'Til Death Do Us Part

I think about death a lot.

I mean, I don't actively worry about it, but I think about it. It hovers in the back.
Regarding my son - I've told you before about my Cher moment, every morning. You know in the movie "Mask", near the end when the school calls and says Rocky isn't at school and she looks at his closed door? That look is how I feel in the mornings before I step across the threshold of my son's room.
He wasn't predicted to live past infancy, then doctors said it was doubtful he'd live past 12 years of age, and then they told me he'd not make it into adulthood.
But he's 18 now and all I can do is pray for at least 18 more years.

I think about death a lot.

I'm not, in actuality, a morbid person, but I think about it. More aptly, the thoughts pop into my head and my imagination takes over to give me worst case scenarios.
Regarding my daughter - whenever I read something or watch a show about head injuries that can be the cause of death several years later, I remember rushing home from work because my daughter had gashed her head open on a branch & fallen off a pony. Took about, what, 10 staples, I think? I've blocked it out. But I worry over that. I had to wake her up every two hours that night, to ask her name, my name, the day, where she was...scary stuff. She never cried though, not the whole (4 fucking hours) we were in a cubicle in the ER, not when the doctor (FINALLY) started rinsing the blood away from the wound, not when they were stapling it closed. Not a tear.
But I imagine subdural hematoma and frontal lobe damage and all sorts of other calamities.

I think about death a lot.

I'm not really scared of dying, I'm scared of the unknown. And possible pain. Because I am a baby like that.
Regarding myself - mostly when it concerns me, I think about my final wishes and how you people better make sure they're carried out correctly. But when I worry, I think: I don't want to outlive my children. I don't want my daughter to have to be the one to find me. I don't want to be home alone with my son when it happens.
As a single parent, I have to think about these things. I mean, sure I'd love to fall asleep peacefully in my bed, but what if that happens and my daughter, my CHILD, has to be the one to find my body? Because EW. And also traumatic. And also I wouldn't be around to pay for her therapy to recover from it.
And what if she is gone - moved out, or on vacation or away for the weekend and I'm home with just Joshua? That worries me the most, I think. Because who would know? I don't have any "just dropped in for coffee!" kind of friends who would come over regularly. My phone is often dead or at least buried at the bottom of my purse where I can't hear it, so friends & family are used to me not answering calls or texting back right away.
Who would know? What would become of Joshua? It hurts my heart to think of him here, stuck in bed or his wheelchair with no one to feed him or give him juice or change his diaper or pay attention to him or turn on the TV or change the dvd for him. THAT, my friends, is a scary fucking thought.

I think about death a lot.

I don't brood over it, or actively seek out the thoughts of death, I don't plan my own (sometimes I plot yours, though)...but it's always there, that little dark cloud in the back of my mind.

PS: I also think up ways to haunt you. Because COOL.

First Paycheck.

Today Becca got her first official paycheck. Granted, it's small because she only worked 2 half-days before the pay period ended, but STILL.
FIRST PAYCHECK!

I don't know why I feel so emotional about it...maybe it's this whole menopause deal because half the time I'm crying about one thing or another and the other half of the time I'm irrationally angry about one thing or another.
Mostly though, I think my eyes just got completely opened to the fact that SHIT, SHE'S LIKE A GROWNUP NOW.

Which, when I think about it, is groovy because I'm always wishing for grownup to come and handle All Of The Things. So maybe she can do that now.

[dammit I am trying to type and eat a hot dog because I skipped dinner and I just dropped a big blob of mustard and relish on my WHITE tank top because AWESOME]

I just keep thinking about how tiny she was at birth, how she wasn't expected to live, how the bleeding in her head back then caused significant developmental delays, her enlarged (and holey!) heart...

And now she has a job and a PAYCHECK and come Monday she'll have her own checking account as well.

*sigh*

Music is my boyfriend. No, really.

For a week or so I was feeling pretty bad. Mean(er), nasty(er), depressed(er) (I know depresseder isn't really a word BUT HEY IT IS LITERARY LICENSE), and anxious. I wasn't sure why. I also realized that during this time I'd been watching a way lot of online TV shows and hadn't even opened iTunes or Pandora at all.
So thought I'd try an experiment.

Observation: I don't listen to music when I watch too much TV. I am mean and anxious.
Hypothesis: My life without music is bad.

