Where'd Kelly Go???? THERE SHE IS!

Hi.

It's weird to be back. It's been a long, crazy summer, but nothing remotely as exciting as that sounds. I think I may be on my way back to finding me. The last couple of days haven't seemed quite as difficult. I don't feel AS tired, AS beat down, AS (insert negative adjective here) as I have. The ol' demons resurfaced for a while, and although they're still around, I'm doing much better at knocking them off my shoulders and not listening to their diatribe about how awful things are and how awful I am. I've got a lot of work to do, and I may take this forum as a way to get some things out of my system and maybe even some feedback, but I want to find me and my sense of humor and my love of life again.

Things are... interesting. I'm now living in Kansas, working, doing the geographical single mom thing, because we decided that we needed to be closer to family to get some extra support with Quinn. Hubs is still doing his Army thing (and doing it well - I am so proud of him), but we know that Quinn needs stability and family in order for him to succeed. Speaking of the little bugger - he started preschool on 20 September. PRESCHOOL. I'm dying. The days go by so fast it's obscene.

Violet decided right before she went to her mom's for the summer that she wanted to try school there this year, so she is in Arizona. Things are going well for her, and while I miss her, I'm excited for her.

My life today sure isn't what I had anticipated, but it's what I've got. And with a little help from my friends, I think I got this.

In where I am a complete hypocrite.

Fucking commercials. (I know, we've been over this.) I have to tell you something. I bought something SOLELY on the commercial. OH MY GOD MY SHOULDERS ARE SO LIGHT RIGHT NOW!

You will usually find me kvetching about the crap they advertise on TV, or more so that the commercials are crap, and what douchenugget CEO signed off on THAT to promote their product? I mean, the majority of commercials could have been written by my two year old and been loads more effective and entertaining. Er, no offense to any advertising folks out there. Actually, total offense. If you are responsible for shit like the TaxMasters, J.G. Wentworth, 1-800 I have mesothelioma or a transvaginal mesh because my uterus fell out and I want a lawyer commercials - you, sir, are an asshole. OH MY GOD MY SHOULDERS ARE EVEN LIGHTER! I DID NOT KNOW THAT WAS POSSIBLE! WHOO!

Anyway, so I bought something just because of the commercial. Not even really because of the commercial, but because of the ridiculously catchy ditty they sing. It is so catchy, in fact, that even the Preteen sings it when it comes on, and we have actions for it. Yep, I'm talking about Miller 64. (I know, I totally named dropped in the hope that someone will read this and send me a shit ton of free beer. I ain't too proud to beg, y'all.) THAT COMMERCIAL WORMED ITS WAY INTO MY BRAIN AND MADE ME BUY THE BEER! And yes, I hummed the song in the beer aisle, and did the actions - which consist of swinging my arm back and forth in front of me, pretending I'm holding a big ass mug of brewski. (I also have no shame.)

PS - I like the beer. But there's not many I don't like. And the fact that it's only 64 calories per bottle just means I can eat more Nutella, since evidently it's not good for you?! W.T.F.

Blog? Blog? Wherefore Art Thou, Blog?

My other blog, documenting this adventure/journey/whatever you want to call it - LIFE, is here: http://www.stillmyquinn.wordpress.com. Sorry, Blogger, you're kind of bitchy lately, and if you don't watch it, I may move this one over there, too.

Thanks to Brett for giving me the push I needed to share it. There are scores of Autism blogs out there, and if anyone has any suggestions of must-reads, help a sistah out, yo.

This is not a mirage. It is an actual post.

Hey peeps. I need to apologize for my absence. I'm going to try my best to be around more often, but I lost my funny for a while - still not sure if it's back - and I didn't want to be Debbie Downer and harsh any melons with my depression. Because that is exactly what it was, and is (and will continue to be), compounded by the news that my beautiful, ornery boy has been diagnosed with Autism.  I'm going to address that journey in another blog, and I will post the link here later if anyone is interested. That will be where I get real - real mad, real sad, real proud, real everything. If you don't want to stop by, because really, it will be a roulette of emotions over there, don't feel obligated. If you want to join me and my family on this Autism adventure, please join me. I would love suggestions and advice. Celebrate successes and reassess what needs to be done differently with us, but do not feel sorry for us. All that has changed in our lives is a line on Q's medical chart, some extra appointments, and some new people in our lives. I am of the school of thought that a diagnosis is not a label, not a box to put my kid in, but a tool to help us help him be the most that he can be. And I can pretty much guarantee that this boy will teach me more than I will ever teach him.

