off to a new adventure.

well, it’s time to say good bye to this blog.  it has been up for almost 6 years and i’m ready for a change.  so, i am starting something new and fresh.  i’m not going to link it here, so if you want the link, lemme know and i’ll send it to you.  xoxo

happy new year.

ah.  Welcome twenty ten, albeit a few days late.  Someone told me the other day that the 80’s were thirty years ago.  Holy Hell.  How did that happen?  Seriously.  Wasn’t it just yesterday that I had feathered hair, used aqua net to get my bangs super high and wore a lot of florescent?  And jelly bracelets.  And listened to Madonna and Duran Duran.  Oh wait.  I still listen to them.  Anyhow, geez.  I have no idea where the time as gone, especially this past year.  And how am I already 34?  I’m actually a grown up now. And oh do I feel it.  I now moisturize my face twice a day, wear sunblock, drink more water than not, go to bed at a reasonable time, shop sales, drive a safe, reliable car, clean my house and do laundry on an almost daily basis, balance my checkbook, make meals rather than dining out, actually know how to use concealer and powder without looking too ‘made up’, am married, have a child who I am a stay at home mom to….wow.  Never in a million years would I have imagined I would have all of that and be okay with having all of that.  I have political discussions and actually know what I am talking about, watch the news with regularity and read things with substance.  Oh, sure, I still read my beloved smut, but I like things that actually capture my interest and are worth my time.  Okay, okay.  I refuse to give up my subscription to US Weekly.  Stop judging me.

December was especially difficult and I ended the year with quite the breakdown.  Many things came to cause it and running out of my medication and hubby not wanting to pay to refill it was only the coup de gras. Oh, sure, a few days later he ‘let’ me fill it.  But it was a few days too late.   The sad part is that he acted like it was no big thing.  Like nothing was wrong and that I was just making a big deal out of nothing.  Sure.  Me crouched down on the floor behind Bunny’s crib crying is no big deal.  Riiight.  Maybe for someone who is often melodramatic.  Or cries a lot.  Neither of which is me.  I guess the good part was that we canceled our before-Christmas celebration with my in-laws and had a mellowish week before we headed to visit my family for the actual holiday. And the best part of that was that Hubby decided to cancel with his family all on his own.  He was having a rather rough week at work as well and didn’t want to deal with his family, either.  And surprisingly, the wrath wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be when he called to cancel.  Regardless, that still doesn’t negate the fact that Hubby thinks the way he does and so sadly comes from a family that has no clue what compassion really is.

But, things quickly got better when we headed home to my family for the holiday.  Amazingly, my mother has put aside whatever differences she has with me and we had a grand time.  She adores Bunny, which is wonderful.  And she has turned out to be such a fantastic Oma.  I could not have asked for more.  And Bunny simply adores her.  I even convinced Hubby to stay an extra day, though I would have liked to stay much longer.  I got to see old friends, though not enough of them or for long enough, but I can’t complain.  Hubby did get several work calls the extra day we stayed, so I know I couldn’t push my luck to stay any longer.  Being down in LA really made me realize how much I missed it there.  The sun, the fun, the change of pace.  Lots of people.  Great shopping so close by.  Friends I haven’t seen in forever.  Warmth.  City life.  And so much to do so close by.

Coming back to reality has been a bit slow.  Hubby got all spun during all of his time off and when he began bleaching the bathroom ceiling, I knew it was time for him to go back to work.  Not only was he driving me bat shit crazy by being home and up in my grill, he had this ‘list’ in his head of things he wanted ME to accomplish while he was home.  Since he has no concept of what it REALLY takes to take care of Bunny, life was getting frustrating again, and fast.  Thankfully, he had his own ‘list’ that he was being preoccupied with.  But good GOD.  He needs to chill the fuck out.