Experiment: No music for 3 days, only TV shows (did I mention I watch a lot of crime dramas?).
Then minimal TV for 3 days, but lots and lots of music and singing.

Results: At the end of the 3 No Music days, I was moody, cranky, feeling left out and lonely, a little paranoid, and self-pitying. At the end of the 3 LOTS OF MUSIC days, I was happier, livelier, funnier (at least to myself), and feelin' cooooooooool.

Conclusion: Music is necessary for a happy life. I need it. You probably do too.

In related but different news, I'm going to start calling my daughter Dolores Umbridge because whenever I start singing, she does this weird little throat-clearing thing. I don't know what that's about but it irritates the shit out of me. Next time she does it, I'm going to start replying to her only in song lyrics.
She does NOT KNOW WHO SHE'S MESSING WITH.

Cloak of Invisibility

Sometimes I wish I could fade into invisibility. No fuss, no fanfare, just quietly fade away (from the internet, I mean). Disappear myself. Relax away from reading about perfect lives and food pictures and lolcatz and "too funny!" comments on the most unfunny of posts. Relief from petty envy. Of course then I think that no one would ever notice that I was gone and worse, no one would miss me. Or if they did eventually notice, it would be like "hey, whatever happened to that one girl? You know, hated everyone, weird, sometimes funny...what was her name?" Then my ego goes all Breakfast Clubby and starts singing "DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME!" and yelling "I AM HERE! I AM HERE! I AM HERE!" much like the Whos whom Horton hears.
HEY I HAVE VERY COMPLEX EMOTIONS.

Brand THIS: A BigAss Change

After...what, 8 years?...I am going to change the name of this blog. YES YOU HEARD ME CORRECTLY. I don't give two shits about all the fancy "You are a brand. Be your brand. Represent your brand" talk. I am not a brand, I am a person. I am a blogger. I am a mother. I am a friend and a daughter and a sister and an aunt. I am not a brand. Although if I WAS a brand, it would totes be designer quality. Is all I'm saying. See, when I started this particular blog in 2005, it was sort of a riff on our local newspaper, The Daily Oklahoman. Back in the beginning, I kind of had it set up with sections and labels mirroring the newspaper. Somehow that whole thing got left by the wayside some years ago. ALSO (and more importantly) THERE ARE TOO MANY OTHER BLOGS USING THE SAME NAME. Even facebook pages! I DO NOT LIKE THAT. So I'm going to be going with one of my tag lines as the new Name. So if you still have blogrolls or whatever people are using nowadays AND if I'm still on that whatever, We (the royal We, you know, because I am the Queen of My Blog) will hereafter be known as Brain Soup For The Dysfunctional Soul. Or "Brain Soup" for short or if you're just too damn lazy to type out the whole thing. So go. Update. DO IT OR I WILL CUT YOU LIKE A CHEAP STEAK.

CRS Disease

So clearly even a paragraph per day is too much for me. Although in fairness I should say the shortfall wasn't due to lack of words, or ideas, or interest - it was entirely due to a faulty memory. I got caught up in running a business, a side job, and the regular old housekeeping and kid-caring and just simply forgot. So that's a paragraph's worth, right?

Typical Pitch

After years of bloggers complaining about this very thing, I do not understand why companies still employ people who send this type of pitch:
"Hey 

We just released the fourth issue of *|REDACTED! HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?|* and I thought that you and the readers of *|BLOG|* might find the content interesting."

HEY?! How professional of you! How respectful! How...to show you have no idea who I am! And WTF exactly is *|BLOG|*? You didn't even make an effort to find out the name or URL of my blog. I can't believe that this practice is STILL HAPPENING. Oh yeah, the people who hire these "marketers" and the "marketers" themselves don't bother to even look at our *|Blog|*s, so they probably haven't read all the complaints. I don't care if you wanted me to share or review something I can't live without...I wouldn't do it for this company. I am, however, looking forward to telling them that I wrote about them today.

Getting personal

My friend Lisa said that I should write something about her during my "one paragraph per day" challenge. I told her I wasn't sure I could come up with a whole paragraph or maybe even a whole sentence past "Lisa sucks". But in order to prevent much whining (like she does whenever she doesn't get her own personal ringtone on my phone), I guess I can tell you that she's probably one of the best people I've ever met - she's generous to a fault and she can be sort of mean and very sarcastic and of course you know I like that in person. If she were an animal, she'd be a bulldog because she does NOT LET (the Guinness*) GO. That can be sort of bad if she's on the wrong track, but mostly it's a very good thing except if she's nagging. Also? She's really pretty and she lets me say rude things to her in texts. She exercises a lot which makes me hate her a little, but she makes up for it by not reminding me that I'm fat and lazy. She's a good houseguest too, except when she makes me fetch her coffee like eleventy-three times per day. But I guess I love her anyway. Mostly.
Don't be jealous because I didn't write about you - she asked, you didn't. Also she is an attention hoor.

