Quarantine observations.

I know a lot of people are really struggling - those of you who take for granted the ability to just get up and go, whenever, wherever.
Who holler HEY KIDS LOAD UP! We're going to the park!
Who load up your dogs for a trip to the dog park or on a hike or a stroll through the neighborhood.

ESPECIALLY if you're social distancing from your loved ones, from your kids, your spouse, your best friends. It's hard.

Some of us, like 24/7 caregivers...well a lot of us are used to it. To The Alone.
To Lonely. We don't get out much because we CAN'T get out much.  We don't take any of those things for granted because we've been without for years and years and years.

Some of you are experiencing a little piece of our regular lives, and I hope you carry that bit with you and remember it when we have to say "I'm sorry, I can't" for the eleventy thousandth time. Or if we do reach out and you have sort of brushed us off as "punishment" in the past, because you thought we weren't making an effort.
Remember the feeling. Forgive us. Don't forget us. Please.

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Drive thru window employees have been so much friendlier in tone and in words, AND my orders have been 100% correct way more often since the dining rooms have been closed. I vote that all fast food restaurants keep the dining rooms closed forever because this has been THE SHIZZ.

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Some people are learning how to tap into patience they never knew they had.
Some people are realizing how impatient they have always been.

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I have learned that some people I might have tolerated are actually stupid garbage people with zero common sense and ridiculously hypocritical and illogical. #ByeFelicias

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On the upside, LOOK AT ALL THE THINGS OF WHICH YOU FIND YOURSELF CAPABLE.
You're not just managing your household - and sometimes doing it alone for the first time.
You're managing to deal with your kids on a more full-time basis. You're homeschooling or learning how to help with online classes. You're cooking more which means more cleaning. You're becoming more self-sufficient, even with little things like manis and pedis and haircuts.
You're being inventive, creative, innovative, imaginative, in ways you haven't had to in years, if ever.
You're making it work, you're working smarter, you're finding solutions.
You are completing projects that you might have begun years ago.
You're spending facetime with friends and family more often than you did before.
ALL THE THINGS - with the exact same amount of hours in a day.
ALL THE THINGS - when you used to say "I don't have time for XX."
Doing more. Doing better. Managing your time. And probably even finding more time for reading and movie watching and teevee bingeing.
Be proud of yourselves, give yourselves a little back pat and arm punch and know that you are making it work.
YOU ARE HANDLING YOUR SHIT LIKE A BADASS SO KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK.

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YOU GOT THIS. STAY HOME. STAY MASKED. STAY HEALTHY.
Keep helping those of us with fragile immune systems and poor health stay safe.
We appreciate it, we really do.

A quarter of a century. POOF.

You ever notice and think about how big of a difference context actually makes?
I mean when you think about being married for 25 years it's like WOW OMG YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN TOGETHER FOREVER IT IS AMAZING HOW DID YOU DO IT?

Or I GRADUATED COLLEGE 25 YEARS AGO I AM OLD AF WHERE DID MY LIFE GO WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Or, as in this case, MY KIDS JUST TURNED 25 TODAY WHICH IS IMPOSSIBLE BECAUSE THEY WERE ONLY BORN YESTERDAY.

And WOOOT I AM 25 YEARS OLD TODAY! YOUNG, FOOTLOOSE AND FANCY FREE! 

LIVING MY BEST LIFE! HITTING MY STRIDE, MAKING MY WAY, YEAH BABY!

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and with that, I leave you with The Annual Birthday Post Which Many Of You Have Memorized By Now. 

If you're new, then welcome to Our Story.

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In the year, 2525... I mean 25, 25.


Every year before I revise and repost, I remember. I relive. And even if it's just for one shining day, these memories make everything else fall away: all the petty irritations and frustrations, the dislikes and grudgy feelings...all of the things that, in the long run of life, aren't worth the importance we place on them.

It's been a long tough journey that has passed in the blink of an eye.

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THE DUE DATE: June 4th

THE BIRTH DATE: February 13th. Preemies for pre-valentine's day.

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. MMMMMMORPHINE.

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. And so they have.

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 went all HAN SOLO and were like NEVER TELL ME THE ODDS!

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 picc 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 not even 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. Unless I cut it myself, in which case he looks sort of like he's got the mange. #TrueStory

My High School Graduate 

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- so we'd rush to the hospital to sit and put our hands in the "baby terrarium", as I thought of them, and listen to the beeps and the whooshing of the ventilator and wait for the inevitable. There were 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 RSV and BPD and ROP and a bunch of other things with initials that I barely understood.
There was double hernia surgery and laser eye surgery and surgery to correct crossed eyes. 