Thankfully, I have been setting up play dates and getting back into my book club, though I have been sidetracked by other books besides the one I am supposed to be reading.  But, as a whole, things are looking up.  Though I would REALLY like to see the sun again.

breakdown.

overwhelmed

crying

sadness

anger

screaming

slamming

darkness

blinds closed

cats scared

baby sleeping

senses calming

tv muted

cell phone silenced

communication off

covers pulled

breaths taken

frustration returns

crying heightens

doors locked

screaming

yelling

sighing

constant nursing

pressure building

guilt trip pending

cough worsening

christmas at the in-laws canceled

calm ensues.

cranky mccrankerson.

It’s been a bit of an interesting week around here.  Bunny was really sick for the first time, Hubby had extra stress at work and I have been working on resolving some ‘friend’ issues.  But, instead of going into all the sordid details, I’ve decided to merely write a list of my grievances, in no particular order, for the week.

*  Just because Bunny is sick DOES NOT mean she is going to infect the whole world.  Nor does she need to go to the hospital, the doctor or the emergency room.  Good Lord, people.  Everyone gets the effing flu!  Yes, she is under the weather.  Yes, she has the swine flu.  Yes, I am well equipped at taking care of her.  Yes, it is scary at times just because she cannot talk to me and tell me what is wrong, but I am not an idiot.  No, you are not going to get infected just by hanging out with ME.  The media and the government has hyped the swine flu WAAAY too much and now everyone is WAAAY too paranoid.  Get the fuck over it, people.

*  Why oh why, do people take their sick kids out when they KNOW their kids are sick?  Seriously.  Bunny got sick BECAUSE we went to a party where two siblings were sick and the parents just wanted to get out and have fun so they brought their infected kids with them.  Thanks, guys.  Thanks a lot.  That was such a swell gift to give.

*  I AM NOT SPOILED, NOR WAS I RAISED THAT WAY.  So, please, JUST STOP.

*  I am not spoiling Bunny.  I do not buy her everything she wants, nor will I ever, regardless of how much money I have, or as the case really is, do not have.  If I bought her everything her little heart desired, she would turn into one of those horrid children on my super sweet 16.

*  Just because YOU have lived on the East Coast and in the snow DOES NOT MEAN the rest of us are clueless on how to live in the cold.  Yes, it is quite rare for it to get super super cold here, but it does.  And yes, my pipes really did freeze and there really was no water.  So stop being such a pretentious twit saying that people in CA have no idea how to deal with the cold.  You grew up in fucking Los Angeles!  And why on EARTH do you think it doesn’t get that cold in CA?  Are you really that dumb that you think it doesn’t freeze like that in the Sierras or in the Angeles National Forest and tons of other places here??  WTF?!

*  If you seriously want to stay sober and really want help, then you need to put forth the effort.  I cannot make you sober.  I cannot do the work for you.  And I am SO TIRED of always picking you up.  I know you don’t have a car, but seriously.  I cannot drive you everywhere.  Ride your fucking bike or get a ride from someone else.  And while we’re at it, you seriously need to wear a helmet when you ride.  Do you not understand it’s for your safety, not for looks?

*  For the love of all things holy, please stop telling me that depression is made up and not real.  You seriously need to STFU about it.  And your reasoning that your friend has it and it is totally legit but that I am making it up is absolutely ridiculous.  Asshat.

*  While everyone parents differently, no one is totally right or totally wrong.  How you parent your kid is your deal.  Please stay out of how I parent mine.  And while I don’t mind suggestions, especially when I ask for them, please stop being a jerk by trying to make me feel like I am doing something wrong.  I know your kid is just a little bit older than mine and so you have been-there-done-that, but we are not the same.  I am way more laid back and relaxed than you, but that doesn’t make me WRONG.

*  Please stop being jealous of me.  I am not doing anything to you, nor am I trying to be better than you.  I am a happy person and I know that pisses you off.  Why can’t you be happy, too?  I know we all have our days, but good lord, lady.  Just stop.  You bring everyone down.  It’s no wonder you don’t have friends.

*  Stop acting like you know it all.  NO ONE knows it all.  You are very annoying.

whew.  I feel so much better now!  I’m off to bake some cookies and cupcakes.  mmmmm!

a thanksgiving recap.