*inside joke

Stream Of Consciousness - A brief & uncensored peek into my brain.

I dare you to try it. Close your eyes like you're preparing to meditate and just type whatever floats across your mind. No peeking! Ready? Okay. Now what? I can't think of anything because I'm tryig to think of something. I think this is why I stopped blogging. No, actually I think I stopped because I started making more friends and then my family started reading and I started caring what people thought. I mean I've always sort of cared what people think about what I write, but I don't get all weird about it because I typically try to offset my bitchiness with a litle humor and oh shit I think I just made a typo. OMG what if my fingers were on the wrong keys all along and this is a bunch of gibberish? Did I spell gibberish correctly? I wnat to peek but I won't cheat. OH cheating. I could write something about that. This will probably be the longest paragraph ever, sort of like one of Danielle Steele's paragraphs only without eleventy three commas per sentence. But she makes millions so I guess maybe I should try doing things her way. I wonder if anyone else ever picks up a Danielle Steele book and thinks well, I wonder who is giong to die or get maimed first? Because that seems to be a recurring theme, not to mention all the broken hearts that happen. Where was I going with that? Diphenhydramine. I don't even know what that is or why I just htought of it. I wonder if I spelled it correctly? WTF am I even thinking about? I am clearly a lunatic.

Your turn - I triple-dog dare you.

blah blah blah

I just deleted my paragraph for today because it was very ranty and I wasn't in the mood to take any shit from anyone over it. So instead, I decided to tell you about my paragraph for tomorrow. Many years ago (some of you will remember because you participated!) I did a little thing here with "Stream Of Consciousness" typing - close your eyes (NO LOOKING at the keyboard or the monitor!) and just type whatever thoughts are going through your head at that moment. It's a fun little peek into your thought process. It doesn't have to mean anything or even make sense, but I invite you all to try it and drop me an email or FB message so I can look into your brain for a minute or two. Right now I'm trying to decide if I should do mine before or AFTER coffee. Maybe I'll do both.

OMG BLOGGING ABOUT BLOGGING.

I guess blogging is sort of like writing with pen and paper - if you don't do it often, you sort of lose the knack. I mean, you don't forget how to make letters just like you don't forget where your fingers go on the keyboard, but it feels awkward and messy. So maybe this '1 paragraph per day' challenge bring a little life back to my imagination...I write plenty of blog posts in my head while showering every day, but by the time I towel off I'm all "MEH, I'll type it later" and then it never gets done. So we'll see. I'm just excited that I've managed three days in a row without forgetting...although I have to admit that I've got a post-it note reminder. Although the success of the post-it hinges on me actually READING the note. Well anyway, Day 3, in the bag. Go me.

BUY! BUY! BUY!

Okay, this is going to count as my paragraph for today, but it's actually more like a commercial interruption.

However, since it isn't interrupting anything important, it's okay.

And the commercial is for me and my family and our business, so it's double-okay.

Also it's going to be more than a single paragraph, so I am a TOTAL REBEL today.

Our Family Business is having a 3-ebay store-wide INVENTORY CLEARANCE/BACK TO SKOOL sale!

We're getting ready to move in the cashmere sweaters, suede boots, warm wool skirts, and vintage coats for fall and winter...but first ALL THE SUMMER STUFF MUST GO! High quality designer pieces at low low low prices!

What can you find? 

For women: skirts, pants, capris, jeans, dresses, suits, belts, shoes, purses, tops, cardigans, and more!

For men: Sport coat/jackets, dress shirts, and ties

Sizes 00 - 18

• If the item says "Best Offer", we will happily accept any reasonable offers!
• Find more than one item you want? We will COMBINE SHIPPING to save you lots of $ on postage!
• Tops and skirts starting at 9.99, dresses and pants from 12.99!
• Tons of BUY IT NOW items - Once you pay, it ships the NEXT DAY!
• Lots of NEW WITH TAGS items at 80-90% OFF RETAIL TAG PRICE!

