This Post Was Interrupted by an Insane Rant

How many days until Christmas?!!!!!

UGH!!!!

Are you kidding me?!

No, I’m not done with any of the gift shopping, gift making, and the damn gift wrapping.

I’m patiently waiting for the Christmas bonus from The Husband.  Here, let me check the bank account.

Yup.  Nothing. 

The problem is I’m a planner.  I like getting things done early.  Perhaps just on time.  On time for Christmas is at least three days before Christmas have everything wrapped and ready to go.

At one time, I was one of those people that had all my shopping done before Thanksgiving because I HATE shopping with the crowds.   But as we draw closer, I’m getting nervous. 

Not to mention, I was hoping to internet shop, which means I need to make sure things are shipped on time.  Last year, one of the presents barely made it in time, being delivered at 10 am Dec 24th.  The Husband was already sent out to buy an alternative present.

So excuse me as I ran around screaming and pulling my hair.

I should be more sane tomorrow.

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What would you do?

So I’m dragging the boys through Target just to get one or two or four little things.  Who needs a cart?  *Manic laughter* I obviously forgot it was December with all those toys and decorations. 

As I turned down an aisle, I heard, “You should see how much soda I feed her.”

There was a young mother feeding a baby girl less than six months old some cherry soda from a soda bottle.  I think my mouth hit the floor.  I wanted to grab the woman and demand to know what she was thinking.  I wanted to tell her how her baby’s stomach couldn’t handle real foods, much less junk.  I wanted to scream the child obesity rates and the horrors that can be diabetes unchecked.  I wanted to suggest she ask her pediatrician about soda and babies.

But instead I walked out of the aisle to filled with rage to do anything, praying that someone intervene that the mother would trust and listen to.

So what would you do?

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A Dark Secret

I have a secret.  It’s buried deep within me.  I don’t want it out.  But I think you’ll understand.

When I decided to get pregnant, I spent months agonizing over the decision.  I weighed the pros and cons.  I knew I wanted another child.  But was it practical?  Was it a need?  Was it a smart decision?  We’re in a rental home, and The Husband is rebuilding his business in a time of economic down turn.  I had my hands full with the boys.  I had other issues that I should be deal with.  But I still wanted that child.  It didn’t seem logical.  In fact, it was quite illogical.  Stupid as I made my list of cons.  I hate doing something stupid.  But there it was a calling to have another child.  A strong desire that I had only felt once when working towards college and picking the unpractical degree of Creative Writing.

So then I asked the really hard question.  Did I want another child or just a daughter?  If it was a daughter, then I might as well start saving for adoption.  I began research over adoption, foreign and domestic.  I continued to analyze my want.  In the end, I realized I wanted another child.  I be perfectly happy with another son.

So after months of praying, thinking, meditating, I told The Husband, who had no idea I was going through such a mental crisis, that I truly wanted another child.  He was already on board.  But since I couldn’t deny a little girl would be nice, I decided to naturally switch the odds in my favor.

Tomorrow I’ll find out if I did.

And I’m nervous.

What if I wasn’t really honest with myself after all that soul searching?  What if I truly wanted a daughter so bad my heart bled with want?  What if I’m disappointed that it’s a boy?

I wasn’t disappointed with the first two pregnancies.  I thought I could always have another.  With Tornado E, we found out the moment he entered the world and the doctor checked.  My mom and The Husband were so sure he would be a girl, but he was a boy.  I was so excited that I kept saying “it’s a boy” over and over again.  With Tornado S we decided to find out just so we could have everything ready.  The Husband, Tornado E, and I stared at the screen as the technician rolled the instrument over my belly.  She announced, “It’s a boy.”  The Husband asked if she was sure.  She was very sure.  I said, “We’re still buying a play kitchen.”  The Husband was worried I would be disappointed, kept watching for signs that I didn’t love the baby enough.

Any mother would find that preposterous.  How could I not love my baby to the fullest extent of my heart and beyond?  Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter.  It’s my baby.  So I know that if the little bean is a boy, I will love him to the point of breaking my heart.  And thanks to Raising Boys Without Men, I feel more comfortable with the thought of raising men who won’t run off and forget their mom.

But what if tomorrow there is just a moment of disappointment?  Just a slight part of a second where I realize I won’t have a daughter.  I think I will cry for that moment of doubt.  But to make it worse, what if The Husband sees that flicker of disappointment across my face?  Because he won’t understand.  He’ll always wonder if I don’t love my third son as much as the other two because he was another boy.