We were running late and it was all my fault.  I had underestimated the time it would take to make the rolls.   I had been asked to bring rolls when I offered to help.  I decided to make them from scratch, rather than buy some overpriced starchy package which I know is what she expected me to do.  Anyhow, I misjudged how long they would take to make, and thus we were running a tad bit late.  We would be fashionably late, though, and not embarrassingly late.

We were all dressed in our best for the afternoon.  I had purchased a darling outfit at the local consignment store for Bunny and she looked like such a doll; a black and white checkered dress with black velvet trim and a lace collar, a matching coat and even a matching hat with a velvet band and bow.  She had on white tights and tiny black patent leather mary janes.   I even spent extra time getting gussied up as I never get dressed up anymore and it felt so good to have a reason to.  I dressed in all black, wore hose and donned my favorite black Prada pumps.   And while I rarely leave the house sans mascara, I spent the extra minutes and put on a full face, including lipstick.  Hubby was dashing as well in slacks and a dress shirt.

Anyhow, we were running late and I was fine with that as I had been dreading going there in the first place.  When we arrived, the first words she said to me were “where in the hell did you get her outfit?” like I couldn’t have possibly picked it out all by myself.  I told her the local consignment store and she gave me a funny look because well, she doesn’t dare buy anything used regardless of it being gently worn or not.  No, instead she would rather be dressed like Biz Markie and think that was normal.  While everyone else gushed over how darling Bunny looked, I unloaded our things and tried to take the rolls into the kitchen, but she came up to me and took them off my hands.   I got several compliments of how wonderful I looked, which made me feel rather good.

We took some photos and had an awkward cocktail hour with some pretty strange looking appetizers which I ever so kindly stayed away from.  I busied myself with Bunny and did my best to ignore the pretentious air that surrounded us.  A big deal was made about the booster seat I had brought for Bunny as it screwed up her seating chart.  And then I really messed things up when I said I wanted to sit next to Hubby.  Ah, yes.  Evidently I had missed the memo that got passed out YEARS ago saying that mates are never allowed to sit together.  EVER.  Seriously.  It is so freaking lame.  For less than 10 people, there is a GD seating chart.  But I won and Hubby sat next to me.  I mean, really.  It was freaking Thanksgiving.  A day of thanks.  A day of giving.  A day of love.  Oh, wait.  Wrong house.

After that whole ordeal, it was time to sit down at the stuffy table.  A salad was served along with some of my rolls.  Then everyone was served what she thought we would want.  In portions she thought we wanted.  There was undercooked turkey ~ though she claimed it was done an hour and a half before we all arrived ~ green beans, stuffing and scalloped potatoes.  That was IT.  Nothing was on the table except for a HUGE floral centerpiece, salt, pepper, butter and some cranberry concoction that no one touched.  The only thing that was self serve was the wine.  Surprisingly, though, she did not get toasted like she usually does.  Then, if anyone wanted seconds, which no one really did, she would get up and serve them what she thought they would want.  Needless to say, I ate a lot of my rolls and green beans.  The stuffing was good, too.  While there was conversation, it was short and stilted.  It was awkward as usual.  Not the normal festive holiday that I love.  No happy chatter and gay laughter.  No warmth and love.

It was finally time for dessert, and this time she actually asked us what we wanted between apple pie, pumpkin pie or some chocolaty concoction.  Then, more awkward conversation.  Finally, Bunny started to get fussy as it was her bedtime.  I got up to tend to her, saying it was getting late and we would need to head out soon.  She insisted I was being silly as Bunny stays up much later when she watches her.  Yes, she does.  Bunny’s bedtime is around 6/6:30.  If she comes to watch her, which is not very often, she will ignore my request of bedtime and keep Bunny up until 8pm just so they can play.  And because of that, Bunny is then wrecked for the weekend because her sleep is so off.  Sure, that may sound like piddly stuff to some, but we all do better when we get our sleep.  Anyhow, it was finally time to leave and we thankfully escaped without too much drama.

And I never did hear from my parents that day.

lesson learned.