There were staph infections and thrush 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 albuteral and lasix and digoxin and tegretol and synthroid and constantly changing medications and frequent seizures and paralyzing fear (well, that last thing was *me*).

I remember a tiny Becca setting her pacifier down in something that had spilled...she picked it up, took a suck, and said, "What the hell is all over this?!" It made me laugh so much that I couldn't even correct her.

I remember one single sentence of absolutely clear speech from Joshua in 21 years...he was sick and angry and yelled, "I WANT MY BOTTLE!"  It was astounding and amazing and thank goodness my mother witnessed it or I would have thought my ears were playing tricks on me.

TWENTY ONE. 

(or The One Where Joshua Gives Duckface)

This milestone is especially important for Joshua, as he has already outlived all early predictions of life-span. Though it's a little like living under the Sword of Damocles, we do not give in or give up. And despite the fact that they were and are so fragile health-wise, for the last 10-12 years I can count on one hand the number of times they've had to go to the doctor or hospital. 

2 Twins at 22

(YES, Winnie The Pooh is still on the walls. Joshua loves Pooh bear)

*Mystery Of The Missing 23*

 2 @ 24 ea.

(or the one where that jackass boychild purposely refuses to look at the camera for 20 takes
and also is still wearing breakfast on his face because BRAT.)

And the QUARTER OF A CENTURY MARK.

I swear, the older this boychild gets, the more he is determined to thwart my picture taking.

And GirlMinion had to get glasses this year at last. Of course being the weirdo she is, she has one nearsighted eye and one farsighted eye. 

OF COURSE he was all about a selfie with his sister, though.

How could I not believe in miracles? When I look upon those miracles every day of my life.

I love you, my babies. I have been and will always be 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 bratty heads.

If all the world was a beach, I would love you more than all the grains of sand added together. Times infinity.

Oh well HAI 2020!

So just to catch you up on how my 2020 is going so far.

The other evening I left to go pick up Minion from work, and some dude was walking back and forth across the driveway (I live in a little "compound" with 4 little houses and a 4 car garage with apartments over top of them and we share a horeshoe drivearound driveway), and it looked sort of like he was either arguing with someone on the phone OR possibly looking for something because the light was on his phone.

My parents live next door so I called & told my dad to keep an eye on him, and just about that time the dude crossed the street into the neighborhood over there.

Later that same night... 
Around 10 pm there was a knock on the door...and for the first time in the 25 years I've lived there, I am a little ashamed to admit that I was too afraid to open the door.
Yes. Too afraid.
So I'm all WHO IS IT and a young voice said, "I need help."
THIS IS WHY I AM ASHAMED, BECAUSE I DID NOT OPEN THE DOOR.
Also I did not even use the peephole because I have seen WAAAYYYY too many crime shows and read WAAYYYYY too many thrillers and I did not want to get shot in the eye I KNOW SHUT UP BUT PARANOIA.

The porch light was on, I asked  what he needed, what could I do to help - he said,
"I'm 14, I'm about to get jumped!"
I said WHO IS GOING TO JUMP YOU? Stay there on the porch and I'll call the cops for you!
He said, "Okay okay, I'm leaving!"
And I yelled (still not opening the door) WAIT, I'm calling the cops TO HELP YOU! Stay up on the porch!

And nothing. So I call my dad next door and by the time I have that conversation, there is no one around anywhere except a couple walking their dogs across the street.
So basically I was so scared that I did not try hard enough to help.
Minion thinks it was a setup, and she's glad I did not open the door.
But someone asked for help.
I can't decide how I feel about it, except to feel bad that I was too afraid in my own home to open the front door when I've never (knock wood) had a problem of any sort in 25 years.
In fact my former babysitter's cousin is actually the only person who has ever stolen from me and if I ever run across THAT little bitch Ima beat her ass, I promise you that.

