That’s the amount of sleep I got last night. Thirty freakin’ minutes. I managed to doze off for a bit after 4 a.m. Why? Because I was lucky enough to get what my kids were plagued with last week.
I spent the day drooling on the couch, trying to work, but feeling like I was moving in slow motion and really, all I wanted to do was go crawl in bed for the day. However, that’s sorta hard to do when you have kids to look after. I haven’t eaten in about 24 hours and the thought of food right now, is pretty much grossing me out. I am hoping I can sleep tonight, even if only for short periods at a time. Here’s to hoping wishes come true.
I’m just hoping that my kids don’t get sick again - OMG I will pack my bags and run for the hills if that’s the case. Okay, that’s an empty threat, but still, it feels good to say it. Speaking of kids…they want to eat supper. The nerve! Where is someone to look after me when I’m sick? Not fair, moms have to continue to do all their regular things regardless of whether they’re well or not.
Sigh. Must go make food for my chillins. Anyone wanting to nurse me back to health, apply within. Mkthxbai.
That is my new living room. A few different angles. Notice I like Judge Judy. Ignore the wires on the floor - we have to have those put in behind the TV and I’m guessing that will happen sometime before our youngest goes to high school. That is about 7 years from now.
I just noticed in the last photo - there’s a woman sitting on a couch with a blue cartoon type outline of a person. WTH is that? What was I watching besides Judge Judy???
Did I mention that our oldest, grown sons don’t live with us? *Insert clapping here* They’re only minutes away - just close enough for them to still annoy us but far enough away that we can pretend we’re not home. I love that! *If you’re reading this my dear sons, you know I’m just kidding 100% serious.*
WTF is happening? Am I in the Twilight Zone? I must be.
Grissom - the staple of CSI - is leaving the show! Yes, William Petersen is saying goodbye. This is just like the weird bullshit that’s happening on Wisteria Lane. And I don’t like it one bit.
Petersen will exit around the middle of the new season - no word on the ‘how’ they’ll do it - but he won’t be killed off like Dourdan. William will remain as an executive producer, so perhaps he’ll make some guest appearances. I swear, my kids get sick for a week and all hell breaks loose everywhere.
Did you ever have one of those days where you’d just like to punch someone in the face just to make yourself feel better? Trust me, it doesn’t always work. Sorry to the old lady down the street. Ha.
I decided late last night that I would watch the movie The Ruins. If you’ve not seen it, you lucky bastard and if you have, aww, I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to see it for some time and boy am I glad I stayed up until 2:40 a.m. to see it to the end (drip, drip, drip with sarcasm). But this isn’t about the movie…
I crawled into bed shortly before 3 a.m. not really concerned that it was so late - after all, it’s summer vacation and it’s Sunday, so no need to get up super early. Hell, if my body will let me, I might even sleep in until 9-ish. However, things don’t always work out the way you plan them in your dreams. I was abruptly roused from a deep sleep at about 5 a.m by my husband, who so sweetly informed me it was my turn to get up with the kids. Huh? The kids? Aren’t they sleeping? Oh no, they’re not - they’ve been puking all over their rooms.
I stumble out of bed, half drunk-like because I’d only been alseep for about 2 hours and here I am walking into a danger zone. My son is in his bed, sleeping since hubby had gotten up with him and cleaned him up. Which, sounds great but when I walked into the kids bathroom, there was a little present for me in the form of splattered vomit all over the sink, countertop and mirror. I back out of the crime scene room and head into my daughter’s room. She’s standing beside her bed, looking very pale and apologizing that she got a wee bit of barf on her pj shirt.
I tell her it’s okay, and at that point, am thinking, okay, so it’s just the bathroom that’s a disaster but daughter’s room is untarnished, just her little tee a bit yucky, which we can strip off and put a new one on. Simple! No. Not simple.