I'm not going to lie and tell you that my heart doesn't hurt. It does. There are moments I feel absolutely broken. And then I look at him. And like the Grinch, my heart grows three sizes. And I remember why I wanted to be a mother so badly. Because every second I get to spend with that boy makes life worth living. Every smile, every frown, every flap, squeak, stomp, and squawk - it's what makes him Quinn. And I wouldn't trade a minute of it. Ever.

Thanks. Oh, and I love you guys.
<3

Questions I need answered

A lot of shit bugs me. Like people who use alot instead of a lot (MOM.). Therefore, I've compiled a list of seemingly innocent questions that have not been answered in my 35 years on this planet. If you know the answer, please enlighten me. As always, points for creativity.

1. Who decided exactly what a serving size of cereal is? 3/4 of a cup ain't cutting it, people.
2. Why do kids who wear diapers poop within 5 minutes of having a clean, dry, perfect diaper put on?
3. Why do dogs need to go back out within five minutes of coming in?
4. Why must said dogs also start barking 10 minutes after the smallest child is in bed?
5. Why does it always rain the hardest right when I need to get in or out of my car?
6. Why do all rental properties have carpets that can be stained when you spill something like water on them?
7. Why do dogs cropdust? As ugly as their farts are, you'd think they'd at least own them.
8. Why did Nick Jr. take off my kid's favorite show? (To make me miserable, obvs.)
9. Why can't any of the maintenance guys/cable guys/etc. who are dispatched to our house be hot? (I can't put UPS/FedEx on this list - their drivers are so elusive, I've never seen them. I'm pretty sure they just yell "wingardium leviosa" and fly my shit from their truck.)
10. Why can't the people in my house put shit IN the trash can rather than on the counter ABOVE it.

Unfortunately, there's many more, but a dog just barfed in the middle of my oh-so-pristine living room carpet, so that takes precedence. Looking forward to the answers...

Karma in action, episode 1

*Our story begins last night during dinner. After staring at me for several minutes with a WTF look on his face, Hubs decides to speak:

Hubs: Kelly, you really need to start taking better care of your stuff! You have a huge scratch on your glasses!

Me: *disgruntled stinkeye/pretends to not hear him, while thinking, "Oh fuck right off, are you my dad???*

*Fast forward to 0453 this morning. Phone rings. It is Hubs.

Hubs: Could you look in the garage/driveway to see if there's a pair of socks out there? They aren't in the car, and I had stuck my iPod in it.

Me: Sure. Let me go get the flashlight.

...
...
...


Me: There's nothing here. Maybe you should take better care of your stuff?

BOOM.

Where's the sign up sheet for straitjacket fittings?

Yay, a post! In bullet format. Because I'm too tired and lazy today for a proper introduction. Or a complete sentence, it appears. I'll discuss my absence from ye olde blog later. Oh yay! A complete sentence! Uh...

Thoughts as of late:

• I wonder if some nighttime Triaminic accidentally got into someone's applesauce if he'd actually take a nap today.
• Dog, one of your balls is bigger than the other. How do I know this? They're on my leg. FUCK! YOUR BALLS ARE ON MY LEG! GETEMOFF! GETEMOFF! 
• I wish it would snow.
• I think my power animal is a sloth.
• I ate enough at lunch to feed Oprah's school in wherever for a, well, meal?
• I'd really like to get paid to tweet. I can promote something! How about the phone number for Binder and Binder? Or Taxmasters? Or the transvaginal mesh and mesothelioma lawyers? 
• I could really use a cabana boy to fan me and bring me fruity drinks today. 
• You'd think by now Febreze could create a formula that could cover the smell of both dog and grown man ass.
• I am officially addicted to Nutella. And that dark chocolate peanut butter I found at Publix. Holy Manna From Supermarket.
• The seat coolers in my car trick me into thinking I peed my pants.
• I want my husband to experience back labor for just one day.
• My son discovered, much to his chagrin, that the dog's nose does not honk like mommy's.
• Whoever decided to give Toodles on MMCH a voice should die a thousand deaths.
• ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK GO KU!!!

Winter, you ignorant slut.

Would it have killed you to show up for a little while this year? Let me tell you what your selfishness resulted in, mmkay? Mmmkay.

