Cutting a rug.

by statia on July 12, 2017

One of the first problems I had to tackle, in regards to getting creative, was finding my own, quiet space. I’ve been taking classes in the city, and decided that maybe a small studio would work for my needs.

And that’s what I did. I rented a studio where no children will leave their socks. Where I don’t have anything that belongs to anyone else but me. And of course, people being people, a lot of the reactions I had when I told people this, were HILARIOUS.

Friend:  You rented an APARTMENT? Does your husband know?

Me: Considering he gave me the checkbook with his blessing, I’m pretty sure he knows.

Friend: You aren’t having an affair, are you?



(fun fact: The Rock went to my high school. I know, you had FUN learning that, didn’t you?)


Another Friend: Are you selling drugs?

Me: Clearly everyone thinks I’m way more nefarious and exciting than I really am.

No, I really truly want a quiet space to do whatever creative thing I want to do. Anything to never have to go back to corporate America. Maybe get some practice groups together with my friends, or start a podcast. I don’t know. I have a ton of ideas and I’m still working on this nomadic creative life. The last time I was writing here on the regular, like the REAL regular, was before kids. I know it’s going to take some time.

Moving into a new place, when you already have a home, is super weird. One, I feel like I’m moving out on my own again, for the first, but second time in my life. It brings back strong déjà vu.

Except for the part where, when I got the keys, apparently the previous tenant was still on the lease.

One day when I was dropping a few things off, I decided it was a good time for some herbal refreshments. I was alone, and I had an hour before my class started. I put my new bathroom rug in front of my door, so as not to be an asshole neighbor that makes everything smell like herbal refreshments.

I’m halfway through, perfusing all the social medias, because I’m just wasting time. When all of a sudden, I hear a key turn in the door.

Hiding herbal refreshments… you can’t hide the herbal refreshments. At least not totally. But I put away any gear I had quickly and introduced myself. The landlord told me that he still had the keys until the 1st, but that he had moved out a month ago, and had gotten married, and now living with his wife. The place had since been remodeled.

We are both very surprised to see the other, and make awkward introductions and small talk. Mostly about how the landlord casually did not mention another person moving in before the end of his lease was up. I feel that. That wasn’t cool. But he was nice (he’s since given the keys back so I’m not worried he’s going to just show up one day.)

As he goes to leave, I notice that he’s totally rolled the door over the bathroom carpet, solidly wedging it there FOR LIFE. I cannot open or close my door at all. And I’m here by myself, with a class in about 30 minutes. I’m pissed. Not as much at him, but at the situation. He had no idea someone was hotboxing his former residence.

So here I am, trying with all of my might to salvage this stupid rug that I had literally just bought a half an hour ago. I’m now sweating profusely, adamant and STUBBORN AS FUCK, to get this rug out from under my door, but the gripping on the bottom is making it impossible. I’m sure if I had more time, I could have finally gotten it, but I was hot and annoyed and decided to just cut the thing out from under the door.

The rug won. The fucking rug won.

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It’s Just Like Riding a Bike.

by statia on July 11, 2017

I guess this is me, getting up on that bike and wobbling around. Man, I used to have it down before my kids decided to turn my brain into soup. Also, no one (except the RSS feed people that still love archaic blogs from the early, nerdy years) remembers this spot, so I can write more freely. Just don’t ask me where I was on the night of the 6th.

The last two or three years have felt very unsteady. No real direction except “I’d like to entertain people, please. Please step up and get your entertainments right here!”

But I was lost. My kids went back to school full time and after years of intensive therapy for the Mini, suddenly I had no direction.

I got sick with Gastroparesis. I now think it was caused by the anti-depressant that saved my life six years ago. You can’t win, can you? You want to not have anxiety? You want to not feel like you have a wet cloak of the most awful feeling you’ve ever felt over you, 24-7? Ok, but you’re going to have to give up eating anything normal. Your choice. I’m hoping that it’ll reverse itself, because chronic nausea is no way to live your life. Though the perk is living in Costco pajama bottoms, which if there were ever a product I would brand for:


So life got real miserable for awhile. The short version: agoraphobia was starting to happen.

