All or nothing...M.I.A

In case you were all calling 911 and search parties and such.

Don't.

I'm here.

The Dog ate my power chord to my laptop and I was unable to get online the ENTIRE WEEKEND until The Provider went back to work Monday to get the second power chord....

Talk about withdrawals. Holy Shit.

Shaking and sweating and going to check my e-mail/Bloglines and then realizing I COULDN'T...was not easy. And it's not all that good for the complexion either.

But, my Hero enabler came through for me and brought my fresh supply home to a convulsing mother. Thank the lord.

Now, I'm back on track.

On with the updates:
Amazing weekend. Lazy, relaxed. Fun.

Brought Girl to the TriBeCa Film Festival Street Fair on Saturday and had fun. She loves that city! She calls it "Big City" like Oswald does. She loves the Village, my girl!

Went to a park fair on Sunday where Girl once again immersed herself in bubbles like a wild woman. This kid loves bubbles. It's Like Kiddie Crack! Her and her mother seem to have some addictive personalities wouldn't you say???

This dog is amazing! And not in a good way. I know a few of you questioned what I did to provoke the shit stain in my debut YT video. The answer is Nada!

Just like his black and white, empty head...there's no Grey area.

It's all or nothing.

Either this...

Or this:

Someone please help me.

Silent Battles

Wow! I feel 1,00 times better after this post!
Thank you for the comments!
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One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.
- AA Milne
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Arguing without opening your mouth.
What goes where and who puts them there in the grand scheme of things doesn't really matter, but christ it's annoying as hell.

The wonders of marriage/living together:

• The hairbrushes not put away in the bathroom.
• The milk left on the counter and not returned to its rightful place in the fridge.
• Toothpaste stains left on the glass ledge in the bathroom.
• The (long) hair left in the drain.
• The makeup fragments on the bathroom sink.
• The dirty kitchen sink.
• Unloading/loading the dishwasher.
• Dishes left on the counter and not put in the dishwasher.
• Laundry on the floor and not in the basket.
• Newspapers piled up all over.
  
• Socks under the coffee table.
• The coffee table and where it is hiding under all the toys.

How do you deal with your silent battles? What are they?

Not really busy...

...I just haven't been motivated lately.

I have been reading other blogs and commenting and there are some really great writers out there. I want to hang out with all of you and drink margarita's for Cinco de Mayo. Next to you all, I am a peon. I just haven't felt like blogging myself. I guess it gets old. Who wants to hear me anyway?

Some things I've been thinking:

I'm going to take pictures of girl's old rug and her new rug. They measured her room. Home Depot is full of assholes so I'm sure there will be a fuck up sometime soon. Plus, they are coming to measure my yard for a fence. Oh, Joy. Plenty of excuses to fuck up there. Can't wait for the festivities to begin!

Spring has sprung. But I feel like snow. Cold and annoying.
March has never been a great month for me, not terrible, just long. When you are teaching in NYC, March is the longest school month without vacation and the teachers used to get very antsy. I still feel that way. Antsy. I am waiting for the nice weather and in the meantime I can't enjoy it in the moment. I hate that. Years of therapy have taught me to enjoy the moment and I have forgotten how to do that already. It hasn't been that long since I've been away from it.

My dog is eating my kitchen cabinets.

Here's what most of them look like:

Here's what he's done:Here's the dastardly dog in action:
(Notice the fucking chew toy right in the shot!)
Here's what's gonna happen to him:

I swear to all that is holy!
I am not kidding.
I hate this dog.
No matter how hard I try to like him, I just can not.

Then, there's the dust. It doesn't matter how many times I dust. The bastard bunnies rear their ugly, fluffy heads and attack. They are under every item of furniture and on top of every smooth surface. Now, with the sun shining in through the windows I see it more prominent than ever. All the areas I have missed or neglected are calling my name. Swiffer how dare you betray me! Dog hair be damned!
I surrender. The dust bunnies have won.

I've been going to the gym a lot these past few weeks and my body feels trim but older. I can't help it. I'm getting older. Older. And weaker and less flexible. I'm aching in areas that never ached and feeling it. Boo Hoo. Big Baby.

But, then again my "Hat Trick" is coming up and I think I'm gearing up for that. Therapy has taught me to face the shit head on and I think I am trying to do that this time around. It is just a scary scene. Brace yourselves.

However, I'd like to end this rant on a positive note. (If you are still reading.)
Girl is getting really into dancing. She is dying to take a dance class ( I don't think she realizes I won't be there). But she's been obsessed with dancing. Dancing all over the house, yard, wherever you let her.