“Something has got to be done about this mold.” she muttered to herself as she stepped out of the shower.  The mold had taken over a large portion of the bathtub back splash and was creeping its way over the remainder of the ever disintegrating caulk.  Knowing that her husband was less than handy in the house, she decided it was best to tackle the mold problem herself.  She had some previous experience working with caulk so she figured she was up to the task.  After talking it over with a friend who generously offered to help and supply the caulk and gun, she figured she was ready to go.  For some reason, she found it necessary to causally mention her project to her husband and to her great dismay, he decided to do the job himself.  However, it was not before a minor argument ensued.

“I will do the caulking.” he said.  “You don’t know the first thing about it.”  “Well, that’s not entirely true.”  she responded.  “When I worked at the resort, I learned from the guys just what to do.  I can figure it out just fine.  Besides, I’m more handy around the house than you are.”  Of course, as soon as those words came tumbling out, she regretted saying each an every one.  His feeling were hurt and his manhood was challenged.  She took a deep sigh and prepared for the tongue lashing.  She tried to compromise, saying she would remove the small bits of what was left of the existing caulk, bleach away the mold and clean the tub.  He could then put the new caulk down when she was done.  “No way.  I will just caulk over what is already there.  I don’t want to modify the house.”  he snapped.  “What the hell does re-caulking and removing the mold have to with modification?  Do you know how bad mold is for you?” She was feeling herself flush with frustration.  Her husband had no clue what he was talking about and she didn’t want this project ruined, but didn’t know what else to do.  “Fine.”  she said.  “We can work on it together this weekend.”

Once the weekend came, they both got busy and the mold was forgotten.  On Sunday, she spent the afternoon with a girlfriend and came home to a freshly scrubbed tub.  A strong scent of bleach filled the air in the house and the mold and any trace of caulk was gone.  She was pleasantly surprised and waited anxiously for her husband to get home and finish the job.

He locked himself into to the bathroom for what seemed like hours.  When he finally came out, the only thing he said was, ” if Sparky ever asks to help with caulking again, don’t let me say no.”  She muffled her laugh and walked into the bathroom to check out his work.  With wide eyes she looked at him, trying hard not to laugh.  “um…what happened?” she said.  “Well, the tube of caulk exploded on me and the gun didn’t work right and well, I couldn’t get a bead of caulk to come out so I basically had to wipe it all on with my hands.”  She just shook her head and walked out, silently giggling to herself knowing all along that she should have just had her friend come over and help her and not tell her husband about it until after the project was done.

okay, fine.

I was ever so kindly shown just how I was, and in fact still am, spoiled.  And while I am not at all like Veruca Salt, I am most definitely a Daddy’s Girl.  Sure, I never really paid any attention to the fact that I always received some sort of treat when my dad went on a business trip.  At times I would get a Hard Rock Cafe T-Shirt, or an Esprit outfit.  One time I even got a pair of Guess Jeans, which were most definitely all the rage at the time.  And never once did I wonder how all of my extra curricular activities got paid for.  Oh, and I did them all:  orchestra, private violin lessons, gymnastics, swim team, cheerleading….and the list goes on.  And how could I forget the seemingly endless trips to Disneyland!! We went on vacation each year.  Usually camping, but it was always somewhere different and fun.  The Redwoods, Sequoia, Kings Canyon, the Oregon Coast, Canada.  Sometimes we went on long journeys to Arizona and even Texas.  And every 5 years we went to Germany for the whole summer to visit my Mother’s family.

No questions were asked, either, when I wanted to go away for college.  I was even sent a monthly allowance so I did not need to get a job.  And while I was given my Dad’s old car, it was a car nonetheless.  So, yes.  I was spoiled.  And even now I still am.  Rarely does my dad say no when it comes to something I need help with.  And my wedding.  Oh yes.  How could I forget that?  The amount of money spent, again without question.  Geesh.

So thank you, dear friend, for pointing out my wrongs and making me want to call up my dad and say thank you for all he has done.  I guess I just always just assumed being spoiled meant being a brat.  Or very rich.  Neither of which, I was or am.  Or at least I hope so.  And hopefully, I won’t be proven wrong on that!