Two days later...
Okay, so for the past year or so I've had this...I don't know, kind of like narcolepsy where I just fall asleep in an instant. It happens at my desk all the time. Probably I'm just not getting enough "good" sleep, since I am old AF and have all the burning acid reflux and up 3 times to pee and drainage that makes me cough and I sleep in 2-4 hour chunks.
ANYWAY.
I'd slept in the recliner for some terrible reflux, woke up and Minion brought me coffee, and I nodded off before I could drink it.
Woke up AN HOUR later, requested a re-heat, and she left it in the microwave a leetle (lot) too long because it was about boiling.
She DID warn me that it was superhot.
I had it in my hand and...wait for it...
Next thing I know I am awake and screaming and scalded.
So I have 2nd degree burns and weepy blisters allllllll down my right side, from boob to hip.
And of course my arm is constantly hurting the ones on my boob and standing up and sitting down keeps burstin open everything on my hip.
Seriously it is so very ugly and gross, but keeping it clean and gauzed and it's finally starting to heal in most of the places -- the worst was having to soak the bandages off in my hip in the shower today because it was stuck very tight.
I KNOW, GROSS, TMI.

And so with no insurance and no $$, we're taking care of it at home and Minion is serving as an excellent nurse EXCEPT Nurse Ratched occasionally looks at the stuff when we're changing the dressing and her mouth crinkles up and her eyes go wide and I'm like STOP DOING THAT WITH YOUR FACE.
But it's itchy and healing and uncomfortable but at least we can Neosporin most of it now, so it doesn't sting too much.

Oh yeah, and my transmission thunked hard into first gear today, so there's that.
Some days I wish I was one of those people who could ask for gofundme help, but it's just not in me.
I'm just going to sit here and be thankful for a roof over my head, the warmth of the heater, the food on the table, friends to cheer me up, family, and the capacity to work & earn my way forward.

I need a vacation from my life.

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So, how's your year so far?

My life in a sentence.

TMW you noticed earlier that black hairy spider on the ceiling and now you can't see it but you know they are the tricksy ones that often wait until you walk under the doorway so they can drop down on your head and now you are pretty sure it might be in your hair and you squeal and start to to flick your fingers through your hair to get it out and then realized that you slept on your back last night and YES IT IS 3PM RIGHT NOW and you haven't brushed your hair yet today SO WHAT MIND YOUR BUSINESS and it's a yuge rat's nest on the back of your head and there could actually be a small community of spiders living in that thing and you'd never know it so then you have to scream (and possibly pee a little if you're old and you've had kids and stuff like me shut up) and bend over to start shaking your rat's nest and whack your forehead on the desk and yell for help or scream GET IT OUT GET IT OUT and turns out there was nothing in there and now you see the spider near your doorway and now you're trapped in your room with a possible concussion at least until you can find a hairbrush and/or Windex.



via GIPHY

cuttlefish and underwear.

You notice how when every single tentacle of your life is weighted down with stress (yes tentacle because CUTTLEFISH ARE AWESOME and I plan to come back as one only you will never see me because they have the best camouflage ever even better than Mystique because they can change color and texture AND HALF AT A TIME like when you order a half pepperoni half ham & pineapple pizza and Mystique could not even do that AT ALL)...

What? I forgot what I was saying.

Oh STRESS, tentacles, right.

For me, having the stress lifted off one or two of those areas completely causes a nearly tangible effect, and I can feel the weight lifting. It's like I have a full body sigh and everything relaxes, from my neck to hips to toes, my guts and lungs and brain, all at once.  I can actually feel my shoulders settling down to...well, shoulder height, instead of being all crunched up under my ears when I didn't even realize they were there.

Honestly the feeling is close to euphoria. I mean I don't feel like going dancing in the rain or coming to a Halloween party at your house (NO THANK YOU SORRY AND IF I ALREADY SAID YES MY APOLOGIES BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE SHOWING UP) or anything like that, but the utter sense of relief...it's like magic.

Losing the stress also made me realize exactly how many stress triggers I have.  WOW. You don't even know.  I mean I'm horrible online all the time anyway and you already knew that, but I've been a pretty horrible person in real life the last couple-three years too. 

I had so many triggers that I didn't even know what they all were.

SO many buttons just waiting to be pushed. Or touched. Or breathed on. 

 

Things have been pretty dire around here the last few years. 

I mean I've pretty much been poor-ish most of my life and it's nothin' but a thing...but the last 2 or three years, it's been a trial.

Seriously some weeks the budget was like ... is Joshua going to have chicken in his stew this week or will he have to go vegetarian?

eBay sales used to support us but some months we're lucky to make a hundred bucks and that's no exaggeration. Of course I'm so damn mad at them anyway, because they keep changing the formats and the layouts and the requirements to be a "Power Seller."  I mean I'm a TOP SELLER but I can't get my stuff on the first pages of keyword search because I don't take all their..."advice," and if it was left in their hands I'd list everything for .99 or best offer with free shipping and free returns and list 1K items per week. THEN I'd get noticed and sell more while of course losing money on everything.

via GIPHY

ANYWAY.

