Epic Fail

Cervix of steel.

2012-01-27T21:11:00.002-05:00

Every pregnancy I've had, I've had a cervix of steel. I went almost 42 weeks with Jules & never dilated one single bit. In fact, I've never naturally dilated. I've always had medications to do it for me. With Blair, that didn't even happen since he was cut out of me.

Today was my 20 (really 19) week scan. Baybee was fine. What we could see of him, since he wasn't very into the idea of being peeked at.

I go see my doctor after. I tell him all of my non-pregnancy related problems. Then, still smiling, he tells me there was one thing he noticed that had nothing to do with the baybee. I thought this was going to be minor & not important.

"Your cervix is shorter than it should be...blah blah blah, I'm talking but you're not listening because you've just heard your baby is fine but your body might kill your baby. And I'm smiling while hoping you don't start hysterically crying like I see you're wanting to right now."

Some of that I made up, but the point is my cervix of steel is shortening, which means I'm at risk for miscarriage & preterm labor in general.

WTF cervix? Seriously?!

I smile & nod in response, while he explained what this meant, which I already knew. And more than anything, I knew this could result in a very bad ending. But things will be peachy, so says the doc, who then gives me 2 weeks worth of Crinone 8%, which is a fancy name vagina gel, & tells me to come back in 2 weeks to see if it's helped "and go from there."

OH OKAY!!!

I stand there awaiting my samples and making my next appointment still with this perky, wide eyed look on my face. If anyone said, well, anything, I was likely to cut someone. Part of me hoped the annoying nurse would pop up & demand my urine again, as I wanted to yell at her anyway. That would have just been a two birds with one stone deal.

I mean, it's nice for my cervix to catch up with the rest of me & be incompetent, but come on.

So I get my purse full of vagina gel...

...and go to Logans. Because when you find out you're going to need vagina gel until 36 weeks (oh did I forget to mention that I'm going to use it till then if we don't need to do anything more drastic?), you need some rolls.

I'm not sure how one really says Crinone...but I like to imagine it as "Cry None." You know, use this right & you cry none because you won't kill your baybee. As I sit at Logan's I ponder what I've done that could have made my cervix angry. I'm scared to even cough now, thinking it'll just shoot open. When people came to the table & asked how we were, I wanted to explain what I had in my purse and ask if they knew anything about vagina gel. That'd be a real help at that point. I jokingly offered to leave a box as a tip. I would have seriously considered it, but this shit isn't covered by my insurance so I've got to be greedy with it. Funny enough, the lower dosage is so if I have to continue this stuff I'll have to use what my insurance pays for & use it TWICE a day to make up for the half sized dose. Oh yeah, it just got better didn't it?

I tried for the rest of the night to convince myself things were alright. Then the baybee started dancing in my belly to Billy Joel's "Moving Out." And I could see him packing up his placenta & wanting out. Following that was "Life Goes On."

Not funny, fate. Not funny at all.

I'm convinced I'm going to end up with my cervix stitched up. Not that I want to do anything I don't have to do, I hope it's a false alarm somehow, but I'd really like the best chance possible of not going through another life altering experience. I've had this bad feeling my entire pregnancy, & honestly expected crappy news all this time. I just never thought it would be something I could truly blame my body for. On top of this, I'm now on blood pressure meds to try to help my constant headaches. Because I didn't take enough pills before anyway. And now I've got vagina gel.

And no, I have no idea why I like the phrase vagina gel. I think it sounds silly & makes it feel less serious.

Everyone is telling me, "It's fine, things will be OK!" but the last time I heard that my baby died. So as much as I joke about this situation, it really sucks. Like alot. All jokes aside, I don't think I could survive anything else happening. I'm not even sure I'd want to.

I've tried learning as much as possible in a few short hours. I've learned that this sucks. Don't google. Ever. Of course, the insert wasn't very helpful either. Like I saw this...

And I freaked out because I've never had a papsdjfhdshjdrkjwre smear! It took me 10 minutes to realize that was a pap smear. Doh.

And these people apparently want me to make this a romantic scene with my vagina gel.

I guess I'm suppose to seduce myself slightly before?

I do have a baby though. Here he is all like 'don't fuckin' stare, bitches."

Such a foul mouth he has.

Blair's first picture with his little brother...

And then there was Jules...

We actually tried to show him different things in the pictures, but he was too busy watching The Pink Panther to care. Only when he heard, "and that's his penis" did Jules actually look over & ask where the penis was. Then he loudly announced, "Oh yes, there it is" & went right back to The Pink Panther.

Here Reid is kicking. Hopefully not my precious snowflake of a cervix...

And I worry he needs an exorcist to visit him in the womb...

Baybee look mad!

Baybee look like a baybee.

Hope he doesn't mind vagina gel.

And me? I love that I now get to play both fields this pregnancy. I have to keep him in so he won't die, but I also have to get him out before he dies. It's a balancing act with high stakes. If I could, I'd be drinking heavily right now.

I'm surrounded by penis.

2011-12-24T17:09:00.003-05:00

Everyone say hi to Reid.

Well, his penis anyway.

This is Reid McCoy Culver. As of yesterday, we knew he was in fact a he. And as of today, he's got his own special tag on my blog.

Of course with happy news comes aggravation.

No, we cannot star in a remake of "My 3 Sons" now. We already have 3 sons. This is our 4th.

No, don't be sad because I "didn't get a girl" or tell me how hard you were hoping & praying for this baby to be a girl. I don't care what we have. Seriously. I don't. I want alive. If you're the hoping & praying type, do it for a living baby. That is so much more important & concerning to me than male or female.

I'll get off my soap box now.

Happy gift giving & getting day, folks.

Hey, remember when I use to blog?

2011-12-18T16:27:00.003-05:00

Yeah, I don't either.

Alot has gone on in the world of Jessica Culver the pass several weeks.

Let us review.

I have a new job. Seems like I say that alot. Same place, I'm just now special. I'm a case manager, working full time. It's fun because we get breakfast sometimes.

And I wear a princess crown. Just because.

I'z still got a baybee in me.

Dottie, as I've labeled him/her, is all like "Hey hey hey!" We go on the 23th to find out if this baby has indoor or outdoor plumbing. At 9:20pm. Almost 3 hours away.

I've got some dedication.

Jules turned 4 on 12/14.

I went in with 30 balloons.

I made cupcakes.

Blair has been reminding me that my breastmilk wasn't very good because he's been sick. We now own a nebulizer!

AND WE WERE REALLY EXCITED!

Then, because he had so much fun at urgent care a few weeks before, he decided to face plant near the stairs & bust his chin open.

That is Blair awaiting his 5 stitches.

Here is Blair after his 5 stitches.

He obviously got over it quickly.

And 6 days later they came out & life went on.

Overall, they are just fucking awesome.

Not long ago I got pulled over for speeding. Jules was angry, yelling "you were just following those other fast cars!" I got off with a warning, which Jules still didn't like.

I hope this isn't a sign of how he feels about authority as he grows.

We are now, like many of you crazy fucks, are getting ready for the holidays. I'z a wrapping gifts.

Be impressed.

I tried to be festive & listen to Christmas music, but it sucked because they are full of lies.

Anyone who thinks it's the most wonderful time of the year obviously have never wrapped ill shaped toys. People who create package shapes are assholes. Seriously. "I COULD make this a square, but it's make it a fucking hexagon just to scare with the poor saps who paid too much for this for their kid." That's how I imagine the discussion goes in the toy factory.

Truth be told, I'm pretty tormented this holiday season. I feel like this whole dead baby thing isn't just a thing to deal with, but a roller coaster. Constantly up and down. I don't expect to get over it, but I would like to cope better. I would like to not relive it so often. I'd like, well, some fucking peace. Screw world peace, I'd settle for inner peace. I'm not sure if it's being pregnant or just the fact that my baby died that's making this time of year so hard, but like everything else related to Joel that'll just be another question I'll never know the answer to.

And that's what's going on in my life. I'll try to do better, I really will.

How babies are made and other life altering discoveries.

2011-10-17T21:30:00.001-04:00

Apparently I’m a breeder.
I’d love to argue that, but jeesh, I kinda am. I love how I say “kinda” because that makes it right. The truth is that I am. I’m a breeder. I’m trying to accept this fact. I really am.
Thankfully, I’m surrounded by total strangers who are more than happy to tell me I’m a breeder.

“…so you wanted your kids this close together?”
Yes, strange lady in the doctors office, I did. Already had small kids, why not add another now instead of later?
“Hmph! Whatever you think, Ms. Jessica!”
I’m so glad this person could totally read my deep, inner thoughts asking for her opinion that I didn’t even know I’d had.
“Was this planned?”

Planned as in I went off birth control or planned as in we had pie charts & graphs? You need to be specific.
“You know how babies are made don’t you? Hehehe”
No. Please tell me.
That sure shut up the hehehe.

“You know, they are saying on TV that if you take Zoloft you should sue because your baby will have birth defects.”
Blair doesn’t have a tail. But that’s for your medical/legal opinion, lady working the front desk answering phone calls.

I'm happy it's happening all early this time around. That just makes it more fun. And by fun, I mean more interesting stories for blogs.

Do over.

2011-10-14T00:25:00.002-04:00

Current doctors office feels that this baybee in my belly is viable.

No bleeding or anything makes me feel better about that as well. And, for shits & giggles, all the test I've taken since have been positive.

The ultrasound on the 1st will give us the final answer, but until then I got my knocked up chick goodie bag.

...and coupons as if I were a smoker.

I dunno.

And I've got a couple awesome boys.

This shit better work out.

How are you celebrating Pregnancy & Infant Loss month?

2011-10-10T19:14:00.002-04:00

I’m one of those people who go all out, so to celebrate pregnancy & infant loss month I had a dead baby.

…yeah, soak that in, peeps.

A while back I told you we decided to try to breed again.

Apparently we did.

On my cheapo test I had negatives & positives…it was back & forth in the same day, for days. I decided my batch of test just sucked, so I bought I fancy overpriced store test & peed on it.

Truth is, I had a coupon. So I saved $2. Go me!

Anyway, I peed. That little hourglass blinked. And blinked more. I figured it was going to be negative because shouldn’t positive results pop up fast?

Well, not always. Because it popped up at the 3 minute mark. Finally.

And with that, I was safe. I told the world!

Then, hours later, I took the 2nd test in the box for shits & giggles. It took just as long, but I wasn’t worried. I’m pregnant!

Or not.

Confused? Let’s compare.

Still confused? Same here.

Long story short, I was directed to the evil hospital I hates lab. They would do blood test for pregnancy without a doctors order & give results within 2 hours! Much better than going to the doctor & getting blown off a week from now. So I got my exact change of $10 & set out to the lab.

I got my blood drawn like a good little solider. I even made a fucking doctors appointment because I’m pregnant, right? Right!

I called.

I’m not.

My hCg levels are barely what a positive at like 2 weeks out has to be at the minimum, like the very minimum. I should be 4 weeks. So it’s likely a chemical pregnancy. Hence the back & forth test results, chemical pregnancies are famous for that apparently. Learn something new everyday!

Of course, the real fun here is that I have to go to my doctors appointment tomorrow & they will do further blood work, but I’ll also receive my goody bag of baby things I’m sure.

Honestly, as I type this, I’m trying to convince myself things are fine. I did this convincing thing before…on the drive to get induced with Joel. He was still dead though. And I waited for him to cry after he was delivered but guess what? Dead.

Sure, there is still a chance. I’ve had friends tell me their levels are as low as mine & they have baybees now. But a bitch hasn't been that lucky before. Or even if this is a miscarriage, I can have another baybee. I sure did after Joel, so this shouldn’t be any different. But honestly? I can’t do it. I can’t see myself risking this shit again. And I’m not really sure I can survive 9 months of waiting for yet another dead baby.

My genes, body, or whatever else has failed me again. So I’m pretty sure I quit now. After whatever happens with this. As fucked as it may sound, I'm not even sad over the dead baby idea as much as I am feeling like a complete failure of being able to keep one alive.

Oh. It was nice coming into work after this & seeing my newly popped co-worker. And I can't wait until Wednesday with my class full of preggos, including the professor whose taken to rubbing her belly through class lectures.

Doing it again.

2011-09-14T22:18:00.000-04:00

Being stupid, we’ve been talking about breeding again.

There are various reasons this is stupid. Allow me to list some.

Money.

Money.

Money.

Money.

Oh, & money.

OK, there are more specific reasons but at the end of the day it’s the money aspect. For example, our house is wee. To have more room, you need money. Kids need clothes and everything else. Money. I’m not sure if we can fit an extra baybee in our car. Need money for a new car.

So see? Money. Makes the world go around.

Of course, now that I’ve accepted that we CAN make it work by some miracle, I’m remembering how involved pregnancy after Joel was. I’ve not even thought about how scary and stressful it is, I’m talking about the ultrasounds. The doctors visits. That last trimester of weekly visits & scans. Waiting to be told your baby is dead every time. The extra blood work to make sure homocysteine levels are good. Taking an insane amount of pills, mainly folic acid, to ensure my homocysteine levels have a chance of staying good so I can avoid blood thinners. Taking MORE pills to ensure the folic acid I’m taking gets the best chance of being absorbed as possible. I took at least a dozen of these pills every night because my insurance hates me & refuses to pay for the pill that I can take ONE of a night & be everything. But since they won’t pay & I can’t pay (see, money) the $200 a month for the pills, I’m stuck with taking my own super combo of hell.

I hate taking pills. So much.

I’d, again, be the time bomb everyone is waiting to detonate. I get to be the knocked up girl who many wonder “why is she risking it again?!” Always fun.

I’d be sick. Tired. Feel like crap.

So really nothing new there.

There are times I feel like a shitty mom anyway, do I really need to add another in the mix? Nothing major there, just the tired & running late for work Jess with crying or questioning children. It’s a fun frustration that I’m sure all parents know.

Then I wonder WHY I would want to do this again. And to be honest, the most disturbing answer is this…I want to know if I can.

There are various reasons, that’s not the main one, but it does bother me that part of me wants to do it as…an experiment? I want to see that I can indeed grow and birth a living baby. I’m selfish like that.

I wrote all that a few days ago. I was full of confusion. I was full of doubt. Fear. Can’t forget the fear. But something clicked. I look at it & realize that down the road I’ll wonder what if. And I have a lifetime of what if crap to deal with for the rest of my life.

And, with that, my IUD was pulled out.

We’re gonna make a baby.

Hold on, folks. We’re in for a hell of a ride, no matter what the outcome is.

Hi again.

2011-09-11T00:26:00.001-04:00

So I apparently took the summer off blogging.

Here is what you’ve missed.

Jules is now in 3 year old preschool.

Still no hair cut. He doesn’t even like me to cut mine. He tells me, “if it gets in your eyes, just shake your head!” He also has been introduced to Pez candy & Patrick Swayze.

Blair is full of awesome.

He’s really just a baby, so nothing major to report, but he’s so cute I can’t stand it.

Jules is full of awesome & imagination. Here he is taking a bath.

He had his first show & tell last week. He took a Batman toy. He told the class, “This is Batman. He’s cool & fancy. My mom takes me to his place to get ice cream…Batman & Robbins.”

Adam is in the world of stand up.

We go out a lot…but only for stand up.

We got a new pet. A dog. Everyone say hi to Batman.

Jules named him. He came from a woman who was like 8 months pregnant & smoking like a train. He reeked of smoke, it was quite sad.

I’m back in school, again. No picture, but take my word for it. I’m there.

I got yet another new couch & stuff.

I got my $1300+ couch 3 weeks old from the public housing area for $300. I took advantage of someone’s misfortune. I’m American like that.

I’ve started selling tutus & other girly stuff. You should totally buy one (or 15). https://www.facebook.com/rainbowbabydesigns

I got a job. Not subbing like I was previously, but a real job that I go to. It’s part time, it’s in community mental health working with at risk kids. It’s good, I like it. I think I’m good at it. But it does keep me out 4 days a week until the kids are both in bed or until Blair is at least.

In the works I have a food blog, a cake blog, an entertaining blog about what happens when a fish dies & you don’t want your toddler to know, a maybe ttc blog, & maybe a blog that will cause drama!

Those are in no particular order. But they are upcoming.

September 6th.

2011-09-05T23:54:00.000-04:00

Today, September 6th, is Stillbirth Remembrance Day.

So, let’s share some facts.

• Stillbirth is the death of an infant in-utero at 20 or more completed gestational weeks. More than 25,000 babies are stillborn in the United States each year
• Almost 50 percent of these deaths occur at or near full term and often seem to be otherwise healthy babies. The majority of stillbirths (85%)occur before delivery with 15% occurring during labor and delivery.
• It is estimated that nearly two-thirds of all stillbirth deaths remain unexplained. Researchers feel that this is more likely due to a failure to investigate the deaths, rather than a medical mystery.
• Stillbirth deaths cut across all socio-economic classes, races, religions and maternal age groups. No woman is immune.
• Some of the more common diagnosable causes for stillbirth are: placental abruption and other placental problems, birth defects and chromosomal abnormalities, uncontrolled diabetes, pre-eclampsia, cord accidents and infections.
• The risk factors for stillbirth include: advanced maternal age, maternal obesity, maternal smoking, prior stillbirth, neonatal death or other fetal losses, uncontrolled maternal diabetes and maternal hypertension.
• After a stillbirth, few hospitals offer an autopsy, placental exam or clinical testing to the parents to determine the cause of death.
• Mothers who suffer a stillbirth do not receive recognition in 39 out of 50 states. There is no certificate of birth — making these babies births "invisible".

Joel died at 40 weeks. And on this remembrance day I have only one question…

...when was I supposed to forget in order to remember?

Rambles.

2011-08-22T02:13:00.000-04:00

My life is now nothing more than what ifs & what's missing.

I wonder what he'd be doing.

I would have been a good mom to him.

Or maybe I didn't deserve him.

I feel like I'm going to self destruct. Just explode from sadness and sorrow. I just want to scream until that happens. As loud and as long as possible. And even then, it won't express what I feel.

Drowning. I feel like I'm drowning and going to lose the few things in life that make it worth living. And sometimes, I don't even care. Because never having him made him my world. My world is gone forever. And that's unfair to everyone here. But it's the truth. I want HIM.

You always want those you can't have I suppose.

I want to hold him. Alive. I want to tell him I'm sorry and to not be scared. I want him to be warm and safe.

I don't know how one survives a lifetime of this.

The story.

2011-08-17T22:49:00.002-04:00

I've not vanished. I've not forgotten. It's just been...rough. A full life update soon. But until then, I'm going to share this.

http://www.bandbacktogether.com/truth-midwife-care-stillbirth

That is me. That is my story. The story that makes me angry, ashamed, and worried all at once.

Angry because Joel died.

Ashamed because I let it happen.

And worried because of any potential backlash I could end up dealing with because people may interpret it wrong. Strangers or close friends. But my note & the editors note are true. I hope people can realize that.

Fuck.

2011-07-12T23:37:00.003-04:00

Honestly I wish I could make a complete thought that didn't come off completely pissed off. Truth is, I'm too pissed off to even care that I can't make a good complete thought.

Time. Reading. Searching. Asking. Seeking. Crying. Researching. Google. Checking with other medical professionals. I've spent two years doing this. And I've finally come up with completely fucked conclusions.

-Joel may have died no matter what.
-Joel never had a chance.
-I was given, at best, lackluster care. Between my worries and concerns being blown off I was flat out told inappropriate things.
-Doctors didn't test everything like they should have. In fact, the most basic fucking test weren't done. They noted I had an infection...but no testing was done to determine if the infection or the dead baby came first.
-Not only was shit done wrong and ignored, it was covered up. I've found that some results were never given to other doctors investigating the stillbirth. Results that would have likely lead to more questions.
-My results were withheld for 7 weeks, 6 weeks after they were completed and available. Only when i called hospital supervisors did my test magically appear in the hands of those who were suppose to relay them to me. Forms to do further test on Joel were also withheld until then. Forms that had to be signed and returned within 2 weeks to rule out possible causes, none of which seem likely. But since they were never done, they couldn't be ruled out. Therefore, the pool of maybes didn't get any smaller.
-My body likely killed my baby. And if it didn't, it didn't help his weakness.
-It could have been prevented.
-He could have had a chance.
-My life was ruined. And it was ruined further by fucked up loyality among professionals.

I feel as though, finally, tonight, I had that lightbulb moment.

And there is nothing I can do about it.

Unless I decide names and actual issues shouldn't be protected any longer.

Maybe I'll just start protecting them as well as my dead baby was protected. I actually wrote an angry letter for healing purposes directed to my midwife. Now I believe it'll see the light of day.

Though all of this...and so much as of late, my entire thought on so many things have changed. It's actual a bit scary.

I wish.

2011-06-23T02:54:00.001-04:00

I wish I could be ok again.

How I ruined my sons birthday and other tales.

2011-06-22T01:01:00.002-04:00

Actually there are no other tales, just the one that will now forever haunt me and piss me off at myself.

Blair had a birthday party. Yep, he's a elderly 1 year old. Fun was had by all. Until...the incident.

Obviously, our friends know about the whole dead baby thing. Not really a secret, in case you didn't realize it. Shit, 10 minutes before the incident, we'd talked about Adam's getting his vasectomy reversed, which everyone knows the reason for. I'd just got out of the pool myself and was sitting on the deck, making random amusing small talk. One guy mentioned that his new apartment had baby diapers thrown out the window on the lower roof. Jokes were made about how he could show everyone around and mention "and here are the dirty old diapers." Then...then I heard it.

"At least it's not a bunch of dead babies."

I heard where it came from. I knew the voice. I turned to that person and asked, "what did you say?" She stumbled on her words before finally pointing towards the diaper apartment guy and said, "he said it." I sat there. I looked straight ahead. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to have a hysterical melt down. I wasn't going to do it. I heard Adam say something about how the dead baby subject wasn't cool, to paraphrase.

But I felt it coming, so I stood up and left the deck. I made it inside before the tears started. Made it upstairs before the complete hysterics started. And there, in the bathroom, I had my hysterical melt down. Wish I could say that it was the first time, but I've had many meltdowns there over Joel. It's, sadly, the most common place.

I hear people walking around downstairs, going out the front door. I assumed, and was right, that they were smoking. Adam came in after a couple minutes and called up, I told him I didn't want to talk to him or anyone, which I didn't. I wanted to be left alone so I could have my meltdown. Adam said "everyone feels really sorry about it" to which I screamed out "Good! Everyone fucking should feel fucking awful about it!" As loud as I shrieked it, I'm sure people could hear. I was looking for clothes at the time to change out of my swim suit, so I was in our bedroom, which has the window like 15 feet from the deck. Fuuuun.

I calmed down after a few minutes. I changed. I'd hoped I could finish my cooling down alone downstairs, so I went downstairs...perfectly timed to see everyone basically walking in the dining room door in a neat, shameful line. I wasn't really ready to see one person, much less 10. But hey, what can you do? I start just picking some stuff up to throw away to avoid eye contact for a couple more minutes. One guy Adam use to work with, who apparently said something after the initial comment that I didn't even hear because it was during the point where I was trying to not cry, apologized. I didn't even hear him outside and I really still wasn't prepared to talk about it, so the tears suddenly came again and I said I didn't want to talk about it. I turned and went into the kitchen to throw stuff away, and as I turned around I see the parade of people making their way through my dining room and out the front door. Adam tells me something along the lines that everyone is leaving because I was upset. That upset me even more, because not only do I feel like an ass because I just had to hide myself in the house to chill out, but now this is how the day was going to end. My emotional melt down and everyone leaving the house all together suddenly. I exchanged words with Adam, thinking he told people to leave or something.

Fast forward a couple minutes and it turns out people were just going out to smoke, Adam had said bye assuming they were leaving, which confused everyone I guess. Or maybe Adam begged them to come back inside so his wife wouldn't feel more like shit than before. Who cares, they did. We ended up making balloon animals. Seriously!

But I got a couple hugs. More apologizes. Offers to allow me to yell at people. Things were OK. So, finally, I wanted to know what the fuck happened. So I asked. I asked who said what, because I was confused. I'd heard the one person say what I wrote above, but she'd blamed someone else. I didn't think he would say that, plus I was sitting closer to him so I know I didn't hear him say it. So I got the run down. The chick who I thought said it first did in fact say it first. Diaper apartment guy did follow up saying something about it was good that it wasn't dead babies, which I kinda heard but didn't process. Guy who Adam had worked with followed up with, "If it were babies maybe someone would have cleaned it up" or something along those lines.

So I looked around. We were missing someone. We were missing the chick who said it first. I asked where she was. She flew the coop fast. That annoyed me because how the fuck do you not wait around to talk to someone? I figured I'd get an email, text, or something. Adam told me that after I'd gone inside, she flat out admitted that she said it and shouldn't have. She told them all what she said, didn't deny it. She said it. So I was waiting for my message, the message I'd get expressing regret or something else that I could accept and move on without leaving so much hurt behind and a bad memory on the stain of Blair's party.

And I did get a message. From my other friend. My friend who just met this chick. My friend who apparently received chat messages from dead baby chick right after she got home. So instead of sending me anything, she searches my friends list and tells her version of the story to a total 3rd party. Says she never said anything. Says she tried to apologize. Blames diaper apartment guy again, saying he said it and she hadn't.

I stew. But it gets worse.

Again, I'm contacted by another totally random person who is told about the entire incident from this chick. Now I'm really upset. It's bad enough I have to live with it and knowing that everyone is going to remember me having my melt down, but now having other random people who didn't even know about it or need to know about it just made it worse. It killed me that this person was talking about it...but to anyone but us. Finally, I told Adam to please send her a message and tell her to stop talking about it to people. And he did. And she replied. Replied with, again, saying she never said anything to upset me. And this time even added on to the story that she was told to leave right after it happened and she did against her better judgement. Then added that it was nice getting to know us and wishing us luck in our future endeavors.

OK, that very last part was added for humor sake, but it might as well have said it.

And that was that. Someone we considered a friend said something totally awful. And even if by some chance it was a total misunderstanding of what she said or what she thought someone else said, it doesn't matter. Because flaking out when you owe someone an apology is lame. Convincing yourself you were in the right shouldn't be more important than making sure the person who is upset and hurt, even if it were during the course of a misunderstanding, knows that it wasn't intended and that you're sorry.

But...I'll never have that.

So while the wound of what happened that day would have always been there...it didn't have to be so apparent. So sore. Such a huge fucking scar. It could have healed nicely with just a couple words. But it didn't. So the wound is healing as a huge ass scar and we lost a friend.

Of course now I get to be Adam's wife, the crying hostess. Not sure how fun my parties will be from here on out with that title. I liked it better when I was just his bitchy wife. So now I'll just have to be a huge bitch to win that title back.

I'm up for the challenge.

My baby is old.

2011-06-21T00:32:00.002-04:00

Blair is officially a year old.

We had a cookout with friends & family (the ones I've not totally alienated by my bluntness). And a rainbow cake, made by yours truly. A 14 inch, 6 layer cake.

It was a good time (but be sure to scroll down for the quick not so good time mention).

Click here to view these pictures larger

Of course, shit can't always go well. Stay tuned for the story about how my rainbow babys party ended up being interrupted by a DB joke. Seriously.

Stuff.

2011-06-04T00:46:00.001-04:00

So the days came and went. The death date and the birthdate. It was hard. It sucked. People who didn't last year actually remembered. Of course disappointment continues when some people didn't. Can't ever be perfect. If things were perfect, I wouldn't be talking about my kid dying.

Yep, still hurts. Nope, never thinking it will end.

Getting through it. That's about all.

Planning a birthday party for Blair now. Well, we've been planning it. But actually moving forward. A week from now my baybee will be one. He's walking like a pro. It kinda makes me cry. He's a real by now.

I just wish all of my boys got the chance to be real boys.

Nights are the worse.

2011-05-25T00:07:00.003-04:00

I don't know what it is about the night time, but they are the worse. I guess that's when I have time to thing, when I have time to really think. And thinking this week hurts. Physically hurts. My chest is constantly tight. I'm snotty because this is night 3 in a row that I've cried. I work hard not to just scream & cry as loud as possible, which hurts as well.

It's just after midnight on May 25th. It's officially the eve of D-Day.

That's death day.

I can't remember him. And some things, I never even thought to look at. So some things I don't know.

I hate myself for not knowing. I hate myself for not making myself realize that I needed to look at little things to try to remember them. I hate myself for not taking more pictures. I hate myself for letting him die. And I hate everyone who forget him or refuses to remember him over the next couple of days. And I hate anyone who only took his death as a story to spread around like cheap gossip.

And I hate spam comments, like the following one which was on this post about Jules saying he was going to die like Joel:

Those little guys are the craziest, toddlers are the funniest haha

I hope people that should care about him actually do over the next few days.

Blair cleans. Ohandhewalks.

2011-05-16T22:02:00.001-04:00

EEK!!!

He's a hack, too.

2011-05-15T22:43:00.003-04:00

I previously mentioned that The Blair was going to have eye surgery. So here is the update to that.