This is why I hate opening up presents in front of people.  Sure, there are things I truly want, sometimes expect to get.   But there’s that brief moment of empty disappointment over realizing you didn’t get what you want.  Sure, you’re extremely ecstatic that you got this awesome present from people who thought about you and love you, but it wasn’t really what you wanted.  Your voice sounds fake to your own ears as you thank them.  The disappointment fades off as you brag about the gift to other people, but you always wonder if the givers ever knew you weren’t really excited those first few minutes.

Part of me doesn’t want to know tomorrow.  There’s a chance hope will die.  But in its place will be love and excitement.  I wish I could know without anyone there, without worrying about what I feel or say or think or look like.  I just want to absorb the fact.  If I thought The Husband would understand, I would ask if they could just put it in an envelope for us to look at later, and then I could open it without anyone there.  But The Husband is super excited.  He hated waiting to find out Tornado E was.  I don’t think I could sell him on the envelope idea.

Doubt about God, Heaven and Hell, the brilliance of Shakespeare, I can handle.  I don’t know if I can handle doubting myself.

 
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A word about this morning

It was a horrible morning.

My wallet was gone.  You decided to be up cage fighting before dawn.  Before Dawn.

There were glimmers of hope.

Your father watched you in hopes I slept in against the noise.  (But that’s his superhero ability.)  I got some emails from some of my favorite people.  It turned out I left my wallet at the last store we were at yesterday, but really that would be your fault.

Then I took you out of the house.

I should have known it was a bad idea.

It took my twenty minutes to get shoes and socks and jackets on you.  By the way, jackets are not optional when your mom declares you have to wear them.  And Tornado S, it’s not funny to keep choosing the other jacket from the one that’s in my hand.

I nearly had to drag you across the parking lot to get to the store with my wallet.  Then you danced merrily as I talked to three different people in search for my wallet I was told was there 30 minutes before.  At least, they had it.  Then I dragged you back across the parking lot. Tornado E begging for lunch at a “restaurant” doesn’t work if you’re being a pain in the butt.

Then I needed to go to the grocery store.  Then my brain must have stopped working because I also decided I might as well hit the dollar store before the grocery store because they’re right next to each other.

Which worked out well for the first two minutes.

Then you had to sword fight with the candy-filled plastic candy canes, ask for different ornaments, and innocently suggest we go down the aisle with the picture frames and candles.

I should have known better.  The aisle led to the toys.  I can only thank God that I can say “We’ll put it on your list” because it makes you leave faster than a no.  We were still there too long.  And Tornado E, what is it with you and the most disgusting, ugliest toys?

At least you both we’re adorable for the cashier as you entertained her with pirate stories.

The grocery store wasn’t so bad at first either.  You helped me find apples, cucumbers, and onions.  You even liked the broccoli idea.

Then we got to pick out dried fruit.  Then Tornado E decided, after we made our decision on the dried plums you both just had to have, that he wanted dried cranberries.  Next time, little dude.  Then the whining began.  For three aisles.  Enough for a woman to shoot me a dirty look that I was happily willing to return because it was the third aisle.  Like she knew that my kids acted this way all the time.  He’s whining, annoying true, but he’s not stealing toys.  And Tornado S, running around, not standing in one place, must move at all times.  Ah, good times.

The whining settled to a dull roar as I finished the grocery shopping.  Could you both not take off at the last five feet before we get to the cookie stand with blinking lights?  Because you almost knocked down some old women to get there, trapping me behind a line of carts.  I hate that.

Tornado E, the answer is no.  Again.  No to the sting cheese.  No to that cheese.  No to the chips.  No to the cookies.  No to the doughnuts.  No to the Christmas decorations.  No to the toy car.  No.  No.  No.

Then the dire warning about listening to me, standing still, being good in the checkout lane fell out of your ears as we crossed the aisle to the checkout.

Just as you were about to act out, Tornado E engaged the woman in front in a conversation, who said “Are you listening to your mommy?”  You became quiet and intent on the woman.  Then Tornado E had a nice conversation with her. Tornado S stayed by me. Tornado E helped me with emptying out the cart.  I swear the woman was a saint.

Of course as soon as she left, you tried to follow her.  My attention was torn between the cashier and keeping you in the store.  As we left, I discovered “the treat” I was trying to brag you with, the cardboard gingerbread house, had been moved.  It was gone.  The whining started again as I demanded you climb on the cart, keeping your feet up.

