to write about. Is it because I don't know how to make it happen? Is it because I live in Iowa? Believe me, I've had my suspicions about this place, but it's grown on me. Yes, there's not that much to do here and the scenery is repetitive, but there are good people here. Besides, I actually love the smell of freshly turned earth and just-baled alfalfa. And the stars you can see from the country are simply breathtaking.

I'm still missing that something, but I'm not giving up. We farm girls tend to have a stubborn streak. I believe that if you keep hope alive that anything is possible, even if it takes longer than you'd like it to. Sometimes, sacrifices must be made. Farm life definitely teaches you that! Life isn't always fair, but you have to put your head down and keep pulling just the same. The best things take time. They don't happen overnight, no matter how much we may want them to. Sometimes, things only come into our lives for a short time. They share their beauty and they disappear all too soon. It's difficult to remain tender-hearted in the face of reality. It makes us vulnerable to being hurt. Even by the ones we love most.

Like I said, I'm not letting go of what I know is out there. Life is trying it's hardest to break me, but I won't give in. No matter what. Some things are worth the effort. You just have to find them.

Fashionista In-Training

I'll bet you were thinking Abby, right? A likely conclusion, but you would be wrong, my friend. Oh, yes, my dear daughter loves to dress up now and then. Especially in her ballet clothes. I, however, am referring to my dear SON, Perrin.

Perrin likes to dress up. No particular style or anything, just whatever he finds lying around. He likes to wear pants. On his head. He likes to wear grown-up shoes. Mine are his favorites. He likes to wear gloves. On his feet. He likes to wear underwear. Doesn't matter whom they belong to. Again, on his head. The kid wore his Halloween costume for weeks.

Having said this, I wasn't entirely surprised when he crawled up beside me on the couch the other night, stuck his leg in my face, and said, "Feel my skin!". What made me laugh until I almost cried was realizing what he had on his leg. A knee-high nylon stocking. This,of course, belonged to me and so was actually more of a thigh-high stocking on him.

Oh.

My.

Goodness.

Naturally, Heath didn't find it amusing to see his son in pantyhose, but I thought it was funny. The little weirdo even wanted to SLEEP in it! Too much.

Poor Heath worries about Perrin's preferences. His love of sparkly things. His demanding to have his toenails painted when I paint mine and Abby's. The fact that his favorite color is purple. I had younger brothers though. I know that boys can dress up in little party dresses and high heels and still grow up to be 100% man. Perrin is my sensitive child, but I have great faith in him. In both of my children. No matter what they turn out to be like, I love them. Now and always.

Learning to Breathe


I know my last few posts have been a bit on the dramatic side. To be honest, it was my intention to delete them, but having thought about it for awhile, I've changed my mind. It's not pretty, but it part of who I am. As alone as I feel during those times, I KNOW that there are other people out there who struggle with the same thing. Other moms, even. If my baring my dark and twisty side to the world makes even ONE other person feel better or realize they're not actually as alone as they feel, then it's worth it. At least to me. We have to keep fighting our way back. Even without family or friends, there is a kinship among those of us who have been through the darkness without a light. We don't even need to speak. Our scars bear witness to the truth. We ARE family. We are the lost who have found one another when everyone else was afraid to venture in too deeply. We must always remember that we have each other. Even if we have never met.

I've started that climb back to the surface of humanity. My fingers are raw and bleeding from the digging and crawling, but I will not stop. I am not alone. This fire that has begun to kindle in my soul will give me strength. Holding me close and warming me from the inside. Its light will grow until it radiates from my body and I no longer need to fear the darkness. I am learning to breathe again, and breathe deeply. To breathe peace. To breathe love. To breathe light.

I've still got a bit of a climb ahead of me. I may never be what society declares "normal", but that actually appeals to me. Who wants to be "normal" anyway? I'm in a better place and that's a start. Not alone. Bound by scars. Learning to breathe again. Together.

More Disappointments


I know I should have seen this coming. It happens every time I try to get out and make friends. I start to come out of hiding and relax and I get blindsided. Like I'm standing at the edge of a precipice pretending I can fly and someone shoves me off. Obviously, I can't actually fly and my fear of heights keeps me away from such places, but I'm speaking metaphorically. I have real trust issues and I should have learned by now that people will never change. No matter how old you get or where you go, there will always be someone who is out to get you for some reason or another. Why do I keep letting my guard down? Why do I ever leave my house? At least here, I'm prepared. Yeah, I know. I'm paranoid and all, but you would be too if you were me. Count your blessings that you're not.

Now don't get me wrong. I know my life could be worse. I'm pretty damn lucky to have all that I have. That's one thing that makes me hate myself for feeling this way. It's pathetic to feel sorry for myself. If I could only turn throwing pity parties into a business, I'd be rich.

Why are you going off your meds, you ask? Why not? I mean, studies show they don't really do much more than placebo pills and my own "research" confirms that. I'm just so tired. Meds or no meds, I'm still a failure at anything I try to accomplish. I can count on one hand the number of times anyone has been proud of me. Let me assure you, I would need many, MANY more hands to count the times they've been disappointed in me.