In case you're wondering why, when Blair was about 2 weeks old I noticed while feeding him that his eye seemed gunky. Being a hippy, I put breast milk in it. OK, I put it all over his face & eventually got some in his eye. Bad aim, I'z got it. Anyway, after a week & no improvement we started our doctor cycle. His eye was always gunky, but often I'd be green or yellow. Blocked tear duct is a fairly normal thing. But we were dealing with constant infections. Eventually we were sent to an eye doctor who told us what we already knew..."massage" it to get the gunk out, or as I started calling it, "milk his eye," use ointment when bad or gunk is colorful, & just wait for it to open or wait until the 1 year mark to probe it. That, my friends, is called a wasted chttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifo-pay.

Anyway, I became an eye gunk milking pro. Kinda scary really. I have weird talents, none of which will get me far in this world. But I do what I do. Back to the topic at hand. We went back last week for his close to one year mark. His eye had been getting better, but still had bad days. Here we are, doing a myspace picture at the doctors office.

We were bored, don't judge me.

Doctor comes in & tells me, again, things I already knew. Asked if we wanted to go ahead & do the probe, I said sure. She ask, "how's tomorrow for you?"

Ummmmm...honestly it's shitty. I have a job lined up, babysitters ready, & overall totally unprepared for the idea of surgery in like 12 hours.

But that doesn't come out of my mouth. What comes out is, "Oh, that's fine!"

They tell me they are calling to check to see if it's available, which it is. I'm sent home with instructions about pre-op, but I just keep saying, "yeah, he just got ear tubes, we know the drill."

Rest of the evening is pointless to the story, so let's fast forward to the morning.

*hack hack...hack hack*

"What is that?" I ask Adam. He tells me it's Blair coughing.

A few more times over the night & into the morning...

*hack hack*

I kept thinking, "I should just cancel" but I thought it was that not wanting to do this surgery thing & I pushed those concerns back. The coughing stopped. We make our journey over to the hospital before 7am. Park. Walk, in the rain, to the door. Get up to the hot outpatient center & answer a bunch of questions that were already in the computer. All during this, I'm wrestling a baybee that wants to be down moving & shaking, not held by me while I report that Blair is unmarried & a non-smoker who doesn't drink.

Go back, nurses are all night. He gets a gown nurse says she's sorry it's pink. I'd like to meet the parent that gets pissy because their childs surgical gown is gender inappropriate.

"I know my kid is about to get surgery, but this pink shit is fucking stupid!"

He's 23lbs. He's 29 inches, maybe 30. He's got a heart rate & an O2 rate which was only 98 but they figure it's just where he's squirming around. It's just after 8 when a nice anesthesiologist comes in. We go through general questions, I tell him he had tubes & did fine...

*hack hack*

Doctor stops & ask how long he's had that cough. I tell him "overnight & this morning. But it's not very often."

*hack hack*

...I think my son just called me a liar.

Doctor makes some faces. Goes into how if he'd had it a while it'd be less of a deal, but where it's new it could be new inflammation, which could cause complications. As he's saying this, he makes he way over to a chair for patients. As I see this, I go ahead & start making Blair a bottle knowing this shit wasn't going on.

*hack hack*

I agree that we don't want to take any chances with his airway considering how tiny it is in a baybee Blair's age. He goes to call the eye doctor.

Blair is all like "LOL, you think I'm going to let you do this to me?" *hack hack*

I send Adam a text, to which he responds with "..." but once I explain the situation, he agrees that it makes sense.

But now we've got to wait on our discharge papers.

Blair is all like, "What you doin' sitting?!"

"Come up lady, smile, you just cancelled work & all that jazz for a practice run at surgery! And it's 8am & you're going to get to carry me out in the pouring rain again already, woohoo!"

"Come on bitch, let's hit the bricks."

Oh crap, I'm a baybee, how do I get out of here?"

"Ummm...this doesn't lead anywhere?! What's up with this crazy place?! Baybee's can't just get out easy?!"

"Oh well I'll just flop down & make baby noisies. *hack hack* By the way, you know if grandma ever finds out you let me lay in this hospital floor, she's totally going to go off on you. LOL at you mom."

Blair has a real potty mouth sometimes.

I loaded up. Made my way out of the overly warm hospital. Made my way through the icky rain to the car. Make my calls to let people know that Blair doesn't have surgery afterall. He would cough sometimes during this time to let people know he was hacking & totally wasn't faking.

I called his doctor, since the hospital told me to. Like I knew they'd tell me, unless it's with other symptoms they don't think there is anything to do since it just started within the past few hours.

So once again I'm reminded to always listen to my gut because I knew better than to take him with that cough. Hell, I knew better than to do something like that at the last minute. Life lessons, I keep going through them.

He's fine. The couch just started up again today, I'm guessing it's from allergies. Adam has the same issues, which started after a rain storm started oddly enough.

Now I'm hoping his eye gets all better on it's own. Because I can't deal with another event like this. I think my baybee has had enough hospitals & doctors for a long time...I'd like to stop it now. It's not fun for any of us.

If you need an eye milked though, you know who to call.

I'm a hack.

2011-05-10T20:29:00.003-04:00

I can't come up with anything that great to write about that isn't depressing, so I bring you my amusing facebook statuses.

Yes, I'm serious. I figure this also updates you on my life. Enjoy. Unless you're my facebook friend. If so, experience some deja vu.

Today's Maury..."Test me! Am I the father of my brothers baby?!" Now, I'm not a medical expert, but I'm thinking that's biologically impossible.

Jules is ignoring everything I say, house is a mess, Blair got a chip bag & shook it all out, & on my way out of the house, 10 minutes late, I found a dead mole in my dining room. So, basically, a normal day.

Sperm?

Someone come clean my house...I'll give you some pussy*.
*Pussy cats, of course. Your pick of the pack!

Happy mothers day! A $300 bill for the ent, on top of the $500 bill for the surgery center for the tubes. Those things better stay put.

Someone parked outside the crack house is blaring Elton John's "Benny & the Jets." I'm annoyed, but impressed all at the same time.

Just saw my first ever hooker pick up.

Cockblocks. My house is full of cockblocks.

It's nice that people have changed their profile pictures, but I suddenly feel like all of my friends are kinda old.

There. I changed my profile picture to a picture of me & my mom.

Thank goodness I have an iPhone. How else would I watch videos of fat cats anytime I wanted without it?

Jules made this. Seriously.

There is a thing going around saying that if you're a proud mom, you'll post your kids birthdays & stats. Well, folks, I'll do you one better. I'll tell you that I've had 11 stitches in my vagina & my abdomen cut open & glued back together. I've also got an ass load of stretch marks & nursed children with my ample bosoms. I'm awesome.

Watching another "got lost in West Virginia, end up being killed by a inbred psycho" movie. In defense of my home state, I think the annoying fucks in these movies would be killed by someone in any state they got lost in. We'd just do the rest of you a favor.

I finally let Adam touch some pussy...as he plants it.

I'm trying to work on the invites for Blair's birthday party. I'm having a hard time though, because all I keep wanting to type is "GODDAMN MY KID IS CUTE!" & I don't really think that's appropriate.

Did you know it was national depression week? Finally, a week in my honor! I'd have a party, but I don't want to get out of bed.

I want a copy of my cps file. They now tell me it'll take about a week longer. Why? Because the supervisor has to count the pages to tell me how much it'll cost for copies. A week to count pages? Really?

Oh & when I was shocked about that, she explained that she's "not even had time to go to the bathroom today." I told her she could count in the bathroom. No response. Mind you, I first requested them on April 22nd.

I guess that supervisor took my suggestion...I'm off to obtain my whopping 20 pages of file from cps. I'm considering paying the $5 in pennies.
And I did.

CPS is fucking shameful. My report is full of quotes from people they never spoke to. The quotes aren't even possibly correct, like one talks about us watching "all of her children" when she only has one. Worker took what I said & claimed it came from others. Fine for us, but what about kids who really need help? Pathetic.
Update on this in the future...may have cost someone a job & reporting them to the license board in the state.

While looking at my "recommendations for Jessica" I netflix, I mistakenly read a movie title as "Eat Me Out."

Bloody Penis?

Camo tarp's daughter just called me a skank. Some may be offended, but I'm thrilled. This is the first time I've been called a skank! At least to my face. I feel like I should get cake or something.

Self fulfilling prophecy: this afternoon I was called a skank...tonight, I'm texting pictures of my boobs to other chicks.

Little penis condoms? I had an ex who used these. Seriously.

Me teaching French? The only french I have experience with is that we joke that one of our cats is French. And he only says "sacrebleu" to everything.

I bet Toby Keith has been up all night, writing like 3 albums.
After the news of Osama's death.

Life lesson 3674...even in the freezer, shit can spoil.

Life lesson 3675...one should think things out better then to throw away a shit load of frozen foods & meat in May when trash day isn't until 4 days from now.

Today Jules told Blair, "this summer, you're gonna grow up & be my best friend."

As he throws food to the floor & looks for Murphy, Blair says "doh doh doh!". Either he's trying to say dog or he's Homer Simpson.

What my students can use for their math test.

It's April 28th. That's 23 months.

What's this rash on my kid?

Jules is allergic to amoxcilian (however the fuck that's spelled). Like mama!

I think it says something special about me when, on their way over to my house, my friend text me asking if I'm wearing pants.

Just realized that The Cat in the Hat is the story of some weird guy going into a house alone with kids whose mother is away & playing weird games with them. Hmmmm...

Jules shoves tp in his butt crack & tells us he has a tail.
I'm happy we can share these things with each other.

Charlie Brown came in my house & was all like "cook me some lunch, bitch." And I did. Because he's cute.

Jules is so imaginative. Like just now, he wanted the "map" I was holding, which was a roll of cotton.
On a side note, ever think tampons look like maps? If you're 3 they do.

Why does the word "peanuts" have to sound so much like "penis?"

I had a 2nd grader tell me I bored him & to never even look at him again.
So I went & sat beside him.

Feel safe coming to our house if you have kids! All of todays guest have been checked against the sex offender registry, they are all clear.
We had a cook out.

It took 2 employees & the guy buying them to load 4 bags of concrete while I, beside them, loaded 4 bags of 50lb sand in my car alone. Pussies.

Jules found a shovel from his Easter basket. When Adam asked who he thought it was for he answered, sadly, "the orphans."

Jehovah witnesses just came to my door...and asked to speak to my mom.

Meet me at the ice cream truck, I'll buy you some ice cream!

Guys, I don't play farmville or any other ville game. I've got enough people, animals, & shit to keep alive in my real daily life, I don't need fake things to have to worry about, too. I can only care for so many critters at once. If I'm busy feeding fake cows, I'm going to be down a cat.

Have a drink? Why yes, I think I will!

In other news, Blair is getting eye surgery tomorrow. Clogged tear duct since birth, constant infections & gunk. So he's getting probed tomorrow morning. Poor kid.

Oh, just for the hell of it...

CUTE!

The grief time clock...does it get any easier?

2011-04-29T00:15:00.001-04:00

Recently I've been in therapy. Nothing ground breaking there, I'm sad & anxious & you would be as well if you survived my life, but it's been happening. Truth be told, I really wanted to get in somewhere just so I could see a shrink as well to continue my zoloft. My OB was going to cut me off soon & I didn't want to be without my little blue crutch.

I was happy when I met this woman & she wasn't annoying. I didn't dislike her. That's awesome because I dislike a lot of people. And she wasn't some overly happy rainbow & sunshine chick, which was nice. I don't want to just be told “but look on the bright side!” That's annoying.

Anyway, she referred me to their in house shrink a couple weeks later. That, my friends, was an adventure.

I didn't go in with expectations of compassion or support. He was an older foreign man, I didn't expect his hear to bleed for me. But damn, once I shared with some people what he told me I think many of my friends wants to hunt him down & bash his brains in.

Obviously, Joel came up in my entire history. Or, as he kept calling him, “the dead baby.” Fun questions like, “did you get to see your dead baby?” & my person favorite was, “so he was dead, he never lived, so you never had to bond with him or anything, so you shouldn't have many issues with that.”

….whaaaaa?

I just kinda stared at him thinking, “is this really happening?” but it was. He said some other zingers as well. He also asked some more entertaining questions like, “you don't think anyone is following you....mafia, terriorist, or anything like that? How about when you watch tv...do they talk to you or about you?” He asked if I drank, I answered that I drank socially. Not sure what that answer really means, but I always use it as a way of saying, “yeah, I drink, but I'm not a wino or anything.” He asked me to clarify, how often & how much. I told him a couple times a month, 2 or 3 drinks usually when I did drink. Then he asked, “how about first thing in the morning?!”

Long story short, he explained that after 6 months of having a baby I'm not longer postpartum, so I can't blame my crazy on that. And I also can't blame any crazy on Joel being dead because grief like that should only last a year.

...read that again. Last a year. My dead baby...I should only need a year to work through that?

He thinks I think about Joel too much. I think about him every day. I don't think that's weird. Because I have vivid flash backs, for lack of a better term, he also thinks I'm dealing with some post traumatic stress. Gee, you think? He said my main goal should be to work through my dead baby problems & focus more on my new baby than my dead baby.

If anything, that pissed me off more than anything. That implies I'm too wrapped up with my dead baby problems to think about my new baby, which isn't true at all. That's comparing apples to oranges.

Now, before you join the kick ass gang, please know that my therapist is not an idiot & doesn't feel this way at all. Honestly, she seemed a bit mortified by my experience. I, again, wasn't. Which got me thinking...why not?

Then I remembered holy shit, that's really not a lot different than what other people have said. I'm use to people being insensitive fucks. That in itself is sad, that I'm so use to people saying awful things about my dead kid.

Which brings me to my main question...does it get any easier?

Well, time heals all wounds.

Who ever said that was not a dead baby parent.

The truth is that yes, it gets easier. But it doesn't. Allow me to explain.

I obviously don't walk around crushed & hysterical as I was once I saw Joel being rolled out of the room for the last time. You can't function like that & eventually that intense pain...it does diminish. And in that respect, time does heal those wounds.

But the problem is that there are constantly new wounds added. Or maybe the scab gets picked off the original. However you want to look at it.

For example, every time I see a kid that is Joel's age I think about what should be. That he should be there with that little boy, playing & laughing.

New wound.

When I think about how Joel should be all over the place & learning to talk up a storm?

New wound.

When I think about everything that he should have been doing & could have been doing. Each thing. Small things from rolling over for the first time to getting married. Every single thing, it's gone. When your baby dies, so does this entire life you planned to have in yours & the dreams you had for it. So it's not just a person missing, it's everything. And that never stops. Never. So, how I wonder, is time suppose to heal wounds that aren't even yet really created?

I think of Joel everyday. Every. Single. Day. He's usually the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. He'll likely be part of my thoughts the last moments of my life. If that deserves a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress syndrome, then so be it. I'll hold onto what I got. I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't think that means there is something wrong with me...I think that means I'm the mom of a dead baby. I'll never move past it in many aspects. I don't believe it's possible. I think we cope, we deal, we move on because that's what life calls for.

Little man with his heart so pure
And his love so fine.
Stick with me and I'll ride with you
Till the end of the line.

Hold my hand and I'll walk with you
Through the darkest night.
And when I smile I'll be thinking of you
And every little thing will be all right.

Dead baby jokes.

2011-04-28T00:04:00.004-04:00

They aren't funny.

Being a sub, I actually knew it was just a matter of time, but that didn't help the hit.

Overhearing a punchline, I asked if I'd heard right. He said yes. I asked why he thought that was ok. He told me they were better than racist jokes.

I told him those were bad obviously, but dead baby jokes aren't good either...espiscially since I have a dead baby.

The room, you could hear a pin drop. He stared at me. Others looked at me & back to him, this clueless 10th grader who had just made me want to scream. He continued to stare. I said, "I have a dead baby. My son died. Dead baby jokes are not funny when you have one."

He muttered a "I'm sorry" but it wasn't one that let me know ge was sorry for telling it, but that he was sorry he was stuck in this moment with a dead baby mom.

The rest if my day wasn't fun. I mainly sat quietly the rest of the day. My kidding around, good time spirit is gone. I did my job &, well, survived.

I hope that kid actually felt bad. I hope he felt like shit. If not now, I hope he does someday. I hope he looks back & can understand how this, even in a small amount, how that 10 seconds effected me. And how it's now seared in my memory.

I feel empty, but at the same time I'm full of an anger & sadness that makes me want to scream, cry, & break things.

A "duh" update.

2011-04-25T21:51:00.002-04:00

Remember this post about some asshole calling & making false claims to CPS?

Today we got final word that the case was closed. In fact, it was found totally unfounded & didn't even go any further than meeting with us & seeing our home & kids.

So, mysterious person, you can suck it. :D

Toddler Talk Fail

2011-04-22T23:37:00.004-04:00

Jules hit me with this yesterday...

My back hurt...my back hurts mommy and that means I'm going to die...like Joel.

I felt like I was punched in the gut. He has no idea what he said, but I'll never forget it. It's not like I'm mad or anything, but that feeling is something I'll never forget in my life.

What more can I say?

Totally tubular.

2011-04-17T22:09:00.004-04:00

Know how breastfed babies are suppose to be super healthy?

My breast milk didn't get the memo because poor Blair has had more ailments than I can count. I also didn't lose any weight, so I guess my body didn't get the message about what wonders breast feeding are suppose to do.

But that's beside the point.

The point is that about 3 months ago, Blair got sick. I gave it time to clear up, since it just seemed to be a simple cold that we all passed to each other. But he never really got better & was quite the unhappy baby. Cue me feeling like a shitty mom when I found out he had an ear infection...a really. He never pulled at his ears or anything, we did notice he didn't like laying on one side, but we thought that was just a comfort thing. Nope, turns out I'm a shitty parent who never once thought, "hey, maybe something is up!"

Anyways, Jules had an ear infection once. He was about 4 months old. Took antibiotics & he was all good. Has been since. I figured that's how it went.

Again, I'm an idiot & was wrong.

A couple days before his 2 week re-check of his ears, so just a couple days after his meds are finished, he's miserable. Up all night screaming. To urgent care we go.

Ear infection. More antibiotics.

This...this will kick it's ass! That's how these things work. And it did.

Until 2 days after he finished his new antibiotic. Then we were back to being miserable. Back to the doctor we go.

Another ear infection. This is really loads of fun, let me tell you.

This time his doctor says this earns the poor guy a referral to an ENT.

I was hoping that this new antibiotic would be the cure that I wanted.

Wrong. About 3 days after that one was done, scream & miserable again.

BACK to the urgent care. Another antibiotic. A doctor who talked about his ex-wife the entire visit. They aren't on good terms, let me tell you.

A couple days later we get to go to the ENT. Shocking...he has lots of fluid behind his ears, still a minor infection, & his tonsils were stage 4. Don't know what that means? Well, 0 is not there. And 4 is as large as they can possibly be. The ENT said they usually assume the adenoids are the same size as the tonsils.

Tubes. That was the word. And that was our decision. Of course, it was hard for me because growing up my parents thought tubes were pointless, they refused to have any inserted in me. I was a sickly child. Same reason, "not believing" in getting things like that or tonsils removed was the reason I had to have my tonsils out at 22. So I had to keep telling myself that this was the right thing to do. And even if they popped out in a week, at least the original fluid & infection would be drained & hopefully that would be enough to clear up this infection from hell.

At this point, I decide that Blair is totally my child. Seems to have my immune system. Let's just hope he's got my wit, too.

After lots of paperwork juggling to make sure they got paid by my insurance, we had a nice pre-op appointment so they could weigh him & look in his ears. Totally worth that 90 minute wait to see the doctor for 2 minutes, let me tell you.

In our waiting, I got tired of trying to keep my nosey baby contained. So I decided to let him just be nosey.

Of course, then he found the papers.

We got to play alot of "mommy, fetch!" while waiting on the doctor.

Of course, I was also stared down by good mom penguin.

I kept thinking she looked smug, like she was saying, "look at me bitch, I'm taking care of my baby! Your kid has to get man made materials put in his ear drums...lame ass mom, you!" Or maybe she was thinking, "Oh bitch, what would babycenter peeps says if she saw your kid out in PAJAMAS?! Lazy whore of a mom you are, bet you don't even put your shopping cart back places either."

Eventually they wanted the crazy lady (me) out of their office, so they finally tell me to leave. As I'm leaving, a nurse asked if he could have a stuffed bear. Being tired & trying to joke, I blurted out, "As long as it's not stuffed with used needles, sure!"

...that got me some looks.

Speaking of looks, check out what a looker he is.

He's all like, "pre-op...is that what it's called when you feed me noms?!"

I then go home & clean because I'm a good wife & mother & that's what we do. Yep, we do.

Eventually the surgery center called. They wanted to do intake stuff over the phone, but still wanted me to come in person to do the money talks. Ugh...money talks.

I got to answer fun questions about Blair at this point.

Is he married?

Does he work?

...I finally asked if she knew he was 9 months old & she told me yes, as if I was weird for wondering that. I guess they get lots of working, married 9 month olds. My kids are lazy though, Jules still won't get a damn job.

Anyway, I was coming up with reasonable answers until, "does Blair have any reglious or cultural beliefs that we need to be aware of?"

I couldn't help but to respond with, "Yes, yes he does. He belongs to the Church of Wonderpets & he thinks this is swerious."

At least she was some what amused by my response.

Later in the day I got to make the journey over to the surgery center, where I was given a number on a piece of notebook paper & told to wait. So I did. While no one else was there. And they were getting ready to leave in 45 minutes. Finally, number 27 was called. I jumped up like I won the lotto. Little did I know that they'd won the lotto from me.

Long story short, they wanted $500. She asked how I'd like to take care of it then. I asked if she would point me to the money tree, that's how I'd take care of it for her. She laughed & whispered that she hates to ask people that, because she knows people don't randomly carry hundreds of dollars on them, but she has to.

As I'm waiting for her to type in stuff that says I'm a poor person who has to pay this $500 over payments, I look at the sheet of stickers she has for Blair's chart. Something is...off.

Like the fact that Blair is not a female.

I asked if F did indeed mean female, & she assured me that it did & that they put that on there because they don't want to mess anything up.

I then said, "I don't even want to know what surgery you'd mess up that you need to put that down, but I can assure you my Blair is a boy & I'd like him to stay that way."

They fixed it. Thankfully.

And finally, it was surgery day.

They did indeed fix it.

Every time I see his name & middle initial, I always want to yell out, "Blair-O!" for some reason.

He got a little baby surgery gown.

And he was all like, "do they know this is swerious?!"

They took him back. Then it was over. Then nothing happened. It was a very anti-climatic ending to the story. He came home & crashed.

And later that day, he was like nothing ever happened. It was shameful really. Here he is playing peek-a-boo.

And now, he is healthy. And now, helpfully, he stays that way. He just finished up a week of topical drops for the light infection he still had, so I'm hoping to get through the next few days without a trip to the doctor or urgent care.

But if there is, there better not be better-mom-than-you penguin in any room I go in. I can't take her stare.

Don't talk about your dead baby because it makes other people sad.

2011-04-12T20:06:00.003-04:00

To start this, I'm just going to dictate a conversation I had with my mother on the phone tonight, once upcoming events were. I'm in normal font, she's in dumb italics.

Do you know when Joel's birthday is?
I don't know, let me ask your dad...hey, do you know when Blair's birthday is?
No, not Blair. Joel. Joel's birthday.
Oh, of course I know that! Jules birthday is December 14! I'd never forget that!
No. Not Jules. JOEL. J O E L. JOEL.
Oh...uhhh...I don't know, but I'm sure your dad has it written down somewhere.

I sit there & blink, trying to digest this entire discussion & finally start paying attention when I hear my dad coping an attitude in the background & saying all pissed off, "you tell her if she's going to make some issue out of this, but I've got that day written in my checkbook."

That really just caused more blinking. The attitude was shitty & the comment itself was...odd?

The discussion continued with my mother, who ended up explaining that they talk about him all the time...him, him, him. Never could say his name. But they don't talk to anyone but each other because it's sad & I need to understand that people grieve differently & it's a private matter we should deal with between ourselves, like how I should just share with Adam & viceversa. And they don't like to hear me talk about him because it makes them sad & how they don't talk about him around people because, again, it's sad & shouldn't be discussed . Said something like she's said before about how "he didn't come & was never here with us." I corrected her this time & said that he did come & he was here, he just died. She continued on making it an issue of me telling her they didn't care, which wasn't the case. I know they care. My point was just that I'd like to not feel like if I say the name JOEL in their company that I'm a 5 year old who just dropped the f bomb in Sunday church service.

She continued on & eventually said that it makes them sad, but if I'm going to insist on talking about it & wanting people to talk about it around me, they will have to just get use to it even though everytime they do, they get very upset, like tonight now she's going to have to go straight to bed she's so upset. And it wasn't same poorly worded voice of support even before the guilt trip started about how it'll be OK if it happens. It was a "well fuck, if you're going to insist on this, I'm still going to act obviously uncomfortable & make sure everyone around us knows we don't like talking about this icky situation."

Sad. I'm still just stuck on how talking about my dead son should basically be avoided because it makes them sad. No shit it's sad. It's suppose to be sad. When ISN'T it sad? Fuck.

She also said something about how, "I held him, you know. And I thought about how I'd like him to wake up."

TELL ME THAT. We'd finally have something in common. And holding Joel isn't some badge of honor you now carry...I got you beat with my 26 hours of labor & delivery on top of everything else.

Joel's existence should not be a date in a checkbook. Joel's name shouldn't be avoided. With so little facts to remember for him, Joel's birthday should be remembered. I cry enough for my dead baby. I shouldn't have to cry because of the drama around him or feel bad because I want to say his name.

I miss my baby. But he wouldn't be a baby anymore, he'd be a toddler. I miss everything.

Liars, liars everywhere!

2011-03-27T17:34:00.002-04:00

I'm a hypocrite. Like...seriously. Chances are, you are as well. It's OK, it's a human thing. Depending on the situation, it's hard to know what you would do in that situation. Even if you think, “Oh, I wouldn't do that at all!” until you've lived it, don't even say it. I've learned that lesson over the pass 24 hours.

I was always one of those people who thought things about how if you're innocent with nothing to hide, you won't hide. You'll be open & welcome any type of investigation. If you are worried, you're hiding something. You're guilty.

That was my thought until I pulled up in our driveway after work & saw Adam have an expression that told me something was left for us, a note or something. I figured it'd be some bullshit from the crazy neighbor. And, it likely was, but not in the form I thought.

Adam handed me a business card. First thing I read was the message, in red ink, that said “Call ASAP” & the next thing I read was the name, which was printed right above the title “Child Protective Services.”

I look at the clock. It's 4:15. They close at “5” but that really means 4. He'd already called, but then I call. Voice mail. Knowing the system after working in it, I knew to call & ask to speak to the worker of the day...the poor sap who has to answer any & all calls when the actual social workers aren't taking their calls. Her voicemail, which defeats the purpose of her being the worker of the day. I give it about 5 minutes & call back, she answers. I tell her why I'm calling, she tells me I have to talk to the chick who is on the card. I tell her I was aware, but I want to know what is going on concerning my children NOW & I knew there were records. She then feeds me a line about how she can't access anyones records but her own, which I call bullshit on right then & tell her I use to work in social services, I know she CAN access it. She then admits she can, but won't. Nice. Instead of flipping out on her like I want to, my knowledge kicks back in & I ask to speak to my workers supervisor. He's not in today. Fine, I want to hear from your supervisor. Of course, that does nothing. He says they don't have to tell me anything, only my worker or her supervisor does so I'm out of luck.

And I have flash backs. Flashbacks to how I always tried my best when I had cases to call people back & take calls. Honestly, I took them on my own time. I made calls about a kid on my way to my wedding so people knew what was going on. This shit involves their kids, no matter what the situation 99% of the time they love & care about their kids.

And, with that, we waited. Waited all night. My chest hurt. I was terrified. I knew nothing was going on with my kids, but I was scared. I started plotting...what do we say, what do we not say? Do we let them in? Do we allow them to talk to our kids? We have nothing to hide...but I sure as well wanted to board my house up & tell them to get a warrant. And suddenly, I understood why innocent people refuse to talk or lawyer up. Because they are scared. And because they feel they need to in order to protect something...in this case, my kids. My anxiety disorder sucks anyway, but add this & all I could think, all I could see in my head, was someone taking out kids for months & a never ending fight to get them back.

Of course, the rest of the night we asked each other what on earth someone could have called about, which led to who would have called. We had some suspects. Maybe Adam's family were mad that we hadn't had anymore contact? Maybe Jules said something totally off the wall at school & they had to report it? Maybe someone saw Jules out on the porch & assumed he was alone even though I sit in the doorway where people can't see me. And, of course, there is the neighbor. The neighbor who hates cats, has called animal control about our dog, & just been an overall icky person. And, depending on what the allegation was, that maybe list was going to get a hell of a lot shorter.

After the worse night sleep in my life, 8am rolled around. OK, I lie, 7:55. I started calling. I called every few minutes until 8:15 when she answered. My hopes of it NOT being me they needed was dashed when she knew my name. Of course, that could have been because of the 25 messages we'd left for her.

She tells me very little. But I know my rights. She tells me a report came in about our kids & she needed to set up a time to talk about it. I ask what was reported, she tells me she'll tell me when we meet. I tell her I'm not going to meet without knowing, especially after being concerned all night with what was going on & how my children were involved. She finally tells me I've been reported for, & I quote, “hoarding, including animals, letting the kids go around dirty, filthy, & having a house that smells so bad it can be smelled from the street.”