At least you snacked as I loaded the car.  But if tomorrow is anything like today, I’m packing up, and you’re living with your grandparents.

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I promise you it’s not the plague; it’s allergies

I need to go on a rant here, and it might just be too much information for some of you.  So if you want to slink away now, I won’t hold it against you.  I’ve been thinking about this rant for some time because I’ve got no one in real life that can truly understand, and I figured since I know so many moms online, maybe someone will understand out there.  Besides some of my most favorite bloggers are open and honest about their TMI stuff and their embarrassing shit.  And I want to be like them.

About six weeks ago, Tornado E came down with a cold.  A nasty little thing that knocked him down for almost a week.  Fever, chills, runny nose.   You might remember me mentioning I had it before committing radio silence for a week.  Fever, chills, runny nose, and a cough that sounded uncomfortably close to a smoker’s cough.  Sweet.  Not only did I feel like crap, people looked at me like I had the plague.  All I needed was a couple of boils, a hood, and a bell to ring and call out “Bring out your dead.”  Since I’m a responsible pregnant mom, I didn’t down a bottle of Nyquil like I would have and been done with it.  No, I suffered for a week before my OB/GYN appointment, where my doc told me what I could take and that there was a list of medicines on the website if I ever needed to look anything up.  Sweet!  I was on the mend.

Except the cough.  Which lingered.  And lingered.  And by God, it’s been five f-ing weeks.  About three weeks in, I searched, scoured the website, and you know what.  There was no list of medicines.  So after a day or so, I called.  And low and behold, they told me what to take for a cough.  Sweet!  Now I was on the mend.

Except my allergies hit.  After going eighteen years without allergies, moving to CA for another ten, and returning home, I have allergies in my home town.  Are you kidding me?!  Now my nose runs like a faucet because I can’t take the good stuff.  And I still have that damn cough as I try to hack out a lung.

I was probably out of morning sickness danger for over a week before it dawned on me the only time I vomited was when I had a real bad coughing attack after lying down.  Just yesterday a coughing fit sent me running to the toilet where I dry heaved for five minutes as I pissed my pants because that’s what I do when I’m pregnant and vomiting.  I piss my pants.

Oh, and it gets better.  If it’s a powerful coughing spell, I piss my pants.  Sometimes it’s just a little; sometimes it actually does wet my pants.  Then I can’t make up my mind whether I feel like a four-year-old learning to potty train or a ninety-four year-old losing my faculties.  Either way it’s extremely embarrassing.  In the beginning it was so bad that I wore a heavy day pad (Thank you to whatever blogger mentioned that) so I wouldn’t pee in public.

Now I know this is partially my fault.  I should have been doing my kegel exercises.  I did push out Tornado S without contractions, so that was bound to loosen things up.  But I never remember to do them.  It’s on my list of things I should do, but tend to forget.  It’s pages after file all the old business papers and organize Tornado E’s school work, but it is before the-husband-feels-neglected-because-of-the-morning-sickness-I –should-really-give-him-a-bj.  Yeah, I don’t think I’ll get around to that either.

So I figure I should just keep drinking cough syrup and popping allergy pills until it is all gone away, not (my original plan of) stopping as soon as I start feeling better, leaving the rest up to the immune system.  Because hey, they’re losing the battle there.  I hope the little bean can forgive me if there are some side effects, like a lower IQ, the need to watch professional wrestling, or sixth finger.

Wish me luck.  And thanks for listening.                                 Um . . . any one there?

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Homeschooling is not for me

“If there were no schools to take the children away from home part of the time, the insane asylums would be filled with mothers.” ~Edgar W. Howe

I don’t know how other moms do homeschooling.  I don’t.  I would murder my children.  I was thinking last night that centuries ago mothers did teach everything to their children at home, and then it dawned on me.  That was the reason so few of the children reached to adulthood.  It wasn’t the plague; it was moms being frustrated by ungrateful, whinny, temper-tantrum-throwing, not-listening, willful, disobedient children.  Or maybe it’s just my child.  Or maybe it’s me.  I’m fine with it being me.