Please visit ALL THREE of the following stores and load up on the bargains!

Sale will run through August - check back often for MORE MARKDOWNS and NEW LISTINGS!

http://myworld.ebay.com/mybargaincouture
http://myworld.ebay.com/laurenfashions
http://myworld.ebay.com/dnlrobinson

Tell your friends! Buy as gifts! Get an awesome designer wardrobe for your college-bound kid! Treat yourself to some new threads! (does anyone say threads anymore? #StuckInThe70s)

And now, back to your regularly scheduled program. 

You can shop and watch TV at the same time, right?

In Which I Take Up A Challenge

I miss blogging - I may have mentioned that a time or two. I read back over the last 5 or 6 years' worth of posts and sometimes think I have already written my best posts and thought my best thoughts.
And then I go back to composing blog posts in my head while I'm in the shower (because everyone knows that's when you think your best thoughts) and end up never typing them or even writing notes. Then a friend posted this "one paragraph a day for 30 days" challenge and I figure that SURELY (don't call me Shirley) I can come up with one tiny paragraph. Until I forget and skip a day which becomes four days and then I give it up as a bad job due to very poor memory.
But for today, I accept the challenge and count this as my paragraph.

Grin and bare it.

Okay, so I loooove trying out new skin care products. I review them every chance I get -- I have some favorites, but often those are the most expensive ones so once my review sample is gone, I go back to my same ol' ways. But I keep trying every single product that is offered to me.
It's sort of like the Princess kissing all those frogs; eventually there will be some magic transformation.
I'm not really sure if I'm the Princess or the frog in this scenario. ANYWAY.

I really have trouble with some "skin care systems" because they require about 6 steps day AND night and that's about ... well, I didn't go to math school but that's way too many steps for me to commit to. Sort of like most of my relationships. ANYWAY.

My regular regime is: wash face when I am in the shower. Apply moisturizer if I remember. The end.

Also I don't like heavily perfumed face stuff. It's yuck and gets all in my nose and my sinuses swell up and I can't breathe and some day this will probably cause my death. In fact, if I'm found un-living on my bathroom floor with a pot of skin cream in my hand, please make sure my family knows to sue the shit out of whatever company that is.
And those thick, greasy "nighttime" moisturizers? 9 of 10 times I hate those -- they're supposedly "so rich and thick" that your skin will look amazingly dewy and glowy.
Right. The glow is the amount of oil sitting there in that thick mess on top of my skin.
Remember that night cream your grandma used? That "glowed" with so much oil that it looked like she'd stuck her face in a bowl of Wesson Oil.
Or maybe that's what she did. ANYWAY.

The point is, I love trying new products even if I end up not liking them in the long run.
PRINCESS. FROG. KISSING.
Thanks to Klout Perks  and Eclos, I'm taking the #EclosGoBare  DARE TO GO BARE challenge - they sent me a sample kit and challenged me to take a bare-face BEFORE picture and after using the product for two weeks, a bare-faced AFTER picture. Here's what I got:

Skin Prep Cleanser

Moisture Therapy Regenerative Cream

Daily HydraPrimer SPF 30

***OH YEAH - DISCLAIMER THINGY:  I was given a free sample of this product because I am a KLOUT influencer (damn right I am), but I'm under NO OBLIGATION and no one is torturing me with thumbscrews or bamboo spears or even a passive/aggressive tweet to make me talk about the product or use it or even open the box in the first place. Clear? Excellent.***

I'm not super-fond of having my picture taken. I don't do "selfies" (also could there be a more ridiculous word? Well, maybe "irregardless. That one's pretty ridiculous and also redundant. ANYWAY.), so no making fun of me. At least where I can hear it. Or read it.

I took an EXTREME CLOSE UP no makeup picture showing just my problem areas because you don't need to see a whole faceful of that - dull skin with freckles and a ruddy tone. Lots of crow's feet from lots of sarcastic laughter. Horribly, deeply lined forehead. Puffy eyes.
I realize this post means I will NEVER DATE AGAIN.
ANYWAY.
Before:

(OMG WHEN DID THAT BUMP ON MY NOSE GROW? I don't remember it being that enormous!)