"Red Ballet Dance"
by The Girl

She has been perfecting the moves she already knows by heart. And adding newer, graceful arms and kicks. I am so proud. I will git that kid into dance class if it's the last thing I ever do!

Potty This!

I can't take it. I must be the world's biggest Dummy.

She's just not ready yet. According to the book above anyway.

She'll be three in less than a month, but she's just not ready. I am reading now that her physical development is just not mature enough. She can't won't get on and off the pot, she can't won't undress/dress herself...she holds it in for hours in her panties...but will NOT sit on the pot when she hasta go... Which means her emotional development is also not ready. I am getting frustrated.

Yesterday morning, deep into late afternoon, she held it all in the entire time she was in her panties. I put her in her pull ups for a nap at around 1:30 PM and not a second later...the dang pull up needed to be changed. What the? She's too smart for our own good, I think.

She knows when she hasta go. She wore panties all weekend...Until we had to go out or nap. She held off until the pull ups came out. It was a waiting game. I waited for her to have an accident or actually go in the pot when I put her there...and she waited (patiently) for the pull up to surface.

Ugh. Double Ugh...Triple ugh.

Turkeys, Ornaments and Memories...Oh, my!

This is a long one...Come back when you have time unless you are in the mood for a good vent.


Jesus. The holidays are upon me. Here we go again. It seems I can't get away from dealing with this shit. There is a point throughout every year when it all just has to get dealt with. From the 'Hat Trick' to the Holidays. I'm never away from it.

Thanksgiving is my Dad's favorite holiday. He loves turkey and he lurrves that crazy cranberry-can shape-globule. You know the one, he practically begs for it every year. I love spending time with him and Thanksgiving is no different. It's just that with Fa, now everyone wants to get a hold of her for the holidays and there is just not enough time in the day. I miss him during the holidays when I am not with him. And I am not the 'social butterfly' that you may all think I seem to be...hee hee. I like it quiet. At all times. Even the holidays. I have reasons.

I am a hermit and the holidays just make me shake. With all the people and touching and hugging and kissing. Ugh. And they don't even do it to me. They do it to poor Fa. Who also hates being mauled. I hate seeing her so uncomfortable in the crowded atmosphere of the holiday table. I get that 'Mamma Lion ready to pounce on anyone who makes her cry' feeling in the pit of my stomach. (And anyone getting in her grill makes her cry too). It makes me so nervous.

I have read in all the parenting mags that forcing your child into a crowded situation does not make her more comfortable. People must keep their distance and let her warm up. But no one wants to hear it. I want to cry. I know I make it worse because she feeds off of me and she knows when I tense up in these surroundings. Then, she gets just as tense. I try to breathe deeply and reassure her that its okay, but inside I am a tangled mess of sickly intestines and she knows it. Damn intuition.

Then, after turkey day. "The box" comes out. My therapist knew this box well. It took a long time to acknowledge "The Box". I didn't have a Christmas tree for years and when BD and I were living together and he finally wanted one, we only had lights and bows. I didn't want to deal with "The Box".

You see, it is filled with all of the ornaments that I had as a kid. The same ornaments that my Mother held so dear to her heart. Every year, she'd pull out "The Box" and reminisce about her past and show me her favorites and listen to Johnny Mathis on the record player while she happily put up the tree. I loved that day. I loved seeing her happy! Tree trimming day. We would watch "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and all those other Christmasy shows with "Rudolf" and "Charlie in the box" at the Land of Misfit Toys. Then, we'd slap Johnny Mathis on the record player and get to work. Every year, I wished that day would never end.

Well, boys and girls. That day does indeed end. And then, it leaves you with hurt and sadness and grief and you never want to see that "Box" or that day again.

Until Fa came along. I had to get "The Box" out. I dreaded it. But it was inevitable. I had to spice things up during the holidays for her. Her birthday is 5 days before Christmas so I had to get in the spirit. It sucked. I hated it. Especially the first Christmas when she was five days old. I was a mess of ppd. Damn, you couldn't even look at me or I'd cry. But then, the next year it got a little better and so on and so on. This year, I want to start new memories, but I don't have anyone to ask how to do that. All of my holiday memories are stunted. And memories of my Mother are vivid but few. How do I create a happy place for the holidays when I am not feeling so happy about the place I'm in?