...I laughed.

I really didn't mean to. I really couldn't help it. Considering we have company fairly regularly, including just a couple days before, anyone thinking my house smell or is messy is insane. And my kids being dirty, filthy even? Jules request, & gets, usually 2 baths a day. About as filthy as Blair has ever been was the time I let him have an oreo. Hoarding? I'm a hoarder?! REALLY?! Now, I know under my couch was a huge ass mess, but come on. Animal hoarding as well? Yeah, I've got a ass load of cats, but as long as it's healthy & clean it's just someone with an ass load of cats, not hoarding.

She came (late)...up until the moment she came in the house I was trying to hope that it was just a clever way for Publishers Clearing House to surprise me with a million dollars. No such luck. And this lady meant business.

The actual report was this...get ready for it, it's great really: that we have 30 cats & several dogs, that our house was dirty & smelled from the street, that we never allow people over to our house. That our kids reek of cat urine & people cannot be around them because of that, they can smell it on the kids. That the baby constantly has dirty hands & legs from crawling around the dirty floor (black hands, even). Both kids are pale & look unhealthy, as well as have a constant runny noses & cough & other illness because of the condition of our house.

...I forget what point Adam & I just looked at each other, amused, but I think it was around the time that our baby had constantly black hands.

Long story short, there is nothing CPS worthy in my house. We are FINE. Even with several cats & dogs, everything is clean & not a concern. There is nothing unsafe or unsanitary about our home whatsoever. Our kids were seen & nothing bad was thought. Our kids are considered healthy, not to mention that they don't smell or have any chronic illness. And not having people to our house is just laughable, we had a get together with another family just a couple days before this. We have people over often, invite people over often, & have get togethers. Laughable. Really laughable.

Of course, there is also the shame part. I had to show her that we had fucking food. And that we had beds. And our dogs to make sure they weren't "aggressive." She's calling the doctor, our fucking DOCTOR, to make sure my kids aren't unhealthy or have ever been injured by our dogs. She's calling my fucking friends to make sure they don't worry about my kids, even though they trust me around theirs. Have I also mentioned that most of our friends are mandated reporters? AND that I was planning a homebirth & was given the a-ok by my midwife about my house being suitable for birthing a baby in? But seriously...how shameful is this? She's going to call people & tell them she's with CPS & investigating my kids. To be blunt, I'm ashamed. I know these things happen, but it kills me to think that our doctors office is going to get a call asking about my kids. That maybe Jules preschool with get a call, asking if he comes to school dirty or unkept. It has no merit & anyone who knows us knows this...but what about other people she calls? I really don't like the thought of being thought of as “the mom who had CPS called on her” at the preschool functions. I've called to report kids getting beat & raped as part of my previous job...the response time was slower than our so called dirty house with pale kids. That's pathetic. And I hope whoever did this sleeps well at night knowing they have wasted time & resources of CPS while some other kids are going without food because their parents are crack heads, getting beat, or even raped. But no worries, CPS was here to make sure my kids weren't dirty & that we do in fact have people over to our house.

So now we are left with the "who done it?!" question. We have 3 options. The neighbor, because of the cats comment because she has had issues with our pets . We also thought about my parents because honestly, they hate us having any pets & my mom always thinks my kids have coughs or whatever. And we have considered Adam's family, since we don't speak to them. Plus, it was odd that we get this happening NOW after seeing them just over a week ago, for the first time since Joel's funeral. And people have pointed out, "why does it matter that you don't have people over?" Well, the fall out with Adam's family started way back when I was pregnant with Joel because we asked to just meet them somewhere instead of our house because we'd been doing a bunch of stuff to it & it was a mess because of that. Minus the cats & the "they don't let people visit their house" crap, the rest is pretty generic "I'm going to report you to CPS" shit. So as much as some stuff points to other people, the stand out stuff here with the pets & the "they don't let people come around" shit. And that points to someone in his family, likely his sister because of various things I won't bother going into here.

So anyway, minus the shame of having my name on a CPS file somewhere (just MINE, that's another oddity here, it was ME & only ME reported, they asked if Adam & I were separated because it was only ME that was reported as being a shitty parent) everything is good. Well, I'm sad. Sad that anyone would put our kids into some petty bullshit, because no matter who or why, it was total lies & done with malicious intent. And angry that I've sadly encountered a very pathetic person at some point. But within 30 days, it'll all be over officially. And I can write it off as a life experience.

We DID try to make it amusing because we knew it had to be ridiculous. Here are some ideas we & some friends came up to make us pass CPS inspections:

Me: So since CPS might stop by tomorrow, think we should hang out the American flag & dust off that huge gift bible we got as a wedding gift? Would that make us look more wholesome?

No worries, we've already put away all the candles. We don't want them to think that's how we cook our food.

I'll pull out a modest outfit to wear!

Shit, I gotta go buy a modest outfit!

I need to hide my vibrator. And that's not even a joke.

I'll go down to the Family Dollar & pick up a copy of Sarah Palin's book.

Aeriel: Buy an apron. And bake pie. Not rhubarb though. That will make you a communist.

Also, you might want to throw Glenn beck on tv... but that's a judgment call with your area.

Serve food and recite a 15 min prayer before you allow her to eat. Side note, learn a prayer...

Sarah: Throw up some "live laugh and love" decorations

Tara: You need a cross wall...go buy some crosses...quick!

Heather: You could have all of us locals over for a bible study conveniently...

Adam: So we have any bacon? ...what, everyone likes bacon.

Yeah, we really are like this in real life.

So we meet again.

2011-03-14T11:44:00.004-04:00

If you're not a long time reader, you may want to go back & read a couple post. This one of my husbands perhaps, or this one where you can read some fun hate mail from his family, or the one of mine about the final incident.

If not, the quick version is because of various problems, we cut off contact with my husbands family. Very limited interaction during my pregnancy with Joel, but after he died it was just over.

That was a long time ago. OK, not a long time ago, but long enough. OK, not long enough either. But, you get what I mean.

Adam's uncle died. Well, uncle by marriage & later divorce. He was a good guy who Adam obviously liked & cared about. And, for the first time since that nasty break up in August 2009, we had an issue. What now?

This was something I knew would happen eventually, at some point some sort of event will happen where we will want or need to attend. Adam felt like he couldn't do, & if he did how would he even go about it? Sneak in the back after something starts? Just go balls to the wall & walk into the middle of the wake?

I personally didn't have an opinion. Well, I did, but it was just this question that I posed to him, "if stuff with your family had never happened, what would you do?" We'd go without a second thought. I agreed that we should. And we did.

I told a couple people about this. Their general response was, "ugh." But really mine wasn't. I was in an eerie way not bothered by anything that could happen. I figured worse case sencerio, if someone said anything to me I would just say, "this is not the time or place" & walk away. I felt like I should feel nervous or something, afterall I've said some hardcore things about them. But I finally figured out why I didn't feel nervous or awkward about seeing them after saying things to & about them (I'm very aware that they read this, btw)...because I still feel right. I feel justified. Was I harsh? Yeah. Maybe a bit too harsh in some ways, but I honestly still stand by it all. And that's why I didn't feel anything, because I stood by it all.

We got dressed, we made our drive. I read a midwifery text book on the trip down. We did joke about what could happened. I told him if anyone punched me, I was totally going to call the cops. It was actually quite calm on the way down. At least for me. When we got to the funeral home, I felt weird about not feeling weird. We go in, see no one I recognize. As Adam signs our names to the visitation book, I scan the names to see if anyone I know has signed in. I see none. We stand around, looking for anyone we know for a minute, then we walk in. Adam is leading the ways & I then see his nephew. I try to let him know because that means his sister is there which means everyone else is there, too. But he didn't realize I was trying to get his attention & walked into the middle of his family.

I can't remember exactly how it went down, but I think his aunt hugged him then me. As I turned around to see what was going on, his mom popped up for a hug which surprised me. She asked how I was, I told her the truth...some days good, some days bad. After a minute I asked if she knew about Blair, to which she responded with a worried, "no." Turns out she DID know about him existing, but she assumed I was about to tell her something bad happened or something. I don't know. His dad came up & was nice. Everyone was nice. His sister was somewhat amusing because she stood beside me a good 10-15 minutes before finally saying hi. We exchanged pleasantries. We both looked like we, well, wanted to rip each others heads off. I think for a second each of us hoped the other would say or do something, but we both remembered it was a funeral & not to act like assholes.

We stayed about an hour, I'm not too sure really. Things were fine. I mainly talked to a family friend & an aunt, but I did make small talk with others. Very small, vague, small talk. We avoided the asshole uncle because, well, he's an asshole & there is not enough redemption possible for that man.

Then we left. And felt awkward. On our way out, Adam's mom hinted for his phone number. We changed cell providers a couple weeks after that August fall out. As we were walking toward the door, she asked if he'd got her message because she wasn't sure it was the right number or not. He told her he didn't, but other people emailed him & stuff. She then told him their number was the same as it was before. Like I said, I took that as a hint.

His dad is growing a strike beard. He had a full beard, to which Adam made some comment about why he must be growing it as a joke. I didn't hear it, but he told me later that his mom explained he was "growing it until his son came home." I'll be honest, I laughed when he told me that one. Sorry, but growing facial hair doesn't really do anything for us in this situation. It just makes you open to ZZ Top jokes.

And the end of the day, it was nice & it sucked all the same.

It was nice because they acted like family should act. His sister even told her son not to wrestle around at the wake, which made me feel good because I was always bothered that she allowed him to act like that at Joel's service. Maybe she learned better manners. Or maybe they didn't see Joel's service as something to be respected. Who knows, but I'll pretend it's the first one.

It'd be nice to have something positive happen, just to get the stress & continued sadness of having to have people cut out of our lives. Believe it or not, I never wanted that to happen. But it did after everything that was said or not said in some cases. And I know that no matter what, nothing would come of this. No one would be willing to talk anything about. No one would be willing to apologize for anything on their side, even if I do for my own. The term, "start fresh" would be used, which makes me want to throw up. And even if I was delusional enough to be able to deal with that plan, it'd be like every other time we've "started fresh" in the past...it'd be fine for a couple months, then someone would say something or do something & we'd back to square one.

If any good did come out of this, I do think I'm less angry now. I can think about all of the just cruel things that were said or done & actually not want to punch someone. I can even think of the bold face lies & blatant cruelty without getting angry now. I think those are very good things.

But even if I'm not angry, it doesn't mean I forget. And it doesn't mean I can ever forgive. And that makes me a little sad. I mean, I COULD. I really could. I could work through it with these people, it'd take time & effort but I could do it. But the truth is that they will never be willing to do their part. That's the sad part. After a certain amount of hurt & drama, you can't just start fresh. There is no foundation to start fresh on & anything you start building will simply crumble.

And at the end of the day, while it's sad for us & our own little nucular family to not have extended family, I think the other side is missing out on so much more.

Wouldn't you agree?

Don't watch your hands after using the bathroom.

2011-02-27T22:37:00.003-05:00

Seriously. Don't. Never again.

Or maybe that's just me, I don't know.

I was working lat week. Yay, money. After I ate lunch, I made my way to the bathroom because after so many kids my bladder hates me. I was going about my normal business when I was at the sink (ok, this was after my business, I didn't pee in the sink) & when I looked up I saw something. I went back later & took a picture because it bothered me so.

This.

OK, it's just a sign, right? When I looked at it, my thought process was literally this...

Well that's interesting, in fact I think I've seen it befo....oh fuck me are you fucking kidding? God dammit, mother fucker. Fuck fuck fuck.

Yes, I'm THAT anti-hand washing. Kidding, of course.

When I went to get induced with Joel, they put me in a room in OB that had been cleared of newborn reminders. One of the only things on the wall was a sign. A sign that I stared at. A sign that fucking haunted me. I read it over & over & over. A simple sign that was all I could focus on. A sign that was in the background when I watched a social worker roll Joel out of the room forever.

A simple hand washing sign continues to haunt me to this day. But not just any...one identical to that sign.

And for the rest of the day, I wanted to jump off a bridge. Even more so after my next classes played sad songs, including Stairway to Heaven. Jeesh.

Things have been rough for me lately. No real reason why besides the normal "my baby died, god dammit" stuff, but what more do you need?

That same day I also encountered the best group of understanding people since Joel died. I was working high school, which is the only group I feel comfortable telling the truth about Joel. If 2nd graders ask how many kids I have, I omit Joel in the count. It bothers me, but 9 out of 10 times they ask how old they are or what their names are. I'm not about to talk dead baby stuff with kids, it'd be bad for all involved. But high schoolers, I figure if it comes up they can understand & go on with life without it ruining their lives.

Anyway, 4 boys. That's all it was, just for senior boys. When sitting around, which was all was left for them to do, discussions come up, usually kids ask if I graduated from that school. That led eventually to asking how often we go back "home" 2-3 hours away. I explained we didn't because most of my family lives in my current area, they asked about my husbands family & I said we don't interact with my husbands family. One kids said that was sad & I couldn't help but to blurt out, "yeah, sad on paper but we actually had a son die & they said some pretty awful things about him to us." These boys didn't look at me funny. They didn't even question the dead baby thing. They just went onto how anyone can talk bad about a dead baby or to parents of a dead baby. Then they told me they hoped we punched them or even ripped their throats out. And the discussion moved on to whatever was next.

No questions. No weird looks. No cliched bullshit lines. No dwelling. No making me feel like a weirdo. Like 10 years ago or so, I would have told you high school boys were assholes. And, well, maybe they still are in some areas, but at that moment I decided that teenage boys were alright. They handled it like it was nothing. And that, for once, was nice.

Off to update my Joel picture blog.

Stop raising assholes.

2011-02-17T21:04:00.000-05:00

The past couple weeks I've had some interesting encounters. And by interesting, I mean shameful. I don't consider myself a preachy blogger but I'm going to get on my soap box.

But good news, it's a glorious sarcastic soap box like me!

I'm really not a violent person, but nothing makes me want to rip some hair out of a bitches head quite like someone messing with my kids. Seriously. I can envision myself pulling hair out of heads & just punching someone in the face over & over until they are a bloody pulp for hurting my kids feelings.

...apperantly it's a bloody, sarcastic soap box.

Anyway. Maybe it's because I've got issues from when I was a kid. Sit down peeps, this is going to be a shocker but...I was not a popular kid. So maybe some of my inner aggressions come from knowing the feeling of being rejected or picked on. God damn, do I know how that feels. I know, kids will be kids. It happens. But I'm talking about not just basic kids being kids stuff. I'm talking at one point in my life, I kinda wanted to die. This is getting deep, huh?

So yeah, I've got issues. And more than anything in the world, I want my kids to be spared those awful feelings & encounters in their lives. I do my job as a parent to not let my kid think it's alright to be an asshole. I do not want my kid to think it's OK to be happy at the expense of someones misery or that it's alright to be mean to someone whose different.

Like I said, not be an asshole. But people...they don't all have the same idea as I do. And while I am fine with people feeling different, flat out meanness & encouraging your kid to grow up an asshole isn't cool.

My first encounter of shame was a couple weeks ago at the nice mall play area. And by nice, I mean germ infested hell hole.

Oh, you know they are. Get over it.

Anyway, my son...my adorable sweet son...

He found a friend to play with. A little girl who had another little girl who was younger, I can only assume sister. They played. They romped. A good time was had by all. Eventually, I hear my son called a girl, which I'm use to because my sweet, adorable son has long hair.

Let's back this up a bit. I know, someone is reading this & cringing over my son having long hair. It's alright. Really, it is. But no one is making your son have long hair so get the fuck over it. I always hated long hair on boys. Always. I cringed when I saw it & never understood why a parent would allow that. I allowed it because I liked his hair & didn't want it cut. And, not that I want it cut myself, Jules loves his hair & doesn't want a hair cut anytime soon. He's very content with being a long haired boy. And you know what? It's not going to hurt him or anyone else, so who cares?

Anyway, as I sit in the floor with Blair, I hear the little girl Jules was friends with correct her mom, saying Jules was a boy & his name was Jules. Paying continued, but I could eye ball mom & her friend talking & staring at him, then back at me. After a couple minutes, I see the moms packing up & telling the kids it was time to go. Little girl starts asking to stay longer, something about how they were going to stay until someone got off work, whatever. Then I heard her loudly announce a statement that about had me fly off & end up in jail.

"We aren't staying so you can play with him. You know we don't play with boys who have long hair. Their parents obviously don't care for them, so we don't need to be around those people."

Oh hell no bitch, you didn't.

She did.

Jules is there. Like...right there. I know he has no true understanding of what was just said, but he knows something is up, he knows this lady doesn't want her kids to play with him. Woman looks at me, all smug & proud of herself because she said it for me to hear more than anyone else & I somehow manage to refrain from punching her. Instead, I walk over & redirect Jules to another kid & as he walks away, I tell him it's OK, there are other people to play with who aren't leaving.

Then I turned to her & just as smugly said, "we don't like to play with kids whose moms are twats anyway."

...yeah, I know. No kids could hear, I promise. But that smug look was replaced by shock & either she didn't want to or couldn't respond quickly enough before I turned & went back to where Blair was in the floor.

Seriously. SERIOUSLY?! Who in their right mind thinks it's OK to say something like that about a kid? And who thinks it's OK to teach their kids that things like that are alright? What purpose does that serve in life at all? I mean I get it, I'm a bitch, too. But to say something about a 3 year old? And to stop your kid from playing with mine because he's got girly fucking hair? How does my kids hair length determine anything about him or our family? We're decent, clean people who raise our kids to say please & thank you & to be good to other people. But, you know, that's all erased because of some hippy hair. We must be avoided at all cost.

And in that moment, I realized why my mom made that awful scene that morning when I was in 7th grade. She flipped off our bus driver. With a bus full of kids. As I was getting on the bus.

I know, very different & I don't agree with her doing that with a bus load of kids watching, but this guy was an ass. Picked on me constantly, left me in tears most days. Total ass. I remember how horrified I was because my mom made a scene, I cried most of the day because how embarrassed I was. But now...well. I kinda admire her restraint to not punch him in his balls. Again, doing stuff in front of kids is totally not cool & I'd never do it & I don't think that was right. But looking back at the hell that man put me through & just how awful that situation was...I get what she was feeling. I've now seen that asshole-ish smug look given to me that she said was given to her that morning. And...I understand.

On a side note, the school & transportation people sided with us & I was given a whole new bus to ride because of him while he ended up suspended for things he said to me even before the whole flipping off incident. He actually left me alone after that day, funny enough.

The day went on well for Jules. He got a pretzel, icee, & a gumball. Then we met daddy for dinner at Applebees. But I myself still couldn't get over how cruel someone was to leave & not let their kids play with mine for such a pathetic reason. Part of me hopes it was a totally fake reason just announced so she could feel like the head bitch at the play area. If so, I think I won that show down.

Jules & I had another incident today at the park. Again, a fun time was being had by all. I noticed a couple women watching & playing with the same little girl, then ended up noticing they were holding hands. Life goes on. As we end up at that area of the play ground, we walk into a conversation about someones daddy getting off work & meeting them at the park soon, which led into "where is your daddy." One little girl, who later told me she was 4, announced she didn't have a daddy but she had two mommies instead. The kids, they didn't really think much of it from what I could tell. Jules asked me what that meant & why she had two mommies, so I just briefly told him that some kids have mommies & daddies, bother others have two mommies or two daddies, but they are a family just like ours & have kids, pets, the whole deal. I told him it was just different. He was totally cool with that.

A couple other sets of parents eye balled each other. One couple quickly loaded their daughters up & went to another set of play ground equipment. The dad actually kept looking back as they walked away, like the big scary lesbians were going to kick his ass or something. And soon after, another mom ushered her two little girls away, even leaving their sand toys. Seriously. Told them, "we'll just come back for them later." They wanted away. The little girl actually tried to follow them to the swings, but when the mom realized that was happening she then changed her mind & said maybe they needed to go rest in the car. Again...seriously.

My son then had what I personally thought was the saddest discussion ever & he didn't even realize it. Little girl asked when Blair was going to grow up, I asked how old she was, she told me 4, then I told her he has about 3 more years of growing then. Jules came & asked where all his friends went. I told him I didn't know, that people have to leave & things sometimes. The little girl then said, "they don't like my mommies, people don't play some times when I have both of mommies with me." Jules then went on to ask her, again, if she had 2 mommies. She, again, told him yes & told him again that people don't like her two mommies so they didn't play with her...this is a normal thing in toddlers, having the same discussion 5 times in a row. Finally, my son who is NOT an asshole, told her "mommies are cool, let's dig in the sand, make a castle! My mommy has cups!" which I did. Then he told me he wanted the cups back, because he was going to play with her, she was "cool" & that "she's got mommies & that's OK." Again, that whole toddler repeat thing.

I didn't know if I should cry because this little girl is only 4 & already knows people have issues with her two mommies, or if I should cry because my son went out of his 3 year old way to tell her it was cool & that he wanted to play with her anyway.

Of course then I was angry, because 5 minutes before we had 6 kids who were happily playing. And 6 kids could have continued to be happily playing. But adults had to jump in to avoid catching the gay I suppose. Those kids, just like Jules, didn't think much of it when she said she had two mommies. Those kids would have went on with life like Jules. Worse came to worse, someone may have said something like I said to Jules. But, of course, there are always people who don't want to have to "explain" those things. What the fuck are you having to explain? It's only as complicated as you make it, as big of a deal as you make it. I don't know why I was surprised, when I was pregnant with Blair the husband had a co-worker who admitted that she didn't let her 5th grader play with a girl anymore because she had 2 mom's & she didn't want to have to explain that to her daughter.

Let me tell you this...if the most awkward, involved, strange conversation you have with your child is that some families are different than your own, you've lucked the fuck out.

Unless, you know, you want to teach your kids how icky it is that a chick loves another chick or a dude loves another dude & how weird it is that they may have a better, more healthy & stable relationship & family structure than you do. In that case, please say nothing so maybe they can one day hear about it from someone who isn't a biased asshole so that they may turn out to not hate people because of who they love. OK? Thanks. It'll do us all a favor.

And please, more than anything...stop raising assholes. They aren't born, they are made. Every one of them, at some point in their life, were made that way. Do what you can to prevent your kid from growing up to be one. Don't be the parent of the kid who refuses to play with someone for some lame reason. They'll grow up to be the parents like I've encountered, who are training their kids to do the same things in their own lives. This sounds lame & all but, children are our future. Let's not make our future suck ass. That last line was all me.

Dude, I feel like crap.

2011-02-14T21:31:00.003-05:00

Rainbows & sunshine, I am not tonight.

I'm a planner...like waaay in advance planner. It makes me feel good to plan far in advance. So I'm already mentally preparing from Blair's first birthday.

Yes, he's 8 months old.

And suddenly...I'm pissed.

I'm going to have a get together with people less than 2 weeks after Joel's death/birth date. Most of which are people who still pretend he didn't existed. And even when I'm able to swallow that (because I plan on shoving it down their fucking throats that he fucked existed, so take that assholes who may be uncomfortable with it)...& even when I'm happy & grateful with my truely gorgeous Blair...I'm sad.

Like...run over me with a train sad.

I feel weird admitting this because, I'm sure in some fucked up way it means I kinda wish Blair didn't happen, because let's face it, if Joel hadn't died Blair wouldn't be around, but goddammit I shouldn't be planning a 1st birthday party.

Again, don't get me wrong, I'm happy that I do & I love Blair oodles & oodles. I know there are others out there who would love to plan a birthday party for a living, breathing baby.

But, again, goddammit. I should be planning Joel's 2nd birthday party.

I shouldn't be carrying around a baby. I should be trying to keep up with 2 boys running around with each other & driving us nuts.

I shouldn't be buying baby food. I should be trying to get an almost 2 year old to eat more than Mac & Cheese 6 times a day.

I shouldn't be waiting for a baby to take steps. I should be waiting to hear a almost 2 year old to tell me some insane story about dinosaurs living upstairs in our house.

But I'm not. I have a baby. And I'm thrilled with him. But that can't fix the other stuff. He can't fix that stuff, & it's not fair for me to ever think it could. I never thought that'd be the case.

I'm sad over someone who didn't exist, not in the ways that matter at least. Know what I have to prove he existed? Some dead baby pictures, a small corner shelf of random stuff, & stretch marks. And I'm not even sure which are from him. I have no way of knowing what the fuck he would have been like, looked like, or even sounded like. I can only make it up in my head & I have no idea where to even start.

Yep, I'm a bitter, unappreciative person. It's my prerogative.

My son is a precious snowflake.

2011-01-29T02:21:00.004-05:00

Jules is a big boy now. So big that he's been enrolled in school.

I know, you're wondering how he just started school in Janurary. Well, pre-school isn't real school. You can start anytime there is a opening. I'd checked around back in August, but very few places had a 2 year old program & they were all full.

Realizing that he would likely enjoy & benifit from the expierence of going a couple days a week to some sort of interaction that didn't invovle us, I sucked it up & called again. This time, one place that seemed good & had good reviews had one opening. A 2 day a week opening, from 9am-noon.

I was happy. Excited. Nervous. The whole normal stuff.

Finally came the day when we were going to look around & let Jules have a chance to have a trial day.

Simply put, he did so good. He was a little iffy at first with the adults, but he saw kids & was great. He played. Then he sat in the circle on the carpet with everyone. I went to tell him bye & he looked at me like, "jeesh mom, I'm with my friends."

I left feeling a few things. First, FREE! Yeah, that's right, I was fucking free. I had a whole 2 more hours of being able to go to the post office. Or watch something on TV I wanted. I also felt sad because he didn't really care that I left. Then I felt scared because what if someone was mean to him? What if someone picked on him? And then I felt guilt because growing up my mom always told me preschool was only for kids whose parents didn't love them. And then I almost failed kindergarten because I spent my entire day crying & scared, & I'm still socially awkward in alot of situations. I blame that whole "preschool is for people who don't love their kids" mindset. Attachment issues, I had them.

Anyway, I picked him up & he was great. He showed me that he colored animals. He seemed great!

...then he told us later on about the kid grabbing his shirt.

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SOMEONE GRABBED YOUR SHIRT?! HOLY SHIT, I WILL FIND THAT KIDS MOM & KICK HER ASS!

What, that's not a normal response? I got more of the story. Jules was chasing him. He likes to play tag...even when other kids aren't aware they are playing tag. Then he said the kid grabbed his shirt. Then he said he grabbed the kids shirt. Then the kid told him "go back home!" to which my brilliant son responded with, "NO!"

Harmless. But I still wanted to find the kid & his mom.

I suddenly realized I was going to be that mom. But nothing sealed the deal for me quite like the 2nd week.

The Tuesday of his 2nd week, he brought home his art work.

This.

And this.

How great is that stuff? But really, no, that B! I mean fucking seriously. How fucking awesome is that B artwork?! It's fucking beautiful. Perfect. Fucking amazing. No other kid could have done better than that. Shit, I wouldn't have been able to do that well. Seriously, I think it's fucking genius. Isn't that just awesome?!

And that igloo! He told us it was a igloo! And that a moose lived in it! A MOOSE!

My son is a fucking genius. And he was able to place bug stickers in a perfect order.

I've decided he's gifted. And he'll be an artist. I only wish I could claim that I was kidding. I know I'm fucking irrational. But god damn, I think he's the greatest thing ever. No, I don't. I KNOW he is. I'm only saying "think" to not sound so damn big headed. But I seriously know he's the best 3 year old in the world. If you have any doubt, check out that B artwork!

...I know, I know. I can't help myself though.

Here are a couple school pictures, so I can brag.

He's got a hanging spot!

And here is my awesome child putting his stuff away.

And then he hangs up his "busy bee" name thing.

Seriously, he's a fucking genius. He'll be president one day & I'll be able to show this picture & show how well he did at hanging up his busy bee. Speaking of bee's, how about that letter B artwork?!

He's so big. :(

I'm such a mom.

He loves the fact that in music class he gets stamps on his hands.

Of course nothing can be easy for us...just a few hours after these pictures were taken, my big brave boy ended up in the urgent care. My wonderful boy was outside playing right after we got home. He loves snow, you know.

But somehow he slipped on ice. I was a whole 2 feet away, he had a foot on the slide & I guess his other foot slipped, because he went down really hard & to add insult to injury he then slid about 3 feet across the ground of ice. He screamed hysterically, said he never wanted to go outside again. This went on about 30 minutes, he told me it was hurting really bad & hurting to breath. After calling & alerting people, I took him to the urgent care just in case something awful was going on. After getting a once over, he was diagnosed with bruised ribs. Of course, he keeps telling us all "I'm broken." Not a fun time at all. See?

My genius boy, he's tough. He's also still 3.

Yep, that's popcorn.

And here he is making a popcorn angel.

And no, he's not wearing pants.

Blair can stand.

And we have another cat. He just showed up at our house. In the house.

His name is Shemp. I love him.

Lucky #13. I always wanted a black & white cow print cat. It just took 12 before him to finally get him.

And in the final news update, Adam has agreed to knocked me up one more time. Not now, it'll be this time next year. But hey, it works. And then, we shall be done. More than done really. But I figure we should go for it. It's insane & will be crazy. Totally crazy. But it feels right.