1. None of the critters around here hibernated. Therefore, my dogs were ape shit stupid all winter. Also? The amount of roadkill was ridiculous, and continues to be so. Last time I checked, I lived IN town, so I'm not sure how a deer was hit near my house. You gave these creatures a false sense of security, Winter. All these deaths are your fault.
2. Since none of the critters around here hibernated, they took the time to not only heckle my pets, but to get busy having the secks. And the secks means not A baby, no no no... but LITTERS OF CRITTERS. Bob Barker can talk about spaying and neutering all he wants to, but have you ever tried to neuter a squirrel? Didn't think so.
3. It is entirely too early in the year to be forced to wear summer clothing. People be pasty and ashy, yo. Also? You can't wear white before Easter - AND YOU KNOW THIS. 
4. You probably fucked up the space-time continuum. 
5. My vehicle was painted white by Ford Motor Co. Thanks to you, it is now yellow with pollen. NOT OKAY. If I wanted a yellow Expedition, that's what I would have gotten. No, no I wouldn't. I could have bought a school bus instead.
6. Because of the "very high pollen count", I am forced to keep my kids inside, which makes me stabby. Thanks for taking away my "me time", Winter.
7. I blame the tornadoes on you and your bitchassness.
8. You're fired, whore. I might as well move to somewhere you don't exist, like Florida. And yep, I'll blame my frizzy afro and greasy skin on you, too. Have a nice day.

Ten years ago yesterday...

My brother and sis-in-law got married. Happy Anniversary, you crazy kids! It was lovely. It was one of the last family events that my grandparents were able to attend together and enjoy. It was also a family event in which I fell down a flight of stairs and ended up in the emergency room and high on pain meds and missed the party.

On this St. Patrick's Day, I hope the luck o'the Irish is on my side and I can keep my klutziness (yeah, it's a word, Blogger, kindly erase your red squiggly line.) in check. I made it through yesterday relatively unscathed...


May love and laughter light your days,
and warm your heart and home.
May good and faithful friends be yours,
wherever you may roam.
May peace and plenty bless your world
with joy that long endures.
May all life's passing seasons
bring the best to you and yours! 

My Last Will and Testament

I have decided that one can die from being tired. Physically tired, mentally tired, emotionally tired, tired of bullshit, tired of crappy reality TV (HELLO, Bachelor?), tired of lack of sunshine, tired of toddlers playing in the slobbery dog bowl, tired of cleaning up dog barf and hearing said dog barf, tired of snotty attitudes, tired of the same mess magically appearing milliseconds after you cleaned it up... Do I really need to go on? I didn't think so. Anyway, I figure that since it seems I'm sprouting new sparkly hair on my head every 30 seconds, I should probably write my will since I'll look 90 by this weekend.

So, without further adieu, The Last Will and Testament of Kelly Jo Rhoades:

I, Kelly Jo Rhoades, (yeah, my middle name is Jo, shut up) being of not even close to sound mind or healthy body, do declare the following should occur upon my passing from being fucking tired:

To my loving children: There are only about three things in this house that are worth anything. It might be best to call the guys from American Pickers (you know, since they have a store in Nashville now), and see what they'd be willing to give you. And NO, my Bon Jovi/Aerosmith/Poison/Journey CDs do NOT count as antiques.

To my darling husband: I hope you have a grand time spending my life insurance money. Please make sure my eptitaph reads: "Here lies Kelly, beloved wife and mother. She's saving seats for her friends." Also, please spend the money (read: hide it in an off shore island account) before Sallie Mae comes a'knockin'.

To my beloved dogs: Let's be real. I'm not a crazy pet person who leaves shit in their will to their pets, no matter how much they're loved.

To Sallie Mae/Direct Loans/Nelnet: I wish you good luck, motherfuckers! And no, I didn't fake my own death to get out of paying back my loans, although I have contemplated it. Just kidding. Maybe.

Electronically signed this 13th of March, 2012,
Kelly

Shit that gave me the giggles this week.

I've had kind of a bleh week. I guess that's what happens when you're afflicted by the plague. Combine that with arguing with The Preteen about the fact that there is no way in hell she brushed her teeth this morning while she lied to my face, I needed to go back and look at stuff I've seen this week on The Internet to give me some laughs. That, and I decided booze before noon, even though it's Friday, wouldn't be the smartest idea. See, I'm showing responsibility! Yay me! Uh...

Anyway, these are a combination of new this week and ones I have had for a while, but they all made me laugh. Happy Friday, peeps - I hope you laugh too.

First of all, who doesn't love Gene Wilder? B) I seriously laughed my ass off. Not that 18 year olds can't have outstanding political points, and I admire the passion, I just remember what were my priorities when I was 18, and it certainly wasn't political agendas or damning the man.