I take her shirt off and get a clean one out and as I’m pushing her hair back, I realize it’s wet. Ya, not from having a bath several hours ago but from upchuckness. I go closer to her bed to inspect it, and all three of her blankets were bombed and her pillow. Not so unscathed after all.
Now normally, although it’s a gross prospect cleaning up puke, I would relish in the fact that I could dump the barfy bedding in the washer and turn it on and then just dry it in the morning. However, we don’t have a washer or a dryer. Our new house didn’t come with them, so although we’re obviously going to purchase a set, we haven’t yet. So that means, uh, I have to ball up the bedding and put it in my future laundry room and drive it to our other house and wash it later.
I get my child cleaned up, make her bed, put her back in bed and go tackle their bathroom. After a bottle of bleach and 2 rolls of paper towels, I finally get back in bed, only to be awake again in less than 2 hours. You see where this is going. The kids were lethargic most of the day with frequent trips to the bathroom - well, I should say all three bathrooms. They couldn’t just pick on room to barf in, nope, they liked variety, therefore I spent my day cleaning three bathrooms on rotation. Oh ya, and add to the mix, I got what they had and although I didn’t actually toss anything, I felt queasy most of the day, laying on the couch inbetween bathroom scrubbings.
Not exactly how I planned on spending my Sunday. My kids had a break of being sick for about 2 hours in the evening but were soon back to the sickness. Both went to bed early and I’m crossing my fingers that they sleep through the night….except, oh you’re kidding me….I hear someone up and it’s midnight….
Better get my rubber gloves on and get out my scrub pail. Sweet freakin’ dreams.
It’s a bloody heatwave here - well, I think. It’s hot as hell (not that I’d know how hot hell is, but you know what I mean - I might know in about 50 years, for now, I’m guessing), and I’m crabby and thought, what would cheer me up? Cash? A date with Brad Pitt? Someone presenting me with diamonds? Sure, those are all things that would be nice, but I’m pretty certain, none of them are happening anytime soon. But…..
….I just found out through the grapevine (uh, the internet) that Nicollette Sheridan IS coming back to play evil, bitchy Edit Britt! Yay! She was written out of last season’s show but I guess the writers got a clue (or heard me whining) and are bringing her back. Or maybe they planned this all along and wanted to play with our minds. Ha. And they call Edie evil.
So, there you go, some great news to start off your Monday morning gossip shootin’ the shit around the water cooler. You can thank me later. Wink wink.
You’ve missed me, I know it. I apologize for being away for so long - 2 weeks is way too long for you, and I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. You can send me cash to help ease the pain. Yes, your pain. Giving makes you feel better. Nothing lower than a $20 please.
I was going to make up something really fun, like that I was away on a “secret” mission but that’s dumb, and I’m way too tired to think of something fun, so instead, I’ll tell you the truth. For once.
We bought a new house! Yes, we just bought one last year right around this time but we like to keep things interesting, by interesting, I mean complicated. I’m going to post photos once we get settled - we’re mostly done but I like things just right before I show people my lair.
Our two grown sons are staying at the other house (YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!), Oh, did I sound too enthusiastic? I meant (BOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO), but they’re about a 4 minute drive from us, so we can lock the doors and hide in plenty of time visit anytime and vise versa.
I must say it’s a very nice house, our nicest to date and big. We like big. Well not everything should be big, because ass pimples are not pretty. Nevermind. (OMG no, I don’t really have one of those - purely for comedic purposes).
We stayed up until 2 a.m. working, putting stuff away because I can’t handle living out of boxes. It drives the ANALish tendencies in me, crazy. And we can’t have crazy.