Remind me of how I said it feels right when I'm in the hospital getting gutted open.

Working with kids...the job for crazy people.

2011-01-15T01:26:00.002-05:00

So I've got a new gig. Not only am I a wife, mother, pet hoarder, blogger, & overall ray of fucking sunshine...I'm now a teacher.

OK, not a real teacher. No one pull your kids out of public school just yet.

First & foremost, let me give this disclaimer. I love my new job. Really, love it. I enjoy working, I enjoy the kids, I enjoy the entire experience.

But holy fuck, what is wrong with kids these days?

Jeesh.

Early on I'd only taken elementary school classes. I didn't want to do high school yet...I like to feel taller than the kids I'm trying to teach. I was willing to take a middle school job, but they never came up. Well, one finally came up but it was "life experiences & career choices" class. As a career jumper, I don't think I'm one to give advice. And life experiences? I don't think a group of tweens could deal with what things I've experienced in life.

My first job ever was a 1/2 a day job. It was a bunch of 4th graders. This is where I encountered a little boy I'll call Ethan (you figure out why...maybe it's his name, but I didn't say it was). Ethan had this fun habit of shoving a neon green dice up his nose, while running around the room saying, "this is my ointment!"

That said, overall it was a good day. And I liked it.

I wasn't going to work the next day, but a preschool job popped up at like 11pm. I got excited. You see, I'm a fucking idiot. I thought it would be fun. And it was fun...if you like insanity. Of course I live in insanity, so it wasn't much different.

I was surrounded by tiny people. People who couldn't button their pants or tie their shoes. People who got all crazy & growled, "I don't like the word bottom, it makes me angry!" I was too busy to hear the rest of that discussion because I was overhearing that the teacher I was there for was worried about it being too cold to dig something...it sounded like they were talking about a grave.

Seriously.

Anyway, I have like 15 tiny people. One little boy, who just turned 3, is adorable. This little boy...he would make me his bitch. I spent my entire morning catering to him. He knew I thought he was cute, he could just tell. So he drug me around & made me do whatever he wanted. You'd think I'd be use to that by now.

I had the kids play a fun game. It was called "run." Awesome really. One darling came up to me & said, "I'll run faster when I'm WhatsHerNames age!" I asked how old she was now, she told me 4. I asked how old the other girl who was talking about was. This child looked at me like I had a penis growing out of my forehead & said, "I don't know..." then started playing run again.

Later in the afternoon, it was lunch time. They had brownies. I then had this conversation with a darling 4 year old.

Ms Jessica: Are you going to eat your brownie?
Darling Child: No, I don't like medicine brownies.
Ms Jessica: Ummmm...well, there is nothing in these, they are just plain ol' brownies.
Ms Other Teacher: Yeah, these are fine. Do your parents try to get you to take your medicine by putting it in brownies?
Darling Child: No, not mine. People say brownies are okay, but I know better. My parents, they make medicine brownies. I don't like them, so it's fine that I'm not allowed to eat them.

Ms Jessica & the other 2 teachers:

Yeah.

But I survived the day. And got snot on me. And a few days later, shocker, I was sick. This illness would later turn into almost pneumonia & required a late night urgent care trip in a blizzard because I couldn't breath. But hey, at least I got to have a couple cool teaching assistants.

Next up, I took a multiple day job with 3rd graders. This would provide lots of entertainment.

First, separation of church & state isn't really happening. OK, whatever. And this following quote will make you understand how much of the bible belt I live in.

A worksheet talked about a Jewish kid, Josh, who was going to his friends Christmas party. He was nervous because he didn't know alot about Christmas & was worried his friends would think he was weird for being Jewish. One of the discussion questions was "Why was Josh nervous about going to his friends Christmas party?"

"Because he's a jew & jews don't worship our lord & savior, jesus christ!"

I laughed.

I know, I know, it was wrong of me to just burst out laughing. But really? Even all the other kids were like "WTF?!" And the way she just said it...awesome.

At this point, I decided this was the most epic job EVER.

A nice, fun project was up next. People had a vocabulary word & had to draw a picture to match the word. One team of two kids had the word "retirement." Their picture was of a busy city. One part of the picture included this...

That's a dude. Getting hit by a plane. Of course, it gets worse.

That's a plane. And a building. A plane crashing into a building, to be exact.

Awkward. Of course, they are like 8, so they have no understanding of why this is really awkward.

I had to give a spelling test, which was awesome because I always hated spelling. You know all those things you hated in school? Well, you can do them when you're teaching. I love giving spelling test. And I love when people are reading outloud & I just stop them, mid-sentence to call on a kid who isn't paying attention to shame them because they don't know where they are at. I totally get why my teachers did that. Of course, I still hate it.

Anyway, spelling test. Kids also sprung it on me that the teacher used the words in sentences. I'm not good at that. So, I had to do what I could. For example...

Christmas is a fun holiday.

Snowflakes are pretty.

Santa breaks into your house.

For some reason, they were put off by that idea. Wonder why?

On the last day, the kids drew me pictures. Because that's what kids do. Here are a few that I will treasure forever.

Apparently, I rock. And by rock, I think it means I burn in the fire of hell. Something like that.

Now, there are several issues with this. First, why a beaver? Second, what has impaled the beavers head? And finally if you look at the small picture on the left, that is a picture that is labeled as me & Santa. So...why are santa & I at a strip pole? Like am I a stripper & santa is my "client" or something?

These kids think super highly of me.

But then, there is my all time favorite.

...

Just take that in for a minute, let it settle. Think it over.

OK, we are at the beach. And we are swimming. I'm on the left. I'm a giant. Or a midget, since the one on the right is another 3rd grader. Or maybe we're just in a tiny little world. Of course the really interesting things are the UFO's. I asked, "Um, why are we getting attacked by UFO's?" & she looked at me odd & told me, "we aren't." So I thought maybe it was just me.

Then another kid came up & noticed the picture, then asked, "Why are you getting attacked by UFO's?"

After the holidays, I jumped back into action & accepted a job before I knew what grade.

Kindergarten.

KINDERGARTEN.

I really can't explain it. So instead, I'll just share my random musings I thought. OK, not random musings. Angry, aggervation. Because, as much as I love kids, being around twenty-five 5 year olds is insane. If you've never been in a room of 25 small children & tried to teach them something, let me show you what it looks like when you look out into those cute little faces. This is what looks back at you.

Only they look cuter.

Hey, have you ever tried to teach kids left & right? FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE. I even tried to get them to hold up their hands & realize "left" made an L with your fingers. Problem with that? THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT AN L IS.

I left thinking I'd avoid kindergarten jobs. Then the same job was offered to me the next day. And I took it. Because I'm insane.

On this day, I got to play BINGO! The only thing I could put together to explain this is "Fucking BINGO cheaters." Once I got over telling each one that no, you won't have EVERY number on your card, that's why it's a game to see who wins, I had to tell them all again individually. And then again, as we were playing, half asking, "but I don't have that number!" Then a few called BINGO & when I checked, they were covering things that weren't called. Not even close. For some reason, this sent me over the edge. CHEATERS! I can't take cheaters anymore! SAVE ME!

Right about then, it was time to go do something else, so I got to take a break. After that, BINGO went fine. Breaks are good when you have kindergarten. But I did later send Adam this email...

Sweet Jesus, I just caught one girl pick her nose & eating it. She looked me in the eyes, then ate it.

I think that says it all.

After that, I ended up in high school. Yes, I'm all over the place. I didn't want to do high school, but I wanted to work. So, I took a high school job in fear that nothing else would come up. I was offered a middle school "life choices & careers" job, but I thought me teaching that would just be wrong. I'm a career jumper & my life choices are bitter & angry. So...no.

Anyway, back to high school. I wasn't a huge fan of high school. But I did enjoy this kids votes on where he'd like the senior trip to be...

In case you can't make it out, the order goes like this:
1. Hooters
2. McDonalds
3. Texas

Because if you can't go to Hooters or McDonalds, there is always Texas. I don't know who that's more offensive to, Hooters or Texas.

Of course the real fun came later when I caught a girl cheating (you're 3 feet away from me, do you think I'm an idiot & won't notice you have two papers?). And I took her paper. And she cried. And I felt awesome, because she was rude & could used knocked down a couple notches. I'll pretend I taught a life skill that day. Don't be a rude idiot.

Now, all this aside, I must publicly state that I do indeed enjoy my job. But I plan on just sticking with the short people. But not so short they cheat at BINGO. I can't deal with that shit.

I'm leaving the interwebz.

2010-12-30T15:17:00.002-05:00

FOREVER!

Mwhahahaha!

OK, not really. I'm too much of an attention whore to do that.

However, I have encountered an issue. My computer, it hates me.

I hate netbooks, but that's another rant for another day.

My charging port on my netbook (that thing the cord plugs into, I'm not sure if I'm making up its name or not) broke. And it needs fixed. Soooo...it'll be out of commission for a couple weeks. Sure, I have Adams computer but it's stupid. So I usually don't use it. But I'll try...for you peeps. But really, it's stupid. Like when I turned it on, I had to type a password, hit ESC twice, stand on my head & recite my ABC's backwards. Seriously.

But I'll be limited in my writing until mine is functional again. So expect a Christmas blog in like, uh, February at this rate. Let's all just pretend I'm quirky. Yes, just pretend.

I will still be keeping my Joel Project going, btw.

I'm going to go call Asus now to try to get them to fix my computer. Let's hope.

A project.

2010-12-23T14:34:00.001-05:00

So(that’s my favorite word)…who wants to help out with a special project?

I’ve come up with a neat idea. Neat to me, that is. I’ve had some very nice people take various pictures that involve Joel. His name places, places with the name Joel in them…Joel related. I really enjoy them. They make me happy & I think it’s neat (maybe that’s my favorite word) to have pictures from different people from different places who think “this reminds me of them” or “I think I’ll do this for them.” I’ve also discussed the fact that so many people in real life seem to be scared to even utter his name. I’d like to change that, while at the time expanding this neat thing.

For this, I bring you 365 Days With Joel.

It’s a blog, devoted to this project.

It’s a easy, yet special & meaningful project. And I can’t do it…I need help. Hence the name “project.”

So I’m asking you peeps out there…baby loss peeps, real life peeps, or just peeps that enjoy this blog or us in general…help me make this happen.
I’m requesting people to take part in this to give us something special. I’d like people to take pictures that are Joel related.

For example, here is Joel Street our friend Valarie took.

Or here is Joel in the snow by Bethany.

Anything will work, your imagination is the limits. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, his name on a piece of paper in your back yard. It can be something like written in the snow or sand. It can be his name on your kids easel. Or it can be places that happen to have his name. There is no wrong way to do this. You can do the same thing as other people have. You can do one, you can do 50, there isn't a limit or rule book. Everything will be appreciated & enjoyed.

Everyday, I’ll share one of the pictures on his blog so everyone can see what people have done. The goal is to have all the pictures collected & around the end of 2011, I’d like to have it made into a photobook keepsake. And maybe, hopefully, this can be a way people can talk about him.

I’ll be honest, I’m a tad bit scared about this. It’s asking a lot to get 365 pictures. Hopefully I can do it. With your help, that is.

To send pictures, I have a neat (I’m just using it to use it at this point) email address. That is 365dayswithjoel@gmail.com. Please include where the picture was taken. And, if you like, include anything else like your name, blog link, etc. Let me know it's OK to share it & I'll add it to the post where I share your picture.

You can start sending them ASAP. I'm hoping to launch the blog officially on January 1st.

Hmph.

2010-12-19T03:02:00.003-05:00

I come here to blog, but I can't find the words.

Instead I look at the little flashing thing that is practically screaming, "type, lady!" while I listen to Hoarders in the background, with the sound of the fish tank filter running (yes, we now have a fish tank). We have a lovely Christmas tree, lit up & cheerful.

But be writing tonight doesn't work out. Because if I did, I'd be writing just like when I go through the other motions of life. When I talk to people. When I go shopping. When I talk to family. When I go to the post office. When the collection agency calls about their now $187 that I refuse to pay for "care" rendered to us while I was pregnant with Joel. When people ask how I am, what's going on, or anything else. I usually answer "fine." Sometimes I say I'm tired, once I said I was sick. But the truth is this.

My kid died.

But that kinda kills the "how are you?" I then ask. I'm actually not thinking of it as a snarky comment, but that really sums up how I feel.

I wonder if people, strangers, can tell something tragic happened to me.

I wonder if those who know look at me & think about it when I'm talking to them.

I wonder if they are scared to mention it. Or if they are scared that I'll mention it.

I wonder that if I died, would people sit around & make small talk, never mentioning anything surrounding my existence?

There are only a handful of people around me in my life that acknowledge him. That actually say or write his name. I'm thankful for those people. I don't think it'd bother me so much still if people ever did before. I don't expect people to talk about my dead baby every time they see me for the rest of my life, but jeesh. Once he was...I was going to say when, but the truth is that no one ever said his name. He didn't have a name until a couple weeks before he died. And then, no one cared. He was then the dead baby I was to deliver. He was always just a thing. I hate the people who make me feel like that.

Holy fuck, I hate the holidays.

How am I? I'm a dead baby mom, that's how I am.

I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice. But still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone.

Yep, I can even steal quotes from prison movies to remind me of my dead baby. I'm that talented. Gold star to anyone who knows it (without google, of course).

Ornament Swap

2010-12-15T00:04:00.003-05:00

I recently took part in an ornament swap for, well, dead babies. There is a much nicer way to put that I'm sure, but you should all know I'm blunt & I believe in owning the term. So, there it is.

Anyway, the swap was called "Remembering Together." Mine, well, sucked. I'm not crafty. I hope mine wasn't a complete disappointment for the parents of the little girl whose memory I made it in, as it was made with respect & care. The one I received, for lack of better words, was fantabulous. I couldn't have hoped for anything for beautiful. Thank you, Jennifer.

I'm heartbroken for Jennifer & her family. They lost their first born son, Kai, on June 16th of this year. Like Joel, he was full term. A reminder that while I was off in happy land after Blair's safe arrival on June 10th, someone else was experiencing tragedy & starting the hell we know so well after we survived May 28th 2009. Much like the person across the hall in the hospital on that same day, who had a healthy baby while I delivered Joel...stillborn. It's a reminder that I wish they didn't have to be a part of. Rainbow baby peeps, for each happy family let's remember the ones who just started this, well, shitty road. For each eventual happy ending, someone else is starting a nightmare. It's a cycle I wish would never have to happen again.

Thank you to Jennifer & everyone else who took part in this swap. Very kind & I feel special to have been a part of it.

My virginity, I lost it.

2010-12-09T00:06:00.004-05:00

Stop being confused, I know I didn't just lose that virginity, I'm talking about a totally different one.

Peeps, I went out on Black Friday. At midnight.

Eek.

I know I'm behind on this, but I've never gone out on Black Friday before. I think I've only been shopping on Black Friday twice my entire life, & that was at like 7pm.

Once I was pregnant with Jules & did some last minute shopping because I'm an idiot. I was 39 weeks pregnant, so I was walking around with a bowling ball in my pelvis. Most of that shopping was me sitting on a bench.

Another time was many moons ago & it ended badly because I was with an ex who decided to get very jealous of a guy I was in college with & he got all pissy when he thought he saw the guy walking down the mall. That somehow meant something was between us since, you know, we were both possibly at the only mall in the county on the busiest shopping day of the year.

Yeah, right.

Anyway, I'd been saying for a few years now that I wanted to go, but the past 3 years I've been pregnant so that was my perfect excuse not to go out. This year I didn't have that excuse, but I also needed nothing. Seriously, I needed nothing. All the shopping is totally done. Minus a totally optional maybe gift for Jules, there is nothing I needed. But still, I wanted it. I wanted it bad. I wanted to go to Target at 4am! But in my searches, all I could find that I may have needed was a picture frame set for $12. That wasn't exactly worth getting up at 3am for. Or, in my case, staying up all night.

I was doomed, I wasn't going to go out in the wee hours of the morning for some picture frames that I was sure would be there later in the day.

Then I got on facebook at like 10:30 at night. Then a friend, Heather, posted that she was going to WalMart at midnight. She said I should, too. They have frames, even cheaper frames. I'd be up at midnight anyway. So why not?

Note to self...when the best thing you can say is "so why not?" you really shouldn't do it.

Let me just answer that for you.

You should not because people are fucking insane.

I got dressed. I drove down the street. I never really thought this was a bad idea. When I got to the ol' WalMart, I was kinda impressed that it wasn't full as I thought it'd be. I'd convinced myself that I'd never find a parking spot, but I actually did. I walked into the store & I could feel the tension. I decided to do a walk around the store, so I walked through grocery. There is where they had small appliances & steam mops. People were crowded by, staring. It was only like 11:20. I walk all around until I get to the toy section. Well, I kinda get to the toy section.

Here, I encounter cunts.

Seriously, there is no way to put it other than the fact that people were nasty cunts.

First, I wanted to go around so I could get to the area where I figured the picture frames were. People refused to let me through because they thought I was going to steal their spot in line for a fucking ZhuZhu pet. So I have to go back out & around. I tell another lady that they won't let us through because they want to avoid us stealing their spot in line, & she just goes off yelling. Not at me, but down the aisle, talking about rude bitches. Not that I minded, I felt the same way.

As I took the long way around, I pass people with my frames in their carts. I ask where they got them, they pointed me in the right direction. I look them over, other people come by & put them in their carts & walk off. I think, "Oh, so I guess this little stuff I can go ahead & get" so I pick up my boxes. At that point, an employee comes over running & screaming, "YOU CAN'T DO THAT! STOP THAT! IT'S NOT MIDNIGHT!" at me & another woman who had just done the same. She then makes the other lady empty her cart totally...even stuff that wasn't "Black Friday" deals. She made the lady put up her shampoo. She & I stood there, waiting & making small talk. While we do this, we see other people come through & pick up the frames & other things & walk away without any issues at all. Apparently, just me & this older lady weren't permitted to pick them up. OK.

We continue the small talk. Talking about a little craft set, her grandkids, my kids. I check my phone & it's about 10 till. We continue to talk.

A few minutes later...I hear a scream.

Seriously, it was a scream.

The lady & I looked at each other confused for a moment, but we realized that was our signal that it was time because we then heard grabbing, throwing, & more screaming.

Seriously, there were screams.

I was freaked out. But I got my craft set that I wasn't going to buy but I looked at it so long I felt like I should, then I got my frames. I then decided to go through the crowd.

I should have got my crazy ass home.

Most people were fine. Nice. Said they were sorry if they accidentally bumped into you or your cart. Everyone? Not so much.

I got whacked a few times. Not hard, but annoying. People have their babies & small kids out in this mess, sending them in & out of the crazy people. I see people with arms full of ZhuZhu pets & towels. People had this insane look in their eyes. Me? I looked confused.

I didn't know what else I wanted, but I determined to find more. So I walked around in the crazy ass mess & look at stuff. I'd decided that I wanted a $4 ZhuZhu pet. I can't find them. I ask an employee & he seems angry & tells me, "I don't know nothing about no toys." Was that a double or a triple negative? Does a triple negative even exist? I go down to another employee who tells me that they were all gone, they were gone in under a minute & goes into details about the crazy pushing & stuff that went on because of those damn things. I continue my search.

Finally, I pick up a baby toy that is like a giraffe ball popper. I didn't need it, hell I didn't even want it, but there were only a few so I figured I might as well. As I wait to continue my path, an employee is handing out Toy Story dolls. Jessies, Buzz Lightyears, & Woodys. Of course, nothing prepared me for her yelling, "I got a Woody here...anyone want this Woody? It's a Woody! Who wants this Woody I have for you? Come on, I know someone here wants my Woody!"

I finally let a giggle out because it's 12:30 in the morning & I'm listening to someones grandma offer me a Woody. I burst out laughing when a couple other women around me also started laughing. It was like we all felt safe doing it since someone else went first.

As I wonder, employees stop me & ask where I found my giraffe. Apparently, they are now sold out but people were still asking for them so they were wondering if more was put somewhere else. Then I had to get it, because it was automatically rare & special.

I continue my walking. I see tents. Pop up tents for kids. I knew Jules would like a small tent (I'll get to this in the next blog), so I finally decided to get it. It's a dino, it's cute.

A couple minutes later, I threatened to use it as a weapon.

A woman decided to run her cart into mine. Into the side. I couldn't move an inch. She wasn't tapping it. She was ramming it. Hard. Over & over. I say, "please be careful, you're pushing my cart into other people" since she was. She ignored me, if anything she kept getting harder. Over & over. Finally, I snapped like everyone else does eventually & said, "Listen lady, if you don't stop ramming my cart I'm going to use this pop up tent & pop it over your head as hard & often as you're running into my cart."

She stopped.

I didn't feel bad.

I continued walking, one more time. Just because. In the bike section, I find something. I wasn't sure, but I picked it up. I looked around as if someone was going to claim it. I put it in my cart, got out my sales paper. Went through page after page until I found this item. I checked the box, it was indeed one of the kind that was on sale.

What did I find, you're wondering?

A MOTHERFUCKING ZHUZHU PET!

Last in the store. And it was mine. MINE MINE MINE!

Mwhahahaha!

...I have issues. His name is Kingston. No, I didn't name him, that's his name according to the package. I studied it so, I'll never forget him.

With that, I decided to go check out & go home. Finally. It was 1am at this point.

Here is the lines.

Awesome, huh? And they just weren't moving. I waited in line for about 30 minutes.

I spent a whopping $97.

I go home, giddy with my awesomeness. I wasn't sure why I was awesome, but I just felt like I was. Of course that's really nothing new for me.

I get home with my prizes. Adam is, to say the least, underwhelmed. Guess you had to be part of the chase & kill to find any glory in my offerings.

But I did take pictures! Look at my amazing crap!

My frames!

Yeah...they are things that hold pictures. Black. With glass. Really special & worth getting yelled at. Totally.

My giraffe.

The balls will be gone within 20 minutes. It plays a whopping 2 songs. It's already on my nerves. I can't even spell giraffe without the aid of spell check & this hasn't inspired me to learn.

My tent.

Also makes a scary ass weapon.

My craft kit.

Because Jules doesn't already have crayons, markers, & other stuff. Suuuure....

While I was there I figured I'd do a little shopping.

Q-Tips! What, your ears don't get dirty?

And finally...

PJ's! Lame, nothing special about them PJ's. But they were $4. I'm sure they are originally like $6. My ZhuZhu pet? I got it for $4, down from the mind blowing price of $7.

I felt lame, like I should have bought more. There were a few good deals, like $19 table & chair sets for kids, but we already have a set. A dude in line offered me the last steam mop in the store, I guess they got one too many, but I didn't need it. They had 24 packs of play doh for like $5, but we already had the same thing for Jules. So I didn't need any of the stuff I encountered. OK, I didn't need any of the stuff I bought. But I needed to get this "I want to go out on Black Friday" thing out of my system.

But the more I think about it...the more I want to do it again. I suddenly don't want to buy anything in advance & on sale like I usually do. I want to save that money for a Black Friday fund & go out to kick some shopping ass. To be angry, violent, & up way too late just to save about $15 total.

I thought I was going to need a xanax to calm down after I got home. I was scared, so I hid.

Then I peeked.

Then I peeked a little more.

Then I just wanted it to stop!

Jules better appreciate my ZhuZhu pet. That's all I know.

Speaking of Jules...his birthday party is the 11th. He'll be a big boy the age of 3 on the 14th. Me? I'm sad. I asked him to stop growing. He told me no. Even worse, I've started working again. I'm a substitute teacher. I really like it, I'm doing elementary schools & yesterday I did pre-school, which actually made me feel like I was cheating on Jules. I work where & when I want, as often as I want. But with the holidays & stuff, I'm trying to work alot before Christmas break so I can get a decent paycheck during the holiday break. So I'm away from the kids everyday, for the bulk part of the day. They don't mind, they are fine & happy, but I'm sad. After this month I'm just going to do it 2-3 times a week, but this week I have & chances are next week I'll do all 5 days. I try to tell myself that it'll be worth it when I can buy an extra Iron Man toy for Jules.

But enough downer stuff. Wanna see what funny I did?

I wrote "I *heart* Penis!" on Adam's car window. And I did it on the inside & backwards so the would could read it.

Enjoy that. And the mental image of me beating some woman over the head with a pop-up tent.

A fun holiday blog will be up this weekend. And by fun, I mean awkward & weird.

The constant cycle of dead baby problems.

2010-11-27T02:11:00.003-05:00

Every time I think I've hit a point in my life where I've dealt with most of the issues surrounding being the parent of a dead baby, I find another.

I should just stop jinxing myself, shouldn't I?

Anyway, black Friday shopping (the next blog...oh my) allowed me to get frames. Lots of frames to hang our recent family shots, along with other pictures we've been meaning to hang. For example, our wedding picture. Yes, we've been married for almost 4 years & it's still not hanging up. It's been in a frame even. We're just...not good at doing shit. It happens.

I have 11x14's of the boys. My plan was to hang them in the bedroom, where we keep Joel's corner shelf of stuff &, well, him. But I thought it'd be nice on one wall to have our wedding picture, then the pictures of the kids below it. This wall is in my living room.

See where I'm going with this?

Now, I'm all for dead baby pictures. I wrote a blog, which is still close to my heart, all about them. Check it out here. But...it's hard.

First of all...what if people come to my house & just stare at it. Look around awkwardly. Think it's weird, but not saying anything. How angry or hurt will I be?

Or what is someone flat out looks bothered or looks at it with a sour look on their face? Or heaven forbid says something. Is it still assault if they are in my house & I punch them?

And finally, the worse part really...do I want to look at it constantly?

I don't know.

And for that, I'm ashamed. Because I love him. And I miss him. But I can't stand to look at the picture all the time. I can't decide if it's just painful, or if it's just my fears for the above reasons.

The timing aspect is bad as well. I'm the person who likes to ease into things. Maybe have a playdate with the picture up, then have a couple friends or family over, then a gathering. But Jules is having a birthday party on the 11th. So I'm going to have around 20 people in my house. And curious kids. And people without tact (ah, family). And if I didn't like the look or comment from someone, I'm not sure what I'd do. I'm not sure if I'd curse them out. I'm not sure if I'd just freeze up & be sad later that I didn't say something. Or maybe I'd just run out of the room crying hysterically. I'm really not sure.

Screw you society for making me even second guess my idea of putting a picture in my own home. Screw you some people I know who don't acknowledge Joel for making me worry about putting it way too in your face. And screw me for even worrying about any of this. My house. We pay for it every month (OK, so it's the banks house). I paid for the print. I paid for the frame. Our nails & our hammer will hang it. But I still feel the need to take a poll among people & ask, "do you think it's normal?"

And the right answer to that really is, "what is normal about dead babies in general?"

When toys attack.

2010-11-14T21:47:00.004-05:00

Jules has the memory of an elephant. For example, he'll ask for his paper. Give him paper, & he'll look at you stupid. He'll then say, "no mommy, my paper with the blue lines with the small, 1/2 inch fold in the upper left hand corner with some cheese sauce smudge, & the red blur from the paint I spilled. THAT paper!"

OK, so he doesn't say that, but you get the point. Some time ago he got a Superman vinyl inflatable thing. You know those cheap things at carnivals? One of those. It got ripped, couldn't be fixed. We left it laying in our house for a month. Then, finally, Adam announced he was throwing it away.

About 2 weeks later, Jules was sad because he couldn't find his Superman. Adam tried explaining it was broke but that did no good, of course.

So Jules was sad. And he cried. Not a "give me what I want!" cry, but a sad cry for his Superman. I, as a mother, was heartbroken.

I looked at Adam. "Fix this." He didn't know how, he asked if he should go buy one somewhere. "No, go to the basement, you have to have one. Or hell, you have all of those things, bring them all up for him, what can it hurt? He'll love them."

OK, I know you're confused. What things in the basement?

Well, you see, I married a dork.

The apartment my husband lived in before moving in with me & living in sin (yeah, we shacked up before we were married & did it everywhere in that apartment, even on the kitchen counter, so ha!)...he had a toy display. Yes, toys. Like, action heros. The boxes of comics were bad enough, but he had toys. Tons of toys. Like I said, he had many on display.

And yes, I still dated him. And had sex with him, with the toys staring at us. It was weird looking back on it. But hey, he let me keep my toys (of the adult nature) so he of course kept his. But, eventually, we needed room. And his stuff was banished to the basement.

Back to the present. I knew the husband had something in the basement that would make Jules happy. And, with his recent addiction to super heroes, I knew he'd like it all. So Adam finally had to share his toys.

Hey, don't feel bad for him. He shouldn't have thrown Superman away.

Jules wanted to go to the basement, so to distract him I told him daddy was getting a surprise for him. He asked if it was a present. I said yes. I told him to cover his eyes. He did this.

Close enough.

When it was time, he was a bit confused.

As he explored, Adam...well, take a look.

Oh yeah, he wasn't into the idea of sharing. At all.

Months ago, when I was trying to get Jules to play with something & Adam lectured me on letting him play with his toys how he wanted. I shouldn't tell him how to play with toys, let him use his own imagination.