The wash was nice, not super-foamy, but felt good and my face felt clean afterward. The scent was fresh, basically just a light whiff of lemon
The day/night moisturizer was very thick - which scared me for a minute - but not oily and it absorbed well into my skin without feeling heavy or greasy. Also very lightly scented with lemon, not at all offensive to my nose.
The third and final step - a skin toner/moisturizer/anti-aging primer...well, I'm reserving judgment on that. I've only used it once and I don't care for tinted face creams. I feel like the tint will Oompa Loompa me. Also it's a bit of a weird texture and I can FEEL it on my face - I mean, my face feels it sitting there. Although in fairness I should say that when I touch my face, it does feel nice and soft and smoother.

ECLOS products are made with apple stem cells and are reported to be "anti-aging". Well I'm no Ponce de Leon but we'll see how youthful I look after 2 weeks.
Wanna see more (and hopefully less pretty)(shut it, allow me my petty vanities) "Dare To Go Bare" Eclos challenges?
Follow: #EclosGoBare on twitter and instagram

Wish me luck! And pray that I don't turn out to be horribly allergic to some apple-y ingredient and get all swole up and rashy and itchy and hivey and such. And if I DO...then pray it's not permanent.
But so far, so good.

Stuff I don't get.

I have yet to read a reasonable explanation that makes ANY sort of logical sense from those parents who BAN HARRY POTTER books and movies because they're so chock-full of THE DEVIL STUFF: sorcery and witchcraft and evil...when those same parents welcome Disney with open arms.

Like...Sleeping Beauty - you know, with Maleficent and magic spinning wheels and those silly little fairies.
Or Cinderella - you know, with a fairy godmother wielding her magic wand and turning veggies and farm animals into other stuffs. Not to mention talking mice.
And Snow White, where murder is the main theme.
Or like Aladdin, with the magic carpets and wish-granting genies and evil Grand Vizier.
And take the Little Mermaid - sixteen WHOLE YEARS OLD giving up her voice to a spellcasting octopus, while her dad carries a giant magic fork.
We can't forget Peter Pan, with the sewing on of shadows, the magic dust (PCP? DRUGS THAT MAKE YOU THINK YOU CAN FLY!), nasty little vicious Tinkerbell, murdering mermaids...
And let us not forget Beauty and the Beast, where an enchantress turned everyone into mundane objects...except for that giant, hairy, bloodthirsty beastie.

And that's a fraction of the list.

GOOD SENSE. You should get some, it's nice.

Just call me Mother Fail.

Look up "hands-off" parenting in the dictionary, and you'll see my picture.
I wasn't made for motherhood.
My womb doesn't give a throb when I see someone's crinkly, red-faced, screaming new baby. Holding someone's (usually smelly and/or loud and/or irritating) baby doesn't make me long for another one of my own - not even for one single solitary second.  I don't CARE how much they weighed at birth, how long they were,  how loudly they cried.
You can tell me if you want, but three seconds later it's as if you never mentioned it - the stats are gone from my mind. 
Seriously, I have much better uses for my memory storage capacity, like the fact that Erwin Rommel was known as The Desert Fox or obscure movie quotes from movies nobody but me has ever seen ("I'll curse if I WANT to curse! DAMN DAMN HELL DAMN TEE-TEE DOO-DOO!") or that Barbie's full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts.
You know. The important stuff.

Ask me about my kids' milestones. How old was my daughter when she took her first steps?
Um. I'm not sure. She was little.
First words? Uh...
Did I write it in the baby book? Maybe, but I'm not really sure exactly where the baby books are. I'm sure they're around here somewhere. In the house. Probably. 

Honestly  it's a wonder they're not feral.

Or maybe they are...my daughter certainly learned to forage at an early age. She was around 3 or 4 when I woke up one morning and went into the kitchen - and the refrigerator door was wide open, there were two open jars (one grape jelly, one Miracle Whip) on the floor with the lids off, and a butter knife.
My daughter said to me (okay, so clearly this means she was talking and walking at age three-ish/four-ish) "I was hungry so I made a mandayse sandwich and a jelly sandwich. Josh didn't want any." (let me just point out here that Joshua is non-verbal, yet she always claimed to know what he wanted. Probably she was right)

Same age, one morning she brought me breakfast in bed -- a piece of chocolate cake.
I asked her how she got such a nice piece of cake by herself, and she said, "Wiv a butter knife but I was berry careful."

I took this to mean I no longer had to prepare her meals and could turn over the cooking to her capable little (wee tiny) hands.
I do love sandwiches and cake, you know.