There’s a techy dude from the security systems place here right now, installing his shiznat. We’ve never had a security system before, but I decided that we need one - uh, not because we have super valuable things (hear that crooks? We got nothin’!), but our new home is a two-story with a walk-out basement, so that makes me paranoid to be sleeping waaaaay upstairs and knowing that waaaay downstairs, there’s an entrance that someone could break into while we’re sleeping (or, um, awake) and maybe I wouldn’t hear it and then they’d try to harm us and then I’d have to get into mama bear mode to protect my young’ens, karate chop the bad guy in the balls (that’s for you Karen), and what if there’s blood after I kick him and then he’d bleed on my white-ish carpet….yuck. See? Way too much to give myself ulcers over, so why not just buy a security system? I highly recommend it if you’re even the slightest bit of a freak worrier such as myself.
Hopefully I pay attention to the security guy and remember the instructions. I certainly don’t need the cops running here every day when I go to water my flowers and forget to unarm (de-arm?) the alarm. That might not be a good situation. I don’t look that nice in handcuffs. Well, there was that one time…….never mind.
Okay, must run and go make up a security code…what about 3456? That’s easy enough right? Thought so!
Nine years ago - seems like a lifetime ago, and yet, other times, it feels like yesterday. My daughter Angela passed away on June 11, 1999.
I think of her often, see her in the blooming flowers, in a fluffy cloud, in a tiny raindrop or feel her presence in a warm summer’s breeze. Although the pain has subsided and I can talk about her without feeling overwhelmed, there are times when my tears will fall, unexpectedly, surprising me. Losing a child is not something you ever, truly get over. You always feel it, live it, sometimes can’t really believe that it happened to you. But it did.
Later, today, when all is quiet, I will open her tiny hopechest of memories, write in the journal that was given to me by my sister-in-law, a journal that I write in every year on this day. I share my thoughts with her, let her know what’s happening in our lives, how much I miss her and let her know I will see her again one day. I look at her pictures, read the cards given to us, touch the handmade gifts made by my nieces and nephews, and hold her tiny dress and bonnet, and remember the last time I saw her and held her close. I will thank her, for because of her death, 14 months later, our second daughter, Madison was born. Her birth was bitter sweet, but she was very much wanted and I believe that part of Angela’s soul lives in Maddy.
Today Angela, you would be nine-years-old and I picture you with long, red hair, a spattering of freckles across your nose like all of your siblings, and a smile that would light the darkest day. One day I will hold you again, be well my sweet baby, and I love you.
I’ve been pregnant 845 times. Possibly only 5-ish but it sure felt like 845 times. I was overdue just about every single time, but the longest was my oldest son. I think. Let me explain.
I was 19, and pregnant for the first time (hope so at 19!) and I honestly knew not much about babies, having a baby, diapers, babies, or babies. I obviously knew how to get knocked up, knew where the baby was going to come out (HELP ME!) and assumed it would hurt like hell. However, as far as all of the technical jargon, the details, I was pretty naive.
I was sure I was pregnant in early January, but put off going to the doctor because I was afraid. By February, I was newly separated, still figuring I was pregnant but still not wanting to have it confirmed, but finally managed to make a doctor’s appointment. The obvious fact of me being with child was proven. The doctor wanted to know when my last period was.
I don’t know.
Do you have any idea?
I dunno. (at 19, I didn’t keep track of much)
A guess even?
I gave him a guess, which looking back was probably wrong, thus putting me in the upsetting situation of being 2 months overdue, or 4 weeks early, or being pregnant for 26 months (I’m getting to that).
I was given a due date of June 8th. Seemed okay I guess. Still officially spring time, so I wouldn’t be sweating up a storm with a hot, sultry summer baby. I had moved back home with my parents and siblings, worked until I was about 8 months pregnant (what I thought was 8 months pregnant) and then started my maternity leave. It wasn’t too bad - sat out and got tanned every day, helped my parents look after my younger siblings, did some shopping to get ready for baby, basically loafed around for what I thought was my final few weeks.
I went to all of my doctor’s appointments during the pregnancy, didn’t gain a lot of weight, still wore mini skirts and my hooker pumps and big hair (hey it was the 80’s) and felt okay for the most part. Of course by the first part of June, I was really, really hating pregnancy and didn’t understand women who gushed about loving pregnancy, how they felt sexy and beautiful blah blah blah. But I was comforted in the fact that my due date was June 8th and being naive, and not super knowledgable about babies and due dates in general, didn’t realize that due dates aren’t a guarantee that your baby will actually arrive on that given day.