These days, I can take out "The Box" without hysterics. However, that feeling in the pit of my stomach always returns. I am torn. I want Fa to enjoy the memories that we make together but why does it have to hurt me so much? Will it ever get better? Or should I say, will the pain ever get duller?

I pray Fa understands that she is my air and she is what makes me tolerate another holiday season. I do it all for her. Holidays are brighter because of her and I cherish her for that. Now, how do I create some really special memories for me and her to share? How do I create memories that will dull the sadness in my heart and bring a smile to our faces throughout the holidays and beyond? How do I teach her that memories are a great resource to go to when you are down, when my memories bring me so far down?

Oh the grossness!

Today's topic is 'foods that I love that others think I'm crazy for eating'. Well, you see, I am a picky eater so my post is gonna go the other way. There are certain foods that just really make me gag that other consumers in the circle of life find quite normal to eat on a daily basis.

For example, red meat. Red meat of any of the normal variety, really. Hamburgers, steak, veal, meatballs. ugh. It makes my skin crawl. You see, when I was younger, I ate red meat. I loved cheeseburgers and french fries. Then one day, I got one of those gritty little-ballies in a burger, you know..the gristle. The thing that is so tiny yet so horrifically disgusting when you are taken by surprise by its hardness. Yeah, one of those. I swore off burgers forever.

Then, as I got older and started taking note of what I put in my body, the whole idea of cooked flesh just weirded me out. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not all for "saving the cows" I know they are there to be consumed, its nature. I wear leather (rowr) and I have black & white, calf skin cowboy boots...(I know you're jealous now) I am not a member of any of those "save the fill in the blank's" and I think that red meat is a great source of iron and protein. I just don't wanna eat it.

This however, causes a great deal of raucous in many houses I visit for dinner. I don't understand why! Just because I can't eat the pasta with the meat sauce you cooked because I taste the meat flavor or the veal shank you prepared for hours because the bone sticking out just makes me quiver. Don't get so upset. I'll eat plain pasta. I eat chicken too...(even though when I think about what it is really, I get queasy, so I try not to think about it) I'm not all that hard to please. Salad works just fine too. I even sometimes bring my own turkey burgers or chicken cutlets to bar-b-q's just in case. (I have been caught with nothing but hot dogs and burgers one time too many!)

Don't panic though. I'll eat before I get there if you want. I can gladly eat a bowl of rice or cereal if you truly have nothing else. I just don't like the taste or the smell or the texture or the idea of red meat. That's all. I am a picky eater. But I don't think dinner hosts should freak out every time I come over. I am very flexible...Just as long as it hasn't mooed, baa'd, oinked, quacked, meowed or barked before you got your hands on it. Now is that so bad?

Journey Through Hell and Back...A Comedy.

Once upon a time when The Laundress was still “JJ”, she was thin, muscular and energetic. She taught dance every day and went to the gym/took fitness classes in the mornings before work. She was still always cranky but at least she had a 'great bod'. Today, she feels old, washed up and tired. Motherhood can really beat the shit out of you, by the way.

After months of complaining to her King about the way she felt; TL decided to get a detox done on her to make herself feel better. It worked. TL had more energy and even lost a few pounds. She is actually right back to her ‘pre-baby weight. (2 years and 8 months later)

One day recently, TL thinks this crazy thought to join the gym again. “Why not?” She says. “It can’t be all that bad, really!” Well, she was wrong. Dead wrong. Last night, TL met the ‘Scorpion Woman’, her initiation/personal trainer at the new gym. She seemed sweet enough at first. She was young, beautiful and full of life. She made small talk and got to know a little about TL’s background, smiling the entire time. (she had the devil in her eyes) 

She made sure to explain how she was certified in pre/post natal exercise and kickboxing and she knew CPR. She explained where she went to school and how she became a personal trainer. She seemed almost docile. She turned evil quickly. As soon as they hit the gym floor, she became malevolence incarnate with fire spitting out of her eyeball sockets. Fwoosh...

TL gasped and sweat and hyperventilated a bit. She tried to look for the 666 engraved in the back of Scorpion Woman’s head, but that damn woman was too swift and TL couldn’t keep up with her. TL’s arms shook and her legs trembled with every set of gajillion reps that the evil serpent lady made her do to “strengthen her core”. (yah right, sure) Scorpion Woman allowed TL to take quick water breaks to ‘rehydrate’ but she really was just taking some time out to sharpen her claws and mingle with the other gym imps that hover around to see the sacrifice taking place.