I thought getting out and doing this movie-thing would be good for me. Right. Where do I get this naivete from? I made friends and started to really connect with people and then it all went horribly wrong somehow. I still don't know how. I don't even know if I have a job anymore because I feel like I'm being lied to about the whole thing. Everyone is avoiding me and, in spite of what I was told, I seem to be the only one who was sent home at all. I didn't buy the whole "you need rest for next week" line anyway. Why not just save me all the wondering and tell me the truth? That I'm useless and you're sorry I ever showed up? I know there are things just burning to be said by more than one person. I TRIED. I'm sorry I made friends and had a good time. I really wanted this to work. I thought I'd finally found a place where I fit in, but I see now that I'm not meant to fit in anywhere. The rest of the world will see to that. It always has.

Am I giving up? I don't know. I'm tired. So tired. It hurts all the time. I feel too heavy to keep carrying everything around but I don't know how to let go of it. I feel alone and defeated. This is the dark and twisty side that nobody likes, not even me. We're bound together though. Perhaps I would die without this other me. I shall surely die one day anyhow. Probably far, far away from today. Maybe I'll have learned to live in harmony with my dark half by then and have some semblence of happiness. Or maybe I'll just be too senile to remember I'm depressed in the first place. What's that? A ray of hope? I'm allowed to have a sense of humor about all this, you know. I mean, if we can't laugh at ourselves, who CAN we laugh at?

What Comes After



I should probably just turn off my laptop and try to sleep, but I just feel like a giant ball of tangled rainbow yarn and I doubt I could sleep without writing something, ANYTHING, to pull a few threads loose so tomorrow will seem simpler. I know it's just stress and serious lack of sleep, but my emotions have been all over the map today and I am WORN OUT. I hate feeling this way because it throws me off balance. I am perfectly capable of controlling my emotions MOST of the time. It's just difficult when all of my energy is focused on just keeping my body awake though.

I was so nervous about working and being away from the kids and Heath so much. I still don't like that part, but the work isn't bad and the people I work with are, for the most part, a stellar bunch of people. I've had some really deep conversations and an unending supply of opportunities to sharpen my wit. It's sort of like an emotional high. Or maybe that's just the feeling of being sleep-deprived. Whatever it is, it's been nice to remember what just being me is like. I actually DO have a personality outside of wife and mother, but I tend to forget that. It's been interesting to get to know so many new people and have them actually seem to like me. Granted, they don't know me very well, but if I keep it that way maybe I can actually have friends.

I'm all irritable and smoldering at the moment. It's like no matter what I do I can't get anything right. There's never enough time. There's never enough money. I want to just curl up into a ball and cry for a day or five. Maybe I'm just wearing myself out by pretending to be some normal, happy person all weekend when I probably have no real hope of ever being either one of those. I'll bet you're thinking I should stay on those meds now, aren't you? Like I said. I'm tired and I just need to write some of it out. I try so hard not to think about the things that upset me. Like how much I miss my kids all weekend. How I feel like I'm a horrible mother for spending so much time away from them. How I hardly feel like a mom at ALL when I come home and it makes me feel lost. How I'm scared about being out in the "real" world again because I have all together too much experience with how cruel people can be for no apparent reason. I try my best to be nice to everyone. To be thoughtful and kind, but I'm terrified that I'm still going to piss someone off no matter what I do and I'm going to get hurt again. People, on average, just don't seem to like me. I might as well have "Kick Me" tattooed on my head.

This is the storm. The mad, frantic winds of the tornado that send the debris of my life spiraling into oblivion. My tears are merely the rain that lashes against my face as I stand defiantly against the wind and watch the lightning slash the skies in it's constant battle to upstage the thunder that rolls in like a freight train. I am small. I am weak. I've been thrown before, but it hasn't destroyed me yet and I stand, daring the storm to crush me in its mighty throes. I know pain. Though I still fear it, I know there is also a measure of comfort in the familiar. It will scar me. It will not leave me unchanged in its fury, but it will not take me yet. My weakness may prove to be my salvation should I learn to bend. Though perhaps I am strong enough to stand against it all. I KNOW there is something more to my life that remains just out of reach. Is it possible this storm will be the one that brings it within reach?

So what comes after? After the storm is spent and all is still? Will I be left standing in the same place I started or will I be miles away with a completely different view? I wish I could see that far ahead, but if I had the insight to see the outcome would I feel the desire to change it and risk losing the lessons it might teach? Ugh. I don't know. I DO know that I'm tired and a mess right now. Must. Suppress. Dark. Twisty. Side.

I'll feel better tomorrow, I'm sure. Sleep is a miracle worker.

Mommy's Ark


I've always loved animals. You might even say I've always had a way with them. When I was just learning to walk, we owned a Siamese cat named Sam. Sam didn't really like anybody but me. I could grab him around the belly and toddle around the house with him, fall on top of him, even put Mr. Potato Head's little green glasses on him, and he still loved me. I've had pets in my life almost constantly and they've all been like family. They have thoughts, feelings, and moods just like we do. Call me crazy, but you won't change my mind.