I’m slowly coming out of that fog. Blowing out the morning boogers of my brain for the first time in as many years. Using my brain on more than just “mom autopilot.” It’s a very weird feeling when you had no choice but to dedicate your time to your small children, one specifically with developmental delays. It was never my intent to throw myself into motherhood and have it be the only thing on my plate.

And don’t mistake that last paragraph as any sort of anger or resentment. I harbor none of that. I was happy to do it. It was exhausting and very depressing at times, but I will never look back at that time with regret or sadness. It made us stronger. It made us learn more about ourselves than we ever will.

But at some point, you must take your time back. It is yours and you are owed your own time and you deserve it. Everyone deserves that. It makes you a better person.

The problem was how? I lost my identity and I’m still discovering this new path. And I’m also finding that this path is a little more windy than the last. A few more dead ends. A few alley ways. A lot more doubt.

As for the entertainment part, stupid youtube videos happen now and then. I’ve started taking classes in various forms of media.

Putting my self out there. Putting my feet on the pedals and slowly trying to reclaim my balance. Hoping that while I know I CAN ride this bike, the body is a little more fragile when it falls.

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First Thing’s First.

by statia on July 4, 2017

So, after I nearly took my own life back in 2011, it was only that point in my mental history that I really focused on being real with myself. I went through a lengthy outpatient program. I found a (nother) therapist. She was one of many. There have been so many therapists that have floated through my life. Some were better than others, but I have had some doozies. Like the woman that fell asleep with her eyes open while I was pouring my 23 year-old heart out. Maybe my dysfunctional, suburban white girl problems were just too bland for her. I don’t know.

But I also know that up until I met the Therapist of My Dreams (I’ll call her Kay) I wasn’t very serious or honest with my therapists or myself. And being the guarded person I am, I was skeptical the first time I saw her. Defenses are pretty high when you’re in a situation like this, I will admit, but I also knew that I didn’t want to feel the way I was feeling for the rest of my life. So I went in with an open mind and the desire to feel better about life in general.

I can’t tell you what we discussed that first visit, except the phrase “first thing’s first.” But I can tell you about how Kay grew to actually know me as a person over the years. To the point where she could call me on my shit in a way that didn’t make me feel attacked or belittled. I grew a lot as a person because of her, and I learned a lot more about myself and what I was capable of because of her. I could call her at anytime and she would always stop and talk to me, despite therapy being a part time job, on top of her full time job. She taught me the value of therapy by being the therapist I never knew I needed.

Earlier this year, Kay told me that it was time for her to hang up her therapist hat, as she was over 70 (which floored me. No way was this woman was close to being 60! Let alone over 70). WHAT?!? NOOOOO!! This couldn’t be happening. I took it in stride. I’ve felt better, sure, but I am so mentally aware of myself, that I wasn’t worried I couldn’t live without her. But I didn’t want to. Like the saying goes, “if it ain’t broke…”

The last couple of years have been tough for a multitude of reasons that are just not all my story to tell. One is a chronic illness that ended up exacerbating my anxiety to off the charts levels. On a hunch I am working on, I may have found the cause of it, so I’m feeling better there, but at that point in time, leaving the house was extremely hard for me. Not being in pajamas was extremely hard. The drive to see her caused more anxiety than the relief she provided. But that didn’t matter. I still looked forward to seeing Kay.

It has been five months since I last saw her. I’ve seen another therapist in the interim that is basically like the equivalent of overcooked spaghetti for me. I’m just not feeling it. I’m not giving up on finding someone that I’ll find a good rapport with. But I miss Kay severely. I called her once, just to say hi. Like an old lover that you try to remain friends with. It wasn’t that awkward, but I knew I wasn’t going to be talking to her regularly. I mean, It’s not like I’m stalking her or anything. Don’t be ridiculous.



In all seriousness, I miss her like air and some days I DO feel like that ex that wants to find every damn excuse in the book to call her and cry and have her tell me that I’ll find someone else and it’ll be OK. I know it’ll be OK, I just want to hear her voice.

Instead I’ll repeat my mantra: “first thing’s first,” and go on with my life.