After one full, agonizing hour, TL was set free to wobble down 3 flights of stairs to her car. Yet, TL didn’t know that it would be physically impossible to steer the 80 ton piece of machinery back home. What a night!

When TL got to her safe haven swearing all the while that she will never go back to that woman ever again in her life, she realized her daughter was already in her crib for the night. Bummer. So TL did the unthinkable on a usual night. (Must’ve been those damn ‘endorphins’.) She went into Fa’s room to hug her and kiss her goodnight.

She heaved the 30 pound child out of her crib, (gotta get this gal a bed) into her still trembling arms and rocked her gently in their chair. It was heaven on earth. She understood at that moment, why she was torturing herself. (For Fa.) If TL feels good about herself, then Fa will do the same and they have a chance in this crazy world. TL must make herself feel better and enjoy this life with her child. It’s the only chance she has. 

So, TL will keep her torture session for Monday and repeat the agony once again; one more time for the love of god. Then she is on her own. She will go to her gym regularly and make herself stronger and fit. She will eat right and drink her coffee again like a normal person. She will lose her momentum but her King will keep her motivated. (After all, he paid for her membership at the gym in the first place.) She will do it. She is motivated enough. She was even able to type this morning, so she must not be that bad...gah! To top it all of, she posted her saga all over the internet…so she has to keep her word….Maybe she will live happily ever after; after all…

Because I need more stress in my life...

Stressor Exhibit A:
I think I hafta take Fa for her very first haircut. I hate to do it, but she's -a gettin' wiley! I have to fight to comb her hair now because her ends are all knotted and tangled...I am dreading this...for many resons:

• she's afraid of everything
• she hates strangers
• she probably won't let anyone touch her
• she will cry and scream and come out with a crooked haircut
• I will cry and scream and try to be calm but will ruin everything
• how am I gonna let a stranger go at the wriggling, screaming mess with scissors?

But I think it's finally time. We might just hafta bite the bullet and get motivated.

Stressor Exhibit B:
I hafta give this dang dawg bath. He stinks. He steps in his own poop and walks right through the house. I wipe his paws with baby wipes but then he just tramples through the dood all over again. I can't find a tub to put him in. Do you believe the asshole at Petco told me to go to a baby store and buy a baby tub. Douche. What the fuck am I gonna do with the baby tub when he grows out of it? Oh, have another baby to fill it with, of course....No thanks. Jerk. I wanted to get a tub that fits in the stand up shower we have downstairs so I don't hafta put his shitty paws in my bath tub upstairs where Fa's ass sits. Gross. So, we're off again to find a tub. And another thing: Bending over to pick up shit, and piss has now given my back a run for it's money and I am starting to live on Motrin again. It never ends.

Stressor Exhibit C:
Just when I think everything is a-ok. Hubby comes home in bad mood and I get so mad, I cry. So now we're not speaking again. Again. As per my therapist. I can't let this linger. I hafta confront. Yuck. I'm mad at you because you were in a bad mood, banging stuff around. But when a telemarketer called you were cordial and even smiled while talking to her. Hello? Is anybody in there??? I deserve that much.

Stressor Exhibit D:
It's so farking hot outside I could spit. I wanted to put Fa in the kiddie pool on the lawn yesterday and today, but it's scalding out there. We'd both melt away into the grass, never to be heard from again. What the? So now I'm stuck in the house with a bored 2.5 year old and a bored 2 month old dawg. I'm loosing it here...Anybody wanna come over to play? Then, if I'm on the phone, that's Fa's time to shine. "Mommy, get off the phone, watch me!", "Mommy I want a snack.", "Mommy, c'ome on in, come get me in my crib." Which leads me to...

Stressor Exhibit E:
All my friends are gone. Missing in action. I can't find one. I won't see one until tomorrow night for...woo hoo ceramics. One is here from Va so I'll see her a few times. One I see with her daughter on Wednesdays for music class...Who I happen to adore...A few others are gone by the wayside...Damn it...I can not keep a friend. I'll probably lose her too...With the mommy people I know, the only thing we have in common is kids. And I can't use that as enough ammo to start a relationship. I think I'm damaged. I either can't understand a person or don't like their kid. It leaves me lonely far too much to admit. I can't break the cycle either. Everyone who meets me usually thinks I'm fun and happy. But I don't usually get close enough for them to figure out the truth. No wonder BD comes home mad sometimes...When I was single I had the same friends as I have now. But we were available much more often. Now that I have a daughter and only one other friend has a daughter...it just all dissipates. BD says I don't try hard enough. It takes work to maintain a friendship. I don't put in the hours I guess. I am far to difficult. I get pissed at something (and don't say anything) and usually that's when the relationship sours. I don't let them know I'm pissed, so I don't call and they don't call and then years have passed and there goes that friend. Shit. I am damaged.