Reasons I can’t homeschool my children:

  1. I don’t have the patience to deal with a child who doesn’t want to learn.
  2. If I can’t teach them one way, I can’t figure out any other way.
  3. I find myself using stupid threats, like feeding him to the wolves.
  4. I can’t make my child understand that the sooner he does it, the sooner he gets to play.
  5. Did I mention I don’t have the patience?
  6. I want to throw temper tantrums with him.
  7. It turns out I have a violent side that only rises after fifteen minutes of trying to get a child to hold a crayon the correct way.  (Don’t worry; I only wish to hurl the crayon across the house.)
  8. I would have to get on some serious medication.  Or start drinking.  And I’m pregnant.
  9. I have mood swings.
  10. I don’t have the patience!

I guess this is the part where I admit I had to force Tornado E to do a school project that he decided not to do at school.  (Point for it being my son’s issue.)  As the teacher knew I’m a concerned parent, due to the weekly meetings I have with her and the time I asked for all his work when he was out for a week, she gave me the project.  It was cut out a man shape to glue into a folded paper to be a jack-in-the-box.  Simple enough, right?  Insert hysteric laughter.

A half an hour of Tornado E saying he can’t, Tornado E going to a whining room, Tornado E going to a crying room, my dad walking out of the house, my mom trying her hand at it, my mom telling me to send him to time out, my threats that he’ll be there until he is done or until he dies whichever comes first, Tornado E FINALLY cut out the damn man figure.  Then it was twenty minutes over how he couldn’t make a face, he couldn’t make a smile, he couldn’t make eyes, the markers weren’t working, it’s just not right, I don’t want to do it.  I finally was able to let him glue it in the “box.”  Then I forced him to finish his “J” paper.  The horrors of being a four-year-old preschooler.  After an hour, he was free to run around, and I had the desperate desire for a shot of vodka.

I will happily PAY someone to teach my child.

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I don’t think it’s the plague . . . .

But I’ve been wrong before.  Or maybe I have to stop reading books that talk about plague while the family is sick and I’m pregnant.

Tornado E has reduced his fever but is trying to cough out a lung, which he generously shared with me.  I spent the night alternating between chills, sweats, and dear-god-I’m-going-to-loose-the-baby.  I’m sure the last one is overreacting a tad.  Yesterday I sat on the couch like a zombie with a little drool hanging out of the corner of my mouth.  When the boys decided they only needed an hour and half nap, I packed up and went to my parents, which is something I’m selfishly contemplating right now.  Why is it when someone is the least bit sick, The Husband comes down with an illness that should have him quarantined or at least waited on hand and foot by his wife?  Escaping to the parents’ house is looking better and better.

Stupid Computer Magic

When my husband gave me a refurbished laptop for Valentine’s Day, I was upset over what he spent because we were suppose to be saving and I cooked him a turkey meal.  But soon that laptop won me over as I could customize the background, keep my desktop clean, write when he worked, and even enjoyed working in the dining room instead of the hot office.  I loved that computer.

Then it gave me a blue screen telling me that I installed some hardware wrong, but I hadn’t installed any hard ware.  Then last night it made some sort of knocking noise as it sat idle on the dining room table, waiting for me to return.  I tried to shut it down but ended up shutting it down by the off button because it wouldn’t listen to me.  Today it told me a file was corrupted and refused to move on to opening up any programs.

I’m depressed.  I’m angry.  I only had this computer for six months.  I had been meaning to copy the files.  I never did.  I needed to return to my craft blog this weekend, but now I can’t.

Yeah, I’m pissed. 

I’m so pissed that this is all the post I’m writing.  I’m turning to reading to cheer me up.

Oh, and Mom Blog Network.  You’re on notice.  You better start posting people’s posts, so I can vote for them again.

Congress, you’re on notice too.  Stop playing politics and fix stuff.  We know you can do it.  It’s what we pay you to do.

Pundits, you’re on my sh*t list.  Stop scaring everyone with stupid misinformation.  Obama’s an American.  They’re not setting up death councils.  There are too many real subjects to argue and debate about.  Try that.

Computer dude that built my computer, you better fix it for free. It’s been less than six months.

Computer fairies, please fix my laptop.  I’ll leave you cookies.