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I thought this was a dead blog?

by statia on May 4, 2017

As of 2015, two people dropped by from an RSS feed. This is still considered ancient in internet years. Standard measurement of internet years? One day is one year. This is scientific calculation level shit here. Go look it up for yourself.

No need to be a blind follower

So if there are none of you out there, or even the last two, it’s Ok. I don’t care either way. Because in all honesty, it’s nice to know not many people are reading. Not that I’m dumping some deep dark secret, either. But let’s face it, with social media paying attention to everything, it’s nice to not have sixty million people reading. Or a thousand. But I could get off on a million different tangents at once about it. It’s not my point. My point is, I pay for this mother fucking space, and I’ve been kind of both afraid to use it, because who cares? And also being in the throes of motherhood, just did really NOT A GOD DAMNED THING for the wherewithal to do anything with a creative moment. Let alone actually remember to document it in some way.

My house is pretty chaotic, to say the very least.

But as time has gone on, as it does, I realize that I miss documenting my life. At the very least my own stupid shit. I stopped more out of privacy for my kids. And blogs dying. And lack of confidence in myself. And fill it in with a million excuses, but is just that. Excuses.

So because my kids are still kids, but in that tween stage, my commitment to not embarrassing them (much) on the internet, is still priority number one.

Also because any of you that was a past regular probably loved Gromit more than me. You used me for my dog! So I thought to myself: Self? What better way to try to become internet popular on an archaic platform than to just get a new dog?

Right? I play totally dirty. I might get one of you back here.

Sarcasm aside, if we aren’t facebook friends, we did actually finally go ahead and fill our home with another lab. Because two kids, two cats and a 12 year-old chihuahua aren’t enough. We are clearly insane.


IMG_9100 No carbon copies here!

Meet Winston. Winston is obviously not Gromit. He will never be Gromit. Gromit was his own special brand of lab. I’m not kidding. Winston makes me miss Gromit more some days. But that doesn’t mean this dog hasn’t nestled his way into my heart the way he pushed his siblings aside for milk. There was room. There’s always room. That worry will always crop up when you first foray into a new adventure like this. They quickly become a part of your family, though. Despite their flaws, of which this boy has few. I’m not trying to brag. We did a lot of work and saved and dug deep into our experience bag to pull us through the early puppyhood stages. I was not really looking forward to puppyhood, to be honest. I hate training another living thing to shit where it’s supposed to. Because at the end of it, you are just waiting for literal shit to happen somewhere. I can’t. I have to take a breath. IT’S TOO STRESSFUL TO THINK ABOUT!

Still, his near perfection is really just experience and opportunity intersecting. He’s been easy to train. He’s a really mellow puppy. We can take him places, like outdoor restaurant areas and the like and he’s definitely more behaved than Gromit at four months old. My own limited dog experience being what it was at 23. Gromit was mellow. He wasn’t that mellow.

And it’s hard not to compare. Compare what I miss about a dog that has been dead for almost five years? If there is one thing that I can honestly say about Winston that I didn’t get with Gromit: cuddling. Every morning, I get up to pee. During my morning dam release, Mia puts her paws on my knees for her morning loving session. Once downstairs, Winston patiently waits for me to get my coffee and vitamins, so that I can sit down on the floor for him to climb in my lap. Gromit hated hugs with all fiber of his being.

But even if Gromit had loved hugs, he topped out at 65 pounds. Winston is going to top out at about 80-85.


I’m don’t even post a lot of what’s going on in my life on facebook. Life hasn’t been great. It hasn’t sucked. I am human, doing human things that we do. So sometimes it’s great. Sometimes it’s not. I’m only doing the best I can at adulting

I also can’t wait for the next society after ours to find out how we evolved our language,  from only not being grammatically snooty enough to stop it being socially OK to make a noun into a verb. But you will get shot if you can’t appropriately use their, there and they’re. Never change, internet.

Anyway, I’m not sure how often I’ll post here, or if I ever will again. Perhaps I’ll just make this a dog blog.  Which, I suck at actual self promotion, but not dog promotion. You can follow his adventures on his instagram account. NEVER CHANGE, INTERNET. If you are looking for me, you can find me with a dog sitting in my lap. ??