I enjoyed his pained expression. I knew that meant he now knew how to felt to see your kid play with their toys wrong.

As Jules in like a kid who just realized there is a toy store in his basement, I decide to go through these things myself. In case you don't know, action figures are hilarious. Let's check some out.

First, I noticed this dude. This dude was noticeable because, well, he had a great big green penis thing. I asked Adam what I was holding, acting as if I was stupid, he asked, "what do you think it looks like?"

It looks like a fucking long ass green thing coming off some green guys ass, which is a long name for an action figure.

He corrected me, it was "Scorpion." Oh, OK, whatever. My answer was better.

Then I find proof I married the biggest dork around.

This is Dead Pool. I guess that's how it's spelled. But he wasn't REALLY dead pool.

MY HUSBAND PAINTED HIS OWN DEAD POOL FIGURE.

Acting as if this was totally normal, he explained they didn't sell the figure at the time so he painted his own. I was a bit weirded out. At that moment, we were both probably wondering why we married each other, but for totally different reasons.

But I must admit, he did a decent job.

Be impressed. Then scared. Then laugh.

This I found this.

Yay for my 2 year olds new toys.

Then I found this dude.

Scarecrow. It's like if a scarecrow & Freddy Kruger had a baby. And that baby was turned into an action figure for people to waste money on.

Then I found this thing.

WTF?

Seriously.

Look at this friendly fellow.

How did my husband ever get laid? What was wrong with me? I'm really not sure who this collection makes look worse, him or me.

I kept looking for something I'd recognize. Finally, I found something!

A pirate. A no name pirate. But at least it had no spikes, penis like tails, or weapons. Arrggghhh.

Jules continued his joy. Look, a car!

My living room, it was destroyed.

But really that's nothing new.

Spiderman was feeling cool riding as a passenger in the batmobile.

Adam looked over his kingdom of junk...I mean treasured toys.

Jules loved this thing, he says it's a giant.

And he's really friendly. I know this because he gave me a high five!

I swear my kids own clothes, not just diapers. But you'll have to take my word for it since I never seem to get pictures of them in clothing.

I went back to talk to the husband, comfort him a bit. Then I found this.

A Star Wars Pez dispenser. Oh wait, look!

Fresh pez candy.

And by fresh, I mean ass load old. Yummy.

If we didn't have an ass load of cats, I'm pretty sure this forgotten food would mean mice or something. Maybe I should finally go down to the basement & find out what horrors are down there. That'd be a fun blog.

In other news, I somehow injured my shoulder. So I can't do much of anything with my right arm now, even laying on my back hurts. I did it somehow in my normal, daily activities. I tried to think up a cool way to say I hurt myself, but I couldn't come up with anything. I asked Adam to make up a story for me, & all he came up with was I hurt myself giving a hand job. Somehow, I think that's worse that doing it while washing my hair or opening a soda. I'd go to the doctor, but I'm seriously so paranoid about being labeled a medication seeker with a random pain that I can't really prove that I have, I refuse to go. So I'll just sit & bitch until it gets better. That's how I roll.

Alive, that's me!

2010-11-06T02:11:00.002-04:00

Hi, peeps.

I've been busy.

By busy, I mean lazy as all hell. Tired, too. But, well, mainly lazy. Plus I've been trying to get pictures of all 12 of my cats for an upcoming blog. Hell of a task there.

If you hate me for being lazy, would you believe me if I told you we were invaded by gnomes?

THEY EXIST! And they nurse. Weird.

Anyway. I wanted to check in & let people know I'm alive. We all are, & we're all well. Tired, busy, cranky, & sometimes bitchy (that's just me actually), but we are all well.

But hey, since I'm actually here, lets take a viewer question! Yes, I said viewer...because in my crazy mind I'm on like TV or something.

This one comes from a long time stalker, but new to admitting it. Welcome new but not really new stalker! And it's not really one, but it was one comment so let's not get fucking picky here, OK?

What other kinds of neighbors do you have?
Crazy. So crazy they seem to make the camo tarp woman seem normal. On the other side of our house we have Jim. I call him Jim because that's his name. He's a hermit. And I'm fairly sure a hoarder. He let's his yard stay a jungle, he has told Adam that he purposely kills his grass & just lays out that hamster bedding in his yard. His yard is so, uh, fruitful that in the summer you can't tell there is a fence, it's just covered in greenery. He's a "doctor" of something, my guess is insanity. He use to be a professor at the local university. Now he's just the crazy guy next door to us. He also has chains & locks on his gate. And two huge ass German Shepherds. They look like they'd eat children, but they are actually insanely sweet. Kinda sad really.

What kind of music do you listen to?
Hall & Oates. And no, I'm not joking. I rock out to that shit.

Do you like to read?
If it's juicy gossip, totally. If it's funny, usually. If it's deep & meaningful, another usually. If it's educational or Republican, no.

Do you follow sports? Does Adam?
No. Never been a sports person. I don't care to see dudes play with balls. Adam doesn't follow anything. Truth is, I'd never be able to marry someone who did watch people shoot hoopies or make goalies or downies or whatever the hell else there may be. There is only one time I care about sports & that is when Marshall University is playing. See, I live in the town with that place. Everyone looooove Marshall. But not me. So I root for whoever they are playing when they are playing here, so they loose for fucking up my travel plans through town. Last time they had a big game here, I hate to go out at 3am for medication for Blair & the streets were closed off, because the city was cleaning them to make people think they take care of this town. So it added another like 15 minutes to my trip, when I have a baby at home who needs medication. And the next day when the team lost that game, I laughed.

Follow up to your fall in the 'mart story? You know, the one where you fell forward, defying the laws of physics (sarcasm)?
Oh goodness. That shitty store called WALMART gave me a bullshit denial. How did they deny it? They said they were off the hook because the manager went to see where I fell & he could find nothing in the floor that I could have fallen on. Mind you, it was HOURS after my fall before he knew where I fell & by the time he knew where it had happened the floor was RIPPED UP because it was being remodeled. So how he was suppose to look for something where it no longer existed, I don't know. I'm fully convinced they think I just threw myself on the ground since I, like you said new stalker, defied the laws of physics.

BUT! This has given me a new, WalMart free life. After that bullshit, & the fact that no employee even helped my pregnant ass off the tile, I decided to finally accept that WalMart is an evil company who doesn't give a damn about anything. So I've not shopped at a WalMart since that incident. It means I can no longer do my shopping in one place & I pay more for some things, but I don't feel like a dirty whore when I'm done shopping, so that's a plus.

Of course, I'm still getting the short end of the shopping trip. For example, I took this picture at Target on October 26th.

That says "use by 10/16/10." So at that point is the milk actually sour cream or cottage cheese? Just something to ponder.

And, also courtesy of Target, I must wonder...

What exactly is one doing that they need a hand towel that reads, "naughty?"

I'm going to go chase down 9 more cats now.

Why I need a house keeper.

2010-10-26T21:59:00.004-04:00

People say stay at home mom's don't need a house keeper. Part of my "job" is to cook, clean, & do laundry. I disagree with that. I keep the kids alive & happy, that's my job.

My word as to why I can't do it myself not good enough for you?

How about pictures?!

Laundry fail.

What's that, you're asking? Dental floss.

As a mom, Jules was playing with dental floss. I floss, sue me. Anyway, to keep him from doing who knows what with the floss or wasting it (seriously, I floss), I put it in my pocket.

Then, as a mom still, I was holding Blair. Then he peed on me. A penis, if not correctly placed in a diaper, will pee where it wants. Today, it wanted to pee on my pants. OK.

So I changed pants. Then, later, I did laundry. But I didn't remember my floss.

Which leads us to...well, this.

My floss container is almost empty. It was brand new. So that tells you how much I had to cut free in order to dry the clothes. Damn me for flossing.

So fuck all of you people who think I should be cooking, cleaning, & keeping the kids alive all day. I can only multitask so much. Facebook & the kids keep me too busy to worry about that other shit. I'm getting a house keeper who does laundry & dishes.

Some answers.

2010-10-21T19:46:00.003-04:00

Hi, everyone!

Thanks for the questions/comments. I will be getting to work on the longer ones soon, but I figured I'd share some stuff now, just because.

From Missy..."I l like to make up words? Got any doozies?"

Hi, Missy! I don't have time to make up words, but I constantly try to make up new ways to through out the word "fuck. Does that count? I have taken calling multiple penises "peni," though how often do you talk about multiple peni? Not since like college at least, right? Right.

From Michelle..."I'd like to read about your life prior to being married & having children, such as where all you have worked. I'm a SAHM and think it's interesting to find out what other SAHMs used to do before they had children."

Hi, Michelle! Before I was married & had kids, I drank alot. There was more to me once before, & I'll be sharing that in a upcoming long blog. Yay! I love talking about me.

From Megan..."I want to know what is going on with your family now. Is everything back to being good or is it still weird and how did it all start and all of that. And what is the deal with your in laws? I'm nosy. And I hope you feel less worried soon."

Hi Megan! Now I'm worried I spelled your name wrong since I already closed the comment window. Yell at me if you have another a, e, or an i in there. Or like a q or something. Never know anymore how names are spelled.

But back to your question...my parents, they are weird. They've gone back into "things are cool" mode. I've gone into survival. Keep peace, be civil, but limit interactions as much as possible & get the hell out of town in the next few years. That's the only way to make anything better. I avoid the drama, I refuse to be a part of it, I did nothing wrong. And even though I'm civil, I'll never forgive them for letting me lay in the hospital, post surgery, Blair in the nursery have breathing problems, me crying on the phone to my dad & him not coming to the hospital. They think they love me, maybe they "love" me, but at the end of the day it's never going to be a genuine relationship. Of course things are also weird with my extended family now, they've all decided that I'm the one who causes drama & apparently stalk me online to try to figure out what I mean by this or that, like on facebook, & then gossip about it. I don't feel like I really have anyone to depend on. That sucks, you know? But we'll be fine. We (the husband & I) get shit done & take care of ourselves & our kids. Be nice to have a safety net, have someone you know you can call & get help from or be there for you, but when Blair was born it proved they weren't. In a way I'm happy it happened, all drama aside, because at least now I know for sure. I can't say it's in my head that they treat me like this or act like this. Kinda makes me feel...right.

As far as the inlaws...oh my. The short version is that they never seemed to like me. Once we were engaged, it was over. I can go into story after story, but it's pointless, so trust me here. Things continued to be bad when we were married & after I had Jules. Very weird, very bad, very awkward. The husband always thought it could work out, but I knew better. After I got pregnant with Joel, they were awful. Didn't want to talk about the pregnancy, & when Adam finally blurted that out his dad told him he didn't consider our kids family anyway, which really pissed Adam off. He & his mom went back & forth in emails for a few weeks, but it just got worse. It turned into, basically, telling Adam I'm an awful shrew & he should get me in line. He communicated with his dad from time to time, his dad never asking anything about the pregnancy, even when I was due or what he was. It wasn't until the night we found out Joel died, I told him to call his parents. They jumped back into "everythings cool" mode. Things weren't cool. A final blow up was between Adam & his sister, finally with him hanging up on her after she complained that at Joel's funeral I wasn't social & welcoming enough to his family. They were told never to contact us again. They still attempt, like they had UPS deliver a package to Adam's WORK for Jules birthday. Sent that back. Oh, he also had an uncle who emailed us, making fun of Joel's funeral & blaming me for his death. His extended family hasn't made contact, minus one Aunt who implied he should just let it all go for the sake of family. She also had already forgot when Joel was born...just over a year after it happened, she couldn't even guess what May 28th was. Cold day in hell before I ever see them again, or let my kids around them. I don't even know if they know Blair exist. And that's fine.

If you'd like to read the loooong version, here are some links!
A blog about when I found out that while I was in labor with Joel, shit was being talked.
The night the final fight went down.
A post about the great email making fun of our dead baby.
A fun one! I burned a book. :D

And the husband wrote about it, too.
Here is a long winded version of issues with his family.
And here is a post you can actually read the lovely email from his uncle.

From Tara..."What is one of your favorite childhood memories? Tell us a list of your favorites, color, smell, activity, food.. Tell us a list of your dislikes."

Damn Tara, you're nosey! :b Oh, hi, btw. This is depressing, but I have no favorite childhood memories. Seriously. I've sat here for 10 minutes, trying to come up with something. But really, are you surprised? If I ever do think of one, I'll share it. I like the color pink. I like anything that smells clean. Living with kids & pets, it's not a smell I get to enjoy as much as I did before kids & pets. My favorite activity is sitting on my ass. I also enjoy laying down. I enjoy most things with my kids, minus shopping. I enjoy having sex with my husband. I also enjoy writing. It's something I can do while sitting. I also love shopping at Target. My favorite food is No Rules Pasta from Outback. I'm a big fan of chicken. And cheese. And bacon. Put those things today & I'm in heaven. I also like potatoes. I dislike more things than I could ever list, but I'll share a few...ranch dressing, mayo, people who are assholes to their pets or kids, cheating, lying, smoking, camo tarps, crack houses, & all of my ex's.

From Elizabeth..."I'd love to get some tips on becoming a Crazy Cat Lady, and since I believe you said that you have 318476513543 cats in your home I'm hoping you can help me out."

OH YES I CAN ELIZABETH! I can't believe I never thought about a cat blog. I HAVE SO MANY! I'll be blogging about them soon! WITH PICTURES!

From Nichole...I wanna know about your crazy ass neighbor! Just started reading ur blog and love it:)

Thanks & welcome! I feel famous, which is lame of me. Anyway, she's a fucking nut. There is the camo tarp post that you can check out, if you haven't. She's been pretty quiet lately. Minus a couple weeks ago she came home at like 2am & started yelling at my dog, Murphy. Which was odd...because Murphy was in the house asleep on the couch until she started yelling, "shut up Murphy!" Then she went outside & barked. She's got a new man from what we can tell, so hopefully getting laid is cheering her up a big. But there is ALWAYS spring time...

From Michy..."I, for one, would welcome stories about your cats, because I love kitties. (I'd better, we have 14!) Oh, and include pictures! Umm, do you like nail polish? What is your favorite dessert?"

Hi! It's not often I find someone as fucked up as I am. You have 14?! I mean, we have had that many at one point. I think the highest number we had was earlier this year at 16. As I said, I'll totally make a cat post soon. I do like nail polish, but I also like ripping my nails off. I've been chewing my nails off for so many years, it doesn't even hurt anymore. It's really embarrassing, but apparently not enough to make me stop. And my favorite dessert is any. I'm chubby, I don't turn down much. Besides exercise.

From Becky..."Yay, I get to contribute. I just realized I hadn't read your blog in a while, although your Facebook comments make my day. I second the post about the before you were a SAHM. I love when other bloggers post a whole section on their "how I got together with my man" story. It's cute to hear how people remember falling in love and starting their lives together. Plus, then you get to bash all the stupid things your mate used to do."

Yay, you enjoy my facebook? I really do try to update with things I think people would enjoy. Of course I also post things just because. I'm weird like that. Anyway, along with the "before I was a SAHM" post, I'll add the husband stuff in there. I'll tell you about how I stole him from some other girl & all about the hilarious email he sent me while he was dating both of us & wanted to CONTINUE to date both of us. Hilarity, it will ensue.

And finally...

Angie says this..."Hey, I'm suuuuper new, in fact this is only the second post I've read. Since it's been two months since our son died, my husband and I are hoping to completely sleep through the holidays this year. No tree, no lights, no presents, no nothin. Although we will be decorating Aiden's grave site with a tree. And my husband had the sweet idea to write out wishes/dreams/hopes and wrap each one for Aiden. I want to know how you and your husband survived your first holiday season after your baby died."

Hi, Angie. I'm sorry you're hear, I'm sorry about Aiden. I think your idea is beautiful. I would try to hold onto any sense of normal for the holidays that you can that you enjoy. Easier said than done, I know, because you rather just lay in bed & die. Even though you feel like your life has ended, it hasn't, & don't feel guilty for it. Something else, in my experience, that is easier said than done. You'll never be the same, but don't totally shut things out. It was different for us, since you didn't mention any other kids in your comment, because we had the other little boy. We did Christmas for him. We were also still riding out the shock from Joel's death & the shock of getting pregnant again after my husband had a vasectomy reversal (in case you didn't know, my husband was fixed about 4 weeks before Joel died, then got un-fixed a few months later so we could try for another). So we had stuff to distract us. But it still sucked. We got Joel an ornament. Nothing dead baby related, but just a boy's first Christmas ornament. I just wanted one that was, well, normal. I didn't want it to be something that reminded me he died, I wanted to focus on him existing & what life he did experience. We also did Angel Tree gifts. Salvation Army has trees with kids who are needy that you can buy for. We always do it, but I'd always tried to pick an older kid. That first Christmas, I picked kids who would have been the age of Joel at the time. Made me feel better to buy for some kid who would enjoy things Joel would have enjoyed. As for getting through the holiday itself, it sucked. I mean, sure, we were happy to have our living kids but it still sucked. And we still felt like crap & like something was missing. And we both wondered what we would have been doing if Joel hadn't died. The first year was the hardest, every holiday you were missing "baby's first." I wish I could tell you something magical to make you feel better or some way to make it suck less, but I don't think it exist. You'll get through it because you have to.

Thanks for the brainstorming, peeps. Now I have to go try to take pictures of 12 cats. This should be fun.

Give me topics.

2010-10-19T01:31:00.004-04:00

Stillbirth. Stillborn.

Say those words, or just one of them, several times. In your head if you wish, it's an odd thing to start chanting.

As I look through things, trying to look at stillborn topics, it's dawned on me that it's the most insane word. Who came up with it?

Anyway. That really isn't the point of this post, just my random thought of the night. Well, it can be, it's up to you peeps.

I've hit a writing wall, a blah if you will. But I'd like to write something. Something uplifting, or something depressing. Your choice.

So this is the submission post. Leave a comment with what you'd like to read about. My husband, my marriage, my family, my kids, my dead baby, baby deaths or things surrounding them, my political views, my cats, my crazy ass neighborhood, or anything you can think of is possible. Maybe you want just want to know my opinion on something, I'm mouthy so I'll give it. Shit, tell me something you'd like to see me try to cook & I'll give it a shot. I really have no shame, it's sad really.

I've noticed a few more readers following lately (AWESOME!), so I'd like to please them.

So, you, reader...what would you like to read about?

Give me your ideas. If they require a short post, it's fine. If it ends up being a long best, even better. I'll do a few if I get a few. I may combine them. Just whatever works. Leave your name, I'll give you a shout out! I'll pretend that's a cool thing to get.

Don't leave me hanging, peeps! You got questions & request, I've got nothing but time.

Comment now.

Iz have a sad.

2010-10-18T02:52:00.003-04:00

I apologize in advance, this is going to be a rambling blog. I'm not sure where it's going, I'm not sure if I should warn you it'll be long or short. I'm not sure how depressed or desperate I may end up sounding in it. But I do know that, as much as I joke about it, I'm not jumping off a bridge anytime soon or anything, so no one panic! And though I'm blah, I'm not nearly as bad as this post may make it seems, so again, no one panic!

I'm sad.

Yeah, OK, no shit. I get a pass at that, right? I've been through alot.

But boy, am I sad.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy with my life, my peeps, & everything in it. But the things that aren't good...boy, are they shitty. And they make me sad.

Now, I have a psychology degree. I have psychology syndrome...I read it, therefore I have it. I still remember a professor telling us, as we looked through our DSM, that "you'll think you have all of this...but you don't!" That was good enough for me to keep denying my crazy! So I always take those things with a grain of salt, like I know I'm sad & I worry alot, but that's normal. We're all sad. We all worry. I just had a baby, I'm hormonal. It happens.

But at what point is it a problem? At what point am I abnormal? The term normal is pretty subjective, but what exactly makes abnormal?

I'm sad. I make sure to make that word funny looking because just typing sad doesn't cut it. And, again, that's pretty damn normal from what I've been through.

I worry that my kids will get kidnapped. Like, not just a little worry like every parent has. I have complete stories in my head about how it'd go gone. I hate leaving my house for more than a few hours because I'm scared it will catch fire, I can see my pets dying in the fire, burning to death. Shit, I can't even wash laundry without checking everything well, just in case a cat is in it. I picture cats dying in my washer. I turn the oven on & I picture something being in there dying. Even when I check, I imagine opening it after it's pre-heated & finding something dead. I think about people breaking into my house & killing me in front of my kids or hurting them. I worry.

I know all of this is irrational. Really, I do. But shit, it scares me. Sometimes I worry until I get a headache. I worry until my chest hurts. I worry.

I'm sad. I'm sad over so much. I'm sad that my husbands family sucks. I'm sad about things with my own family. I'm sad that I'm not allowed to be sad. I'm sad that my son is dead. I'm sad that I feel like a failure at times & I'm not even sure why. I'm sad that I can't make everything work out how I want it to. I'm sad. I'm sad that I worry. Then I worry because I'm sad.

It's an evil cycle.

I convince myself that I should do this or that. Then, in the middle of it, I don't care anymore. I don't want to deal with it, I don't want to do any part of it. Depending on what it is, I get too worried to go through with it. Again, some of this is normal. But, again, how much is normal? And is this really me or am I convincing myself something is wrong because I know the signs of things more than random people off the street do? Or maybe I'm worse off than I even realize because despite my knowledge of things, have I ignored & avoided all the signs for so long that now it's so bad that I can't help but to see it all in front of me?

I've always had, uh, issues. I use to have an issue with numbers. I'd count every & any thing. If the count of, for example, words wasn't a number I liked I'd sit & restructure it to hit a number of words I liked. Not just my words...written words, other peoples words, lines in movies. There was really no limit. I've gotten better over the years, I don't do that anymore.

Now I just worry about my cats catching on fire or my kids having something terrible happen to them. How vivid or in detail are those thoughts? So vivid & detailed that it's disturbing to me, that I can see it happening. I make myself stop & go on with life, I can control it well like that. But is it normal to even think these things?

Basically, I've always been crazy. But when does crazy turn into crazy? And is this as good as it gets?

Sad thing (just sad, not sad) is that really I just fell like "well shit, I'm crazy, that makes sense, I'm going to quit everything & just accept that I'm a crazy person! Yay, crazy!"

I really just don't know what to do with myself. And I don't really care. I just don't want to have to do it. Does that make sense? I mean of course I want to take care of my family & spend time with them...but much past that? Nope, not at all. I feel like I'm lazy, that's all that rings in my head. I can't believe how lazy I am. I was always told I was a lazy kid. Seriously. I was a chubby kid who was too lazy to exercise. I got bad grades because I was too lazy to do homework. But I wasn't. I was so sad back then. I didn't give a fuck. I wanted my life to end at some points because things were just so bad. I don't even think like that now, but the lazy remains. But I wonder now, is the word lazy just a shitty label I was given? Maybe I should have received some sort of help back then. Maybe I'm ruined because I didn't. Maybe I would have been happier if I hadn't just been labeled lazy. Maybe I wouldn't be sitting here now, in shock of how lazy I continue to be when I'm not actually lazy but just depressed instead. Maybe I can't be helped. Even if I can, it's sad to think I've wasted 30 years of my life being sad.

I think Joel's death just gave me something to grasp onto for the sadness. Finally, I have a reason. Maybe because of that it continues to hit me as hard as the day we found out he died. I could say all of this impairs my daily functioning, but truthfully I've never functioned without something going on. I have no idea what it's like to not have some sort of impaired function, I've adapted to live with it. I hate to admit I'm too sad to function like I think I could if I wasn't. It's a shameful thing to admit almost. Of course I think that goes back to my fear of the lazy label. I don't want to say, "Hey honey, I want to drop out of school & never leave the house because I'm sad." Things like that are usually met with a pep talk & dismissed as me being tired or frustrated. Which they are, in part. But the big part is that I cannot convince myself I need to do it. Well, I know I need to do it. But I cannot gather the effort needed to do anything. And that, it seems, makes me lazy. And that shame & embarrassment comes back. It's bad enough knowing your parents think you're a failure and/or lazy, you don't want people you love to think the same. I feel bad enough about myself & things I've done or not done, I don't need people to join in.

I want to be OK more than anything. But, truth is...

I'm not.

Just admitting this makes me worry. And it freaks me out because now, even though I'm thinking it's time to do something about it, I figure if I decide not to people will stay on my ass about doing something to help myself. But I fear help isn't going to, well, help. And my insurance believes that only 20 appointments of help will be more than enough, so after that point guess whose got to foot the bill? And that just bring more sadness & worry.

I really don't know what I should do...what I should want. I'm not even sure what more I should say. Maybe I'm just lazy or worthless. Or maybe I'm crazy. Or maybe I'm beyond help. I just wish I knew for sure.

I'll be OK. I just have to figure out how to get there. And whatever I decide to do to get myself on the best track I can, hopefully people can accept & not judge. People including me.

Even more October Madness...what happens when babies die anyway?

2010-10-15T00:25:00.002-04:00

So you're walking around, can't see your feet, your back hurts, & you're getting ready to go through endless pain to bring a human being in this world any day now after waiting 40 weeks. People tell you to think about cute baby toes & fingers, that'll get you through the pain. Besides, hours of pain is nothing compared to a lifetime with your baby!

But folks, someone has to draw a short straw. And in May 2009, I did just that.

What then you ask?

Simple! You get to do the exact same thing as the person across the hall who gets to take the living baby home.

That's right folks, you get to go through it all. Only you have now added this whole emotional "why me, I want to die" aspect.

With Jules I was in labor for 24 hours. Loads of fun. I figured an induction would be just as long this time around. I was wrong.

It was 26 hours, so longer.

I walked my pregnant, but not really pregnant anymore, ass to labor & delivery. Oh yeah, you read that right. I'm pregnant with a dead baby & I get to go through all of this in labor & delivery. I get the hospital issued gown. I get to answer questions about my pregnancy. But at least I don't have to answer questions about taking my baby home, right? They make a list of my belongings, just in case anything gets stolen. Yep, I'm there to deliver a dead baby & I may get robbed. Fabulous.

People ask you about autopsies. And funeral homes. People go over how your baby may or may not look. Let's just be graphic here...your baby may look perfect, like they are sleeping. Or they could end up looking deformed, they can have tears in their skin, they can also be peeling. Sorry for the graphic mental images, but when I found out Joel was dead I googled "what do stillborn babies look like" for answers. I was scared. I couldn't really find anything. So now, if someone googles it, maybe they can find this. Sorry if you're googling this.

Anyway, you get IV's. You get bloodwork. You get some people who ask if you'll try for another. Yes, seriously. You'll hopefully get drugs. Lots of drugs. You will get to push. You will feel everything, you will hear nothing. I went through 26 hours of hell, & really the fun is just starting. Though I do have to say my hospital was pretty hands off. Previously, I'd have to ask permission to go to the bathroom or deal with nurses wanting to check me all the time. This time though they pretty much let me be. And that was a good thing, because I didn't want to deal with any of that.

Know what happens next? You get sewed up. Oh yeah, you still get tears since you pushed out a baby. You can also get hemorrhoids. And your milk will come in. Because even though you baby dies inside of you, there is no switch flipped off in your head. Your body is ready to take care of a baby. As another dead baby mom without any living children once told me, for her, it was like she spent 9 months preparing to be a mother & then nothing. All these things you're ready to do, deal with, things you prepare for...it's gone.

After that, the grief parade will start. I'd tell you how that went, but I paid no attention. Why? Because I had chicken strips. Never, in any hospital stay, have I eaten the food. But on that day? Those chicken strips were awesome. And fries, can't forget the fries. They'd also sent me several packages of any type of sauce ever needed for chicken strips. It was really nice actually. I remember wondering if they called for a tray & told them I was a dead baby mom, it felt like they put extra effort into condiments & if I worked in a kitchen I'd feel the need to do that for someone. So, as people came in & held our dead baby, I nom'ed. I ate like I didn't have a care in the world. And really, compared to 48 hours before, I really didn't. The part of the physical pain & the worry was gone & over with. So I ate my chicken. It was one of the top 5 meals I've ever had in my life.

Eventually, they will want you to get out of bed. So I did. And I showered. And I sat on the floor of the shower crying for most of that. I can kinda see my feet at this point, being not pregnant allows that. Instead, the once pregnant stomach is left with stretch marks that itchy & is complete with a nice jello feeling if you touch it. Other times I didn't mind this, but there was a reward for that jiggle previously. This time, not so much.

Night fell. I did more of asking "why me?" We'd picked a funeral home, on the entire basis of it listing "infant services" in their ad in the yellow pages. We are in our 20's, you think we have a "favorite" funeral home or something?

Now here is where it gets weird for me. Because I know he's dead. Duh. I know our interaction is nothing for him. But it's all I've got. And the worse thing is knowing what will happen once he leaves our room. A morgue. An autopsy. I know that telling someone "go ahead & take him" is basically saying (excuse the bluntness here) "take him to the fridge until the doctor gets his scalpel ready." And I knew that meant never seeing him again. And one of the most painful things, even more painful than we were told he was dead, is the memory of him being wheeled out of that room the next morning.