I went to what I thought would be my last regular apointment before baby was to be born. Wrong. So very wrong. I remember being on the examining table, waiting for the doctor to come in to do that ever so uncomfortable “check of things down there,” and assuming (I did a lot of assuming back then) that he would say, “baaaabbbeeee time!” which he totally did not.
Doctor comes in and does the exam, listens to the heartbeat, checks my blood pressure, and then tells me he’ll be right back. He comes back with my chart and a “look” on his face. He clears his throat and matter of factly, tells me that although I was originally told that my due date was June 8th, he said that he was now putting me due around the middle of August.
Whaaaaaaaaaaa?
Things just aren’t where they’re supposed to be, and there’s no way that your due date is June 8th. You weren’t sure of your last period date were you? That makes a difference.
I, uh, I’m due in August? Shouldn’t you test me? My mom’s neighbor said that there’s a full moon soon, like in a few days and that the baby would come then. So, right?
Well some people believe in the old wives tale about babies being due and coming on or around the time of the full moon but since it’s only June, there’s no way that you’re having this baby now.
But I’m like due now. How can I be pregnant for like 11 months?
Doctor laughs.
I’m not laughing. My lip is quivering. I’m seriously thinking about punching the doctor in his old, fat face because there is no way I’m going to be pregnant for another 2 months. It was horrible enough that my shoes were becoming tight and my days of wearing my beloved high heels were coming to a horrible end and the thought of wearing stupid flip flops was making me nauseous. Plus, just because he’s a doctor, and an old one at that, doesn’t mean he knows about babies and pregnant chicks. Sure he was an ob/gyn and had been for 100 years, but still, he didn’t know everything. Like, my determination not to be pregnant for another 2 months was overwhelming and I was going to get this baby out.
I left the office feeling very sad, so sad that I stopped for icecream on the way home. What did doctors know anyway? They were just regular people with white coats and medical instruments in their offices. Big deal.
Since this was not the land of computers or the world wide web, it’s not like I could just go home and google shit about babies and shit. I had to call people and ask them questions. Like could the doctor be right? Could I infact be pregnant for another 2 months? Yes, I was assured that that could actually be correct. Why? Well dear, when you don’t know your dates, then the doctors can’t know your dates. Sure they can guestimate, and give you a basic idea with an ultrasound but it’s not a guarantee. It’s not? No, sadly, it’s not.
By the first part of July, I was so sick of being pregnant, I decided to become creative and make the baby fall out. Yes, I seriously thought babies could just fall out in the right circumstances. And no, not because my vagina was huge.
My friends, who by the way, were not mothers nor were they ever pregnant, gave me some suggestions, to which I gladly decided I would try. One friend told me that her mom had drank a bottle of ketchup and then a few hours later had her. I ate one tablespoon and barfed. But unfortunately I didn’t barf a baby out. Just the ketchup. I was told that skipping rope would induce labour. I had a skipping rope and after about 56 jumps, realized, that doing that was not going to make baby fall out. It just gave me heartburn. I was told sleeping on my stomach would make the baby uncomfortable and then it would want to come out. Nope. Just made me uncomfortable because what 89th month pregnant lady can sleep on her stomach? Not one. I dare you to find me one.
One friend held a “let’s get this baby out” party - which only she and I attended. The baby didn’t even make an appearance. Someone told me to watch a scary movie and that would make the baby active, thus making me go into labour. Nope, the scary movie didn’t work. Just made me pee my pants. Another person told me to have sex. Uh, I didn’t have anyone in my life to have sex with, and that’s what got me in this mess to begin with, duh, I’m not dumb.
The month of June goes by in a blur of trying stupid, not working things to try to get the baby out and before I knew it, it was July.