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Well, shit.

by statia on November 29, 2015

Hey, does anyone actually have this shit still in their feed? Does RSS even exist anymore, or in the two years since I’ve blogged (and the other 3-4 years where I checked out because children and work were definitely NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN)?

So if anyone actually still ever checks this bullshit and we’re not friends on facebook, I figured I’d give a very quick update to my whereabouts. (sorry, if I’ve never really had a conversation with you, a message saying how you know me, if you were to friend me on facebook, is kind of necessary for me to friend you. It’s a comfort thing, you know how it is).

The kids are now eight and six. And one will be NINE in March. Which is so not far away. I know this, because I remember when I was pregnant with him. It feels like yesterday (my ribs still hurt, or that’s phantom pain… Maybe I should go to the doctor).  But I’m trying to make this brief, so I’ll be quick with it, because while I miss dumping my thoughts here, this is a defunct blog, and I’m already BREAKING FUCKING RULES, HERE.

Mini is almost nine. He is doing well. He no longer has support at school, currently, but he will come fifth grade. He currently has an ADHD diganosis, with probably mild Autism, like his father. He’s so smart and is doing well in school. He is in third grade, and we all love his teacher to the point of wanting to make her an honorary family member. After a rough year last year for him, it’s all good.  Like most other nine year-olds, he loves all things Minecraft, Yugi-Oh and Pokémon. They are all the bane of my existence.  He will also definitely surpass his mother in the sarcasm arena. Maybe. If I let him. But suffice to say, his sarcasm is ON POINT (current pop culture reference for extra points!)!

Little Miss is 6 (AND A HALF, GOD MOM), going on 18, naturally. Because she is a girl and a Taurus. She is in first grade and loves her teacher. I love that she goes to the same place all day for 7 hours with her brother. I mean, I love that both of them go. I don’t want to sound like I don’t dislike both of them equally or anything. She also loves her first grade teacher, proclaiming on the first day “Mom, I love her, she NEVER YELLS.” Looking at me, like I could take a page out of this woman’s book.  If that girl only knew.  She also loves everything her brother does, because she idolizes him. She also loves drawing and anything crafty. She hates being outside.

They are both kind and loving kids. Also very funny.

Let’s see: Other banal updates:

Mia is still with us. She’s going blind now, but slowly, so that’s a plus. She’s 10 and overall, in perfect health otherwise. She’s become my little shadow since Gromit passed. I still miss him like crazy, every day. And his ashes and paw print (and picture) sit next to my bed, always and forever.

We still have two Siamese cats. Perry and Chloe. Chloe is my little buddy. Mia and Chloe have a pact. That they must be near me at all times, in case one gets petted and the other one doesn’t. Women are bitches!

We still love the house we moved into a couple of years ago, despite having had to replace everything in it. But it’s an older house. We are currently waiting to start our next project, which is adding a dormer and a bathroom upstairs, so that we can finally stop hitting our heads on the sloped ceiling. So right now, our bedroom is temporarily located in the basement. It’s never a dull moment in the Manger household, that’s for sure.

Me? I’m doing OK. A year and a half ago, I decided that the extra baby weight I had been carrying around for five years, was finally way too long. I know mothers who just decide to keep it forever, or some mothers who don’t want it, but just can’t find the time or energy to work it off. That’s not a judge, because if you’re a mom, you know that even your own secret bathroom that no one knew about would be found by your toddler.  It’s inevitable.

Anyway, I had been working out, mom style. But I just got fed up and decided to get serious. I switched it all up and dropped 25lbs over the last year… and gained some muscle.

IMG_4401 GAINZ BRAH! gainz Handling my shit.


I can’t say that I’m not proud of that shit. Because I am. It was a lot of hard work, and sacrifice. It was worth it. Over the last year, I’ve discovered exactly how shitty my untreated reflux is. I have a hernia now. And that’s just that. So I have to actually eat better, because all of the shitty foods (aka, the foods you really want to eat, instead of salad) make me feel nauseated if I eat too much of it. I’m not saying that to be an asshole, because I love cake like I love air. But cake wants me to take smaller bites and eat less, in order for others to also enjoy the cake (FINE, TAKE SOME CAKE). So my body was really just finding a way for me to listen so that I would share.  The good thing is, there’s an alternative way for me to get rid of extra energy.  And now that the kids are in school, the time is there. Because did you think I would be a normal housewife? Fuck that.