After that, I sat in the bed. Hooked to IV's. Numb & wanting to leave. My mother in law & sister in law came in. Talked about old times, work, joked around...& there I sat. I stared & read the posted across the room by the sink, the poster I read no less than 1000 times before I went home. A hand washing poster. It was a hand, of course, & said something about "the five most common ways to spread infection." This was my special room, all baby stuff had been removed before I was there. So, instead, just several signs telling me how to wash my hands were up.If I didn't know how to wash my hands before, I totally do now.

Before I'm allowed to make my escape, I have to sign off on paperwork. One form talked about what I wanted to do with "the remains." That's some scary shit right there. You check the wrong box & nothing good can happen. So I made sure to clearly label & sign the right box, telling them to release him to the funeral home. The next batch of paperwork I get to sign, while Adam goes & runs us into some debt at the cashiers office (yes, they wanted paid THEN for things, walked in the hospital with no debt, left with a few thousand in debt), is the form that tells me how to take care of myself. I have to check off that I know & have been told this & that. I could skip the parts about infant care, thankfully. Though I did still have to sign something that said I knew not to hold anything heavier than my infant. Thaaanks.

I get dressed to leave. Oh, that's fun as well. Because, even though you have no baby, you just had a baby. So you still need maternity clothes. That's just salt in the wound, let me tell you. After that, I sat in a rocking chair while the husband carried things out to our car. We finally get to leave. And make the long drive home with an empty car. Minus sympathy flowers of course. No talking, there is nothing to say. Come home & take care of things, because nothing at home has stopped. Flowers to water, pets to feed, pools that needs chemicals dumped in. And I waddle around, trying to do my normal routine, because I need something normal in my life.

We ate pizza rolls, fruit, & veggies for dinner. The pizza rolls from our trip home. The fruit & veggies were from our grief food in the fridge. People caring for our cats & dog, some of the husbands co-workers, were nice enough to put stuff in our fridge while they cared for the pets. Of course, the irony here is that the same day we found out Joel was dead we'd been talking about grief food. Seriously. We were talking about sending something to our friend Dawn whose son had an accident. Adam mentioned he thought people sent food of sorts, I told him grief food was awful & I was not about to send our friend veggies.

I don't believe in karma, but I guess I should believe in jinxing myself.

Jules finally came home. He cried when I tried to get him to be around me. He'd always been a daddy's boy & being away had totally thrown him for a loop so he was whinny &, well, miserable in his own way. Then I cried, because it felt like the living son wanted nothing to do with me anymore. Sure, that was an irrational thought but so many other things that made no sense had already happened so why not just throw in rejection from the toddler, too? The rest of the night I watched Headline News. Over & over. Taking percocet after percocet. Curling up on my left side against the old purple quilt we have & some pillows, just staring through the TV in the darkened living room until just after 5am when Adam came up & asked me if I wanted to come to bed. I said sure, but only so he wouldn't worry I was going to keep taking percocet all night.

The next adventure would be planning a funeral a couple days later. Thankfully I managed to get out of bed for it. And find clothes, that weren't maternity, that fit. Adam, being an english teacher, made the poor guy at the funeral home re-write the obituary over & over for comas & semi-colons. We paid for a death certificate, which I was happy about because I had previously told Adam we may get nothing. I knew we didn't get a birth certificate. Some places didn't even do death certificates I found. So I figured we'd get at least that. Afterward we went driving. I'm not sure how or why we ended up driving around, but we did. And we got to sit behind a school bus since it was time for school to be out. We watched a little boy run out of his house, his mom follow behind him, as he raced down their sidewalk to the bus where his brother, who wasn't much older, came down. They walked arm in arm up to the house. There might as well have been a neon sign pointing at them & someone with a megaphone yelling, "since your baby died, your other son will never have this!" We then picked flowers out at the florist. And a $50 stuffed animal, just because. Fate worked out that to look at the funeral arrangement books, we had to sit in the new baby section of the shop. Yes, seriously. We were surrounded by "congrats!" balloons & baby items. I wanted to take one of those plastic floral card holders & jam it through my eye. Or both of them to at least blind me if it didn't kill me. Sitting there picking out flowers sucked more than picking out an urn. Seriously.

Later on in the grief, I got to pick up Joel's death certificate. That day made me regret I actually didn't stab myself in the eye at the florist.

First off, we didn't get a death certificate like I'd get if I fell over dead right now. It's a "fetal death certificate." Lovely. I looked at it in the car & then again at home. I couldn't stop staring at it in disappointment. Because you see, I'd hoped that at least in death, somewhere, he'd be recognized. But nah, that can't happen. There is a place the doctor signed his name, the doctor who claimed to have delivered the baby & got paid to deliver him, but he actually didn't. The exact thing he signs under states "I certify that on the date above at the location above, the fetus was born dead."

Something about "fetus born dead" bothers me. When I say "something" I actually mean everything.

Next up I noticed that I'm listed, Adam is listed, the hospital is listed, "unknown" is the cause of death, what funeral home he went to & that he was cremated is listed, the date is listed, the fact that he died during pregnancy & not during delivery or labor is listed, hell even the place he was cremated is listed.

See anything missing?

No name. He's just a nameless, dead fetus that was born on May 28th.

And that's all I got. I get no birth certificate. I know that's a hot button topic. I've seen that people fear giving a birth certificate when someone isn't actually alive crosses the lines of defining where life begins, & therefore turns into an abortion debate. I'm prochoice, I think anyone should have a choice.

My choice was to be pregnant & have a baby. My baby died, but I still had him. My feelings come down to the fact that I'm selfish & feel like I deserve a piece of paper that says I went through pregnancy & childbirth. Give me something & call it a fucking stillborn certificate, or even a delivery certificate. I don't really care. But as I talked about earlier, I still went through everything as if he was alive & I think I deserve something. I've seen the argument made that people don't get why it matters, it doesn't make the child come back to life or anything. No it doesn't bring him back & no it doesn't make anything better, but it's something. And when you've got little, you'll hold onto anything you can.

We spent the rest of the summer in denial. Doing what we could to keep busy. Doing things to our house. Going into even more debt for the husbands vasectomy reversal. And drinking. Because at a certain point, all you can do is keep going. And that's what we did. I've been asked how we did it, & it's really that simple. We had to.

We are now one year & 4, almost 5, months post dead baby. And really...it's gotten better. Still sucks. Still cry. But it's better. It continues to change my life & how we do everything. We had some family pictures today. After I found my clothes, helped Adam with his, & picked Jules & Blair's outfits out, I got to sit down & clean the tarnish off of Joel's contribution to the family pictures.

Those are Thumbies. Expensive, real life set in silver imprints of Joel's hand & foot prints. I mean, I guess they could just be any random hand or foot print, we really wouldn't know, but I'd like to think a company isn't ripped us sad people off.

Of course, like I said, we'll hold onto anything we can.

And, for the rest of my life, I'll hold onto the thing I can't have. That's just how it works.

And that, my friends, is what happens when your baby dies. A part of you dies, too. But you'll be OK. Because you've got to be eventually.

Happy October 15th, peeps.

More October Madness: Helping someone with grief.

2010-10-13T01:55:00.002-04:00

I've seen & heard it asked...different people, with different connections to dead baby parents. Someone has a friend. A person has a cousin. Dead baby disease, sadly, runs rampant. We're always adding new members to this club. Anyway, it's always been asked, "how can I help them?" or "how can I nudge them past this?"

It's easy really.

First, invent a time machine.

Kidding (but if you got one, send me a message). But really, it is easy.

Be there.

Oh yes, it's that easy. Just be there. Be you. But be you for them. Don't say or do what you think you'd want if you were in their shoes. Think of them. I'll explain more about that shortly.

You see, we live in a world where people want to fix things; say something to make a person feel better. We want to give advice. We want to fix it. I appreciate it, really, I do. But you can't. Unless you have that time machine I talked about before. So please don't try.

Here is a list of things that, for me, I did not appreciate:

Now is not the time to spread the word of your god.
Believe it or not, not everyone believes the same as you. I know, I know. Sit down, cry a little, regain your composure & come back to reading. Are you ready now? Good. Telling me that my baby was in the arms of Jesus doesn't help me. Fuck your greedy Jesus, I want my baby back. Telling me god has a plan for everything also doesn't help. Again, sit down, I don't believe in god personally. I think it's great if someone else has something to hold onto & believe in if they choose to, but I choose not to. Telling me that someone I think is a fairy tale has a plan doesn't help. Please, don't try to save me or change my mind. It will not be anymore well received than when the Mormons knock on my door. Which leads me to the next one...

Do not say or do shit to make yourself feel better.
Yeah, you feel bad. You want to make that feeling go away. So you decide it's a good idea to write me an essay with bible quotes &, uh, sections or whatever you call them that you feel backs up your theory. You aren't doing that for me, you're doing it for you. So you can feel like you've done something, so you can feel good that you've helped me. Well, you haven't. You're sleeping better at night, go you! Aren't you a special snowflake?! Me? I'm still crying. My parents wanted to bring us take out after Joel died. I didn't not want it. I don't want your pity food, I don't want to see you look at me like that. If I want to be alone, please respect that. You don't know what's best for me. Please try to remember that.

Do not look on the bright side.
There is no bright side in my world, especially right after Joel died. Don't smile at me & tell me how great I look. I look like someone who isn't brave enough to jump off a bridge. And don't tell me how I already have children, living children. I love my kids, including the dead one. And he'll never get to know it, never get to grow up & know it. My living children aren't Joel. Don't tell me at least I never got to know him. I kinda did. And honestly, it kills me that I didn't get to know him, even a little.

Do not ignore it.
Don't make my dead baby the elephant in the room. I had people who, even an hour after his funeral, try to avoid the topic. When someone else dies, are they ignored? If your mother dies, do you pretend she never existed? Your father? Your spouse? Of course not. Which brings us to my biggie...

Don't forget him.
I'm still hurt by people who forgot Joel's birthday. I'm sad for him. I'm sad for me. He happened. Don't pack him away & never speak of him again or acknowledge his life. Again, would you do that to anyone else in your life who died? No, it's never too soon to mention him or acknowledge his birthday or death. Just like it's never too late. Please don't forget him.

Don't try to nudge me back to who I was.
Hi there. I'm the new me. Hopefully you get use to me. I look like me, act like me alot, but I'm damaged goods. Some days I'll be sad for no real reason. Some times I'll just get emotional. Little things can trigger this, be understanding. Do not try to fix me. If you're unhappy with how I've dealt with things or how I'm not acting, you should go away. The person you knew & loved has had something happened that changed their lives, that forever changed them. I may be nothing like the person you once knew, or I could just have moments where I'm different. Either way, be understanding. Nothing, minus that time machine, will ever correct that. If you really feel like you can't deal with the new me & the fact that old me will never be back, please bow out of my life. It'll cause less pain than if you try to "fix" me.

Don't gossip about it. If you have questions, ask me.
Know that saying "good news travels fast"? Bullshit. Bad news travels more than anything you'll ever know. Suddenly, the 2nd grade teachers cousins wifes next door neighbor knows someones nanny who heard about what happened. If people mention it & you know, tell them my son died & leave it at that. If they want more info, suggest they ask me. Chances are, unless you heard it straight from me, the story isn't exactly 100% on the nose. And if you heard about it, mention it. Don't wait until I'm forced to bring it up in small talk. Then I'll feel like an idiot. And I'll wonder what you heard & if you're giving that look. The look of sadness & pity, mixed with awkwardness while trying to hide it with a smile.

Don't think I'm weird.
Unless you've been through exactly what I've been through, you don't have a right to think I'm weird. If I choose to blog about it, let me. If I choose to search my medical records every other week just to look for something, anything, let me. If I'm online on support groups or I'm not friends with other moms of dead babies, it's fine. If I have a picture of my baby, don't think it's odd. Do not decide what your comfort level is & expect me to stay within it. This goes back to my earlier thought of not thinking everyone would do as you think you'd do. First, you never know what you'd do in this situation. Sure, you think you know, but unless you are in it you will never be sure. I thought I knew, but I was wrong. Secondly, don't decide what's good for the goose is good for the gander (I really wanted to use that phrase for some weird reason). OK, fine, you wouldn't do what I'm doing. Good news, you have that choice! If your baby dies or has died, you can decide what's best for you. Don't pretend to know what will work best for me. If you think I'm an obsessed freak with emotional issues, unless I'm a danger to myself or someone else, is there really harm? Which leads me to the last one...

Do not be an asshole.
Seriously. If you have to stop & think, "should I..." then chances are the answer is no. Remember, you can always say or do something later. But once it's out there, you can't take it back. And everything said or done wrong stays with me...forever.

Up next, a special titled, "My baby has died, what next?!"

The missing days...days 9-11

2010-10-11T22:55:00.004-04:00

Life has been busy. A baby shower with old friends, then a meet up with new friends. Then a Monday where I did nothing I was suppose to. Not bad really. Well, some minor drama, but nothing worth moaning & groaning about...at least not now.

Day 9 - a photo you took since your loss.

I posted this online with the caption, "everyone wave at the crazy lady."

The real caption should have been, "Hi, my baby died 3 weeks ago & all anyone can fucking say to me is how they can't believe how well I"m getting around, which makes no sense since I didn't die, though I kinda wish I did, of course there is still time. Why the hell are we having a cook out? Whose fucking idea was this? Is my zoloft ready yet? Because I need it. Stop looking at me like that. How? You know...like THAT. Like you want to give me some pep talk, but aren't sure where to start. Trust me, you're right, you have no idea where to start. How about this...leave me the fuck alone & stop watching me like I'm a dancing bear. Yes, I just said fuck. Go fuck yourself if you don't like that, I'm damn near 30, married, have kids, & just had a funeral for one of them, I can fucking curse if I want to. Fuck off."

Sadly, there wasn't enough room for that caption.

Day 10 - a photo taken over 10 years ago of you and how it makes you feel seeing it now.

I'd like to do this, but sadly I don't have access to any of my past. Weird, huh? Not that it would give me some uplifting story, it may just make me want to jump off a bridge again.

Day 11 - a photo of you recently and how it makes you feel seeing it now.

Blair was a hairy monkey with a heck of a nose. Thankfully, he grew into it. Despite the family bullshit, nothing that day was ruined. So take that people who try to ruin things. :b I also feel weird knowing what a hell of a year it'd been. It was 4 days after the one year mark of Joel's memorial service that The Blair was born. And for the first few weeks, I was waiting on him to die, too. Thankfully, I've gotten over that. And my scar healed quite nicely as well. :D That's something else, as not pro-csection I am, I don't regret that at all. I'm not going to become one of those people who tell people, "a healthy baby is all that matters, who cares how they get here?!" but I know for me, the c-section was a good decision. Of course, a c-section with a living baby following a normal birth with a dead baby, well, it's hard not to improve on that feeling of complete & utter misery.

I also feel like that cross placement in the picture is creepy.

Family pictures with Valarie Decker this week, woohoo! She made Blair look as cute as humanly possible in pictures, so I'm sure I'll come out looking like Hedi Klum. Right, Valarie?! Right!

Day 8 of 30

2010-10-08T01:47:00.002-04:00

Day 8 - a photo that makes you angry/sad.

This one, my friends, is easy.

Still can't believe this happened to me. But I think that's pretty common.

Day 7 of 30

2010-10-07T01:29:00.000-04:00

Day 7 - a photo that makes you happy.

This one...this was hard. Because I actually have many.

So, here are a few.

Pink elephant.

No story, just like it.

I've made out with a dolphin.

Dolphins are a bees knees.

So is Jules.

I'm unsure how I remember Shannon's wedding.

Because we were waaaaasted.

My BFF was the big winner at Price is Right!

And then we lost her car. Or it was stolen. Who knows.

We didn't.

My little guy.

Despite my bad times, I have alot of happy in my life. And my peeps rule.

Dead baby judgment .

2010-10-05T01:08:00.004-04:00

Since October is dead baby month, I figure I'll do a few ultra depressing blogs that I've put off. Here is one of those.

A new interwebz friend mentioned that she'd delivered her baby early because of a bad diagnosis. Person shall remain nameless because, well, it's not my business to share with the world (even with you, peeps) if she doesn't want to. In telling me this, she mentioned that she didn't tell many people because basically alot of people judge their decision but she felt OK telling me.

I'll admit, at some point in my life I thought "how can someone do that, not even give the child a chance?"

Now? Not so much.

If I had known Joel's outcome, what would I have done? I would have carried him & hoped I was told wrong, that he'd be fine. I'd settle for him opening his eyes once, or taking a single breath. Basically, I'd take anything over what I got. Even when it'd been confirmed several times that he was dead, I still held out hope for life once he was born. We know that didn't happen.

So how can people do that, choose that? Even if you know your child will die, maybe die before birth or within hours of birth, why not give them a chance? Why not get what you can with your child? Because I sure as hell would want anything I could get.

I'm selfish. And I'm not brave.

Don't get your panties in a wad, if you carry to term I don't think you're selfish or chicken. But for me, I could never do anything but wait & see. And hope. Because I'm not brave enough to let go of any hope & maybe my child would suffer because of the decision that I didn't want to make.

Not a single one of us dead baby parents are selfish, & we're all brave. It's just different for everyone. I can't imagine choosing to induce early or abort. Just like I can't imagine knowing in advance my child will die & continuing the pregnancy, knowing how it ends. Just like I'm sure the people in those two groups can't imagine just finding out their baby is dead without any warning like we experienced.

People who go that route do not love their babies less than I love Joel or my other kids. They don't miss their kids differently. But I see message boards or websites just ripping people to shreds. The people who carry to term look down on the people who don't & I've even seen it said that those people don't love their children. The people who don't look at the people who carry to term like they are selfish assholes to put a baby though whatever pain may occur.

Who the hell am I to decide who is bad in this situation? Who am I to look at someone else & think that their child mattered less to them? If they opt for labor & delivery, is it easier for them? Do they experience some amazing, pain free labor? No matter what they opt for to end the pregnancy early, do we really think people don't cry or miss out what might have been?

The truth is that we're all dead baby parents. We were all cheated. And we're all damaged by it. No one deserves a medal for not ending a pregnancy early at the news of a bad diagnosis. We all deserve medals for surviving the death, no matter when or why it occurred. We all deserve to grieve. We all have enough judgment as it is...I'm sure people wonder why I got pregnant again or wonder what I did to cause my baby to die. We all have enough of that in our lives, we don't need to do it to each other.

So consider me a dead baby safe place. If your child died, by whatever means at whatever time, I'm sorry. You don't deserve it. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry you went through whatever you went through. We all have our stories, our painful looks back at the death of our children. Those flashes of memories, & wondering how the hell we made it through that awful experience.

There aren't alot of people who know what it's like to experience this type of death. There is no need to categorize people into groups. Be there for & watch out for all of us, despite how the death occurred. Pain is pain. Don't judge it.

My dead baby is in a cabin in the woods, who knew?

2010-10-03T00:35:00.005-04:00

How's that for a subject?

Tonight Adam asked if I wanted to do a visualization he had to do in his grad class tonight. Golly gee, sure!

He props me up in some uncomfortable position with proper posture. Turns the lights out & makes me close my eyes.

Now, my first thought is that he's going to use this chance to grab my boob or something, so I'm on guard.

First I Have to do some stupid flex & relax various parts of my body. Finally, he tells me to imagine I'm walking on a road alone.

I would never walk, much less a road alone, but whatever. I picture myself on an open road like out in the dessert. I don't know why, but that seemed to make sense. In movies that's what you see. He then tells me a country road with a trail or path. Shit. Gotta imagine trees. I also wouldn't go into a forest, but oh well.

He told me to walk the path until I come to a clearing, where a house is. A random cabin pops up because there wasn't one at first. I felt like I was in a bad kids show at this point.

He tells me to go into the house.

Fuck no, I don't want to. I'm not going into a strangers house in the woods. But he makes me, after I nod "no" many times. So I do. I look around the house, he then tells me to take the stairs.

WHAT STAIRS?!

Jeesh. So I have to pop stairs into this house. I go up them. I'm on a landing, which I didn't imagine until he told me but whatever. He then tells me to open the door.

I figured it'd end there, so I was going to be a smart ass & tell him there was nothing behind the door because the damn stairs & door weren't suppose to be there. But, of course, he doesn't go that route. Nope, we can't do that.

"Walk into the room, look around...now, find something special to just you. Pick it up. Take it out of the room, down the stairs, out of the house, up the path, & back to the road."

As soon as I hear that I should find an object, I get tears in my eyes & feel like a fucking freak because I just imagined finding my dead baby, not dead fyi, because who does that?

Afterward, he ask me what my object was. I tell him "my dead baby" & he tells me he had the same thing. He also tells me how the professor said not to do this with students because it can be very emotionally upsetting.

SO HE TRIES IT ON ME?!

Jeesh. Have I said that yet? Jeesh.

So now I want to throw myself off a bridge. Good times, good times.

And after this, I realize I'm on day 3 of forgetting to pick up my zoloft refill. Yeah, I know that stuff last like 2 weeks before you get it out of your system, but on a night like tonight I feel the need to double dose. And when I remember this, I blurt out "oh man!" which reminds me of Swiper from Dora the Explorer & that's a whole separate issue I'm sure.

If you're asking yourself, "shouldn't she be over this by now?" you should promptly go fuck yourself.

It's October. You may know that it's the month of Halloween & whatever random days on observed in this month, but it's dead baby month around here. I have a interwebz peep whose son, Jack, died. Her blog is here. She posted an entry about 30 Questions for 30 Days. It's 30 questions for the month of October. I'm not dedicated enough, nor do I really have things that apply to all 30 questions, so I'm going to do a few of them. Since it's now the 3rd in my part of the world, we'll go with this one.

Day 3 - a television program that helped you either get through hard times or that moves you.

Are there wrong answers? Because I bet I'm the only person with this answer.

Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien.

Hear me out here, please.

I was very pregnant with Joel when hislast Late Night aired. Being a hormonal pregnant woman, I cried. We often joked that Joel would come late & be born during the first night that Tonight Show with Conan premiered. Well, that didn't happen. Instead, he died. And at some point after he died (at this point I don't even remember if it was before or after Joel's service, though I'm thinking it was the Monday before, the same day we planned the service), it came on. And it gave us something to do, something to look forward to. And we laughed as Conan took his first audience on a tour, went in circles, & bought them all gifts at the Dollar Store. I'd post a clip, but NBC likes to pretend Conan's Tonight Show never existed. I remember nothing about that show besides the intro where he ran across the country to a Cheap Trick song (Surrender) & that tour & the "circle!" chant. It's also known as the only hour during that time I didn't think about throwing myself in front of a train. And I think that was the first hour since I found out Joel was dead that I didn't want to just, well, die.

So thanks, Conan, for giving me something to do but plan my own demise.

Oh, & since NBC hates Conan but I wanted to add a clip, I looked this one up. This was the one Conan said on his last late night that he'd want shown if he died & they could only show one clip.

Everyone watch & LOL alot because this was almost impossible to find (at least a decent copy was). Damn you NBC.

Video Games | | CONAN O'BRIEN - Baseball Skit!

XBox 360 | Playstation 3 | Nintendo Wii

Why you should always remember your breast pads.

2010-09-30T00:45:00.003-04:00

I know what you must be thinking, I love animals & I'm such a good person. Truth me told, yes, I love them but I'm not really a good person. There are aspects of pet ownership I, well, hate. One thing I hate? Take my pets to the vet.

I'd rather be without electricity than take my pets to the vet. Of course the reason for this is, well, crappy vets. There have only been 2 vets in my lifetime I've liked & who have done good things for my critters. One is 2 hours away, & the other is who knows where. So I'm back to crappy vets. I managed to find a decent vet, though I'm not too impressed overall but when you have a fucking assload of pets, you need a vet.

I also try everything possible before I take my pet to the vet. I mean, if it's something that they need medical help for I'll of course do it. But if it's something minor, I'll try your run of the mill home remedies. Like recently, Murphy got itchy. Itching led to scratching. Which led to digging. Which led to chewing. Which led to pulling her hair out.

When we hit that point, I decided it was time for a vet trip.

I called on a Monday. The earliest they could see me in Friday. My dog is getting more & more bald, & now we're waiting until Friday. Awesome. After I get off the phone, they called me back but I missed the call. No message, so I figured it wasn't anything important.

Wrong.

Friday morning, I get a call that they can't see me at the time they gave me. They can see me earlier, or next Thursday. Um, no. They finally come up with the idea that I can be seen that day at the same time at their other office across town. I agreed, even though I hated the idea. You see, I've been to that office. I'm not a fan personally of their care. The past few times I've been, I've had to wait & wait while they took people they knew ahead of me & people from the local pet shops. People who just popped in, announced they didn't have an appointment, but I guess since they are BFF's, they get my slot while I wait.

But my dogs ass is bald. And I can't wait until almost a week. And on a Friday afternoon, I can't really call around & find other vets & be see before a few days. So I figure my dog has a bald ass, so I need to suck it up & go. And I did.

First, Murphy & I played a fun game. It's called, "Get in the Car."

Murphy won that game.

I then wrestled her. Seriously. Battle music was playing in the background, I'm trying to take her down which is hard because dogs have 4 legs you have to bring down. She's also big. I'd later find out she's 55lbs. That's 55lbs of shedding, drooling, avoiding the car battle I dealt with. I totally see why people drug their dogs.

But eventually I won.

And she acted totally cool. Why do dogs do that?! We'd just wrestled in the street, I was dirty, my hair was all over, my left boob was popping out of my nursing bra. I was sweating. I hate to sweat. And her? You'd never know we just battled. Then it got worse. She looked as though she was fucking ENJOYING IT.

Yeah, she was totally into this idea. Suuuuure.

I drive with this big ass dog all in my face, trying to act cool. I'm not sure why, but I felt like people would point & laugh at me & my dog. Weird, huh? So I tried to act like this was something I did all the time. Drive around, with a dog...cover in hair, & annoyance. I get across town, but not before that dog drool drop started. If you have a dog, you know what I'm talking about. They panting with the excess doggie spit. And they always have to hover their heads over you or your stuff. I had it down my arm. On my purse. It was on Adam's coffee cup.

Ummm...sorry honey. I just realized I never told him that & never took it in to wash it off after it was covered in doggie spit drops.

Anyway.

I pull in & see this.

Hippies.

I don't know. It felt like I needed to get a picture at that moment. So I did.

Murphy is, of course, totally willing to get OUT of the car. And the hippies stare at me while I wrestle this dog. You're loitering at a vet's office wearing a comic book t-shirt, but I'm the weirdo? Hmph.

When I go in & wait in line, I see this.

Oh fuck me. That's instantly what I thought. They are trying to sell me pet pictures?! Where I dress my fucking dogs up?! I wanted to run away screaming.

I wait my turn in line. Then I wait some more. I waited for 15 minutes before I was finally able to tell them who I was. I then stand there, because there are no seats. People are there with one dog, but 3 members of their family. Does it really take your entire family to take your dachshund to the vet? A woman is there with a kitten, wrapped in a towel. She looks at me, Murphy, then me again. "What's she do with cats?" I tell her, "Oh, she loves cats." She then replied, "yeah, to eat them I bet" then we back to playing with her cell phone with the Michael Jackson ringtone. I have 12 goddamn cats, my dog will not eat yours! I guess Murphy knew I was offended on her behalf, so she walked up to a cake where the vet had stray cats up for adoption & made friends with a kitty, nose to nose. I wanted to say, "See, bitch?! I told you so, fuck you!" but I didn't. I was the bigger person. Go me!

I wait. And I wait. Then I wait some more. Murphy isn't happy with this either.

During my waiting, I feel...something. It's wet, it's weird...it's lactation. I then realized that in my haste, I hadn't put those lovely breast pads in my bra & I hadn't nursed for a few hours. I was in trouble. I tried to hide it. Put my arms over it. Held my purse up. I looked insane. So finally, I decided to do this.

I took a brochure about flea prevention & fanned my boob. I tried to make it look like I was interested in it, then I announced to my dog that I was warm. Because that wouldn't make me look weird at all. And then I fanned myself. When on one was looking, I fanned my boob like I was trying to make a windmill create electricity. I look around the room, I see art. I see...this.

At least puppies & kittens in flowers are less odd than dressing your pets up.

Finally, at 5:30, we're called back. Last people in the building. Then I wait some more in the room.

At this point, the decor gets, uh, weirder. I look up & see this.

I thought "wow, that's a bad flea!" then I turned around & saw this....

Then I realized I was an idiot, because that was a flea & the previous thing was a tick. I felt dumb, shouldn't I know my inflatable parasites?

Then this killed any appetite I had.

Mmmmm....blood rich feces.

But you know what's worse than blood rich feces?

DRESSING YOUR FUCKING PETS UP.

Why are people doing this?! Jeesh. I hate to tell you this peeps, but your dog doesn't want to dress up as a witch or lay in a basket of flowers. So stop it already. Have I said jeesh yet? Jeesh.

Murphy isn't cool with this whole thing. She keeps peeking around the table.

She gets weighed, she's 55lbs. Funny since she wasn't suppose to get any bigger than 30-ish. This is why we're at the vet...

Bad, huh? I tell the woman she's on flea prevention, but we still find random fleas. She tells me this is normal, nothing can keep 100% of them off. I then tell her I saw the brochure for a flea pill & I'd like some for her & my other dog at home. See, I really did read that brochure I fanned my boob with!

Speaking of my boob, it went from bad to worse. Wet was bad. Worse was dried.