No wonder I'm alone most of the time. I say I don't care, but I do. If I didn't really care. I wouldn't have spent up all this space on Stressor Exhibit E!

Ranting and Raving and Carrying On

Fa has been up since 6am.

Apparently she has a moth in her room who seems to be invading her space. She's yelling at it. "Cut it out!", "Stop that!", "Get lost, that's not nice!" , "Get oooooooooooff theeeeeeeeee beeeeeeeeeeeed!" It seems that the moth is quite the wrabblerouser and she isn't having it.

Unfortunately, that means I am up also. Our morning routine is quite relaxing, usually. I get to shower at around 7am. Have my 2-3 cups 'o joe and blog a bit. She usually gets out of her cell about 8am. Now though, she's singing to the offending moth and I (as Fa would say, smacking the palm of her hand with the back of her other hand) "Gotta get mo-ti-va-ted!" This makes me cranky and you don't wanna make me cranky. You wouldn't like me when I'm cranky. No, I haven't been cranky yet here. Those previous posts were cake...a walk in the park...Go ahead, make me cranky, I dare ya.

We are off schedule here. I hope, and pray this means early nap time. (for both of us) Lately, I have been napping when Fa naps. Like she's an infant again. Only then, I didn't nap when she napped. I cried. Jeez, I'm a big ball of mental health aren't I?

The plumber is coming today. I hope he's coming to get some work done. We are getting that reverse osmosis water purifier for the home installed. You know the one that cleans and filters the tap water so you can get rid of the Poland Spring monstrosity in your kitchen. The one that takes up space and invites your daughter to play with the spiggots that release scalding hot water. That one. Hopefully we can say sayonara to it tonight. Although, I'm so used to drinking out of a fountain, I might not be able to drink water from the tap out of self-consciousness. Are the pipes clean? Will it really filter out the impurities? Or will I be subjecting my whole family to cancerous nastiness that the tap water usually contains. Gee, another thing to obsess over. Great.

So, after much yelling, screaming and carrying on at my father and his girl yesterday, they calmly got me a cardiologist appointment for next week. Hopefully, this guy will help me and get rid of these chest pains. I haven't had the fun in the sun summer that I was planning here in the new home. I'm starting to get depressed. Hee hee...starting. You'd think I was there already wouldn't you? But I'm really not. I guess I just like to complain. Alot. Ask Husband. He'll tell you. No wait don't, he'll go on for hours about how miserable I am. Just listen to me.

Aren't I so amusing?

I'm surrounded by idiots.

Went to the heart doctor for my second EKG today. The appointment was at 9:15am. The Husband took off from work for the morning to come with me. We sat there for an hour before he went to ask what the hold up was. They didn't even realize I signed in (for a doctor that wasn't in until 3pm). Whoever made my followup appointment mistakenly scheduled me for a different doctor than who I was supposed to see. The one I was supposed to see wasn't there and the original doctor wouldn't see me. They told me to come back tomorrow.

This is many of the stupid mistakes this office has made this week. Dr. Gleckel (and his cohorts) is the worst cardiologist who doesn't care about his patients. I called him over the holiday weekend and he was curt and abrupt with me the two different times I contacted him. (Sorry, I was nervous about my heart and I interrupted your holiday) First, he said he'd call in a prescription for me without looking at my records then never called it in. (After I told him I was having chest pains and couldn't breathe) Then, he told me he couldn't do anything for me and I should go the the ER. When I told him I wouldn't go, he told me to get fit in to see him the next day, on Monday and the office was closed. Then today's stupidy just elevated my aggravation. I am so fed up with stupidity, I can't stand it.

To top it all off...I just can't run to a doctor when I feel like it with Fa around. She was patient today in the waiting room but I had Husband with me. I just can't (or won't) drag her back and forth. It's too much. I can't handle it. I'm sorry, I'm not the super mom I thought I was and I don't feel well. I refuse to lug her all over the place to see doctors...It just stresses me more...Good for the heart right? Ask me if I've followed my general doctor's orders of taking it easy. Go ahead, fucking ask me. I dare you. I'll rip your fucking head off.

I'm so pissed fucking off.