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A quick, oh so quick, note

A quick morning post to say that I have no idea if I’ll actually write a real post later.  It’s going to be 102 today.  One hundred and two degrees, people!  And my baby brother has invited us to take shelter at my parents’ pool.  (He can do this because my parents are still out of town until this afternoon.)  So I’ll be over there.  But first it’s time to do a little birthday shopping for the pickiest person I know.  Is it wrong to give your spouse a gift certificate when you know he’ll never remember to use it?  What?  We’re out of bread already!  But I just bought some . . . . Oh, it has been a while.  I might as well get the pound cake for the petit fours for the bridal shower on Sunday while I’m at it.  Oh a text from the BFF.  What’s she doing us so early?  Right, that pesky job thing.  Apparently she’s ordering me to the doctor’s today with the threat she’ll catch the next plane here to drag me to one if I don’t go on my own.  She’s right.  Nine days with a sore throat is too long, but honestly, I thought it was due to allergies at first.  It also goes to prove that I haven’t gotten The Look down yet.  Does any one have pointers?  Ok, I’ve got to vacuum before the boys destroy the main room, which by the sounds of it, they are nicely on their way.  How cute is this?  Evan woke me up with the doctor kit, trying to make me feel better.  Boy, I love stream of conscious writing.

I’ll give you controversy

Well, I did it again.  I dipped my toe in some controversy and pulled out a hate comment.  So Court, I do get them.  I got it on my post on why The Jump Arounds are so hateful.

Come On!  I’ve written way more controversial stuff than The Jump Arounds make me feel like I’m losing IQ points.  Actually I’ve said more controversial stuff like President Bush makes me feel like I’m losing IQ points every time I hear him speak.  That was right after 9-11.  That would be controversial.

Or the time I was forced to go to another Newman Mass at a local state school in the interest of building bridges between Newman Fellowships.  That would be two masses in one evening; thank you, Father.  As I sat there after the mass, at a long table with eight other Catholics, I blew their minds when I mentioned I was also the Roman Catholic representative at my school’s Interfaith Committee Meetings.  Then I shocked them more by telling them that we had witches ,and (gasp) they were really cool and (gasp), they were allowed to participate in the Interfaith Committee Meetings.  Well, no, I didn’t feel like I should boycott the meetings.  They would have had brain hemorrhages if I actually told them that I had gone to several rituals and that the coven liked me so much I had an open invitation to come to any close rituals or parties.  Since I gave my promise to be on my best behavior because I-don’t-want-to-be-excommunicated-again-do-you-really-have-that-authority, I kept my mouth shut over how offended I was that the Catholics had taken over this state school’s interfaith chapel, decorating it only with Catholic propaganda and that these students had divided themselves into four neatly separate groups based on their race.  Excuse me, guys, but religion has nothing to do with race, especially since you all are power-fighting in a religion my family was in centuries before said religion sent missionaries on that embarrassing sword and cross conversion to your families’ countries.  See that is controversial.

Or there was the time when Planned Parenthood had come to our college, playing music, trying to educate people on safer sex.  The guy was desperately trying to get someone to admit to the whole cafeteria that (s)he was having safe sex to get this nifty hat.  After a while, the desperation got to me, and I stood up and yelled out that I did.  The guy was so excited, and I got this really nice Trojans hat (great to wear when I’m pregnant).  As I returned to my table, dancing, wearing my new hat, a friend asked who I was secretly dating as I was happily single.  I shrugged and answered, “Abstinence is safe sex.  Besides I wonder what would happen if I yelled out I needed to get laid.”  At that point, I was thrown to my chair and begged not to do anything stupid.  That could be controversial.

I’ve written more controversial stuff.  Remember the other week when I called home schooling moms crazy? Or when I ranted on Shakespeare.   Or when I way back when said to be a good mom you had to be a feminist.  Actually I was shocked on that one too. 

I can get more controversial.  I was the maid of honor at a lesbian wedding.  I went to protests on the FTAA.  I once told my mentor, a pastor, that men were only good for physical pleasure and nothing else and I meant it.  I shoplifted in Disneyland.  I’m pro-choice.  I’ve tithed at my Roman Catholic Church the same week I donated to Planned Parenthood.  I voted for Ralph Nadar in the 2000 election.  I believe in gun control and parenting classes for everyone.  I’ve spanked my kids once or twice.  I do not believe God hates any one.  I actually own a shirt that says “God’s a girl and She’s cute” because we have to have a sense of humor in religion.  I have vehemently argued against and for the death penalty.  I’ve defended vegetarianism, and I once got into a long argument with a militant vegetarian because I wouldn’t convert even after reading her precious book. 

So there.  If you want controversy, there it is.  But let’s not waste our time over what TV shows we like or let our children watch.  Honestly, you think I was Evenshine or something.

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