Monday, July 13th, I went to another doctor’s appointment. I was resigned to the fact that, at 19, I would be in the record books of being pregnant for the longest time ever. Considering most women have their babies within 9 months, give or take, I was going to be 11 months pregnant by the time the middle of August rolled around.
As I sat on the table in the office, I wondered if Guiness would be calling me and wanting photographs of the chick who was pregnant for nearly a year? Should I get a new tent to wear? The doctor comes in and it’s not my regular doctor, new doctor introduces himself and explains that my doc is away for a few days. We do the whole routine of small talk while he checks my vajayjay, he finishes (that sounds gross) and tells me to get dressed and he’ll be right back. He comes back a few minutes later and says that everything looks good and that I’m dilated and my cervix is soft.
What? I’m what? My what is what? Is that normal?
Yes, it’s normal and it means that your body is getting ready to have the baby.
Whaaaaaa? Really? Like when?
He laughs.
What is it with doctors laughing at their pregnant patients?
It means that yes, you’re very close to having the baby.
Could I have it right now? Well, I don’t mean like right in the office, but soon right?
Yes, maybe even tonight. (laughs)
For real? Like tonight?
Well, don’t get your hopes up, I was half kidding about tonight, but baby seems ready and things are moving along nicely, so it will be soon.
So, like I won’t be pregnant for another month?
No, no, no. You’ll have that baby within a week. I almost kissed this new, unfamiliar baby doctor!
Instead, I almost shit myself. I went home that day and it was sorta like winning the lottery. My water broke on July 14th around 2 a.m. and 8 long hours later, I did win the lottery. My first son was born.
To Sam, who is 567 days overdue (okay, maybe only 6, but I bet it feels like 567 days), my point is, that baby will come out eventually (I hear you’re being induced!) and that baby will be so worth the very long, impatient, uncomfortable, did I mention very long? wait. Good luck, and happy birthday to your baby.
So, I was either 2 months overdue, 4 weeks early, or right on time. Depends on who you ask.
I know I’m saying WTF a lot lately, but really, WTF? Did you watch the season ender of CSI Miami? I’m not happy (or am I?). I’m going to give away the ending, so stop now if you’ve not seen it because I WILL be ruining it for you. Oh and I’ve totally figured out the season opener for September.
I love CSI Miami - or more importantly Horatio. I’m not sure why, I can’t answer that question. There’s something about his cheesy one-liners that keep me riveted to the television. When he just gives us ‘that’ look after taking off his sunglasses (or putting them on), it’s like I’m hypnotized. Call me weird, but I’m openly admitting it.
The show ended with Caine having been apparently shot and then lying seemingly dead on the airport tarmac and then we see Ryan Wolfe get a text message saying, “it’s done,” in reference to the bad dude in prison saying he wants Horatio dead. Oh the mystery! And we also see prior to this - Horatio’s son with a gun, perhaps implying that his kid shot him?
Okay, first, I’m suggesting you don’t get your panties in a bunch like I did when I first watched it. I’m an amateur detective and I think I’ve figured out what’s happening. Horatio is not dead (duh) because the star of the show isn’t going to be killed off, unless, you know, CBS wants the SHOW TO DIE. Like it or not, David Caruso IS CSI Miami.
Anyway, here’s my shot at it (no pun) - Horatio is faking his death so he can go after the bad guys and get rid of them, uh, illegally. As in shoot ‘em up and bury the bodies. He’s going to go into the depths of hell to get them. And the text message to Ryan - it’s from Horatio! Horatio wants Wolfe to know he’s ‘now dead’ (pretend dead) so he can play the part of the grieving co-worker. Totally figured this one out! No need to thank me - well you can send cash to show some gratitude.
Oh how I can’t wait until September to see if my theory is on the money. And would someone please bed Emily? That chick needs to get laid, she’s a tad too serious. Just sayin’.
In case you missed it, here’s the last couple of mins:
