Once again.

by statia on January 24, 2012

Once again, I’m just overwhelmed and astounded. You like me, YOU REALLY LIKE ME. Thus ends the tongue in cheek wiseass remark. Thing is, I’m just so awkward sometimes, that I don’t really know what to say. Thank you. I can’t believe it. But… I’ll just say thank you.

I don’t want to just blow off what happened, because it was a big damn deal. And I won’t ever forget that. I still have some horribly anxious days, but none where I feel like, I want to die. While yes, sometimes that seems like the easy way, the ironic thing is that, I’m so god damned afraid of dying. It’s a large part of my anxiety. That saying: death and taxes? Well, really, only one of those is true, because there are people who have managed to avoid paying taxes their entire lives. They can probably get away with it too, but death is pretty much inevitable. And really, not that I’d want to live forever, either. Especially if the forever part, meant that a good portion of your life you were old and your hips would give out, or you’d be pissing yourself frequently.

But, I’m not going to sit here and depress you, because then we’d all be sitting around bummerville. Bummerville kind of sucks. I live around the corner from there.

Let’s talk about happy shit. Like houses. Dream houses. I’m sure everyone here has their dream house. And I’m not talking mansions or the “if money were no object” house. After living in a decent sized home, I never want a mansion. Ever. I don’t want that much space, because that’s just more shit for me (or the maid) to clean. More stuff I would have to accumulate to furnish rooms that we’ll never sit in. It makes me want to chew on some ativan just thinking about it.

This house is not my dream house. Our house is pretty nice. It’s a roof over our head. But it’s a typical cookie cutter subdivision home. We have a great yard, with cows out back, and our neighbors aren’t right on top of us. Everyone keeps to themselves for the most part. But it’s a very undesirable layout, and it has never really felt like home. The Feng Shui is all off.

When we first moved here, one of my old co-workers lived in the borough, within walking distance from my house. When I first went to visit her, I saw it. IT. My.dream.house. An older colonial type home. I fell in love with this house, and have lovingly gazed at it whenever I would drive by. And then one day. The for sale sign was up. I felt like it was a sign (well, it was a sign. A real estate sign, badum bum!) I wrote about the house over on my poorly neglected DIY blog.

When it first went on the market, it was overpriced.  But given that it’s one of the few decent sized older homes and the fact that in the borough, it sits on over an acre of land, it had mad interest.  Most people were just nosy.  It pissed the owner off, which I find really laughable, because in this economy, you should be grateful for any sort of interest at all.  Anyway, this was not long after my surgery, and very close to the start date of LG’s bedroom addition.  We looked at the house, but the Meester, while he liked the house, looked at it like this:

For awhile, I’ve been going back and forth:  stay here, and rearrange the layout (a money suck), or bite the bullet and move?  I’ve been checking out homes in the area, with a more desirable layout.

And this house, you guys, I can’t stop thinking about it.  It’s far from perfect in terms of things being dated.  The kitchen (livable at least, with enough counter space).  The bathrooms: powder blue tile and lavender tile, respectively.  My favorite (no really) 50′s poodle wallpaper in the actually decent sized closets.  The floors are original, the bedrooms are a decent size.  Most of all, I just love this house.  Love conquers all, right?  The things that were a must have prior to buying this house, are no longer a must have.  Finsished basement?  Hate it. Sits largely unused, except for the Meester’s office space.  Oversized master bedroom?  How much room do you need to sleep?  Granted, I don’t want to be shimmying around my bed, but I’m ok with less space.  Our bedroom isn’t overly large, in comparison to the other newer homes around here, which tout these grand master suites.  What the hell are you doing in there that you need an apartment sized bedroom within your home?  Do you know what ends up in my room most of the time?  TOYS.  I sleep with matchbox cars and children’s books.

If we were to even consider this house, it would basically be a lateral move.  We are a newly five bedroom house, new appliances, freshly painted.  This house is a good price for what it offers.  The Meester is just afraid that it has secret problems, which could cost more money in the long run.

Anyone ever just bite the bullet and go for their dream house?

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Jesus Mary and Joseph

by statia on January 17, 2012

This is totally not a post about them. But I feel like I should personally thank them, because I use their names a lot.  Also? Fucking Christ. Perhaps I shouldn’t say that, not far off from the day we celebrated his birthday, which is actually technically in July or something.  Being an Atheist, I’m sketchy on those details, but even I know that Jesus’s birthday wasn’t on the 25th of December.  So I’m sure he’ll let it slide. I’ll try to be better during the month of July.

OK, I’m lying. I know I won’t be any better, and let’s not set myself up for failure before the year has even started.

BUT! Anyway. Hi.

Perhaps, there are still people who read here, let’s face it, My updates are sporadic, and after ten years here, I only write when necessary.  I’m not exactly expecting neilsen rating type numbers on this space.  My plot for world domination fails epically, but then again, I’m kind of lazy about things like writing, keeping people interested, remembering this space exists.

Also, we had a major life event over here, and I’ve found it really difficult to open up to the internet to talk about it. Every time I open up wordpress, I get overwhelmed, and I just walk away. And truthfully, I’m not really sure why I’ve had a hard time, but I have. Maybe it’s partially because I don’t really want the negative attention with it, the pity party, or the connotation with it. But on the other hand, fuck connotations, because I don’t have anything to be ashamed about. Life is messy, and hard, and sometimes, it just gets difficult to deal with. I don’t pretend to live in a happy bubble, and since I DO pay for this space, I don’t want to fill it with fluff. Sometimes I’m snarky and funny, and sometimes I’m not.

And on December 11th, life was not funny, or snarky. Life for me was miserable, and I couldn’t see through the fog to climb my way out. So I tried to hurt myself.

When I think about it now, it’s unfathomable to me. Life obviously hasn’t gotten magically better overnight, and the last month has been one of the hardest times of my life, but I can honestly say that its slowly getting better. And to think about what I did that day, it still knocks the wind out of me. It probably always will.

I can’t say that I know really what I was trying to accomplish that day.  It’s all a blur, and it was a blur even as it was happening. I don’t remember much of that day at all, except for being in the emergency room and then getting to the lovely four star resort that I was transferred to. I didn’t take enough to cause any permanent damage. I didn’t need my stomach pumped. I think, what I wanted at that time was help, and comfort, and support. It wasn’t there for me in the manner that I needed it, apparently. That is to say, it’s not that I wasn’t getting support, I just couldn’t see that I was getting support.

The thing about you trying to do damage to yourself purposely, is that it turns your entire life into this upheaval. You don’t just go back to your old life. It changes you. It changes everyone involved. It makes people angry, and leery of you. They don’t know whether or not to believe that you won’t pull something like that again. Even if it was just a cry for help. For some people it isn’t a cry for help.

One of the things that has resonated with me, is the anger.  My own anger, other people’s anger. I can see being angry with myself (something I’m learning to let go of, and I am, but it’s obviously not an overnight process. First things first, as my therapist says). I was angry with people for my situation at the time. It wasn’t a blame thing, because really, there’s no one else to blame for something you did, it was just sheer anger over everything. Hot, red, anger. You expect sadness during a time like this. The anger still surprises me. Both my own and other peoples. People are angry at you, and they think that you’re selfish. If there’s one thing that I can shed light on, this isn’t a selfish act. It seems like a selfish act when you’re looking on the outside in. And I’ve been there, dudes. I’ve been on the outside looking in too, and never again will I be tough love with someone in this situation. If there’s one piece of advice I can give to someone dealing with another person who is suicidal, is this: It’s OK to be angry. Your feelings are valid, and you are absolutely entitled to them. But don’t direct them at a person who is kicked while they are down. Most likely they already feel like the shittiest person, and the shell of the person they once were. Get through the tough times, let them clear their head and claw their way out.  Revisit what happened when the other person has a clear mind and is in a better place. I’m not saying never get angry. Go punch a baby seal, or save some glass jars and take them behind a building somewhere.  Whatever.

I’m not even sure how to end this.  It’s taken me three weeks to write this much.  Currently, I’m in therapy, and working on incorporating a better balance in my life.  It’s hard, even in the best mental state, but I’m finding, not impossible.

Nothing is impossible, no matter how hard it is.

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Transformers…Robots in disguise!

by statia on December 5, 2011

Since the Mini has started Pre-K this fall, I can’t even describe it.  Amazement, and wonder. He’s changed so much you guys.  He’s been going to school with the same particular group of kids since he was two, save for a couple of new kids this year (his class is the only one in the whole group of Y preschools that does Pre-K).  He goes five days a week, for five hours a day.  When I first signed him up, I was very hesitant.  I didn’t think he was ready.  He was beyond ready.  He was so bored.  It was me: I wasn’t ready.

Being that it’s a Pre-K class with four and five-year-olds, there are obviously higher expectations placed on the kids.  There’s more routine.  There’s rules and consequences that are more strictly enforced.  They are encouraged to participate in group activities (his last two years, it wasn’t a big deal.  Nursery school is more about playing, and socializing).  There are two teachers for 17 kids, and they do a fantastic job.  They have a red, yellow, green light system.  And at the end of the week, if you’ve stayed on green, you’re a part of a the green light club.  There’s no incentive, other than to behave.  He’s been consecutively in the green light club all year.

But the socialization.  This is the best part of this year.  Dudes, seriously, he tells me about his day.  Him: Mom, I was playing on the playground with H and G and we were playing Transformers.  Me:  Were you Bumblebee?  Him: *rolling eyes* NO, MOM, I was Optimus Prime, because he’s the good guy (LIKE, DUH, YOU ASSHOLE).   A few weeks ago, we were at a birthday party, and I watched him play with his friend.  Actual conversational volleys and pretend play.  And I watched proudly, because if you would have said to me two years ago, “it’ll get better, I promise,” I never would have believed you.

And while I can’t make the same promise to someone else, I can say, just wait and see, because it CAN get so much better.

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Does it taste like a pork cookie, motherfucker?

by statia on November 29, 2011

When we last left off Supermom was all gung-ho about trying to be all patient and loving and getting this potty training business done.

How is that going, Statia?

Not well, kids.  Not well.

Ok, I suppose that I should look on the bright side.  She’s been accident free at night.  I am anti pull-up.  They’re expensive, and they just prolong the inevitable.  The only way I would consider it, is if it turned urine into actual ice cubes in their pants, and poop into pointy rocks.   Sadist much?  But I mean, come on.  Pull ups?  [insert cranky old person's voice here] When I was a kid, when we were learning to use the toilet, we were either beaten when we shit ourselves, or it dribbled down our leg and we liked it!

So no pull ups.   The Mini had accidents, I know this, but it was a year and a half ago, and shit blurs together.  But within three days, he was telling us he needed to go.  Bribes weren’t essential.  Sometimes he wanted them, sometimes he didn’t.  But he was telling us. Her?  You’d better have a mother-fucking treat for her, or else you can forget it.   No amount of giving her the control or taking it away is working.  Tell us if you have to go, and there’s chocolate in it for you.  Let’s go to the potty.  Do you have to go?  Yeah, none of it.  She’ll tell us sixty times in a row to try to finagle something from us, and then go run off and piss herself.

So that patience?  I had SO MUCH MORE PATIENCE with the Mini.  I was never a yeller.  He never got into trouble.  He wasn’t a trouble maker, so this helps, but he was just good.  I know in time it’ll click and it’ll be a distant memory.  I know she’s younger than the Mini was.   With him, due to his communication issues, we waited until he was three.  She’s six months younger than he was.  Big difference.  The other big difference is that she’s stubborn and lives to push every single button.   I find that Louie CK, pretty much sums kids up to a tee:

Everything he’s ever said about kids is true. He just has the balls to say it. I walk around pretty much thinking everything he says, and even in his voice.

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Doing the potty dance.

by statia on November 17, 2011

LG is now two and a half, and we’re all ready for her to “do some potty learnin’.”  This isn’t my first rodeo with potty training, obviously, having an almost five year old, because that would be AWKWAAAAAAAAARD.  With the Mini, we did the Three Day Potty training method.  They say that boys are notoriously hard to potty train, and I disagree.  I say NAY NAY!  In retrospect, he was actually pretty easy to train.  Sure there were accidents.  Sure it took him a good three or four months to be fully trained (and by fully trained, I mean, totally giving in to the fact that there were really no more diapers, and it was time to get serious about not pissing your pants, or hiding in a corner to shit yourself when no one is looking. He got it, and for the most part trained in a day or two, but let’s face it, three-year-olds have accidents).

The BFF makes a good point, in that you learn a lot about your kid when you potty train them.  This is true, and when I look back on training the Mini, I realized that the way we went about starting the three day method (ambushing him by removing his diaper in his half stupor, and putting underwear on him and saying “THAT’S IT FOR DIAPERS, KID,” wasn’t exactly the best way to go about it.  The Mini, is a pleaser, and loves applause and cheering for him.  He loves that confidence boost.  He’s also not a kid that really is into bribes, nor did he like me following him from room to room.

LG is a whole different egg.  She doesn’t really like the cheering and attention drawn to her in grandiose gestures.  I tried my hand at potty training her not long after she turned two, which I probably could have done it, but I just wasn’t ready to deal with it, and the thing with potty training is that YOU have to be ready and dedicated to the cause.  However, with her, my approach is pretty much, you’re wearing underwear, and I’m not going to follow you around like puppy dog.  I don’t care if you shit yourself, I don’t care if you piss on the floor (we’re replacing the carpets with hardwoods soon anyway), you’re going to have to learn that there are no more diapers.  She’s ready.  She asks for underwear, she asks for us to change her diaper.  She tells us when she “poops” (every bodily excretion is poop to her) She removes her diaper in the morning when she wakes up.  Now it’s just a matter of her learning to pay attention to herself when she has to go, and make it to the toilet on time.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get worked up.  I’m not going to get upset.  Or react to her accidents, with frustration.  I’m telling you this because I know it’s not going to be easy.   She tests my patience to the extreme, so this, this is going to be really hard.

Thankfully, I have a LOT of klonopin.  And beer.

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Winter: Shit or get off the pot.

by statia on November 15, 2011

So.

Snow in October, 70 degrees right before Thanksgiving.  The only thing that hasn’t changed about winter is LG’s inability to get a raging case of RSV every single fucking time she gets sick.  The tubes have prevented her from getting ear infections, (as in multiple, because she’s already had two colds in the span of 3 weeks), but she can’t shake getting blindsided by a chest infection. Which leads me to my next topic:

Toddlers on roids.  Let’s discuss this.  People, I would rather put up with a roided out weight lifter, than a roided out toddler any day of my life.  Now, let me be clear, it’s not for lack of a communication on her part.  LG is a talker of epic proportions.  She’s light years ahead of other kids her age in both verbalization and enunciation.  I always say, you can only understand your own toddler, but she’s very easy to converse with.  I feel that this is my karmic reward for having such a difficult time with the Mini early on.  It comes with a price, believe me.  Listening is not one of her strong suits, and mischief is.  She’s exhausting.

I decided that there was no way I was going to deal with this all winter, so we went back to the good Ayurvedic practitioner that helped the Mini when he was first showing signs of Autism.  I firmly believe that while therapy and our involvment has helped him “fall off” the spectrum, it was those early days of helping his body heal from the inside.  So it was a no brainer.

Now if the weather would just pick something and stick with it, maybe my cold would make a decision too.  Stay or go, asshole, I don’t have time for this sort of bullshit.

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A whole lot of nothing. Or something.

by statia on October 19, 2011

Yeah, I won’t scar you anymore with talk about Frankengina.  I’m six weeks post surgery, and I go for my follow-up on Friday.  I feel great, have no regrets, and I’m just happy to be back to my regular self and up and about.  I was really looking forward to the downtime, which lasted about a whole week (a record!).

So, let’s see, um, yeah.  Much to the hubs chagrin, we’ve been up to our necks in home remodeling.  We went from our family room being like this to a not quite finished bedroom, which I’m guessing you can figure out who it will belong to:??

First, I apologize for the shitty cell phone picture, but seriously, come on now.  Hello 4S, with your EIGHT megapixel camera and you still can’t take a picture doesn’t look like it doesn’t belong on some stalker website?  Anyway.

See, the problem with having that lovely two story family room, is that two of the rooms were sandwiched up there and this isn’t 1864, where the Wilder girls had to share a bed in a loft.  LG’s room was so small, and the smallness wasn’t the big issue, it was that it was an oven in there, whereas her brother had an decent sized ice box at the end of the hall.  She’s a hot sleeper. Eventually she’ll want more room, and we never wanted that open space.  All winter long we play find the shady spot on the sofa.  No longer an issue, my friend.  LG has a decent sized room that she won’t sweat herself in, we aren’t burning our retinas out.  The only one who loses is the Mini, because he can’t spy on us from the half wall, a point he made us very well aware of.   Well then, dude, here’s an idea for you then, STOP SPYING.  We need to have our swearing time.

Of course, being my daughter, she wanted the room pink AND purple (of course she did, at $65 for a can of paint, asshole) and unicorns.   I’m working on a mural some other things twirly and all that.   I think if I could have found a way to put a dress on her room, she would have made me do that.   We also chose a carbonized fiber bamboo (stronger than stranded, like holy hell, hulk smash strong) that was easy to install.  Click and lock.  We want to go hardwoods throughout, and we definitely are in love with these floors.

So now I’m painting my whole house because all of the walls connected somehow, making it so that you had to paint EVERYTHING.

Oh, and then there’s this little issue I’m dealing with:

What is up with this bitch?  Just start calling me Alfalfa.   The good thing is, I’ve had my hair back for the past six weeks, now mainly to cover that embarrassment up, oh and also, fucking painting.

And so, yeah, LG ended up with the Croup, so that’s awesome.  She’s totally digging her scratchy Phoebe smelly cat voice, because she refuses to stop talking.  Ever.

Smelly caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat smelly caaaaaaaaaaaaaaat, it’s not your fauuuuuuuult!

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Frankengina: Four weeks later

by statia on October 5, 2011

Three years ago, when I had my original consultation and post-op, I came out of the office having a major anxiety attack. I knew that it just wasn’t the time to go through it. The Mini was at the beginning of his journey, and then that fall, I found out that we were expecting LG. I have to think that this timing was cosmic. But at some point, I knew I had to go through with it, or my quality of life, well, there was no quality.

Several people have asked me exactly what the surgery entails, and sometimes, it’s hard to explain to someone that a doctor was taking a knife to my hooha. More women go through this than you can imagine.  My issues don’t define me.  I’m not embarrassed by them, especially since it’s not really my fault.  It’s just the shitty luck of the draw.   So I’m about to go into detail.  If you’re squeamish, avert the eyes.

[click to continue…]

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The Boobiethon has started

by statia on October 1, 2011

Ok everyone.  I don’t mean to be all up in your grill by bombaring you with Boobiethon posts (Oh, yes, I totally do).  But the ‘thon has officially kicked off today.  Submit your rack shots.  Help out.  Do your part.   And if I might so subtly suggest to help one of my best friends, Wendy, by donating to her directly.  She kicked cancer’s ass, and she did it with no job, while on Cobra.  She will literally be paying for cancer for the rest of her life.  I know you’re thinking, “what makes her so special?”  Well you know what?  SHE JUST IS. That’s what.  And I’m going to insert the token mom line “because I told you so!”

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Bare it all for charity

by statia on September 23, 2011

Ahh, fall is in the air (though I’m fighting it.  I’m not ready for fall yet), I see all the accouterments that go with fall: changing leaves, marigolds, pumpkins.  And you know what pumpkins remind me of?  Boobies.  And you know what boobies remind me of? The annual BOOBIETHON.   The annual Boobiethon is a cause near and dear to my heart, because, while I didn’t actually start the Boobiethon, I’m happy to be the reason it started.  If I hadn’t been alone one Thanksgiving, and if I hadn’t had such awesome friends who were so stinking stubborn about getting me to them (being newly single, I had no money at the time) so that I didn’t have to be alone, the Boobiethon wouldn’t have gone on to raise nearly $75,000 towards cancer research.   For a blogger to go on to do that year after year to raise that much, well it’s humbling to say that I was a part of that.

And this past year, I’ve had about five friends diagnosed with cancer.  Four with breast cancer.  Four.  All within weeks of each other.  I can’t tell you how sad and disheartening this is for me. My friend’s are young, healthy, vibrant women, who don’t deserve to get cancer.  No one deserves to get cancer, and this is a disease that should be eradicated.  Thanks to all of the people that have donated over the years, I’m grateful.  Even if it was a small amount.  It’s people like you that have made it possible for my friends to call themselves survivors.  Cancer didn’t beat them.  So this year, I’ll be making an extra special effort to post about the boobiethon.   Over the past few years, becoming a new mother and buying a house and well, life just got in the way. This year, I’m so happy to have my friends.  Cancer isn’t a death sentence anymore.

The annual Boobiethon runs from October 1st to October 7th.  You can donate directly to Komen, submit your “rack shot” or help my friend, Wendy, my hot internet wife, who unfortunately, got laid off right after her diagnosis. Despite her hard knocks, she barely complained and always had a positive attitude. You can also donate your time and help volunteer, or donate goods or services. Mel, a longtime friend, and organizer of the boobiethon is always looking for help in any way.

Please consider helping out, any way you can.   Thanks.

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