As soon as she was tall enough to (climb on a stepstool and) reach the washing machine controls, she learned to do laundry as well. Except for that one incident with the candy and bubblegum left in a pocket, I've never regretted that decision.

When she was learning her numbers, I figured that it's never too early to learn how to play Texas Hold 'Em. IT WAS PURELY IN AN EDUCATIONAL CAPACITY. Plus we played for M&Ms and I loves me some M&Ms.

And really, who DOESN'T use liquid Tylenol to teach their kid how to do shots? IT IS A LIFE SKILL.

And so what if I talked her into taking a bite of a dog biscuit that one time? She was always pretending to be a wolf anyway. Plus also dog biscuits are totally edible for people. IT WAS LIFE-SAVING INFORMATION SO THAT SHE WOULD NEVER STARVE.

Oh okay, I guess I have to be a little more hands-on for Joshua, since he is like a baby and can't do anything for himself. Probably it's one of those disguised blessings, since I would have failed more miserably if I'd had to chase both of them. 
And he does shake hands when you say "How do you do?" SO THERE.

But despite my best efforts to ruin them, my kids have actually turned out better than most - and I say that in a purely I-don't-really-like-kids unbiased way.

And in case you were planning to call DHS, I should tell you that they're over 18 now so HA HA HA.

---

*disclaimer: this is totally about ME ONLY, so if you're one of the women who love to have babies and be surrounded by children and love having even more - more power to you. Some of my friends have 5 or more children and they excel at it. I'm just not one of you.

---

Me Thinks

Some days I wish I could just say "Hey, if everyone could just paypal me $5, that'd be great. Thanks."

I'm only half-way kidding on that first thing.

Instead of saying, "Do bears shit in the woods?" from now on I'm going to say, "Does Neptune shit in the ocean?" because I am a trendsetter like that.

Sometimes when you remove yourself - or at least step back from - a situation, you can see personalities and traits much more clearly. And they don't always show in a good light.

My truest friends are the ones who continue to try to scratch the surface, no matter how many times I reinforce the barriers.

I once thought of being a real writer, only I find writing dialogue TOO too tedious. Also I have no knack for it - I write the most boring conversations ever.

If you're going to pretend to talk on your cell phone like you're King Shit of Turd Mountain, you should remember to set your ringer to 'vibrate' in case someone actually calls.

It's not fear of committment, it's survival instinct.

If I ask you questions and you ignore them, how are you then surprised when I stop bothering to ask? I'm not going to waste my time.

Related to ^^: Just because I don't ask doesn't mean I don't care.

One of my biggest pet peeves is being ignored, or left out, or unacknowledged. YES I KNOW IT IS A SELF-ESTEEM ISSUE. It makes me irrational.

Related to ^^: There are many, many things that make me irrational.

Some things are only douchey when YOU do them. Because some people just have the knack for being douchetastic.

I get more annoyed with smart people who post stupid, ignorant, un-fact-checked nonsense on facebook than I do when ... smarts-challenged people do it.

Grumpy Cat makes me happy.

There are at least 3 people in the world who should be extremely happy that head-stabbing is against the law. And also that I am scared of prison.

I like to watch Chopped or Iron Chef when I am eating, so I can pretend my bacon is braised pork belly or I can call my home-made bacon bits "lardons" in a haughty manner, the way certain people I know insist on calling green beans "haricots vert".

Insomnia

HEY! Guess what I was doing at 3am? Go ahead. Guess.
I can give you a hint: It was NOT SLEEPING.
Ugh.
I guess it doesn't really count as insomnia though, since I woke up sick yesterday morning and spent a large part of the day abed (Troy and ABED in the MORNING!)(you will only get that if you watch Community)(shut it, it's weird what your thinks are when you have no sleep), being dozy and heavy-headed and heavy-eyed.

So at 3am I was...
eating a salad.
Actually it *might* have been more like a bowl of croutons with ranch dressing, with a couple of romaine leaves tossed in for form's sake.

And I tried to read myself to sleep, said an extra-long prayer because often I fall asleep doing that very thing, and then here comes 4:30 am and I'm all OKAY I GUESS I WILL JUST STAY UP BECAUSE I HAVE TO GET UP IN AN HOUR AND A HALF ANYWAY OMG.

So of course I immediately felt extremely sleepy after that and dozed off for about 2 minutes before the stupid alarm sounded.

---

Also? It was like 60 degrees and sunny yesterday, now it is thunder/lightning/heavy rain, with 6 or so inches of snow coming before the day is out. Typical.