Yeah, that's not noticeable AT ALL. I started just wanting to tell people, "I'm breastfeeding!" so it didn't look like I was a dirty mess. With how I looked, I'm surprised they didn't insist on payment before treatment.

I wait for the doctor. Finally, she comes in. She looks at Murphy. She tells he she's raw & itchy. Tells me it's the few fleas on her & says she'll get the pills for the dogs. She leaves. Another few minutes go by, the assistant comes back in & gives me the pills for my dog. She tells me the vet is gone. Like...gone. And to go check out at the front desk.

So all this time & the $100 I'm out? I get told she's itchy.

Also on the list of "well no shit" diagnosis were "she's a dog" & "she's white & brown in color." Or maybe "she breathes." I could have, well no I did, already diagnosed that one. And that was that. Minus the $100, of course. Oh, & this.

MORE TRYING TO SELL ME PICTURES! I don't want pictures, I want my dog to stop pulling her hair out. Thanks though.

I think she fell victim to the "last patient whose not really our regular patient, so I want to go the fuck home & get this over with" syndrome. Because that was insanity.

On the way home, Murphy tried to kill me several times.

A 55lb dog jumping up at the dashboard is not for safe driving.

After I dropped her off at the house I went to CVS to get my medication. Because, dammit, after that day I needed it. I also got cokes. In my tiny little cart.

Then I LOL'ed because after I took them out of the cart, I saw this in the CVS cart.

I'm easily amused. Except by wet spots on my shirt. That shit isn't cool.

Later that night, Murphy & Buddy both took their magical flea pills. And they really are magical because within a couple hours, a few fleas were up at the top of her coat. And like a sick, disturbing person, I sat in the floor & picked them off of her. We're monkeys like that. But I put them in tissue & disposed of them, I didn't eat them. I promise.

Murphy enjoyed this bonding.

Alot.

This was almost 2 weeks ago. Since her adventure (well, ours), she's gotten alot better. We continued what we were doing for her & she stopped digging as much, which let things heal. Though her hair is still thin in the areas that were balding, she's no longer bald looking in places. So basically I should have dropped in on my vet, got a flea pill for $20, & kept the stuff we were doing ourselves at home up. I'd saved like $80 & all the insanity. But I can't complain, I'm a sucker...uh...I mean an animal lover. The things we do for our pets.

Like NOT dress them up. I love them too much to shame them.

...unless it's Halloween & we're giving out candy. Then I usually shame them, but only a little.

Debbie Downer Update

2010-09-23T00:47:00.003-04:00

Hi peeps. I'm currently working on what we all love...an entertaining blog. It's in my other window actually. But I figured I should bring you Debbie Downer news. Because I can't be a fucking ray of sunshine all the time, can I?

Remember my insurance battle in the spring, when I was trying to fight insurance to pay for that autopsy that they said they didn't cover since it didn't enrich anyone?

Well, I got my ultimate, final, no further discussion allowed decision.

Denied.

It may as well have said "fuck off."

It was a nice form letter. The only personalized part was my name (which they spelled right this time, good for them), the term "your still born," & their reason for rejection. Are you ready for this? Hold onto your seats, people!

MEDICAL RESEARCH.

They decided that the autopsy was considered medical research, which they do not cover.

Silly fucking PEIA. I may just write a letter telling them to fuck off. Not that it will do anything & I realize it's wrong & inappropriate...but really?

How many people can actually look at what changed their lives forever? Because this pile of papers? It changed everything.

I go through those records all the time. I'm looking for something, anything. I'm googling words, piecing things together, thinking I can find it. I can find the answer somewhere in there. But all I find are dead ends, which leave my chest feeling tight. Even if I think I have the answer or find a reason for everything, I can't do anything about it. I can't change it. I can't even be sure or prove that it's the answer. So it'd bring me no real peace. But that doesn't stop me from trying. But the only thing I can ever make real heads or tails about is the just over $8,000 price tag those 2 fun filled days in the hospital cost me.

Of course I do avoid parts of it. Like this part.

All but one nurse called him "the infant." This one though, she called him the "dead NB" which means dead newborn, if you couldn't figure it out. Yeah, I know I throw around the dead baby phrase all the time, but I can. It's my baby. My baby died. Calling him "the dead NB" & documenting my every action with him? It almost seems dirty, in the very least it's just not the right phrase to use. It makes things seem weird, creepy, & extra sad.

I miss him. But I never really knew him to miss him. So I miss the invisible person...the invisible person I think about every time I take a picture of Jules & Blair. I think of how old he'd be & where he'd be in that picture. It seems like in many of those pictures there is too much blank space. A place he could be. But like every other dream or situation that went through my head, it's not real. And sometimes I feel like he wasn't either.

The sun will come out tomorrow, right?

Side note...I've not lost my mind, I do realize I mentioned it in passing a couple entries ago, but I figured it deserved it's own entire post. The medical records just added to it.

What happens when I get sick.

2010-09-17T01:38:00.005-04:00

The husband is a teacher, he brings home kid germs. Icky, icky germs. Superbugs that cause him to have "allergies" & me to die for about 3 days. I seriously become immobile around the end of day 2 of my sickness. I don't just get colds, I get one foot in a grave. It's alot of fun, as I'm sure you can guess.

Last week Jules & both woke up with nose problems. Jules got sicker faster & ended up going to the doctor. After waiting & I'm sure running up a hell of a bill, I got the answer of, "ummmm...maybe it's a virus or something. Let's get him stickers!" Three stickers & I'm guessing $350 later, we were home.

That was on Tuesday. By Thursday, I was dying. Seriously. I laid on the couch & didn't move, even blink, for about 3 hours. Due to being comatose, Adam stayed home on Friday. But the night before, being desperate, we googled stuff to try to help find something to make my cold symptoms better. I didn't know how seriously he took these ideas until the next day, he took both kids & went out shopping. But only after leaving this as a facebook status update:

and now....ADVENTURES IN HOMEOPATHY!!

I'm packing up these kiddos for a trip to the Healthy Life Market; gonna pump up the wife with so many hippy remedies she's gonna come out of this illness smelling like patchouli and craving piccolo heavy jam bands.

I would have sighed, but I couldn't breath.

He came home with a bag of "goodies." I, of course, didn't miss this chance to give the peeps (that's you) an idea of what he wanted me to experience.

First & foremost, he took both boys out in Spiderman outfits. I didn't get Jules, but I did get Blair.

Adam was very proud of himself for matching a cloth diaper to the top.

Then we have the bag of goodies.

The Healthy Life Mart is about as hippy as we can get in West Virginia.

Out of all the things Adam found online, he was attached to one single item. I'll get to that in a minute.

First, I found this.

...what in the...? Yeah, I was wondering to. It was something t sweeten a special mixture for me to drink that would cute me of everything I'd ever have in my life. Yes, it'd cure me of cancer before I even got it.

Apple Cider Vinegar.

I should mention that I hate Easter. Why? Because I use fucking vinegar to color eggs. Holy shit, that stuff is gross. I can't even pour it without gagging & now he wants me to...drink it?

Even with a "sweetener" I'm pretty sure I looked at him the same way I looked at whoever told me what a blowjob was.

"I have to put WHAT in my mouth...and swallow?! Are you fucking kidding me?!"

But the big difference is that this stuff couldn't guilt me about it being it's birthday or try to talk me into how it's a good source of protein.

And finally, I should really trust this woman?

If this stuff taste as good as she dresses, we're in trouble.

In case I wasn't into that idea, he got this.

A pre-mixed version.

Nope, still not into it.

Personally, I would have much rather found booze in these bags.

Isn't there some saying about feeding a fever, getting a cold drunk? No? Well, there is now. I'm going to write that down & sign my name to it.

Apple cider vinegar is a huge let down when you're thinking booze.

Then, in case that wouldn't work, he got this.

Pill form.

Basically, he bought every fucking kind they had. This was his big cure?

I guess it worked, because I started feeling better when I realized he expected me to take this shit if I was still sick the rest of the day.

He also got this stuff.

Sideways, sue me. It's peppermint oil & grapefruit seed something another. He wanted me to rub the peppermint on my temples, then use some of the drops of the other stuff with a neti pot.

Have I mentioned that I'm a bit weirded out? I am. Apple cider vinegar didn't cure that.

Of course he didn't just buy nasty stuff, he bought candy.

And, for me, these things.

I grew up calling them "nutty buddies." It wasn't until I was damn near 30 I found out that's not what they were called. Insane.

I didn't take a picture, but we also had some Tudors.

It's a West Virginia thing. Bacon & egg biscuit & "chunkies." Potatoes with gravy. They look gross, but they are a wonderful thing. Of course, when vinegar is on the menu anything looks wonderful.

But I cheated death. Be impressed. And no, I never drank any of that stuff. But my Tudors made me feel alot better! As did laying around like a fat, lazy cat for a few days.

Hey, wonder if apple cider vinegar can cure snoring? If so, I'm in for a case for the husband.

What we spend our time discussing.

2010-09-07T21:56:00.002-04:00

We are discussing tattoos. Here is Adam's idea.

iCulver.

2010-09-03T01:17:00.004-04:00

It's been a crazy couple weeks.

OK, not crazy. I've done crazy, this shit isn't as crazy as I've been through before. But here is a good time run down of the going ons.

-I have a new lover. The husband knows about it, & he's getting more use to it. The truth is, he just can't do the same things for me that my lover does. My lover came at a hell of a price tag...yeah, I paid for him. Don't judge me.

My lover?

An iPhone.

Hi, I'm a little late on this iPhone thing. Excuse me while I gush.

HOLY SHIT WHY DIDN'T SOMEONE TELL ME ABOUT THIS AMAZING OVERPRICED PIECE OF AWESOMENESS?!

Yes, I wanted an overpriced status symbol, so people could say, "she's in debt & living outside her means."

Yes, yes I am. Thanks.

But judge away, I won't notice because I have a fucking iPhone. I mean really, what can I say about this thing that hasn't already been said? I'm in love. It's in a pink & purple case. Holy shit, this this is awesome. I have apps. I can check my email. The only damn thing I always get confused about? Making a phone call. And does this thing turn off?

Who gives a flying fuck...why would I have it turned off anyway?! It was worth buying it from some dude in too tight pants who looked like David Cook, only without any shred of any signs of "cute" David Cook may have. I figure the dude who works at the Target deli who looks like Ryder Strong doesn't stop me from buying popcorn, why let David Cook-ish stop me from an iPhone?

-I started school. I have a class that is required that has hard work...such as printing of documents & "practicing" writing our names on them. Seriously. I have a degree & I can dress myself, why the hell am I sitting through this? Oh yeah, you know how you hear about her "permanent record" in school & you laugh? Well, it's real. And I have to request mine to do a case study on myself. Because there is nothing I want more in life than to look back at all the shit in my life. There is a dude that is scary, I was seriously scared of him. He wants to be a teacher? Oh, he bragged about belonging to the NRA. And that was after I was already scared of him.

Of course, something weird happened this week. As we were in the elevator (we being fellow students), people started talking about labor & delivery. Us women do that, it's a bonding thing. I jump in when someone says they only had a 5 hour labor with the fact that I was jealous, mine were 24 hours plus. Then, without missing a beat, this girl with the 5 hour labor says, "Yeah, mine would have been even faster if she'd been alive."

The air was sucked out of the elevator. Everyone got quiet, wishing they weren't trapped in this small space for 6 floors. Me, I blurt out, "Really?!" like a fucking excited freak. Someone else mutters "that's so sad..." but I drown them out with the news of, "my 2nd son...he was dead, too! How far along were you?" Her daughter died right before her due date, she planned her daughters funeral on her due date. I tell her about Joel, when he died. When we get to the ground floor, everyone in the elevator with us go around the long way to get out of the building instead of the shorter way. I guess following the weird dead baby moms out while talking about baby funerals, still birth, & who had an autopsy wasn't their bag of tea. For the next 4 minutes, as we walked to our cars, we both spoke fast. I felt like I was normal in those 4 minutes. We talked about things no one else can understand unless you've had it happen. At the end I told her I hated to sound crazy, but it was amazing to find someone else in real life who knows exactly what I'm talking about & who doesn't bat an eye about the topic. She agreed. Hopefully we can talk more.

Of course, that discussion came at a cost. The rest of the evening was a long one. Even though it was nice to have someone who knew everything that came along with the whole dead baby thing, it sure brings back those memories. I zoned out in my next class, the only thing other than thinking about Joel & everything related to him that I could pay attention to was the overhead projector smelling like a hair straighter (if you use one, you know that smell). The rest of the night...it was rough. I realized I never even kissed him. A "to do" list really should be given to people in hospitals when they have a stillbirth. Because if you don't think about something when you only have the one chance, it really sucks looking back & realizing you never even thought about it. Just one of a few regrets I have. I should make a list of those things sometime, too.

On a related note, the same night, we got the official word that our insurance will pay nothing relating to Joel. The are considering it "medical research" which they do not cover. I don't remember signing up for a research study, but I guess they decided I did. There are no more appeals, not more letters, no more calls. Just $7000 of CC debt that would have been paid or even never existed if he was alive. Can't take your baby home...& enjoy your home until you loose it to sinking medical bill debt!

Yeah, it was a rough night.

-The week realllly sucked later though. I took Blair to the doctor for his once again infected eye (yay, blocked tear duct!), then ran to the bank before going home. Things were fine until I turned into the bank...then the car wouldn't turn anymore. I ran onto the curb actually because it just wouldn't turn. I looked down at my dash & several lights were on. I couldn't turn my wheel. I was stuck. Even the AC didn't work. I pulled straight ahead into a parking spot. I turned the car off, then back on. Because that should fix everything. Well, it didn't. I eventually called my parents to rescue me & the kids. My dad looked & said it looked like the power steering belt had broke. Got it home, called a shop, got a $75-ish quote. That was after I used my awesome car part vocab. Like when I spoke to Mike & tried to tell him I needed a belt. But of course I couldn't think of the word "belt" so I found myself making a circle motion with my right hand while saying, "you know...one of those loopy things." And this was after I talked myself up before calling. I came up with exactly what I'd say so it sounded like I knew what I was talking about. I decided I'd say something like, "Yeah, I needed to check on a price for some steering belts." That sounds awesome if you say it in a laid back, kinda manly way. When they answered though I panicked & said, "HI! I need to talk to someone...I need like...um....I need my car fixed, it's a thing for the steering that will make it turn." *sigh* I did NOT sound like I knew what I was doing.

And, of course, while I was on hold I practiced my speech again. I gave the same shitty one that screams, "I'm a girl...can I get pink car parts?!" But back to Milk. When he finally figured out what I needed, he looked it up & told me it depended on what kind of belt I wanted. Did I was "just a belt" or did I want a "GOOD belt." I finally said, "how about the belt that won't leave my ass stuck on the side of the road in 100 degree weather with my kids?" He laughed & quoted me prices for both. Dropped it off that evening, the next day we were picking it up. Life, it was good.

Until 10am the next morning when we got the call that actually, the thingy the belt attaches to is warped & the rod thingy it's on is worn & loose. That'll cost around $500 to repair. And that's the good news. That rod thingy? It goes into the engine & is attached to something called a "crankshft." What is that? I don't fucking know, but basically it's the brain of the engine. To change that out, you have to take the engine apart & put it back together again. In some cases, a new engine is cheaper than that repair.

I cried. Alot. I could pay my house payment for 6 months for what the repair of this thing is going to be.

But things are looking up now & I'm less stressed. My chest doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did before. Yay me.

-Remember my crazy ass neighbor? Well, she's still crazy. And angry. Long story short, they came into & up our drive way the other day to weed whack. They have this bad habit of coming into our fenced property & it freaks out dogs out & eventually someone is going to get bit or I'm going to punch them. Either way, we're responsible. Adam went over to tell them to not do it anymore, but no one answered so he left a note. Not a bad note, just a note saying for her to tell whoever does her lawn work to not to it again, that it upsets our dogs. Of course, he did also add the line that he doesn't go onto other peoples property to cut things or to remove her "ridiculous tarp" so he would appreciate the same respect.

I mean, seriously, it is ridiculous.

That was on a Friday. By Monday, we had a letter in our mail box. What really pissed me off was that our mail carrier won't bring us packages or something sent here by mistake if something doesn't get sent to our PO box, those get send back, but she'll drop off that letter? And I found it hysterical that she mailed a letter when the woman lives right beside us. I couldn't figure out what to do with it, but then it hit me. I wrote return to sender & sent it back to her. :) Of course after she got it back she walked it over to our mail box anyway. So I laughed & loudly announced outside that I wasn't reading shit & that I was throwing it away. Looking back, I wish I'd sent it back. Again & again. As I ripped it up, I did see a piece where she said she was reporting us for harassment. Um, OK. Good for her. Because the city takes care of that? And a note where the meanest thing in it is the term "ridiculous tarp" is harassing? She's the one who kept sending us that damn letter back! Also saw that she has a right to come up our driveway to weed whack in the fence since it's her fence. Of course, it's a fucking chainlink fence...if you are that worried about it, why not cut it on YOUR side instead of in my yard, while complaining about my dog barking at you because you're in our yard & trespassing? Also threatened to lure any of our pets she can so she can turn them over to animal control. That's a random, lame threat. Kinda sounds, well, harrasing to me. But what do I know?

So I've been enjoying being a bitch on my own property. Like today, when we rocked out to an Elmo DVD. I guess she didn't appreciate the song "sunny days" because she slammed her windows while fussing. Or last night at 1am when I went outside to test out my dog whistle app. It was suppose to make dogs stop barking, but I guess when you use it when they aren't barking, it has the opposite effect. So her dogs were bothered & went nuts. Of course, it was nothing compared to how aggravated they get when clumsy me pushed my cars "panic" button when locking or unlocking my car. Silly me! Adam will be putting up a 300 watt security light on the side of our house this weekend, so that extra bright light should help me be able to see what I'm doing. The lights should really light up all of our lives. At least it will if you're on the left side of my house. Wonder what is on the left side of my house? Hmmm...those may be bedroom windows. I don't know, I don't live in that house.

I'm an evil shrew.

I'm off to bed. With my iPhone. I'll be updating the kids blog tomorrow. I've got a couple things for it, so stay tuned. Also plan another blog here for this weekend, so yay!

Also, my friends are still looking for donations for Timmy. Read my post about it here.

Also like to direct people to my new friend, Jen. Jen is started up a cooking blog. Not a fancy cooking blog that will make you feel like you suck. Instead, she's doing it like many of us do it, she's just got the ball to admit it's all trial & effort. So if you'd like to see some creations from her & her entertainment as well, head on over there. The Self Taught Bad Chef...seems like a place that could do well. So start stalking now, so we can all say we knew her "back in the day."

And for those who asked about how I get my stat info & am able to see who searched what, it's from a neat little program you can read about & get here if you'd like. There are others, but that's Jess approved.

Questions? Comments? Leave them. Feel free to also follow me on facebook or twiter. I like friends. I'm lame like that, but you also get all the late breaking news, fast.

See you peeps soon.

Be a nice person.

2010-08-24T00:27:00.003-04:00

Looking for a good cause to donate a couple bucks to? Look no further.

This is Jess approved, so you know it's worthwhile. I don't post things that suck.

I have mentioned the family before, but here you go again.

A friend of mine on the west coast has a son is named Timmy Hatch. Her family is all good people, so he's good people, too. He has a wife & an adorable little boy who is close in age to my Jules. But, because bad things really do happen to good people, back in late May of 2009 (right before we lost Joel), Timmy suffered from an injury that left him in a coma. With his familys support, faith, & love he has recovered much more than doctors said he would in the early stages. Of course, he still can't do many basic things like speaking or walking.

His family is raising money this week so that he can hopefully go through some new treatments to help bring him back. The doctor & treatments they are raising funds for has, I believe, an 85% success rate, which is amazing compares to other rates. So please, even if it's only $1-5, donate! I cannot imagine having my spouse in this situation, I can't imagine Jules not having his daddy around as much as he does. I don't know his wife, Crystal, but she's amazing to me.

If you'd like to read more about Timmy, you can click here for his blog.

And you can donate by clicking here.

You can also spread the word anyway you can, I'm sure his family would appreciate anything you could do for Timmy.

The offering of the piggy bank.

2010-08-22T01:31:00.003-04:00

We've all seen it...that sad tv show/movie/commercial where the little kid offers their money to their parents to help pay for something. Thinking about it makes me want to cry...kinda like the song Christmas Shoes. I mean, I don't even believe in baby jesus but that song gets me every fucking time. It's ridiculous. Adam hates it, because I can't turn it off & I cry. Every time.

But that isn't the point. Work with me here.

We're not poor. We're far from rich, but we're good. There are times there are less worries in my little banking world & I'm more flexible about spending. We're coming up on one of those times, so for the last week I'm on edge, as usual. Don't. Spend. Money. Why the fuck do you need coffee? Make it at home, dammit! Why do we need to eat out? I can grill, dammit! The bills are paid, the roof is over our heads, & we still have "play" money, but I just turn into a cheap bitch anyway & hoard anything I can.

Today Jules went to play with his play doh & found it gone since he'd used it all over the past few months & it'd eventually got dried out one can at a time. We'd actually been happy it was gone because we're adults & now know why our parents hated the stuff so much. Jules, in his innocence, said, "let's go buy some!"

My kid? He understanding buying & how it works. He knows he can't leave the store or open something until we pay for it. He puts it on the belt at Target himself. He says thank you when it's scanned. He gets it. It's cute. When we need something, he tells us we should go buy some.

Today was no different. Adam, being an ass (not really, but that's my pet name for him usually), kinda laughed & said, "We need money to buy things...mommy & daddy & irrealonsible & spent all of it, so we don't have anymore."

I would have thought nothing of it...if my kid didn't get it.

He jumps down & blurted out, "I got money!" then went looking for his piggy bank. I was crushed. Seriously, crushed. I want to cry now thinking about it. Adam & I looked at each other, both impressed, shocked, & sad. He found his piggy bank, the one his picked out himself at Target, opened it up & got change out of it. Then he announced he wanted to go buy some because he had money.

We tried telling him he didn't need to use his money, that mommy & daddy have money for it, but it didn't sink in to him.

Yes, in the sad moment we totally went to Target & got Play Doh. Other things, too, but it was a trip that wasn't going to happen until tomorrow if not for the play doh incident.

Before we left, he dropped his change. He about how a fit because he needed his money for play doh. He napped in the car on the way & as we were walking in his remembered his money & wanted to go back to the car so he could buy his play doh.

I know that while he gets money=buying things, it's likely he doesn't understand the impact of hearing that mommy & daddy don't have the money for something like the silly husband implied to the boy. But it still makes me sad.

Growing up, we weren't rich. One birthday & Christmas my dad didn't have a job. My parents never let me know they were hurting for money. There was never a time I didn't feel like I couldn't have something I wanted or even needed. I was lucky that way. I'm an emotional sap, so it's unlikely I could have emotionally handled it anyway. Shit, I can't even emotionally handle my kid thinking we didn't have play doh money. Heaven forbid he grows up & learns about utility bills, mortgages, etc., & wonders if mommy & daddy have money for that. I'm suddenly paranoid that we've set the kid up for grown up worries way too young. All he wanted was some play dog & now we've given him a complex? That's never good.

Of course, I have my own complex about all of these things. I pay my bills but still wonder what if I couldn't? How would we eat? How would we have power? How about water? How the hell do you take care of kids without these basic things? What am I going to do?!

Yes, I worry about these things even though I have no reason to. The bills are current, the house is at a nice 70 degress thanks to the power company, & we even have cable. And buy the overpriced organic milk. We're fancy. And as if me being worried about non-existent money problems, I'm suddenly worried about my son worrying about money.

He's 2.

I think & worry too much.

And for the rest of my life, I will remember my little boy, running to his piggy, more than willing to front mom & dad to money to get him something he wanted. And as sad as I am about it & worried what it could mean for his psychological development though his childhood, I think it's just more proof about how he is the sweetest, smartest kid around.

And, he is mine. Though I still don't know how he ended up so totally awesome.

And weird.

I lie, I know why he's weird.

Just because.

2010-08-16T03:02:00.001-04:00

It's in my head alot lately.

People who find my blog scare me a little.

2010-08-15T03:31:00.002-04:00

I've done it before, I'll do it again. And again & again...as long as I have people visiting the blog here. The following are some of the search terms that led people to my words. Enjoy. Or be scared.

how to steal neighbors pregnant pig
What, do you want to raise your own bacon?

why are there dead pets in my couch
*blink blink*

...please don't get anymore pets. And get a new couch.

best spam comments
THIS!

yaycowsyay blog
That's me! Well, my blog.

how hard is it to carry a sopha upstairs
Damn hard since there is no such thing as a sopha. Good luck with that.

photos steal your soul
I think that's only if you're amish.

can a judge order me to give my husband copies of our babies ultrasound
He's your husband, why can't you share? If you're getting a divorce, don't you think he deserves to see a picture of what he'll be paying for over the next 18 years?

best wedding i went
You were at Shannon's wedding, too?!

things that can steel your sole
If your soul is steel, you have bigger problems.

ask how long to wait before redoing jelly
What did you do with the jelly the first time...or do we even want to know?

best revenge against woman who steals your husband
She's got your husband...why make her suffer anymore than she is? Pack his shit in a shoe box & throw it out onto the curb. Then set it on fire.

This allows me to rant though...why does everyone want to bitch & moan about the woman their husbands cheated with? Why can people sue for "alienation of affection?" Here is a newsflash...she didn't do anything to make your husband be a douche. He always was one. Yes, she sucks, but why get revenge on her? Why sue her for being a home wrecker? The home wrecker is your loser ass husband who can't keep it in his pants & who wrecked his own home. Pity her for being side pussy & now having the honor of calling him hers until he finds someone else to cheat with. And like I said, set his shit on fire.

why are there dead pets in my couch
Someone searched for this TWICE. I'm guessing someone got the couch off craigslist from the first searcher.

EPIC FAIL
WHY ARE WE YELLING?!

moms teaching young sons to fuck
WHAT?!

That was worth yelling over. Go away, weirdo.

yaycowsyay
That's me again!

essay on lost baby kangaroo
These are the essay topics for the children today?

Poruchio means
I'm opening this one out for the peeps who read this...comments?

when things fail to work
Everyday of my life.

yay cows yay jessica culver blog
ME AGAIN! I guess this is why you aren't suppose to give your name out online.

is my insurance company allowed to contact me on facebook?
Only if they need help with their crops on Farmville.

neighbor camo tarp fence
I hope this is someone who has heard the story somehow & not someone else with a jackass of a neighbor.

ex girlfriend puts bottle in virgina facebook
Bet you're sad she's your ex now, huh?

Also, I updated the answers in this post. And don't forget the cute of kids over at Epic Awesome. New post over there tomorrow. I've already dropped the f bomb though. Oops.

The asterisk.

2010-08-11T01:01:00.000-04:00

asterisk ( ) n. A star-shaped figure (*) used chiefly to indicate an omission, a reference to a footnote, or an unattested word, sound, or affix

I've never really used an asterisk much in my life. Well, I do here to add a witty confession about how when I say "we" are doing something I actually mean Adam. But that's about it. But now, I'm living with an asterisk everyday.

When I'm out alone with Blair, I've been asked, "Oh, he is your only son?"

I blink. I ponder. I think. I try to gauge this person I'm talking to. I try to gauge how I'm feeling that day. I open my mouth, I prepare to speak. All of this is done within about 3 seconds so I'm not just standing there like a fucking idiot who can't answer a simple question about her children.

"There is another at home."

That isn't a lie or anything, it's just answering the question they asked. Now, if my husband did that I'd get all Dr. Phil on his ass, telling him, "lying by omission is still lying, asshole!" But I try not to call myself an asshole. And I'm not a huge fan of doing as I say.

It's weird. It can be awkward. Only for me, but awkward nonetheless. I don't like to feel like I'm dwelling. I don't like to feel like my kids will one day be thinking, "jeesh mom, again?" when the checkout lady ask how many kids I have. I don't want to constantly feel sad when it comes to the memory of Joel. It's sad as it is, I don't need to share that sadness with the lady at Sam's Club.

I'm alright. I'm not sure if I'm alright alright, or just alright as I can be. But I'm alright. Hell, some days I might even say I'm good.

Shocking, I know. Sometimes I actually wonder if I'm in some insane deep depression & just don't know it. I'm pretty sure I'm not though, I just like to tell myself that so I don't feel bad for not feeling bad all the time.

Coming soon...a blog with me stuffing my $1000 wedding dress into a small box. Look forward to that.

A new way to stalk.

2010-08-10T16:41:00.004-04:00

While is this still the happening, cool place to be, I decided to open another blog that you may be interesting in stalking.

Epic Awesome.

I could post everyday about something kooky Jules has said or done, but I feel lame turning this into one of those strictly mom blogs. Then I'll end up feeling weird for saying "fuck" so much or anything else. So over at Epic Awesome I'll be posting amusing pictures & comments the kids make. Well, some amusing. Some just down right weird or creepy.

Yes, kids can be creepy. They're cute like that.

Of course I'll still post my adventures & awkwardness in being a parent here. If I can't share my fails in that regard, what will I take about sometimes? I can't constantly battle my neighbor...or can I?