I turned FORTY in August. That was part of the reason for my weight lifting ramp up. (It makes the weight come off a lot easier… just an FYI, middle aged ladies. That’s right, we’re fucking middle aged now). Forty. Forty sounds like you went binge drinking with friends and then had to stop in the middle to vomit in the bushes to make room for more alchohol. FOOOOOOOOORTY. Just say it like you’re vomiting. I’ll wait.

Go ahead.

Yeah, it sucks. There aren’t many ages you can do that with. So it’s confirmed that FORTY is the worst. Because you sound like that, but are you really binge drinking with friends on a Saturday night at FORTY? Nope. Probably not.

The Meester ended up surprising me with my hot internet wife. It was a nine month surprise. So her basically showing up in my driveway, from England, was the birth. It was such a fantastic gift, that you don’t really have to wonder why the Meester is still my main squeeze.

Anyway, to wrap up this long blog post that was supposed to be a few sentences to just say that I am onto another venture. Once the kids went back to school, the Meester gave me this look like “Soooo, are you ever going to go back to work?” My voice was squeaky when I said it: “You mean like corporate America?”

I could never go back to corporate America.  Thankfully, we are fortunate that the Meester can support us and I can be the weirdo I am. I now have the time and the ability to go back to being creative.  And because I missed the youtube boom, thanks to gestating and putting all of my energy into the Mini’s therapy, and other baby things that mattered more than working.  Sure there was DIY and I still do some DIY, but it was a way for me to maintain some sense of sanity amidst the brightly colored Fisher-Price nonsense that littered the floor space of my house. I still love it, but it’s not a career for me. I wanted to do something more artistic.

Remember this bullshit?  I’ve decided that this was pretty fun. So I took the idea and ran with it to youtube. I’m calling it Jaded Story Time. I don’t have lofty goals of being the next big thing. I am just having fun, and if I can manage to scrape some extra cash together to put into our vacation fund, it would be cool. If not, I’m the luckiest girl in the world, to have a husband who lets me be me. But seriously, if you could go over there and check it out, because this also a huge exercise in becoming more comfortable with myself.

So, this was longer than I anticipated, but that’s that. If you’re looking to catch up with me, there you go. Once in a while, I get a bee in my bonnet. Or a hare up my ass, or a pitch in my tent and I go all nostalgic. Looking back on the blog posts of others, from the good old days. But I also like to know what some of my favorite people are up to. And I know that goes both ways. So there you go. Subscribe over there and say hi, if you catch up with me over there. I also have instagram and tumblr and twitter too. Tumblr is pretty much vacant, but I occasionally post on the the other two.


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New Beginnings, maybe. If I remember

by statia on October 21, 2013

I think it’s time to hang up the hat on this blog. More than 11 years of my life is on here, and it kind of amazes me. But it’s just not me anymore.  I think of the span of time that this has covered. It’s both depressing and crazy.  I was in my 20′s when I started this space. Newly divorced. A young, working professional. I was hip. I was cool.

My 20′s seem like so long ago now.

My age has really seemed to hit me hard this year. I turned 38 in August. I’ve been feeling the effects of that late thirties feeling. Wondering where the the time went. I know full well where it went. But life has a tendency of smacking you hard when you least expect it.  I realize now that there are certain parts of my life that are past. Not only am I done having children, which I was ok with, and am OK with. It’s more likely now that I am getting too old maternally. I can no longer decide that I’m going to go away to college.  My hands don’t look as young as they used to.  I’m by no means old. But yet, I feel these effects and it’s depressing. People say that this is such a better time in your life. On some level, I agree. You’re more comfortable with who you are. I make no apologies for who I am, but I will try to make myself a better person. If for no other reason than personal enrichment. Certain things don’t really matter to me anymore. I don’t get myself fired up about the same things that I used to. I get fired up about things now, that didn’t matter in my youth. Proper etiquette, grammar, being an honest decent human being.  It’s not that I didn’t care about that stuff before, but having kids has made them more important to me.  Making sure that I’m leading by example.  And I don’t pretend to be a good person, I truly want to be a good person.  