Lately, it seems like animals needing help show up wherever I go. Actually, I don't even have to leave the house. They just come to me. There was a hint of something supernatural in the sparrow that hit the front window last summer. She seemed so content to just rest in my hand long after she was ready to fly off. That stuck with me. I always feed the animals in our yard and bury any that I find that have died. I feel it's my duty to do what I can for them.

Heath says my heart is a little too big sometimes. I suppose he's right, but I can't imagine being any other way. Since the stray we took in (I still haven't found his name), there have been two more that have come to our house. One has been back twice for food but won't let us touch it yet. Hey, I get that my kids are intimidating. The other belonged to someone several blocks away.

Then, there was the cat that found me on the set of the movie I was working on (nothing glamorous, people) and stuck to me like glue. She came back to meet me every morning we were there. Thankfully, one of the women on-set took her home on Sunday. Heath would NOT have been happy if I brought home another cat!

Today, it was a duck. I swear, I don't go looking for these things. They just happen. I was on my way to get my hair cut and passed a female mallard standing in a puddle near the end of somebody's driveway. That's not uncommon around here. We have several that make their homes in the stream in our backyard. What was uncommon, is the fact that she didn't flinch when I drove by. I was going to keep going, but something inside me said I should stop and go back. So, I did. She was hurt, but I had no idea how badly until I actually caught her. She didn't make it easy, but she couldn't fly either and I couldn't just leave her when I saw she was bleeding. Her chest/belly were torn open, but since she was still moving around I figured the important stuff was still working.

Once I had her wrapped up in Abby's pink satin princess cape (I have weird things in my car) I took her the few blocks to our vet. He wasn't in yet so the lady at the desk sent me to the animal and avian clinic down the street. Makes sense, right? Well, they wouldn't help either since she was a wild animal. WHAT?! She's BLEEDING and OBVIOUSLY needs help! It's not like she has rabies! So they sent me half an hour away to the nearest state university since they have a wildlife rescue program. Had to stop and get gas before I could make THAT drive. Did I mention I was doing all of this with an injured duck in one arm?

I finally get there and say goodbye to her hoping that since she's still awake and trying to move around that nothing vital was damaged and she would be fine. They called me a couple of hours later to tell me she had a lot of muscle damage and they'd thought it best to put her down. If I'd only known that I would have stayed with her! She seemed to trust that I was trying to help her once I had her all bundled up and she realized I wasn't trying to hurt her. I shouldn't have left her alone.

Does this mean my heart is too big? Should I care a little less about these smaller creatures? I just can't accept that. I think there's a reason they find me. I'm not a better person than anyone else. I don't think loving these animals makes me special. I just do what needs to be done and trust things will work out for the best. I'm starting to wonder if there's some reason behind all of these. Is there something I'm missing? Something more I need to do? Am I really just finally starting to lose it? At this point, I wouldn't be surprised to see a lion with a thorn in his paw sitting on my front step some morning. I wonder what's next?

I am the Duck


It's taken me quite some time, but I think I've finally realized that certain things never change. I used to think that the kids in my elementary classes were mean. Then I went to junior high. I thought the backstabbing was bad there until I got to high school. I believed high school was cruel until I met the rest of the world. Do people really have nothing better to do than make trouble for someone else? Why can't we all just get along? (Sorry. Couldn't help myself.)

I am the duck. They are the drops of water that roll off my back. Breathe.

Yes, I'm venting once again. It just bothers me that so many people have unkind natures and when I actually manage to find a kindred spirit here and there, someone always has to try and spoil it. Seriously, people. I'm not your average spirit so finding a kindred one is RARE. I have enough issues to manage without you trying to steal my sunshine. Speaking of which... is that thunder I hear? Great. One more reason for my dear husband to get out of mowing the jungle that is our lawn again. I shouldn't complain. I could do it myself if I wasn't scared of the lawnmower.

I think I'm going to call the new cat Moe. I just feel like I should pick SOMETHING besides "new cat" since he's been here for almost three weeks. He has definitely gotten over his shyness. Jeepers! He's ALWAYS on me! I mean, I'm sure he's grateful to have a home and all, but honestly. It's okay to give me a bit of personal space now and then. I promise I won't forget you love me if you leave me alone for five minutes. The same goes for you, my sweet, sweet children. When I lock the bathroom door, it isn't because I don't love you and it isn't an invitation to bang on it for the next twenty minutes while I try to take the one shower a week you seem grudgingly willing to give me. I just like a few minutes to myself once in awhile. I am not hiding a secret chocolate stash. That would be impossible since you can sniff out sugar from distances that would impress a bloodhound. The only substance I may lock myself away to consume on occasion is one you are not old enough to partake of anyway.

I don't know where I was going with this post. My mind is still recovering from the weekend of work. I spent too much energy on enthusiasm and exercising my wit. We don't get out much, you see. I need to do more blogging this week so I do less talking this weekend. I want to pretend I fit in a bit more believably. I'm glad this is a weekend job because I really need the time to be me in between the trying to be normal.