I was stressed over money every day but didn't even realize how bad it was on my body & mind.

So the thing happened and Becca got a new job, which equals happier attitude (and less GIRL IMA RIP OFF YOUR ARM AND BEAT YOU WITH IT from me) and more money and BOOM, less stress.
Then I got some side jobs I can do from home which are actually earning $ AND the biggie (and also one of the points I've been getting to here) - I FEEL PRODUCTIVE.

I am contributing more to my own household, AND taking back the majority of support of my family, which makes me feel useful and less like a loser at life and motherhood and all the things.

Being productive and busy and useful build a YUGE barrier against depression and anxiety for me.

I mean money doesn't buy happiness but I can tell you it almost brought me to tears when Becca asked if we had enough so she could get new underwear and I was able to unhesitatingly say YES! and bravely added AND GET ME SOME TOO PLEASE without even stopping to calculate.

If you've ever been actually, truly poor, you'll know just how excellent that feels.

It's like the thrill of victory.

I guess what I'm getting at here is that I slowly feel like the person I was 10 years ago is kind of waking up again.  The little things that could (and have) sent me into a shrieking frenzy are not so important now. 

My shoulders are where they should be (most of the time).

The stomachflutter of anxiety is nearly completely gone many days in a row

The angst is at least a foot away from me and sliding.

OH, I still have plenty of stress to go around, but at least it's more focused now, like on this boy of mine. That's never going to go away, and it's easier to carry.

Maybe Becca's not pushing my buttons so much because she's happier.

Maybe I just don't notice her doing it because I'm less stressed.

Maybe I'm finally on the downhill side and sliding to the finish line of menopause.

Maybe I'm evolving. (fingers crossed for cuttlefish evolution!)

Whatever it is, I'll take it.

Some stuff and things and so then that happened.

Here's how I know your inspirational cliches don't work - specifically "If you dream it, you can achieve it" because last night I dreamed that I was driving a rainbow van off a cliff but at the same time I was across the canyon watching it happen, and then I walked into a fountain and tried to punch some dude but strangely my arms weren't working and THEN THERE WAS A DRONE OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM WINDOW and it woke me up and wasn't there and also I dreamed I was awake but I wasn't and didn't know for sure until I was trying to talk and say HEY AM I EVEN AWAKE.

Okay "life coach," you tell me how to achieve that.
Also tell me WHY WOULD I EVEN WANT TO. 

I've been writing #FakeInspirationalCrap for years, *I* should be YOUR life coach because mine can actually be applied to real life.

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I've posted about the ghost that lives here (with photographic evidence!) a couple times over the years, but things have been pretty quiet and ghost-free for quite some time. 

So for our eBay business, I keep the inventory in sealed tubs with handle-lock lids.

A few days ago we were looking for a dress in a tub that resides in my "dining" room - a tub that either Becca or I have been through numerous times in the past few months.

Only this time, there was a bottlecap right near the top of the pile.

A bent bottlecap.

A bent beer bottlecap.

A bent Tecate "No Retornable" beer bottlecap.

Like this, only bent a little across the top.

Okay, maybe not weird for many of you, but here's what:

I have been through that dress tub and everything in it, down to the bottom, at least 50 times whenever I am looking for a dress listed at a certain time.
Anything that's been listed has been checked thoroughly, pockets and all, at least 2-3 times.

Also, I do not drink beer.

Also ALSO, I do not buy beer.

Also also ALSO, if I did buy beer, I doubt I would buy Tecate. 

Also also also ALSO, I don't even have a bottle opener.

WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?

How did it get in that sealed tub of clothes?

How did it even get in my house?

Who opened it?

Did someone come in my house and drink a beer and unstack 3 tubs of clothes

just to put their bottlecap in the bottom sealed tub and then restack everything again?

I mean nobody here takes ambien or any sleeping pills that might make us do weird sleep things.

And where is the bottle? There is no bottle. There hasn't been a bottle.

I don't ever have visitors, so no one has come over and brought their own beer.

If it was the ghost, who bought the beer for them? Or can he or she make themselves corporeal long enough to drink a beer? Or are they starting a bottlecap collection?