Some answers.

2010-08-08T16:01:00.007-04:00

While still accepting questions, I decided with my free time to post some answers. I know people are waiting on this, so who am I to deny them?

Ok, you know that awesome area rug we both have? When you vacuum it up and down, does your vacuum cleaner get hard to push? If I go side to side, the long way, it is fine.. if I try to go up and down, the short way, it is like my vacuum gets stuck.

That is about as random as I get... (But I really do want an answer!)

See, people really do stalk me. This person peeks in my windows! As far as the rug, I did have that same problem. Now that I have my overpriced boyfriend known as the Dyson, not so much. But like I told you about that rug, my parents picked it. So I'm guessing it's just the evil holding the vacuum back, so when they come to my house they can think about how dirty it is because my damn rug fights being vacuumed.

Just my theory though.

Where do all of your cats sleep at night..?

Sadly we don't have an extra room in our house to make into a kitty condo, so they basically are squatters anywhere they see fit. One or sometimes 2 share our bed. One sleeps with Jules, which is weird because it's the one he abuses. A couple enjoy staying outside as much as possible so they stay out some nights. Everyone else just grabs a pile of folded towels in the laundry basket or a pillow on the couch to bed down with. The question really should have been where us humans sleep since we're out numbered.

Do you sleep on the right or left side of the bed, or do you claim the bed and make the husband sleep on the floor?

When you're looking at the bed from the foot, my side is the right side. I've always claimed that side, even when we were dating (read: have lots of sex). He didn't get a vote & continues to whine to this day. He will never get me to change sides until maybe we get a new mattress. I imagine his side smells like icky boy. He does sleep in the floor sometimes...but that's his other boss's doing, Jules. I'd feel bad about that, but I'm usually knocked the fuck out in the middle of our bed at the point.

What color is your mailbox?

It's green. I wanted it to match our house. Funny thing is? I hate green. Like...hate it. But I ended up with a green house, & therefore all these green accents. Our mail box is only for decoration though, we get our mail at the post office now. We got tired of our cunt of a mail lady not wanting to deliver our mail because of our attack dog, Buddy. Sure, our mailbox is on the outside of our 6 foot fence & is like 3 feet away from said fence, yet she was scared of our dog. And the USPS told me they couldn't make her do her job. That was a quote. So now we go to the post office & she is constantly trying to tie our mail box shut. Just to drive her nuts, we untie it every time she does it. We're mature.

What type of socks do you wear?

I only wear socks in the winter. But this is actually a very good question to make me admit my shame...I wear my husbands socks. We have to share socks. Why? Because my feet are so huge I can't find womens socks big enough to fit my feet. I'm a size 9 1/2 or so. Those socks that say up to size 10? Lies. They seriously expect the same socks to fit a woman with size 5 feet & size 10 feet? Suuuure. I use to be able to find "extra large sizes" socks for women a few years ago. Not now. So now I'm stuck buying mens socks. But I try to look on the bright side, no special sorting of socks & that way I can throw away the socks with holes in them since the husband never does.

Have you ever figured out a rubix cube.

Um, no. I've never even tried. I know my limits. And I know my insanity. I'd end up screaming & crying before throwing it against the wall & announcing that my life sucks. I don't deal well with stress. Even stress from a cube.

Has your mom seen the new baby? Is your mom still as crazy as a bat in the belfry?

She has. They didn't see him until he was about a month old. In turn, none of my family wanted to visit & see him. Why? Because they don't want to deal with my mothers wrath of "I can't believe you saw him before I did" even when she was choosing not to see him. See why my mom acts like this? Because she can. Anyway, very little interest was showed in Blair. I've interacted a couple times with them since then, but again very little attention has been paid to the little one. That's fine really, if I want to crazy my kids up I can do it without her help. And in case it's not obvious, yes, they are still crazy as a bat in the belfry. I've actually never heard that term, but I'm sure it fits. Of course it's amusing to me that they hide this from the extended family & act like things are peachy now. I've heard all about how Blair is, how they tell my grandparents how he's not fussy & sleeps all the time & blah blah blah...none of it is true. Not even close. Good try though. I'm sure I'll get to burst that bubble eventually, if I already haven't. As much as I hate drama (well, drama involving me), I hate keeping up appearances even more.

Oh, & to show priorities, here is a cute story. My dad & I had a couple joint credit card accounts. Had them for years, since I was in college. A few days after Blair was born, tried to use one to pay at the pump for gas & it was inactive. Tried the other for shits & giggles, got the same. Pulled my credit report & both were closed by the primary on the account which was my dad of course. The date they were closed? June 10th. So while I'm being cut open at the hospital, my dad was at home canceling shared credit accounts. I don't care, but I am annoyed that a closed account leaves a somewhat icky spot on my credit. But I think WHEN it was done sure says alot about your concerns while your grandchild is being born & your daughter is in surgery. I guess that's why no one could answer any calls from us that morning, he was on the other line breaking up with me credit wise. Lame. And to not even have the balls to let us know at any point? Super lame.

Haha, what do you do when a three year old thinks it's hilarious to go around telling everybody that he goes pee in the shower?

Be a tad embarrassed, but then realize it could be way worse. You could have a 2 year old who goes around pointing to his crotch & telling people, "it's a big one!" Being bad parents, we laughed hysterically the first time he did this after getting out of the pool & was naked. Now he just goes around randomly telling us "I got a big one!" & pointing. Then take joy in knowing you can tell his future wife that story one day.

Does your egg donor (mother) read your blog?

"What blog?" That's what the response was once when I mentioned it a couple months ago. She knows it exist, she knows they did a news story on Joel & stillbirth & mentioned my blog...but she's never bothered to come here & read it. Maybe they know better, maybe they just aren't interested, maybe they just assume it sucks & isn't worth their time. They miss out on my wit & talent in the real life world, so I'm not surprised they wouldn't bother it on the interwebz world, too. They think anything online is a complete joke, so I'm sure they put my blog & related things in the category of complete joke.

Do you guys plan on have any more super cute babies?
Cringe...gasp...eek!

Adam is officially done. I'm unofficially done. As much as it sounds nice to have another baby, because I'm nuts like that, there are just too many things that stand in the way of that. For example, our fears & paranoia or feeling as though we're tempting fate. Plus, for another baby we need another house. And for another house, I need to be working for a couple years again. So even if we do, we're looking at like 3 years before I go back to work then a couple years of work, so at least 5 years from now. Then there is the fact that I hate doctors & never want to stay in a hospital again. And I don't want to drive a van. Those last two are kinda petty reasons, but they are reasons. Give me 5 years & I'll reevaluate, never say never I guess. But it's unlikey. In 5 years chances are I'll like working, having kids of that age, & sleeping more. So maybe it'll be more like 10 years from now when this Paragaurd expires.

Or maybe we'll have a birth control failure.

...just thinking about that makes me need to drink. Heavily. My midwife knows we're so paranoid she checked my uterus 3 times before inserting it & is checking it in a month instead of just 4 months from now to make sure it's good & effective.

Oh, & hi Annette the new person at my blog!

So about that other kid thing--or even if you don't have other kids--if you need a bigger house, you can always have the one behind us. I do have the key, you know. I have offered our babysitting services before, as long as you're ok with Lee trying to give them beer.

Where do you think I'm planning on moving? I'm totally serious, we're moving up there with you guys in a few years. We can't now, but we WILL. And Lee is fine, as long as it's good beer. No Bud Light or anything like that. Eww.

I tried to figure out a rubix cube and got mad and threw it across the room, where it shattered into a bazillion pieces. Just thought you would want to know.

Did you then stomp on & piss on the pieces before lighting them on fire? What, that's just me?

What do you do for fun? Do you have friends?

(I confess... I am usually a quiet stalker of yours - but recently I shared your blog on my facebook profile, and now feel guilty because I didn't ask you first)

For fun, I do this. Yes, I'm that lame. Personal fun time is limited to going to pee by myself. That's rare & fun when it happens. Another person & I have discussed starting up a Birth Network locally, . I do indeed have friends. A few. I'm selective. People have to be, well, alot like me. Depending on what you think about me, the fact that those people are few & far between may be a good thing.

And feel free to add me anywhere! I don't care about being asked, as long as you say good things about me. If you're going to call me names, please leave a link so I can mock you at a later time. But as long as it's good stuff, it's cool with me. :)

Maybe it'll help me get 200 followers. Which means...ANOTHER CAKE!
Any new questions will be answered here as well.

The Question & Answer Segment.

2010-08-06T17:07:00.003-04:00

I'm boring the past few days. I've racked my brain for something to share with you peeps, but I've come up with nothing. Perhaps I'm trying to hard.

So I'm going to put it on you now.

Let's consider this the question & answer period of the blog. You got questions? I'll give you answers. Sometimes snarky answers, but they are still answers.

Questions about my life? Sure!

Questions about dumb things my husband may do? Oh, you know it.

Parenting advice? Of course. I'm perfect, you know.

Questions about pets? I'll try to give you a cat.

Relationship advice? I'll google it or something.

Opinions on the Double Down from KFC? I'll go buy one & let you know. Nom nom nom.

Lottery numbers? If I get a cut.

I'm counting on you, folks. Give it to me.

Comment of the week.

2010-08-03T21:46:00.005-04:00

This is the comment of the week, peeps. OK, I normally don't have a comment of the week but this was just too good to pass up. Enjoy.

umassslytherin has left a new comment on your post "Ah, life.":

of course he wants to wear pink diapers. you named him blair for christ sake. not only is it a girl's name, but you didn't even spell it right.

god help us all if people like you are creating offspring. it's downright scary.

Short response is easy.

But we all know I'm wordy, so they won't do. This is sad for many reasons. First of all, this person doesn't even know where the shift key on their keyboard is. They also can't read, because I said Jules liked the Dora diapers, not Blair. I mean holy shit, Blair is 7 weeks old, of course he can't voice an opinion. Try to stay with us here, you fucking idiot. His diapers are white, btw. But they did read alot because I'm pretty sure the post they replied to didn't mention the Dora diapers. Plus, the phrase "god help us if people like you are creating offspring" is just fucking stupid. IF people like me are creating offspring. I AM creating offspring. Jeesh. I also don't believe in god, maybe that's what's wrong with me though. Hey, should you really ask god to help you in the same comment where you use "for christ sake?" I thought that was a no-no or something, but I could be wrong.

Oh yeah, & the origins of his name is as follows: The name Blair is a baby boy name. The name Blair comes from the Irish origin. In Irish The meaning of the name Blair is: From the fields. I found that on many sites. And adding an "e" to the end is actually considered a "creative" spelling from the original. Google, it is your friend. Along with the shift key. I decided to add this in even though it's lame to make fun of a kids name, it really lacks creativity.

I decided to do a search online to see if I could figure out who this weird blog troll could be. I found this: "UMassSlytherin is an avid fanfiction reader and an active particpant in the world of fandom." So I'm going to pretend some fanfiction reader is angry. That makes me laugh to think of someone leaving weird, angry comments in between fan ficton stories. Maybe it's Twilight fan fiction.

So...let's discuss, peeps. BTW, I totally feel flattered I've had my first blog troll. This is better than the fake vagina comment! This means I'm famous, right? OK, I know it doesn't. The person who posted that comment came form google looking up mom blogs with the word "fail," so I'm guessing besides the name thing it was a copy & paste troll comment. Oh well, I'll take what I can get.

I'm going to go take my IUD out & make some more offspring now. OK, not really, I'm off to watch Teen Mom.

Ah, life.

2010-08-02T02:20:00.002-04:00

Over the past couple of days, I've come to a conclusion.

Blair isn't going to die.

This seems odd, but it marks the first time since May 26th 2009 that I wasn't concerned that a baby was going to die. Even once Blair was born, I decide he could die at any moment. That was a new fear for me, I'd never worried about the before. But now it's like the good ol' days where babies don't die. My baby did die...but not all die. And this one didn't.

If you think that's the most obvious thing in the world, you never went urn shopping for your infant. That's a good thing.

In other news, I like to pretend I'm a photographer.

I would really like this picture, if I hadn't amputated his right hand.

I think think he's cute.

And even though cutting off his right hand was bad, Adam did worse by cutting off the top of my head.

Of course I'm too busy staring at the mole on my nose to really care about much of anything else. I'm going to have that done soon after spending the weekend staring at it. I imagine it having a face & singing to me. I'm weird like that.

Jules is living, too.

Don't you love his swim diaper? He's a nudist like his mother. I have no shame, I don't care if the neighbors see my junk, Jules doesn't either. That's why he leaves his penis out in full view most of the time. While, uh, inspecting it tonight he proudly announced, "IT'S A BIG ONE!" I'm raising such a man.

Blair & I interwebz together.

I don't understand how babies sleep. Seriously, they look like they've been in a car accident.

He slept for like 3 hours like that! My neck & back ached looking at him.

Speaking of an ache, he had some heartache from the look of it.

Even upset, I find him adorable. I'm not sure what that says about me as a mother, but if it makes you feel better I got him out & nursed him after this spectacle.

If that makes you feel like I'm a better mom than I give myself credit for, we took him with us tequila & beer shopping. We had a cookout, it wasn't for his bottles or anything. He's got to be at least 4 to start drinking beer, 5 to do shots. We do set boundaries, you know.

My days are boring for the most part. Personally, I think boring is good. Compared to life when things are "exciting" I'll take boring anyday. Soon enough our lives won't just be filled with hanging out, doing things as we wish, while listening to carious Buzz Lightyears in the background (when you have about 15 of them, one seems to always be talking, even when Jules is asleep, it's creepy really). The husband will go back to teaching kiddies in a couple weeks. We'll both go back to the wonderful world of education for ourselves as well. I'm a fucking idiot & have decided yet ANOTHER career path for myself...so I'm going to work towards an education degree now. Elementary school. Yes, think about me influencing your young children. Now imagine an evil laugh coming from me. The kiddies, their lives won't really change much.

Jules will continue to collect his Buzz's, hopefully no regressing much more.

Blair will continue to plot world domination.

Happy World Breastfeeding Week.

If you aren't a fan of nursing pictures, as I said earlier, I have no shame so be happy I'm not posting one where he's just cuddling my boob. I have a great one like that from the hospital that I sent Adam in a text message. Before you have kids you send pictures of your boobs & it's sexy. When you have kids, it turns into a totally different, boring thing. For years the husband asked me to show him my boobs. Seriously. This is from like 2003, way before we were dating.

Ask & you shall receive...even if that means you have to ask almost everyday for 5 years.

Oh, for the record, he didn't see them until our 3rd date. I have standards.

He gets it from me.

2010-07-27T01:15:00.005-04:00

Hey, remember how my son is corny?

Well, I'm peppery.

I was pregnant with Blair when I bought those peppers. Jules found them in the fridge today.

Oops.

Speaking of the fridge, I found this when I opened it tonight.

Hot dog bun. I guess Jules figures it'll keep if it's in there.

BTW, I left it in there because his freakish memory will cause a huge meltdown tomorrow when he gets up & sees that his bun is gone. He will lay in the floor, crying, "I want my buuuuunnnnnnnnnn!" & no other bun will ever do. And 3 months from now, he'll remind us of that bun he lost & I'll buy him another toy because I'll feel bad about a stupid 1/2 eaten bun. So I'm saving myself lots of mommy guilt.

The home changes are still happening & we're laying more flooring. It's always fun to play "what's under this carpet?!" before you rip it up.

That's what was under the carpet in the "office." I actually liked it, even though Adam compared it to some dungeons & dragons pattern.

This is the after. And by after, I mean "where I left off last night."

My main reason for laying it last night was because of our fancy elliptical machine being delivered today. Here it is, also not completed.

I was working until almost 1:30 in the morning doing that little area. I was just going to do where it would sit, not the areas all around it. Well, Adam comes back & announces "Here, let me move stuff for you." So I was tricked into doing more of it that I'd planned. At 2am, my box my empty & I decided to stop instead of opening another.

Hey, speaking of Adam, I'll have to share our condom saga soon. Don't ask, just wait.

But wait no more for what you've all been waiting for...CAMO TARP!

Baby's first camo tarp picture. Isn't it sweet? Our tarp made it onto Why Do I Live Here? recently as well.

I'm going to go watch Adam finish building my elliptical machine now. And by watching, I mean questioning every thing he does & whining about why he isn't done yet & why he's make it all so complicated. Because I'm supportive like that.

Oh, wait. I took one more picture to share. Thanks to my freakish memory (he also gets that from me) I remember my friend Tara calling all of our cats "an ass load of fucking cats." That phrase always amused me. In honor of Tara & her family moving into a new house & her birthday, I share this.

Behold, an ass load of fucking cats!

Well, they aren't fucking. They are eating.

Yes, I'm the crazy cat lady. Imagine me when I'm 80.

Corny.

2010-07-19T02:13:00.003-04:00

I like to think of myself as a good mom. I let my son wear pink Dora swim diapers if he wants. I let him play with girls & girl stuff. And I let him play kitchen. In fact, we bought him a play kitchen on sale with a $50 coupon after the holidays. Some people may cringe at their sons doing these things, along with having hippy hair, but we don't. We're cool like that.

Today, while picking up the living room, the husband announced, "we should check this kitchen more often..."

Why?

Can you see it?

See it? No? Or if yes, wanna see it closer? Of course you do.

That's a cob. From corn. In his kitchen. After you get over the gross factor of it, it's really kinda cute that he played kitchen with it.

He doesn't play with it daily. We don't check it...ever.

Really, I'm just impressed Murphy the dog didn't eat it, or any of our 35 animals for that matter. And thankful we don't have our old couch anymore, because if we did it'd be in there never to be found again.

Adam, he was grossed out that I told him, "No, don't throw it away, take pictures first!" but I do it for my peeps. You're welcome, peeps.

Mommy karma.

2010-07-16T23:07:00.003-04:00

When you're a parent, there are some aspects of a very young child you like. For example, I liked that a few months ago I could make something "disappear" & Jules wouldn't even miss it.

Thing is, they grow out of that. And I'd been preparing myself for it, but it still sucks.

Today we went on one of our usual outings to Target. I've considered getting a job there because I spend so much time there. It's shameful really. Jules recognizes when we're around it before he can even see it & when I was in the hospital with Blair he told people "mommy & daddy are at Target." In my defense, I lived in an area without Target until 4 years ago, so it's a new & exciting thing for me.

Anyway, we do our usual popcorn & icee thing at the Target deli. It's a deli, not a concession place. They sell fucking hummus, therefore it's a deli. And yes, I feed my kid popcorn & icee. Choking hazards & artificial colors & sugars....yummmm! Once I pry his mouth off the shopping cart (what, your kid doesn't chew or suck on the cart handle from time to time?), we end up near a clearance rack. There he finds a ball. A 50% off ball, but a heavy filled up with water & oil "lava ball." Great.

I'm one of those awful people that will let my kid have something in the store to entertain him. I do usually buy things, but sometimes I just give them to him & eventually when he forgets about it I get rid of it. I guess that's where the "awful" thing comes in, I know that's a big no no to just leave things randomly to some folks out in the world. I'm very sorry. And by that, I mean not at all. I am sorry that I'm not sorry though. Feel better?

I tried.

Last time we were at Target I let him pick out a little Toy Story flash light. He picked Hamm, the pig. When you squeeze him, he said a phrase. One of two phrases. For the next 45 minutes, I listened to those two phrases over & over & over. I sat Hamm out first chance I got, I was not going to listen to him anymore even though I'd planned to buy him.

Well, 5 minutes later Jules looks at me & says, "Where's Hamm?" I tell him "I don't know!" so well I thought I should win an Oscar. He believed me...then hit me with, "I worry bount Hamm" as he looked around sad.

Worried? He is worried about Hamm?

Damn me to hell. I went back to where I sat Hamm down & "rescued" Hamm. All was good.

This time, I didn't want this stupid ball. Not at all. I didn't know how much it was, but even on clearance I was sure it was too much. Plus...really? A ball? Because we don't have about 500 of them at the house? And one filled with blue water & oil? With my dog who has almost ate through one of my wooden dining room chairs (that's a whole other story), I'm sure that would be safe for about 15 minutes. I might as well throw shit on my own carpet & ruin it myself. Then track it through the house, obvious of the mess I was creating. It would save Jules & the pets the time & trouble.

But I decided this was not worth a fight. Let him hold it, I think. Eventually he'll put it down, leave it somewhere, etc. And eventually he got out of the cart, leaving his ball, & walked around with me. Right before we go check out I deposit it on a shelf away from the check out area. He'd never miss it, right? Right!

As we unload the cart, my smart & honest child looks in the seat, then to me, & says, "wheres my ball?" I was shocked he'd remembered it. He hadn't seen or touched it in like 30 minutes, usually this was enough time for him to be distracted. Plus, he had markers he'd been carrying around, shouldn't be be occupied with those?! Oh, how I miss the days where trickery was easy.

Again, I throw out my Oscar worthy line of, "I don't know where it went!" He was kinda disappointed, but wet on with life. As I finished with the unloading process, I hear him call out, "there's my ball!"

...what?! Your ball?

I look up, he must be confused. He must be.

There, at the register we'd picked to stand in line at, laid an identical ball. And he was pointing to it. Of course.

Shocked, I stare at this overpriced piece of crap, trying to not say exactly what I was thinking. Which was "What. The. Fuck."

You know, when I lay out the crap my kids want so I don't have to buy them, I'm at least considerate enough to not leave it at children eye level to make it some other mothers problem. Whoever left that ball near the register was not the same way.

I sighed in defeat & told him to go get his ball. And he did. Then he laid his markers & his ball on the belt. As the weird guy scanned our stuff, Jules blurted out, "Thank you!" as he scanned the ball, which was so nice it kept me from almost yelling out "What the fuck?!" when the $4-something price popped up. And as I paid, he said, "BYE!" with a wave.

My kid, he's spoiled rotten.

And there is the ball the prove it. But at least he's polite, right?

And there always time to make him work it off.

We went to Home Depot in the same parking lot after that. He wanted to take the ball in. We did. He had me carry it within 3 minutes of getting in the store. He's not touched it since.

Of course.

What's up my peeps?

2010-07-13T01:27:00.003-04:00

I actually wanted the subject to be, "what's up, bitches?" but I thought that may be a bit harsh sounding.

Peeps is nicer than bitches. They are also more tasty.

...I have no idea.

Anyway, I feel as thought I've abandoned the attention whore world of blogger. Not that anyone with a blog is an attention whore, that's just me. I have no, I promise. I'm just surrounded in a modge podge of thoughts & ideas. Nothing all that deep usually, nothing productive at all. I've not been productive since like June 10th, & really even then all I did was show up & get cut open.

Speaking of being cut open, I high recommend it. OK, not seriously people. But if you end up having to, don't be scared to death. Recovery has been a dream. It's had it's moment, but overall it's been great. How great? So great, that at like 3 weeks postpartum I was laying down new flooring!

Yes, that's right. New flooring. I know, it sounds insane that I'd be taking any part in something like that after major surgery, but it's actually been an easy, great recovery. I was told I could do what I felt up to doing. I feel up to doing things. By things I mean picking home projects to fill Adam's summer off of work.

Fake wood is now in (almost) our entire upstairs. And after that, it will be in the only 2 rooms left with carpet, the living room & office. I always feel lame calling it an office. It's really just a room we put crap in & leave it for days since it's where our backdoor is. But one day, when I decide to do something with my life, it'll be my office. Speaking of doing something with my life & that office, I'm going to try to lost 30lbs. I think. Maybe. I guess it depends how much I weigh come 6 weeks after delivery. I really have no idea what my weight is.

Anyway, I don't have a plan really. Well, I do, but it's not great or amazing. I'm going to do it much like I do everything else in my life...as easily as humanly possible & hopefully in an entertaining way. I'm not going to become one of those hardcore assholes who talk about their inches or grilled chicken they had for dinner. Me? I'm going to talk about my American Eagle jeans.

Yeah, cue the "aren't you a little old &, uh, motherly for that brand?" questions. The answer is yes, yes I am. I'm on the highway of life, speeding towards 30 & stopping at PTA meetings on the way. But it doesn't mean I can't have a sweet looking ass while I'm on that highway of life. And seriously, I have a sweet looking ass in those jeans. As soon as I can squish back into those size 14's, which are really size 12's according to every other size chart (or maybe even fucking 10's at this point, who knows?!) I'll be content.

Yes, I'm vain. Surprised? You must be new here.

We've ordered a fancy elliptical machine. It seemed like a great idea when I was watching HSN at 3am. OK, that was when I picked one out finally but it'd been in the works & I'd been shopping around for a while, maybe before I even had Blair. Since Blair didn't die, the universe didn't throw me a bone like after I had Joel & ended up being less than my pre-Joel pregnancy weight. So I got a baby, plus 20lbs or so. Not that I'm complaining about that trade off. Not by any means.

Don't plan on seeing a weight loss journal or any of that insanity from me. I'm not that dedicated, nor do I like to share the photogenic proof of my flab & stretch marks to the world (yes, there are some things I consider private, my flab is one of those things). The only mention you'll see is if I brag or somehow hurt myself. And if I hurt myself, I'll either be complaining & blaming someone else, or telling you how stupid I am. So, it'll be enjoyable.

Adam had a birthday since my last blog.

I got him a neato ice cream cake. I'm not sure why it says "Birchday."

I also decorated.

Spiderman, very adult party theme we had going on.

Jules has been having fun with mommy's last fall ebay special priced inflatable water slide.

Yes, he's wearing a pink Dora diaper. He likes Dora. And I had a coupon for Pampers brand. It was a win-win situation. He takes his own swim diaper off, as well as other things I find helpful. The only downfall of his swim diaper coming off is that he likes to yell out "That's my penis!" while pointing to his penis. Kinda weird, but I'm happy he says penis. I'm one of those people who cringe when I hear "peepee" or "weewee" or anything else. I'd rather have my kid on the front porch yelling penis. He's fantabulous though. I can't even give you words on how awesome he is on a daily basis & with Blair. I'd have to video him 24/7 & just have a live stream going for you. But that would be weird & creepy, so just take my word about how awesome he is.

Blair is great. Adorable still, btw.

He sleeps.

This is one of the rare times he's slept without one of us holding him or cuddled next to him, so I had to capture it on film.

Today he had his one month check up. He was 21 1/2 inches & 9lbs 3ozs. I was very happy with the weight because we had doctor problems early on. The doctor would say we had nursing problems, but I had a doctor who wanted me to stop nursing & just pump because after a week he wasn't at his birth weight, he was just a few ounces under it. I did what I do best...ignored his advice. He was 7lbs 4ozs at 2 1/2 weeks & I was given "permission" to nurse him again at that point. And now, just under 2 weeks later, he's gained 2 whole pounds. Be impressed. Everyone was but the doctor, he reported to me that Blair was "starting to catch up" to the rest of the babies in the world with his 25th percentile weight. We also had a semi-awkward moment when he started talking about dreaming of being inside of a womb. Think he was hitting on me?

We still have dogs, cats, & crazy people. Nothing new or even amusing to share. Well, the neighbor seemed to be weirded out once she realized I was nurisng Blair on the porch today. Speaking of places I never thought I'd have my boob out of my shirt, I nursed at the post office today. While looking through my junk mail. Thank goodness for mail catalogs.

I must now go & eat oreos. I've only got a week or so before my machine gets here & I have to stop gorging on oreos.

...but if I eat the oreos while on the machine, does that cancel them out?

Just a thought.

Supermodel.

2010-06-26T02:04:00.003-04:00

I'm working on another blog to share in the next day or so. Yay, I am alive. I just have this new small person who depends on me for things like food & butt cleaning, so I'm a tad busy. But I did want to go ahead & share this.

My baby? He's a flipping supermodel.

I saw those posted by my person photographer, Valarie, & I seriously thought, "That is one gorgeous baby!" then I was thrilled when I realized "Holy shit, that is MY baby!"

You can click her name above to read the experience, as well as click her links to all the wonderful pictures she took (I'm going to stalk her & learn from her amazing photo skills, she just doesn't know it yet).

And, of course, how great is this one?

Through Valarie, we found out about a special event going on during the opening weekend of Toy Story 3, which means that Jules also got to meet the hero of his life...BUZZ LIGHTYEAR!

Buzz looked a little funny, but not nearly as bad as other characters I've seen before.

Speaking of Jules, he's a fan of Blair's.

He comes into a room where Blair is & announces, "Hi Blair, it's me." It's adorable.

Of course my lame sense of humor doesn't end just because a baby is attached to my boob several times a day. I did this.

Even Blair is thinking "oh my."

It's not a professional picture by any means, but I took this & really liked it.

He's exactly a week old there, after his first doctors appointment.

Of course, I take various shots of a baby in the same spot because I'm a parent & that's just what I do. Eventually he woke up & I got a funny shocked expression from him. My friend, Liz, took it to the next level though by adding a nice caption.

I was sad that I didn't think of that. So not only do I need to learn skills from Valarie, but I need to learn caption skills from Liz.

My to do list...it just keeps getting longer.

But I promise the upcoming blog post is almost done. So yay, one thing done. Almost. Kinda sorta. Eventually.

I have mentioned I have this little thing living with me now, right? Just checking. I still can't believe it most of the time myself.