Actually I was hoping the snow would already be here so we could have a snow day and maybe I COULD SLEEP.

---

Can anyone tell me how long this hormonal rampage lasts before menopause is over?

BECAUSE I HAVE HAD IT WITH THE CRYING THING.

I watch tv or read a book...I cry.

I feel the tiniest frustration or stress...I cry.

I watch a funny commercial...I cry.

I sneeze...I pee a little. Then I cry.

---

Getting old SUCKS MY ASS.

---

The end.

Reflections

Aaaah Valentine's Day.

That love-fest of a day in which I snuggle on the couch by myself and watch romantic comedies like My Bloody Valentine (the original one from 1981!) and eat chocolates which I stole from my kids, who actually got Valentine candy  and drink a whole bottle or maybe two of wine.

And I reflect upon past Valentine's Days...

...like the one where I was dating that clown I met online.
No, seriously, like a real clown. With the makeup smile and big pants. And MAGIC TRICKS, like pulling a quarter out of my... ear.
And BALLOON ANIMALS! Actually he did make me a cute balloon thingy for Valentine's Day, it was two little balloon lovebirds surrounded by a big balloon cage heart.
And NO, he did not wear the clown makeup on our dates.
Except that one time. But we don't talk about that.

...and the one where Valentine's Day came WAY too soon after we just started dating, and I didn't know what to do. I mean it was only like our 3rd date - I got him a card (a funny one, of course, no mush)...then I panicked. Do I have to get him a GIFT? And what do I get him? Plus also THIRD DATE! That's like the sex date, right? So ... do I get him a box of Trojans and wrap it up in sparkly heart paper with a card that says "Guess who's gettin' lucky tonight!"? Do I vajazzle? Stick a red bow down my pants?
I ended up giving him a tiny stuffed "heart" bear with candy hearts attached to it...that I had actually bought for MY SON.
OMG.
I'm embarrassed just thinking about it.
On the other hand, he bought me a really nice gift basket with bath stuff and lotion. So clearly he thought I needed to smell like something called Moonlight Way (which frankly reminded me of cat pee juniper bushes).

I don't know why I'm still single, do you? I KNOW, I AM SUCH THE CATCH!

But then I always finish the night thinking about the BEST Valentine's Day, which was sad and sweet and scary and excellent all at the same time.

Valentine's Day 1995.
The day I first laid eyes on my children.

You see, they were born on Feb 13, the day before V-Day. They were 3 and a half months premature (which, if you read yesterday's annual birthday post, you already knew - and if you didn't read it, what the hell is wrong with you? Scroll down when you're done here)...and I wasn't allowed to go from my hospital (University Hospital) to Children's Hospital (where the NICU was) until the next day.
Of course I was so full of morphine I barely noticed. (also? HOORAY FOR MORPHINE! ♥)

Valentine's Day I was wheeled through a series of connecting tunnels and hallways to the Big Scary NICU, where I had to scrub my hands and arms for 10 minutes before I could even go in and still wasn't even allowed to touch them, except to cup my hand over their bottom & legs - which wasn't even a handful.

And there were these two beds with hot bright lights over them - sort of looked like where they keep the burgers warm at McDonald's, you know the metal thing with the heat light? Like that.
And there were these two red, scrawny, ugly, spider-monkey-looking babies with folded down ears (!!!) and covered in tape and tubes and wires and IVs and O! they were beautiful and scary and pitiful and hurting and painful to look at and my heart broke and bled and loved.

Given less than 50% chance to live, they turned 18 years old yesterday.

Best. Valentine. Present. EVER.

All Growed Up.

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"18 and Life to go" --Skid Row

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Dun dun DUUUUUN! Time for the Annual Birthday Post! I'm actually re-writing it (a little) this year, because those of you who've known and read this blog since 2005 are probably tired of the same story and pictures. You can always re-visit the old one here if you want.

Also? OMG I HAVE 18 YEAR OLD CHILDREN. Pretty soon I'm going to have to stop pretending to be 29. Only not this year, I'm not quite ready for THAT. Baby steps.

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THE DUE DATE: June 4th

THE BIRTH DATE: February 14th.

I know, right? These children clearly get their lack of patience from me.  They were born at 24 weeks, or about 3 and 1/2 months early. They weighed just over 1 lb. each, and were about a foot long. I'm talkin' teeeeeny tiny. Micro-preemie, I think is what they are called now. 

Anyway, this is my boy, at about a month old:

I woke up the morning of February 12th, headed for the bathroom, and after about 5 minutes I called out to the baby daddy, "Either I've lost all control of my body functions or my water broke".

I'll give you a hint - my functions were still under my control.

So natch we rushed to the hospital, where the stupid ass snot face condescending nurse (actually I love nurses in general, but this one? NOT SO MUCH) had me lay on a gurney for an hour and then said that I was fine, no fluid was "leaking" (I know, gross), and the pains in my back and belly were just muscles stretching, NOT CONTRACTIONS...and then she tried to send us home. 

Me being me, I caused a scene.

Hey, guess who ended up being right about me being in labor?

Here is my little girl, at about a month old:

The doctors tried to stop my labor for 24 hours, but apparently my kids were having none of that. On the 13th of February, my boy arrived in the usual way - of course, I was knocked out for the entire thing. My daughter was still safe and secure in her bedwomb -- the idea was to let her 'cook' a little longer (which would have been weird to have twins with different birthdays, right?).  So they were wheeling me into recovery when Miss Contrary's heart rate dropped to zero, and they did a SUPERFAST emergency C-Section to get her out. Evidently she didn't like being alone.
So it was like Twins Two Ways, with extra Mommy Staples.
This is also where I discovered my love of morphine.

Their ears were still folded down (WEIRD! I didn't even know ears did that until my kids were born. It was like puppy ears or something), and their lungs were not completely developed, and their little hearts were working overtime/doubletime.

They struggled for every single breath. They fought to live.

And so they did.

Thank you, God.

Thank you for this little miracle....(my girl at about 2 months)

and this little miracle...(my boy at about 3 1/2 months)

The doctors gave them less than a 50% chance of survival.

Fortunately they got my stubborn genes as well as my temperamental ones, because my kids wouldn't listen to percentages; they were all YOU DON'T KNOW ME! I DO WHAT I WANT!
Their hearts were overworked, their lungs were and are covered in scar tissue, they are cursed with keloid scars as well as scars from perc lines and central lines and a million little junkie scars on arms and feet from being pricked with lancets every hour. They have scarred veins, they had damaging bleeding in their brains, preventing brain growth. And yet...
        

Becca's first day home from the hospital! Nearly 4 months old and barely 5 lbs. I still have this amazingly tiny dress - I swear it's barely bigger than Barbie size. Those booties she has on? The foot part is less than 2 inches long. Each twin came home attached to oxygen and an apnea monitor - whenever we all went anywhere together it looked as though we were leaving home for a month, so laden were we with electronic equipment, oxygen tanks, diaper bags, strollers...which is partly why I became the hermit I am today. #Lazy

Here they're about 7 or 8 months old, I think (did I ever mention that I am TERRIBLE about labeling pictures? Because I am). Clearly Becca was already trying to wear some sort of tiara:

One morning I discovered that my daughter knew how to climb into her brother's crib.

When Becca was about two, this is what "Go get ready for bed" meant:



Josh had the softest, wispiest hair so I let it grow and grow... until that time I gave him a buzz-cut and he's been sporting a Greg Brady WhiteBoy 'Fro ever since. IT IS OUT OF CONTROL.

There were middle-of-the-night phone calls with doctors on the other end of the line telling me that they didn't think THIS twin or THAT twin would make it through the night. There was six months in the NICU and 3 or 4 Thanksgivings and Christmases spent in the hospital. For awhile I thought they were going to name a wing of the children's ward after us, or at least keep "our" room in reserve.

There was RDS and BPD and ROP and a bunch of other things with initials that I barely understood.

There were staph infections and even a broken arm that was caused by changing my son's shirt whilst in the NICU - he of the tiny little brittle bones. There were breathing treatments and nebulizers and oxygen tanks and constantly changing medications and seizures and paralyzing fear (well, that last thing was *me*).

All that and so much more...and I continue to be amazed that here we still are, 18 years later.

How could I not believe in a higher power? In miracles?

I love you, my babies. I'm STILL thankful for every breath that you take, every blink of your eyes, every morning that you wake. I love you with everything inside me.

You still make me laugh, you still make me cry, you still make me want to smack you upside your silly little heads.

If all the world was a beach, I would love you more than all the grains of sand added together. Times ten million.
Happy, happy 18th birthday.