(HEY WHO ELSE DID THIS WHEN THEY WERE A KID AND NAILED BOTTLECAPS TO A BOARD?)

I tried to get an EVP recorded while asking any ghosts that might've been hanging around but all I got was the standard old "run, get out, I'm going to kill you,"** etc etc blahblahblah so I don't even count that. I mean bitchghost please, I've been in this house over 20 years, you've had your chance.

So that happened.

**#fakenews, no EVP captured at all but I did try.

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I was very recently reminded how lovely and refreshing and wonderful it is to be thought of, to be included, to be remembered, to be invited, even when the inviter knows full well you'll most likely have to decline.

So I want to remind YOU to please not forget your introverts. Don't forget your caregivers. Don't forget about those of us who really do hate to have to say NO all the time because there's just no way to make it happen.
Please keep inviting us. Please let us know you think of us once in awhile. Please be prepared to be okay with us saying no.
We hate having to say it sometimes as much as you hate having to hear it.
But at least we know you care.
And even if we forget to say it, we adore you for the thought.

This has been an Introvert and/or Chronic CareGiver Service Announcement.

Dinky Ink

I might be having a mid-life crisis but I can't afford a sports car (or any kind of new car, come to think of it) so I think I am about to get
MY FIRST TATTOO.

I've always *sort of* thought I might get one someday, but it just hasn't been important enough for me to really think about.  I love looking at other people's tats ( NO REGERTS!) and I've seen some gorgeous work.

I think I'm going to start small though.
Fairly tiny.
Because really I do not like pain and also I have to be able to cover it up so that my mother doesn't see it and call me a slut like she did my sister that time my sister got her tongue pierced when she was 18.
#TrueStory.
#FamilyDysfunction

ANYWAY - I have picked out two, and this is going to be my first Tiny Tat (coin not included):

And then depending on how much I cry and/or scream and/or overdramatize the pain, maybe something similar to this in the future, only not on the shoulder (also coin not included):

That one might be too ambitious though. Maybe on my 50th birthday.

An Advice Column

If you only knew how many times per week I think - I should write something on my blog! And then I go and turn a post into a Twitter reduction and pour the glaze on Facebook.
So my friend Neil of Citizen of the Month mentioned that he wanted to get back to regular blogging, at least once a week, just to basically reclaim the space. Then Melissa of Stirrup Queens said that she has a small group of people doing a thing called #MicroblogMonday, again, to take back our little space on the web.
I'm not much of a bandwagoner most of the time but since this happens to be something I was thinking of anyway...
Although in all fairness and honesty I tried 30 days of blogging (last year? year before? 5 years ago?) and failed miserably. But hope springs eternal and all that so here we are again.
PLUS I HAVE 56 FREAKING DRAFTS.
That's more than enough for a year's worth of once-a-week posts and I wouldn't even have to come up with anything new. Except some of those drafts are like....5-6 years old and wouldn't make much sense if I posted them now. So probably I will because it will make me laugh.

This draft is quite old and was clearly waiting on more inspiration but HEY, we work with what we gots.

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Don't be that person who is so self-involved and self-centered that *your* problems are the only "real" problems and everyone else's are just petty annoyances.
Because eventually, nobody likes that guy.

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Don't let your problem be that you listen to everyone tell you what your problem is.

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Don't confuse 'muscles' for 'mussels' unless you want a weird looking partner or a completely disgusting non-seafood dish. #SpellingMatters

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Don't be a know-it-all. People often love a wise-ass, but rarely like a know-it-all.
I should know. I know all of the things. Which is, of course, quite a different thing altogether.

Things I Wanted To Say

Just a fun little exercise in which I relieve the pressure of Not Engaging and point no fingers.
(#NINAY Lisa)(heehee)(I knew you would ask)

1. You haven't heard from me because sorry, I can't bear watching you make the exact same decision over and over again when it's destroying your life.

2. I question the state of your mental health.

3. You actually are an idiot in a good disguise.

4. Grow up and get over the one-upmanship. This isn't high school, that ship sailed about 30 years ago and it's very unattractive.

5. There comes a time when you have to stop dressing like you're still in your 20s. You're not actually as cute as you think you are.

6. Stop gender-neutralizing your "friends" when you talk about "them" because that's always a dead giveaway.

7. I only ... creatively fictionalized...my answer a little bit so I wouldn't hurt your feelings, because you are important to me.

