Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Dr. Suess screws with my head.

A person's a person, no matter how small.
-Horton, who heard a Who


Well, not really Horton, but we'll go with it.

I've heard that quote before, but I happened upon it again tonight & pondered. I mean, it sounds cute & sweet, right? Of course, I can't help but to think about how it's used in pro-life terms. I suppose I'm somewhat of a hypercritical person, I expect my dead baby to be acknowledged as a human being who deserved a chance at life, but at the same time I'm crazy pro-choice.

Oh well, one of my many faults I suppose.

Anyway, as I continued to ponder I decided that Horton is basically the story of a dead baby parent.

...I know, I know, but hear me out, will you? Besides, it'd be Horton like of you.

For those of you who don't know the story of Horton, let me give you a run down. Horton happens upon an entire community of Who's, who are very tiny & live on a flower. He then has to save them from everyone else who doesn't believe they are real. Horton fights for their little lives...and wins.

I don't know much about winning that battle but at least Horton does.

In my original idea, I was just going to post something quick & with a picture of Horton. But as I googled, I saw my life as a dead baby mom play out before my eyes.

Again, I know I'm crazy. But work with me here.

One day, I was pregnant.

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Happiness.

Go through a few months & everything is suppose to be peachy.

Find out at the last minute, things may not be peachy as we thought.

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Worry.

But then, someone changes their mind, everything will be fine.

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Happiness yet again.

Then, when you're at the finish line...

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You got it, bad news again. Worse news possible really.

You go through the worse experience of your life. You're ushered out of the back door of the OB department carrying your precious bowl of a lock of hair, tape measure, & a hat.

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At least you have those beautiful treasures, right?

...wait.

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What?

This is it?

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REALLY? Nine months of my life, 26 hours of physical pain, & everything else that went along with it all & this is it? That's all I'll ever have to show for it?

You're fucking kidding, right?

After you get over that shock, life will continue around you.

You'll have at least one person who is really great...

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and will tell you how you killed your baby. If you're lucky, they will tell their entire family that the baby died, in part, because you sucked as a mom & refused to go to a doctor. Where that comes from, you have no idea. Other people will passively mention things. Like your mom will call you 5 months post dead baby & tell you "I saw a baby autopsy on TV...they said the baby died because they let it sleep on it's stomach! Don't let your baby sleep on it's stomach!" & will go on & on about the baby autopsy & when you point out that may not be the best subject, you'll have it turned around on you about how you always make them the bad guy when they were just trying to share information to protect your next baby. You only hear, "listen dumbass, you killed one, I'm not going to let you kill anymore!" You wish you could go back to the days where you could just hear people like the teacher in the Peanuts cartoons.

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You explain yourself over & over again. It does nothing. Nothing at all. You're still the bad guy. Either to your face or behind your back. People wonder what you did to have something like that happen. People remember how your colored your hair that one time, or that coke you drank at dinner, or how you lifted your arms above your head. A deadly combination, you know.

As the time goes by & you speak to people you've not really interacted with for months, even years, you may mention your dead baby. But they already know. How?

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The birds. They are everywhere. The little birdies that tell people "did you know Jessica's baby died!" People you may not have even spoken to in high school find out. I'm sure they then say things like I mentioned above. You'll also have "friends" who tell you that you don't have to worry, they won't tell anyone about your dead baby, even if they ask about it. They will find that helpful. You? Not so much. You know that just screams "it's a secret, so she must have done something she wants to hide!" Of course, this is from the same group of people who admitted after high school that they were asked, because I didn't slut around enough as a teenager, if I was a lesbian & responded with, "I don't know, maybe, she's not told me about it yet."

BTW, not a lesbian. In case you were curious about that one.

Anyway, you'll wish people would ask you how your baby died or why your baby died instead of just assuming, but they don't. Can't say I blame them, as I've said before, dead babies aren't really listed as talking points for people. But still, you'd rather be asked than just know everyone is around you, talking about it.

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If Horton can hear a fucking Who on a flower, then you will eventually hear all the crazy shit people are saying or assuming. Its impossible not to. People never think that way though. It's a common occurrence, you'd think people would realize that once you say something it's out there & can't be taken back & will spread eventually. I mean, didn't most people learn that in like 2nd grade? When will people start being taught tact? Let's hope soon.

You go through your life. You cry. You laugh. You yell. You smile. You throw things. You play with your toddler. You cry in your bathroom, just thinking that you want your baby back. You go to bed, without a baby just like you wake up without a baby. Much like you explained yourself & why you didn't kill your baby, you have a new quest to explain to everyone.

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That your baby was a person. And that your baby will always be your child. But sadly, you usually get the same results...avoidance & people who just don't get it. And they never will. And you have to accept that.

If you're brave enough, you want to, & you're lucky enough, you'll get another chance at being handed a living, crying baby after delivery.

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You'll be happy.

But then you remember. You remember everything. And alot of times, people won't let your forget.

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You'll be scared shitless to try to cross over that bridge from conception to bringing baby home. Because you've learned that the bridge is long & not always sturdy. You're proof that the bridge can fall, causing your to fall & shatter into a million pieces.

And, of course, you get to deal with people again. You will live in your double standard, where it's alright to doubt yourself but you don't like the idea of anyone else doubting you. You can write on your blog how you are always surprised to hear a heartbeat, but when your husband reads it & tells you he feels the same way you don't find comfort in his worry. Instead, you hear "it's always great to know you've not killed my next baby" even when you know he doesn't think that way. When your mom asked "did you hear a good heartbeat?" you only hear "you've not killed this one yet, right?" At a point, you kinda want people to just start saying that because that is how you'll hear it anyway.

Horton saved his Who's.

You?

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You just want to make it to that good side of the bridge & hold on like hell in victory of making it. Not only for the obviously reasons, but also in part because you want to show those little birdies & all those naysayers that they suck & that you did nothing wrong last time, it was just a tragedy you were the one to have.

I hate heights, therefore I hate bridges. I'm personally holding on like hell through the entire distance.

Monday, December 28, 2009

Piccadilly's sex organs.

I previously mentioned that we were going to a 3D ultrasound place in January. But plans changed, we decided to go to a different place & they could actually get us in sooner.

Sooner as in...today.

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Piccadilly has a penis. As usual, I have a penis in my belly. How many people can say "as usual" to that phrase?

My husband, he's incapable of creating girls.

I want to name him Blair. Adam isn't totally sold, but for some reason I'm really into the idea. I think he likes the idea of Blair Benjamin, just because then his initials will be BBC & he seems to like that idea. Weirdo.

More to come soon. Just wanted to share my son.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Dear 2009, you can suck it.

Hello all. I've been missing it feels like. I meant to blog a couple nights ago, but when I sat down to do it, I found that photobucket had uploaded my pictures wrong somehow, so they were all just error messages. Lovely. I uploaded them again, but haven't had the time or energy (or wit really) to sit down & write. Of course, checking them again I just saw that they still aren't right & even though my account is still within limits, I'm unable to upload anything new. So I had to sign up for another account, yay. Third time is the charm, right?

So, here I am tonight to update you on the year that would not end for me.

Now, obviously, 2009 is forever going to be the year that sucked. And if you don't know why, you need to go back & read this blog. Dead baby, shitty family...wasn't that enough?

Well, obviously not.

Macy has never returned, offers of rewards did not bring a single tip. I'm sad. But hey, it's just one of many things to be sad over I suppose.

A few days ago I pulled out my old laptop to pull up a cheesecake recipe for Christmas dessert. Being a klutz, I dropped it a whole 4 inches. No, I didn't hurt my laptop. But it landed on my 3 month old netbook.

My netbook now has a cracked display screen. Again, lovely.

The screen is about $120, several things online say it's easy enough to do yourself, so I'm hoping to get one online & have Adam install it. Of course it's funny that it's hurt so easily when I've put my laptop through hell & it's still hanging on just fine.

Last night, after coming home from my parents house (CRAZY), Adam announced he'd found oil in our bathroom downstairs, where our washer/dryer is. He then realized the washer was pouring out oil. What's worse than your washer going out on Christmas Eve?

Well, looking up the part of course.

The part is $400, half of what the unit cost in the first place. Yet again, lovely.

So after we add in the labor to the $400 part, we're going to run kinda close to the entire cost of their washer/dryer (it's a stacked unit, in case you're wondering why I keep talking about them like they are the same thing). Plus, it will take a few weeks to get the part & have it actually repaired. And at that point, I will have wished I spent the extra $100-200 on the new washer just so I could have it sooner rather than later.

You cannot have a toddler & pets without a washer. Not possible.

Well, it is, but you just have to live in a complete mess, surrounded by dirty laundry.

Of course, I love that my cheap ass washer/dryer has a part that cost $400. In that case, the $600 we spent on it was mainly for that part. I guess the dryer works on magic since only the washer parts are expensive.

So after that news, & dealing with my mother last night, I have officially declared 2009 the worse year ever. If it can be beat, I will throw myself off a bridge because I can't deal with it.

So now, on Christmas, I've ordered a new washer/dryer, which SHOULD be here Monday. By then, every towel in the house will be dirty, as will most clothes we wear around the house, so I'll get to break it in hardcore. Lots of fun.

Speaking of lots of fun, we have a new member of the family.

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Murphy. She's a dog. From the pound.

We went to he pound to look for Macy one more time before the holidays. We discovered Murphy. She looked sad & pathetic, plus she was adorable. We wanted to get another dog, mainly for our existing dog to have a friend (sounds lame, I know, but he was lonely). But we had some rules.

First, I wanted a female. No real reason, just because.

Next, it had to be a young dog. While I'd rather give an older dog a home, we couldn't chance taking a dog home that our dog would hate, our cats would be eat by, & our son would be scared of. So we figured a puppy could be molded into whatever we wanted.

Finally, it had to be a smaller sized dog. For space & our sanity.

So we find this dog, I'm in love with her big blue eyes. And she's sweet. We look at the info on her, they say she's a "beagle mix." We talk about how small she is. We're sold on her, we take her home.

About two hours after we get home, the magical pound blindess wears off. I look at Murphy & think "beagle mix my ass." Finally, I figure out what she looks like to me.

"Honey...is our new dog a pitt?"

He thinks I'm crazy...at first. Then we really start to look at her. And we google. And we get facebook opinions from friends. Someone suggested she was a boxer/pitt mix, which we think is funny. Until, again, we look that up. We find shot after shot of our puppy basically.

Great, our dog has a taste for blood & doesn't even know it yet.

I mean, chances are she's about 23434 different dogs. But about the only dog she isn't is a beagle.

Of course, once we get over that we let Buddy in to meet her. And we're hit with "wow, we're stupid" again. She's almost the size of our dog now. And she's only 3 months old. What the fuck?

We can't be that stupid, right? We are convinced that this dog has grown by the minute & doubled in size in an afternoon. It's the only logical explanation.

Other than, you know, the fact that we're fucking stupid.

Making matters worse was tonight, when my dad came over for dinner. He was without my mom, as she was mad at me. She put me on the spot last night to try to get me to talk to my grandmother...my grandmother who is in a complete daze & a little nuts, not to mention violent, verbally & physically. I didn't want to & I didn't appreciate her just telling me I had to. Then we really ruined her night because we refused to let Jules stay all night with her...silly us, we wanted our son home on Christmas morning. So, because of those reasons, she stopped talking to me on Christmas Eve, avoided me in her house, & then refused to come to my house today. Oh well.

Back to the point. Tonight, my dad walks in & sees Murphy on the couch. What does he say in the first 5 seconds?

"That's a pitt bull, isn't it?"

Oh well, I love her, taste for blood or not. She's sweet, cute, & seems smart enough. And she gets along with everyone in the house, including the other critters. Her & Buddy Dog are in love, they play every evening & then sleep together at night. He's less jumpy in the house since he has her to run around with, which is nice. She's getting the hang of house training, sadly we aren't. She'll go when taken out, but she's not got that "let the people know I need out" thing down yet. So we're trying to learn when we need to take her out. Today was the first day she was very calm, so that was nice. I think she's going to blend in just fine. And though we're missing things, I think Murphy fills some type of void that was missing around the house.

And no matter what, the kid loves her.

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That was the first time he saw Murphy. So yeah, he's hooked. As we all are.

And even though everything is a huge pain in my ass when it comes to this holiday season, someone enjoyed it.

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And hey, that's enough for me. Well, enough for me to not jump off a bridge at this time at least. Always next year though.

But no matter what, I've got my new neato leopard print Snuggie. Oh yeah, be jealous.

And on January 9th, for those of you not stalking me on facebook, we find out what Piccadilly is. Hope for a baby what is proud of it's sex organs, please.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Piccadilly Update 12.6

Ah, sleep. I was looking forward to that last night. I was going to sleep until noon. My parents had Jules, Adam was at work, & I'd sleep. Finally. You see, the past few weeks I've had this fun issue with sleep. I had it with Jules, too. I get to sleep. But after about 2-3 hours, I'm awake. Dead tired & can't drag myself up to the bathroom, but unable to sleep for anywhere from 2-4 hours. Then, of course, by the time I curl up & get back to sleep, I have a toddler poking me & saying, "HI!" I spend the rest of my day dragging, getting nothing done, & feeling drunk by the evening because I'm just tired & out of it. Naps happen sometimes, but they don't really help matters.

So this morning, I was going to sleep. As long as I wanted. And then, I was going to lay in the damn bed all day until it was time for my 3:30 ultrasound.

As usual, I woke up around 5am, was awake until almost 8. Finally, I was able to sleep. Then Axel Rose woke up me at 8:33.

No, it wasn't a nightmare, it was my ringtone on my phone. It was the doctors office. Always a good sign.

This girl tells me the girl who made my appointment didn't usually work there, so she didn't know that on some days ultrasound had to be done by noon. Today was one of those days. So they had to have me come in at 10:30. She then goes on to tell me she's not sure my insurance will pay for another ultrasound & that it may even need precertified, then asked if I was told that. I laughed & said, "Who did you expect to tell me? The girl who didn't know when I could have an appointment?" She laughed & agreed. I tell her she can find out for me from their billing, I'm put on hold for 10 minutes, all the while thinking, "they will fucking pay for this shit, I'm the mom of a dead baby, do they really want all those bills again?" Finally she came back & told me my insruance did indeed cover it, & thinking back now I got paperwork from them weeks ago after they contacted my insurance & it already stated that they would all be covered.

I'm not much of a thinker at 8:30.

She goes on to look for my doctors appointment, then ask when it was suppose to be, I told her around 4 I'd guess since it was after the ultrasound. She looks & there is nothing. Great. So she tells me to just tell them when I'm done & see if they can fit me in, otherwise she'd put me in at 4 & I'd have to come back.

Fun.

So I hang up, text Adam let him know about the ultrasound. Thankfully he could come, as it was during this planning period. I was happy because all I really could think was "great, I'm going to have them tell me my baby is dead & I'll be alone for it this time."

Mind you, I have no reason to think the baby was dead. I just did. It's a natural feeling at this time. I was really convinced they'd find nothing but a tiny 6 week looking blob that stopped growing weeks ago. I had it all planned out in my head. Just like before my first ultrasound when I was convinced he/she was dead then, too, & I was trying to decided if I would want a D&C or wait for "nature to take it's course." Yes, I was trying to decide without knowing anything was wrong. Pretty sure that's a way of life for people in my shoes.

Anyway, I'm awake at that point because I have to be. I drag out to my frozen car & drive to the office. Adam gets there. I get to the window & tell her who I am, she can't find my paperwork. She then says, "Oh, wait, are you the one they are fitting in?" I felt like that made this sound like my fault, so I responded with, "Well, they gave me an incorrect appointment & just told me 90 minutes ago, so I guess."

We wait. And we wait. People get called back. Sue. Mary. Jane. All random made up names, but you get the point. Then I hear, "Mrs. Culver."

Why am I Mrs. Culver? When I hear that, I cringe & look around for my mother in law. And when everyone else gets called back by their first names, why don't I? Same thing last time I had a scan as well. Weird.

I go back. She tells me undo my pants, which I'm really only use to hearing after someone has bought me dinner, but I comply anyway. She shot some hot gel on my stomach (yeah, write your own joke for that one) & went looking for the baby.

Amazingly, she found out. And it looked like a baby. And it had a heartbeat. It was weird, because I really didn't expect that.

I know, I know, I need to stop.

Anyway, the baby must have been on a sugar high somehow, because it was all over the place. And the technician was at a mini war with my uterus tenant, trying to get shots of him/her holding still at the right angles. Much like with Jules, she used her magical ultrasound wand thingy to jab my stomach with, making the baby fly around like it's in an earthquake. I think at one point I saw a thought bubble that said, "what the hell is going on?!"

Finally, she got everything she needed & told me I could clean up & get up. I did both, only for her to realize she didn't measure the whole baby. You know, that most common thing. So I had to lay down again & peek at Piccadilly again so she could measure. Right on the nose, 12 weeks & 6 days. Perfection.

I bid Adam fellware & went to my doctors window, started to tell her the story but she stopped me, knowing who I was, & told me they'd get me in. Fabulous. As I sit down I see an older lady across me filling out her new patient paperwork. This woman would soon feel my wrath.

Back story. When we lost Joel, I had to go to a doctors office the next morning to get orders for lab work & the induction. Of course, I didn't have an appointment. They worked me in & when I got there, knowing my situation, they told me they'd give me the next available room so I wouldn't have to sit around a room full of pregnant women. While I waited about 20 minutes, a couple women were, well, bitches. They were angry tey were having to wait. They were angry that people they felt more important than were getting called back first. They kept going to the window to complain about how people who came after them were getting called back. They kept threatening to leave. Part of me was hoping they would say something when I got called back, before them of course. I really wanted to blurt out, "Yeah, well, I'm more special than you, I have to go deliver my dead baby, so shut the hell up." Yeah, I wanted to say it & I would have, but sadly they didn't say anything. Of course that wasn't my only encounter with them. When I had to go to the lab, I saw them AGAIN, along with a guy who was bitching & moaning about waiting 10 minutes. They were still bitching as well.

Now, I hate to wait. I have no patience. But on that day, I swore to myself to never be one of those people. I'm sitting there, been crying for hours, waiting to endure more hell, & they are mad that they have to wait? I would have waited all damn day instead of having to go through what I was going through.

So yeah, I have a very low tolerance of people bitching & moaning about waiting at doctors offices now.

So I sit there & wait. I wait almost an hour. Other people get called back, people who were there after me. You see, different nurses work with different doctors & midwives, so people who were called back weren't seeing my doctor. They have several doors for different doctors. It's a simple process really. But this woman wasn't having it. She was complaining to her husband, who was reading & didn't care. As a little more time passed, she bitched more. Mind you, while she'd been waiting a while, she was there early for the paperwork so while she may have waited 45 minutes, she really was only about 10 minutes pass her appointment time. At one point, the doctor himself came out to get a woman who'd been at the lab & ultrasound earlier. She seemed sad. As he took her back, he talked about levels dropping & they expected that because of the symptoms, but maybe it would get better & to come back in a couple days to another check of the levels. It sounded like this woman was having a miscarriage. I felt for her.

The older lady started bitching about that woman getting called back, even though it was clear to all of us that something bad was going on. She was speaking loudly, I'm thinking she was hoping the employees would hear her & I guess pull her back. She started saying things like, "I want to know what all these girls have done for their special treatment" & was just going on & on about it. She started talking about waiting people, pointing & describing everyone, saying how they'd get called before her at this rate. She started talking about the people leaving. She was just awful. She took it upon herself to point to me finally & says, "Hmmm. I bet that girl in the green will get called back before me & go even though she even knows I was here first" almost as if she was daring me to get called & actually go back, like I should tell the nurse, "No, take her, she was here first!"

At that point, I decided to speak up because I'm a bitch & no one is going to out bitch me anywhere.

I said, "Excuse me, do I know you? Who are you?" in a concerned tone.

She was surprised, & said she didn't know me. I told her I knew she didn't know me, but since she was sitting over there acting as though she was more important than the rest of us when it comes to medical care, I figured she had to be someone important or famous.

She was floored. The woman to the left of me bit her lips as to hold back a laugh. The husband looked up at me, amused, like he was waiting for someone to say something to her.

She just stared at me. I was hoping she'd say something, anything. But she didn't. She made a loud, unhappy grunt

She stayed quiet the next 5 minutes until the nurse came back out. I was hoping I would get called, just because I'm evil, but they called her. And, being a bitch, I then congratulated her on her turn.

*sigh* I felt at that moment that tired or not, I was in good form today.

I finally get my turn in the back. He comes in & tells me, "you're early!" I explain I wasn't, that they screwed up. I asked for something to help me sleep, he gave it to me. My blood test came back fine. He offered me an amino because the specialist said I should have it offered, I passed & he said he knew I would. Keep doing what I'm doing, scan looked great, call if I need anything. He told me come back in a month because "soon enough, you're going to be here all the time." I told him I might just move into his garage. He didn't say no. He wished me a Merry Christmas, I told him to have the same.

I came home & still didn't sleep. I collected things for our "Find Macy Mission." Still no Macy, but I have hope still. A little. But if my cat isn't home by like Christmas Eve, I already told Adam I'm going to cancel Christmas. I'm throwing out the tree, turning the breaker off on the lights, & sitting in a corner with my arms crossed angry.

After plastering the town with flyers about our cat, we went to Applebees, where we got nothing we wanted. Seriously, I wanted potato skins & they were out. They messed up Adam's dinner & created something that didn't even exist, so he didn't get what he wanted but took it because he's nice & they asked him to. They turned his shrimp pasta into some sort of shrimp kabobs over rice. Sounds like an easy mix up, huh? They got mine wrong by slathering it in ranch dressing, which I hate with a passion. They made it again really quick using the chicken they already had cooking for some other meal that was coated in some awful sauce, which the manager then tried to convince me was the same thing they'd always put on it, along with the ranch. I didn't complain, I was just going to eat & go home, but he came along & asked & at that point it was just funny to me. He couldn't tell me why I'd never got it before in my life (I seriously order the same thing all the time) & even Adam agreed it was never there before & he had never tasted anything like it when he'd ordered it himself. Adam said it tasted like what they put on the garlic bread, which is extra good since garlic makes me sick. Of course what was really funny to us is that this Applebees goes through managers like I've never seen. They have a new one every 2-3 months, so this guy who was totally new & we'd never seen, tried to tell me that sauce was on the chicken for about 2 year now. I wanted to say, "Listen dude, you've been here 3 hours, don't tell me what has been used on the food for 2 years." So after that mess, the manager just gave us our meal on the house. In between fussing at the girl who seats people for walking too fast & telling servers to gather around so he could lecture them about how their shirts should be tucked in. The server felt so bad he didn't want to take the tip & asked if we were sure because we didn't have to. How pathetic is that?

We finally picked up our boy & came home to the mess of the house we live in. I'm sill waiting for the magical cleaning gnomes to show up.

And that was our day. And I didn't get to sleep in. Or a nap. I didn't even get to watch a TV show I wanted to watch because I was busy watching Sesame Street instead. Wonder who requested that one?

But magical clean gnomes or not, correct food at Applebees or not, I've got a Piccadilly. And I hope to have my Macy soon, too.

Here is the baby looking at you. Everyone wave at Piccadilly, he/she can see you through your computer.

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And here is Piccadilly picking his/her nose. Alright, it's more likely they are sucking a finger or thumb, but the picking their nose thing is funnier. And I'm all about the funny.
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I've decided what I want for Christmas.

It's something I might be able to actually get back.

My cat, Macy.

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Macy is a sad story. She showed up, near starvation, in June 2008, as we were on our way out to get Jules pictures taken. I'd seen her around, but she was always too scared to come around me. Well, being starved changed things. After that, she was a frequent visitor to our house. After several days, I was able to pet her & realized she had signs of nursing kittens. We then discovered that she had a "owner" who just didn't feed her. When we asked them about her, they argued that she was near death because she'd just had 6 kittens. Yeah, sure. Over time Macy became more friendly & a more frequent visitor. Then, one day, I realized she was bloating up some. No, she wasn't gaining weight finally, she had more kittens in her belly. Last September, Macy had 5 kittens, most of which we still own because we were too paranoid to give them away.

No worries, we had her fixed & all the kittens fixed as well. And Macy has been ours since. We also got Macy use to people, friendly, & killed all her fleas. She adopted us because, well, wouldn't you if you were in her shoes?

Until Saturday the 12th, that is. That was the last day we saw her. She's been missing since.

While she's wondered around before, she's never been gone this long. We gave it until today before we actually got worried. So now I'm worried.

So since I've placed ads everywhere, checked the pound (saddest experience of my life) & we're posting flyers tomorrow, I figured what the hell & decided to post here as well, since I know a few people from Huntington read this from time to time. We're offering a reward for info to help us find her. And honestly, I'm just not emotionally able to loose anything else in 2009. So, if you're from Huntington, WV or anywhere near, please feel free to pass along Macy's info. I want my kitty home.

You can leave me contact info here or through facebook (which you can get to from my facebook badge on the left side of the page here) & I'll provide you with real contact info for me or contact you myself if you choose to give me your number or email address.

And to prove how much I want my kitty home, I've actually wrote an entire entry about a cat & didn't make one single pussy joke. That shows how serious I am people.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Vegas interrupted...A Christmas Story.

Ho, ho, ho.

No, I'm not talking about the girls who use to date my husband, I'm talking Christmas.

I use to love Christmas, & looking back I'm not really sure why. It was the same every year...about 3 weeks before, my mom's family would go nuts. Seriously ,they'd go nuts. Eventually my mom would suck it up & drag me to her mom's house, where we'd walk in with my grandma making bad food & dropping ashes from her smokes into the gravy, while my aunt made out with her latest boyfriend on the couch. We'd pretend to eat & my mom would call & check on my dad. Oh yes, my dad. It was amazing, he was sick every damn Christmas & bed ridden. Later in my life he'd confess what I always figured, that he'd get up out of bed as soon as he heard us pull out of the driveway & enjoy his crazy free day. Back to my Christmas though. We'd open gifts & I'd get some age inappropriate gift...like when I was 14 & got tinkertoys. My grandma & aunt would discuss when they were going to take back the gifts we'd gotten them. Then my grandma would announce she'd be dead by next Christmas, so to enjoy her this year since it'd be the last.

That was just a threat, the old lady is still alive & kicking (well, punching really) to this day.

So yeah, looking back I'm not sure why I liked Christmas. I think I was delusional.

Last Christmas sucked because of things going on with my husband's nutty family, who really put my family's issues to shame but I'll spare you that grief.

This Christmas sucks because obvious reasons I believe. But this year, I felt like I had an obligation to the toddler who lives in my house to create Christmas. And that I did...cursing all the way through it. Here is that epic adventure, in pictures of course.

First, I'll just throw this out there just because. I know lots of my friends are down with Jesus & that reason for the season. At the risk of alienating many of my friends, I'll admit at this moment that I'm, well, let's say a "non-believer." I'm cool with anything you believe & respect those views. But for me, I've never had them & I doubt I ever will & I can only hope others can give me that same respect. So my Christmas is the one with Frosty the Snowman & that fat red guy who breaks into your house.

Our first mission was to get a tree.

There are two problems with that. The first is that I'm cheap. Where I grew up, you could get some huge ass tree for like $25 or less. So that's what I'm use to. When I moved to the "big city" of Huntington, I had to get use to buying $45 trees. That's a jump, but I'm willing to do it. I'll get to the 2nd problem a little later.

Anyway, I kinda lied, because the first mission was buying wrapping paper. Because we have gifts to wrap. Yay. Being the big spender I am for paper that's going to be ripped apart, I went to fancy Big Lots, making Adam meet me there as well so we could get a tree.

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Doesn't he look excited?

I'd planend to get a tree at a new place this year, one that promises to "give money to children." It was there, so I thought it'd be easy.

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I'd gotten cash out of the ATM on the way, getting the regular $60, knowing that'd be enough for some dying tree 2 weeks before Christmas. Of course, I kinda felt bad because a 70 year old man was working the lot & I really didn't want to make grandfather time lift trees for me.

We walked over to this little lot & I about died. The trees went up to $90. They were all over the price scale. And I'm not talking about different types....the exact same trees were different prices. Not different heights or anything, two identical looking trees would be like $74 or $77. There seemed to be no reason to this madness. Of course, I was just curious about what person had the time to price each & every tree individually. I'm use to one type of tree or one height of tree being one price, other types or heights another price. But not at this lot. At this lot, grandfather time spent hours examining each tree, making sure to fuck me as hard as he could on the price. As I stared at overpriced trees, trying to find out what made one $3 cheaper than the other, he came over to me & said, "You know, those are only good if you have a tall ceiling." I wanted to respond with, "Actually, these are only good if I want to feel like throwing money into the wind" but I didn't.

We finally loaded up & decided to go to old trusty, our regular tree lot in town. Not only can you get trees there, but you can get...

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HOTDOGS!

The trees were all taking a nap.

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OK, not really. We had a wind storm, so they were trying to protect the trees.

When I got there, Adam was already there because he zipped in front of me at some point & me, being a fucking idiot, missed my turn so I had to drive around the really long way. Adam & the tree guy had picked up one tree. The guy tells Adam, "we could cut this off to make it about 6 foot."

SIX FOOT?! What the fuck?!

I asked Adam why we were talking about chopping trees down to 6 foot & the tree guy jump in all paranoid & said, "he told me you'd want one about 6 foot!" Um, no. We have insanely high ceiling on the first floor of our house, I might as well take advantage of them.

I always feel bad looking at trees, like I'm bothering someone since they have to lift them & stuff, so I really try to pick something quick to avoid being a pain in their asses. Finally, I agree on this tree, not cut down to 6 foot of course.

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The guy saw I had a camera & got all freaked out. Not in a bad way, but he was very into letting me take pictures if I wanted, like he was willing to pose for them or something. Being cold, I didn't have time to think of any funny pictures to take, so I told him no worries & to just put the tree in the car & take my $45.

You may be wondering why Adam & I drove alone. Easy. My car is the real car. Adam's car is....well, it's useful once a year for me, to shove a tree in it's ass. I mean trunk.

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Then the guy working with tree guy always has to get helpful hints & tips about how to tie the trunk down. But for once, this guy didn't seem to think it was weird that he was shoving a tree into our cars trunk. I, of course, start in on "we do this every year, it's fine!" when we are getting somewhat odd looks.

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Adam? He's just proud.

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He then, yet again, zips through traffic instead of letting me stay behind him. Just in case, I'd rather a tree crash into my car than a strangers. Eventually, I catch up with him.

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But when we get to the house, we are burning daylight, so we need to move along to the real shit...decorating the house.

Adam carefully put away the light last time we used them.

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*sigh*

I ask Adam to get me a hoodie so I can work outside instead of my coat & he does.

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He gets me the one with the most fuzz & cat hair possible. Thanks, honey.

He gets on the roof...in the wind storm that did damage to our roof.

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He's insured.

Me? I work with candy canes.

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Fun story with those. We used them the first year in our house, in 2007, when I was 9 months pregnant with Jules. My dad has packed it all up & dropped it off for us since it was in his garage when I moved here. I go to put them in the ground & there are no stakes. So my 9 month pregnant butt spent hours outside heaving candy canes into the frozen ground. When we were almost done, we opened the last decoration & what falls out? All the stakes. My dad didn't pack them with the canes, but with a fucking deer. Even worse? I have no idea whatever happened to those things. So, once again, I'm pregnant, in the cold, heaving candy canes into the cold, yet thankfully not frozen, ground. Fun times.

I'll be honest, the only decoration I really care about it my 8 foot tall Frosty inflatable.

I want to explain that I got Frosty before inflatables were popular or cool, I bought him at Rite Aid for $80 in like 2002, he next year hose damn inflatables were everywhere. I like to pretend I started a trend. A tacky, awful trend.

So I couldn't wait to set him up.

Please note, I've never done it myself. I had my dad for years, then I had Adam. So I have no idea why I decided to brave him. I guess because I love him.

First, I plugged him in so I could figure out how he would need to be staked into the ground. I felt joy as his creepy body plumped up.

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Followed by his creepy face.

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Then I danced with him.

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Then I held on for dear life, as Frosty was trying to send me down onto the ground with a vicious back hand of Christmas joy to my face.

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Then it was Adam's turn to get destroyed by Frosty.

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The darkness moves in & Christmas joy is glowing in our yard.

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Please note, I did everything...but the roof lights. Adam worked so hard, huh? I think he stays on the roof so he doesn't have to heave candy canes into the yard. That's the perfect job for your knocked up wife.

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In a perfect world I would have had single strands of lights for my dead trees, but I didn't so that works just as well.

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My penguins don't sit near each other, this is my display of most teenager/parent relationships. My decorations have meanings behind them.

I decided it was time to come in when I saw slugs.

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Ugh.

Here is the tree area nice & prepared.

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Here is Adam bringing in the tree.

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I thought about flipping that around the right way, but I realized this was better. You actually get to see the tree standing this way.

Remember earlier I mentioned that 2nd problem with trees? Well, ours fall.

In 2006, we had to use fish wire to hold up our tree, attaching it to a table & a curtain rod to keep in standing. In 2007, that was a bad year. There was more than once when it fell over, once breaking the stand at 11pm, so Adam stayed home holding it up since it was decorated & I, 9 months pregnant, got to go out tree stand shopping. Fun. Last year, it was propped up with various items to keep the stand balanced.

This year it wasn't that different.

Here is Adam in his normal state when we have a tree in the house.

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He eventually gets it standing, for me to announced it needed moved over some to center it.

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I left that picture flipped wrong since that's how the tree ended up for most of the night.

Once Adam moved it, it just fell over. He then "fixed" it. *sigh*

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And, you guessed it, he fixed it again.

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I stopped taking pictures because he thought I was making him look stupid. Yeah, I make him look stupid...

He then looks at me & says, "you think we could put the stand on with it laying down?" I explain "uh, yeah, that's how my dad always did it." He then yelled at me because I'd never told him that in all these years. Mind you, I thought he just did it his way. Then he explained that he's doing it how his family did it, yes, & that it took all 4 people to get it to stand & it would take a decent amount of time. Unlike my family, where only my dad did it & it took like 4 minutes.

OK, sure, I could have told him that helpful tip years ago. But I thought he knew what he was doing. Plus, he always gets annoyed when doing the tree & end up just telling me to stop laughing & hold the tree still. If I can't laugh at him, I can't talk, so I just have to shut up.

We finally got the tree standing.

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Of course, I noticed after the fact that it's basically in the same place it was before I had him move it, causing it to fall. Of course, this time it was crooked. Lovely. It leans toward the window from time to time, we just shove it back in place. It moves in the stand rather easy. Impressive...or scary, depending on how you look at it.

I then wrapped some gifts...the insane amount of gifts we have for Jules.

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There is really nothing I want more than to spoil my children rotten on Christmas. Seriously, I want them to have so much stuff that they don't know what to do with themselves. My parents always got me great gifts, even when money was tight, I do not remember a Christmas I was disappointed. That's the one thing I'd like to do the same as my parents did with my children.

That was my touching moment of the blog. Back to jokes.

The cats just hung out.

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Which is better than getting in the tree, as we worried they would.

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On a side note, they've still left it alone. Amazing really. Last year they tried to get in it & even ended up chewing on the lights to the point where I was thinking we'd have electrocuted kitty for Christmas dinner.

The next day our son came home from the night at his grandparents. We had a tree last year, but I'm not sure he remembers it of course. So this year, I was excited to see what he'd do.

He saw it. Looked at it for a moment. Then picked up a roll of wrapping paper & proceeded to whack the tree.

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Over & over.

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I thought it was the most hysterical thing I'd ever seen. Seriously. He's even considerate enough to pick up rolls of paper to hand to us so we can beat the tree, too.

Adam decided to take Jules outside to show him Frosty while I put lights on the tree. I bought new lights, not only because some of them were shorted out because of kitty cats last year, but really just because it was easier than going to search for them in the basement.

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I also like how they give you extra bulbs.

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Seriously? Am I the only one who loses them in the floor within 5 minutes, only to step on them somehow 7 months later & wonder how the hell they got where they were? I hate those things, I throw them away as soon as I see them.

Speaking of lights, did you realize hey come with directions?

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It basically tells you "using this product will eventually cause your house to burn down." Seriously, that's about. That way I guess they can't be held responsible when your house is crispy because your dead tree caught fire. Have you ever thought about that really? You're putting fire hazards on drying out firewood IN YOUR HOUSE. Be sure to pay your homeowners insurance when decorating for holidays.

I finally got my lights on the tree though.

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Then my son whacked it some more.

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Then he got into the ornament container.

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Like got into it...didn't just get things out like you talk about when gets "get into everything," he put himself in it & proudly walked around like a boy in a bubble. Or tube.

The next day (on day 3, if you're keeping track), I finally get him to stay out of the plastic container & to start to put ornaments onto the tree.

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Isn't it sweet?

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Don't let him fool you, he's evil. Since then, he's un-decorated the tree about 12 times. I still have about 30 of the 100 ornaments all over the floor at any given moment. It's lovely, really lovely.

And if you're curious, he still whacks the tree. Of course that's my fault, as I find it hysterical & take pictures & videos of it. We've managed to keep our tilting tree up, for the most part. The couple times it's started it's slow fall we've managed to catch it. Catching it is totally an improvement over the yearly crashing we're use to.

Whacking the tree has made the Christmas crap a little easier to deal with. If you don't believe me, check out the video. And hear me talk about "them lights." I'm a classy broad with a nice dolphin laugh. Enjoy.



Anyone want to come wrap all the gifts? It'd be really nice of you. I'll even let you take a couple whacks at the tree if you'd like.

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