And then there’s a part of me that never really felt like an adult. I feel like I’m 12 years-old inside. I one day woke up and was an adult. My childhood is now much more of a hazy memory than it isn’t.  And I’m not alone in this.  We’re all working towards the inevitable end.

So here’s to creating something new. A better way to articulate my life. But this chapter, for as long as I’ve dragged it out, has to come to a close.  It feels liberating to finally let it go.

I’m still working on where I’ll be. But if you want to know, shoot me an email, and I can tell you where I’ll be. I’ll warn you, it’ll probably be much more sharp and frank. I just don’t have a timeframe. Because I’m stubborn.

P.S. I’m not looking for some dramatic grand exit. It’s not good bye. I’m just freeing myself from a site that feels so much more draining than it used to.

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Our house, is a very very very fine house.

by statia on September 4, 2013

I feel as if I don’t know exactly how to really write anymore. I used to have a good flow of hyperbole and sharp humor. Now I’m all “eh.” It just sounds super boring and forced. Even if I feel something.

I know, it’s like exercising. You have to keep at it. And it’s just not on my mind, so I end up writing the same thing. Over and over and over. 

Anyway, we’re officially moving. I spent my summer very meticulously making my house, not my house. I neutralized just about everything. We renovated the kitchen, installed new carpet. Every single person thought we were insane. “What the hell are you doing all of this work for, just to sell it?” Wednesday, they all said incredulously: “YOU SOLD YOUR HOUSE IN TWO DAYS?!?”

Actually, I don’t want to brag, but it was technically about 30 hours.  We put it on the market officially, on Monday afternoon, and by about 10PM Tuesday, we had accepted an offer. They were still installing the new roof while the first showing was going on (we did not pay for the roof, it was covered, after much fighting with the insurance company. But we had storm damage by hurricane Sandy last year), and they STILL made an offer. Even with the yard covered in shingles.  And the biggest compliment I got, was “dude, your house showed SO WELL.” Which makes me immensely proud, but (and seriously, I’m not trying to be a dick) of course it did. I spent the whole god damned summer going over what would seem to most, the stupidest details. My agent was THRILLED to do business with us again, seeing as how I basically just handed my wallet over to her, while she filled out some forms and looked pretty. But she’s absolutely amazing and awesome anyway, so I probably would do that without really even feeling bad about it. Still, I spoiled her.

Part of our success was my perfectionism. But part of this formula was also that there is so little inventory in our area. It was really important for us to stay in our area. We like where we live. But it has so much newer construction. People think that their house is something special, and it’s not. I knew that I would have to make my house show like it was something out of a magazine. The kitchen was the biggest part of that equation.



I apologize for the shitty picture that I totally stole from the listing site, but of course the agent has the appropriate wide-angle lens, and you know what? I’m on fucking mental vacation right now.

I don’t have a before picture readily available. It’s somewhere but see above re: fucking mental vacation. Suffice to say it was dated and ugly, and not anything remotely like this amazing, sparkly mess. The old kitchen didn’t even have room for an island.

As for our new house, it’s smaller. Which also baffled everyone. Why would you downsize at this point in your life? Listen, ten years ago, I would have wanted some sort of generic mcmansion, but now? No. And I realize how fortunate I am. We are fortunate, but also hard working. I feel like an asshole saying we have too much space, but I’m trying to live with less. Anyone that buys a house knows it’s a giant money pit. I’m trying to make it less of a money pit. We’re OK. We just want more…time. The house is also way more, us. It’s got some charm, a lot of outdoor space, but not so much that it’s overwhelming.  We had our inspection yesterday, which gave me a lot more time to kind of go through and really look at the house.  Some things are a sacrifice, but overall, it made me fall in love with the house so much more.  Also? PROJECT!!!

And yes, people have asked if I will miss this house. Yes, I will miss this house, for all of the anxiety and turmoil it has caused me over the years. This was our first house that we bought. This is the only house that the Mini has known, and Little Girl has ever lived in. I learned to do so many things in this house. I learned that I don’t have to hire for every little thing. It made us capable of DIY and we’re pretty good at it.

The kids are pretty excited too. Little Girl has been there a few times, and already has her room picked out. Unfortunately, Mini has only seen pictures, thanks to his recent adventure called FULL DAY SCHOOL! But they’re both excited about a new house.

For the first time in quite a few years, I’m actually looking forward to fall.  Here’s to new beginnings.


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Burning fast and bright.

by statia on June 7, 2013

I’ve never felt as if I’ve learned as much about myself as I have in the last few years. Or maybe it was that I was so bogged down with diapers and routines that I didn’t see anything else around me. Part discovery, part rediscovery. For the first time in my life, I feel so much more comfortable with myself than I ever have before. 

Sometimes it’s one of those things that slaps me in the face. The realization comes abruptly. Other times it’s like opening my eyes and waking up slowly.

One of those things is what I like to call burning fast and bright. I get so into a subject that I go apeshit with it, and then blerrrrrrrrrrrrrgh. I want to sit on the sofa for months and zone out doing absolutely nothing. I may have developed an addiction du jour to the Candy game on the iPad. And those stupid e-cards about neglecting your children for a game may or may not be true.  They were getting fed. Most of the time. OK, fine! My children were taken away by social services and I’m now in a 12-step recovery program and I never want to look at another piece of candy again. Are you happy now?

I’m just saying, it happens that way for me. A friend and I were texting back and forth about this subject. He said “that’s how smart people work. We get bored easily.” Well, shit, then. I must be fucking mensa.

I still love working on furniture, but the drive hasn’t been there. Part of that is lack of working space. Part of that is time. Another part of that is I really am not in love with this house. It’s a perfectly nice house. I hate the layout. And you get to a point where you wonder if putting the money into it is worth it. The Meester was never really on board with moving. After living in this house for six years, I know I don’t need as much space as we have. We have two extra bedrooms that rarely get used. A living room and a dining room that we never use, and a full finished basement that’s mostly empty.  We’re not formal people. A formal living room is the biggest waste of space. Right now, it’s a play room, and a hardly used one at that.

For the past 8 months, we were in the process of adding on a kitchen. We can really only bump out with the way the first floor is laid out. This whole process has become a battle. We’re both so exhausted.

I think we may just be moving. And maybe then I’ll get my home project mojo back. Or maybe I’ll move onto something else. I kind of love working out.  Or maybe I’ll take up Indian rain dancing. Or practicing putting my pants on right side out. I mean, the possibilities are endless.  God, I love ADD.



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We have a pulse.

by statia on June 5, 2013

We’re winding down with school and activities. The year of hell is almost over, and I’m limping over the finish line. I’ve stopped even opening the Mini’s book bag, because seriously, he’s in kindergarten, and the amount of trees his teacher has killed this year is ridiculous. His bag is filled with ten various worksheets a DAY.

Little Girl turned four last month. For her birthday, she wanted to go to the place where you build your own stuffed animal. We’ll call it “Construct-a-Cat.” I love letting them do what they want, but I was dreading “Construct-a-Cat”. First, her birthday fell on a Saturday. Have you ever been to this place on a Saturday? You need to slip the worker a $20 in order to increase your VIP cred. Plus, I remember when I was a kid, how much I LOVED my stuffed animals. It’s a known fact that stuffed animals are real, and have feelings. At least until you’re 12. Then they become the obligatory boyfriend gift. At some point, you wonder what the hell you’re doing with all of these mite and dust collecting objects of fur and stuffing. If you’re anything like me, you don’t want to get rid of them, so they sit in a garbage bag in your parent’s house. Sometime in your childbearing years, you start to develop a strong loathe for stuffed animals. They multiply. Kids are magnets for stuffed animals. My kids were not huge baby doll kids. Little Girl went through a minor “baby” phase, but it was quickly replaced by stuffed kitties. And now, she’s a full fledged stuffed kitty hoarder.

Of course out of all of the “stuffies,” as my kids have started calling them, there are “the favorites.” They can’t go to bed without them. They are dragged all over the house, often shoved in a corner or a bin somewhere, so that come bed time, we’re all frantically screaming at each other through tears of frustration. Because “OH MY GOD, I CAN’T FIND RAINBOW AND WATER.” I’ve developed a rule. “The favorites” don’t leave the house on day trips. If we’re going away for an extended time, I used to pack them. As they’ve gotten older, it has become their responsibility. But the “no day trips” rule remains hard and fast. There is nothing worse than a child losing their favorite animal.

So, we head into “Construct-a-Cat”. It wasn’t too crowded. Of course, they have My Little Ponies. She chooses her Pinkie Pie. Normally, we choose an animal (because having a little girl, we have several of the make-your-own variety) and they go through the whole song and dance. But since it was her birthday, she got to choose a sound and outfit.

She chose Star Wars. Because of course she did. This child, despite my fighting, LOVES Star Wars. Darth Vader is her favorite.

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No, that’s not Pinkie Pie’s “lipstick” (I’m pretty sure she’s not a dude), it’s Darth Pie’s light saber.

While I don’t discourage her from liking what she wants to like, a part of me dies a little inside every time she wants to watch Star Wars.

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That Darn Cat!

by statia on April 25, 2013

I mentioned a few months ago, that we got a cat. Well, maybe like six months ago now? So, yeah, he’s been around awhile I guess. Chalk it up to the school year from hell. Maybe someday, I think to myself regularly, someday I’ll get back on this blog. Even though now I’ve already given it the kiss of death: neglect. 

I never wanted a cat.

But I think that kids need pets growing up. It teaches them to be respectful of other living things. It teaches them responsibility and a whole host of other things that I don’t need to list here. Animals are just good to have around. And if nothing, Gromit’s death has taught me to not take for granted. Even on the days when you’re rushed and they’re up your ass for wanting to be fed, or you’re tripping over them, they’re fucking awesome for your mental health.

I wanted to get another dog. For months after Gromit had passed, I scoured rescue sites. I looked at breeders. I wanted another lab! No, I didn’t want another lab! How could I? It would never compare.  I knew they wouldn’t be the same, and I recognized that, but I felt like there was this empty hole. Of course there was an empty hole and it’s still there, but it doesn’t hurt as much, or rather, it still hurts a lot, just in a different way. There is not a single day that goes by that I don’t think of him).  We’re less than two months away from the end of the school year. Then summer. Then? FULL FUCKING DAYS OF SCHOOL. Had our school schedule not been so challenging and chaotic this year, I probably would have cried at the thought. But incessant talking is pretty much like Chinese water torture. If it’s always there, you can’t really fully appreciate it, rather it just fucking wastes you to the point of your eyes just glazing over and hiding. Lots and lots of hiding.  It’s really hard when one of them is always with you.  And so, there’s no way I want to be training another puppy when I will be able to take some time to myself and just breathe.

And so, we’ve settled into life with one dog and now this cat. And I haven’t really given him proper…props.  Probably because I spent the last few months in an anxious fit, thinking my cat is…oh wait for it…autistic.

Go ahead. Laugh. Really.

He’s a little bit special. He was from a small litter of just two, and I think socially, he just didn’t learn cat like things. He couldn’t jump for the longest time, and is still pretty mediocre at it, by cat standards. Especially lanky Siamese standards.  As far as being social, it took him months to not be skittish. His home base was our bedroom for a good four months before he felt comfortable coming downstairs and exploring.  Siamese cats are notorious for being super loud. “Don’t answer him, it will just encourage him.” Even by Siamese cat standards, he’s still far quieter than any Siamese cat I’ve ever met. Over the past month, he’s found his voice a bit.

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OK, to be fair, he isn’t always a cross-eyed derp. But I’m trying to help my cause here.

But this cat has ended up being exactly the right thing for us. He is everything I wanted in the list of things that were important to us, when we told the breeder what we were looking for.  He is calm, easy going and he loves everyone. It took him awhile to pick his person. Like Goldilocks: This one is just right.  He’s finally settled on the Meester as his main person. But when it comes down to it, he makes sure that every one of us receives love from him at some point in the day.

DSC_0285 “You can’t even bread a cat right.”


And this. He puts up with shit like this every day.

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