8. Your ability to turn even good things into whiny complaints has made me wash my hands of you.

9. If you're promoting the message of hate and intolerance while calling yourself a Christian, you aren't one. Period.

10. It hurts my feelings a tiny bit when you go out of your way to publically thank people...except somehow never Me. Ridiculous of me to be hurt, but nonetheless, it does.

11. None of these are about any of you.

Sweatin' it out.

Let's take a moment to talk about sweat.
I know, ew.

I've used Secret deodorant for many, many years - and recently I've discovered that it may be "Strong enough for a man", but it can't hold a candle to the stank that is menopause sweat.

OMG.

If there's one thing that mightily offends my scentsors, it's the stink of  BO.
I mean, I like the smell of skin sometimes, especially a lover's special scent. But nasty pit-smell? NO THANK  YOU.

At first I thought maybe Secret had changed their formula and it was no longer Strong Enough For A Man but Made For A Woman, then I realized it was NOT made for a woman with menopause.
When I hit 45 last year, my body started betraying me overnight.
I've had chronic back troubles for years - I keep re-injuring the same places when I lift Josh in & out of the wheelchair or bathtub.
But all of a sudden my back is aching in new ways, I have a neuropathy thing that makes my feet and toes cramp and feel tingly and weird, and recently woke up one morning with what is apparently tendonitis in my wrist.

AND THE SWEAT.
I've been having hot flashes and night sweats for three or four years now - my hormones are totes out of whack.
But the last year or so, I can get out of the shower, put on my Secret...and within 5 minutes I DO NOT SMELL GOOD anymore.
WTF.
Unacceptable.

I finally googled to see if stanky menopause sweat was actually A Thing... AND IT IS.
Fortunately for some of you, it doesn't happen to everyone.
Unfortunately for me, it does happen to some.
*sigh*

This is not an advertisement or review for deodorant, I'm just passing on a little advice: If you're stricken with this problem, Degree Clinical Strength actually works.
Which is good so that I don't have to save up to have my sweat glands removed.

Are any of you going through this? My misery would love the company.
Also? MENOPAUSE SUCKS.

That is all.
Have a day.

A post in the style of early MTV

By which I mean it contains actual music videos.

Because I've had too much of this lately:

And not nearly enough of this:

Which means it's time for this:

That is all.

Crybaby cry, poke you in the eye...

You know how you hope a thing will happen one way, you want a thing to happen that way just for a bit of happiness or contentment's sake, but you expect it will happen the other way and then it pretty much does and you're really not at all surprised and then you're a little weepy all day?

That.

That is today.

That is today for me.

#PityParty
#TableForOne

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Updated: 
To add insult to injury, I burnt my breakfast, which I am just now getting around to making at 12:04pm. Normally I make perfectly tasty over-medium eggs, just the way I like them, but apparently I do not know how to cook them in coconut oil. They both stuck, got burnt on the edges, and the yolks broke when I attempted to flip them. It was a scramble-fried hot mess.

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Update #2:
AAANNNNDDDD I just realized my shirt has been on inside-out.

It's complicated.

Sometimes how much I laugh is directly proportional to how hard the day is.
Sometimes the more wise-ass I get is directly related to my rising level of frustration/anger.

Sometimes the funnier people think I am is when I'm hurting the most.
Sometimes when I'm nice(-ish), it's because I've said or thought or done something horrible or mean.

Sometimes the brighter the smile, the closer the tears.
Sometimes I barely want to be your friend anymore but I can't stand the thought of you not being there.

Sometimes the more contrary and stubborn I seem, the more I really want to just give in and go along.
Sometimes the more I share, the more I want to hide from you.

Sometimes when I'm kidding, I'm really not. Much.
Sometimes I take myself way too seriously. And sometimes not seriously enough.

Sometimes the more polite I am, the less I actually like you.
Sometimes the more concerned I seem, the less I care.

Sometimes I feel like I'm being melodramatic (like now), which makes me feel awkward and embarrassed.
Sometimes (like now), I just want a big bear hug. (but not by a real bear)(maybe a panda)(or a koala. yes, a koala)

Sometimes I have no clue what to do next.
Sometimes I wonder what you would do.

Compacted.

Most days I don't think much about my responsibilities...I mean, they're THERE, they exist, they get dealt with in order of importance (and insane-making ability).
Just life, deal with it, move along.

But some days are like this:

Today is one of those days.
That is all.

'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.

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.

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.

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.