This needs no caption. Nice legs, POTUS. Those heels are workin' those calves!

This is precisely why I don't have cats. Well, not precisely why. If it was precisely why, that cat wouldn't have shredded toilet paper, but pissed on a couch.

This is why I have children.

HAAAH!  

It is written, it is written indeed.

Right? Boppin' field mice on the head is bad juju, Foo Foo.

Your mom jokes bring me such joy.

I might have peed my pants a little when I saw this. Thanks, childbirth.

Happy Friday! I hope everyone has a fantastic weekend! We're supposedly going to a car show. There'd better be beer, or I might have to run to REI and buy a tent and occupy the shit out off it. xoxoxo

Blame this post on Twitter. Sad turns to mad, which turns to action.

NCIS is one of my favorite shows, even though I'm super behind in the series. The story lines are usually great, the cast is superb, and can Gibbs and DiNozzo get any sexier? I think not. But really, Abby is the reason I watch. It is so refreshing and inspiring to see a strong female character breaking barriers. Abby is smart, stubborn, fiercely loving and lovable, and loyal to a fault. She's real. I just love her to pieces. AND, thanks to the interwebs and the twitter, I am able to learn more about the actress that plays her, Pauley Perrette.

Pauley has been all over twitter this morning sharing facts about stalking, as she has a stalker who has been harassing (for lack of a better word) her to the point where she is ready to leave the country. And due to stalking laws, not much can be done. Pauley relies on her faith, her fiance, and her strength to get her through. Insanely admirable.

I cannot fathom what it is like to attempt to sleep at night knowing you are the object of someone's obsession. I mean, I've been through some crap in my short life, stuff that I tend to relive, but they were isolated incidents that screwed me up some. Being in a situation that is constant, whether it be stalking, domestic violence, sexual harassment, etc. - my mind, heart, and stomach hurt for them. Living through an isolated incident - you have the choice whether to be a victim or to survive. A lingering situation does not give you that freedom.

Today is International Women's Day. Learn something today. Educate someone else. Hug your daughters and your sisters and your mothers. Teach your daughters and your nieces to be strong, vibrant, independent women who know their self-worth.

This seems a little scattered, and I must say that I do not claim that only women deal with these situations - I know better - but I just needed to say something, as my life has changed a little bit this morning. All because of the twitter.

I really need to find my funny again.

I'm so calling it in today.

We don't have school today because the school is a voting site, so I took the opportunity to take some pictures of what our house looks like on a day off from school. For those of you who saw them on Facebook, you will look at them again! And marvel at the cuteness of my children! And the disaster area known as my living room.

Shit everywhere, cartoons on, a screaming boy, and a girl with a bucket on her head. Life at my house.

This dog is large. My kid is two seconds from collapsing the basket in this picture. He survived.

Take one more fucking picture of me and I'll slowly get up and walk away because I don't move very fast and I wouldn't hurt a fly.

I'll patiently wait for you to get the clothes basket off your butt  so you can get up and feed me. "I'm watching Wizards of Waverly Place. You've got a good 23 minutes to wait."

TIMMMMMMMBBBBBEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRR!!

I AM THE COMMANDER OF THIS OPERATION. REMEMBER THIS, OR I PITY THA FOO!

Mom is so going to show this picture when I get a girfriend. And when I graduate. And when I get married, isn't she? Yep. Yep I am.

DO MY BIDDING, MINION! (I'm so glad you're home today.)

After a short intermission, we will return you to your regularly scheduled program of yelling, throwing, wrasslin', and other boy stuff.

Sissy, did you know you have a bucket on your head? AND THAT I WANTED TO SIT HERE?

Annnnnnnnnnnd, it's nap time. 

Thank heavens.

Parenting at it's finest - Take 1

It has come to my attention that we (read: me) have been somewhat slacking on the consistency part of parenting lately. Now, don't get me wrong, Hubs doesn't even know the meaning of consistent (bless him), but I've come to the conclusion that picking my battles helps with my anxiety and chills me the fuck out a little bit.  That being said, the following is a list of things that I probably should work a little harder on with my children lest they become feral and I have to let them out into the wild:

• Allowing The Preteen to watch Hubs play Zombie Island or some shit on the xbox where they use choice phrases as "they all a bunch of dead zombie muthafuckas" and "fucking fuck we gwine die!" She loves watching her dad play video games, but this should probably cease and desist, even though she says "Mom, I know not to use those words. Besides, I hear them on the bus anyway." /facepalm
• Letting Captain Awesome crawl on and sit/stand on the coffee table. Seriously, he gets up there every five minutes, and if I ignore it, he eventually gets down...
• Deciding fig newtons and popcorn are acceptable meals.
• Pajamas are the new daywear.
• I've left the front door unlocked and found him in the front yard waving at cars.
• The toy room looks like a nuclear bomb site - always. I see no point in picking it up because it will be trashed in seconds after he wakes up.
• Nick Jr (who I am really pissed off at for getting rid of Moose and Zee AND Jack's Big Music Show) and Disney Junior (who our fucking crappy cable company will not get the Disney Junior Channel, the fucking Nazis) have been teaching him more than I have.
• I have threatened to UPS both of them to Zimbabwe lately more times than I'd like to admit.

On the other hand...

• I just sat through Justin Bieber: Never Say Never because I love The Preteen so much.
• I watch Backyardigans ad nauseum because I love Captain Awesome so much.
• I fucking love pajamas.
• My kids are loved, borderline spoiled rotten, and are the moon to my sun. 

Now excuse me while I go yell at one to rebrush her teeth and smother her with kisses, and then peek on my angel boy sleeping and hope I don't stub my toe on all the crap on his floor. 

She should have stabbed me. It would have hurt less.

Today, oh today... you had such promise. I got up early to shower and make 30 lbs of sloppy joes for a fundraiser - I planned to load up the car, go feed some soldiers, load everything back up, unpack, clean the area-formerly-known-as-a-kitchen-but-looks-like-a-bomb-range, get the kiddo down for a nap, and relax until big kid gets off the bus.

HOWEVER.

Today, for the most part went well.  We made $300, to my surprise - I didn't think we had served that many - all my volunteers PLUS some showed up (YAY AND I LOVE YOU!), and Quinn did really well. I even saw a few people I knew, and got to know some of the spouses better, which was great. Until.

Until this beast of a woman, upon seeing Quinn, asks him "What's your disability?" Being thoroughly confused, I said "He has none." To which she replied, "Oh, well, he looks just like my cousin who has Down's Syndrome."

Do not misread me. Had I a child with any sort of disability, I would love that child with everything I am, just like I do The Preteen and Captain Awesome. In fact, as you all know, I have concerns that Quinners might fall on the autism spectrum and am in the works to get him evaluated.  This is not so I can take him back and get a new kid. It is so I can get him all the services he needs and deserves.

That being said, the words she spoke to me, so matter-of-factly, cut me so deeply that I can't really even explain. I have no idea who this woman was, but she totally owned me and my feelings with a few words. I don't even know what I said to her. I think it might have been "Oh." What do you say to that? If I didn't have my hands full of 2.5 year old, my hands might have subconsciously went to her throat.

I am having a hard time identifying the emotions that are coursing through me because of a SENTENCE. I'm not exactly mad, not exactly sad, just upset and hurt.

My little boy is fucking awesome, and disability or no, he has my heart in his little hand. I have always said I would walk through fire for my children, and I couldn't even respond to this woman. But looking back, I'm not sure I needed to.

My heart just feels broken. I think I need to go snuggle my Quinners. Talk to you tomorrow.

Adventures in Multitasking

Sweet mother, I wish that I would be able to complete the tasks I need to in a reasonable amount of time without something getting grade A screwed up. Case in point:

Tomorrow, I have a fundraiser for our Family Readiness Group (FRG: comprised of spouses of your soldier's company to get out information, support each other, etc.). We are feeding soldiers. Cool, right? Well, I am making 200ish brownies and 30 lbs of sloppy joes - WHICH my dumb ass forgot to buy buns for - TODAY. Needless to say, I'm in the middle of a pretty good project. Which means my eyes aren't on my toddler constantly. Which would explain how I didn't notice him crawl onto the table, open my laptop, pull half the keys off, throw a couple down the vent, and feed the rest to the dog.

That led to a barfing dog. Got the keys back, anyway... unusable, but at least they came out of his mouth so I wouldn't have to go treasure hunting in the backyard.

He also ate a wooden block. Which he barfed in my room.  It doesn't even faze me anymore. I'm not sure what that says about me.  Also, if you were wondering, Captain Awesome found everything hysterical.  Little shit.  :)

Misty, you shouldn't have.

Misty, of Misty's Laws fame has tagged me as one of three people she wants to know more about!  I am flattered and a little nervous, and now I wonder if she's not following me around with her ninja photog skills trying to catch me at Walmart in my jammies... but here's the deal:  I have to share three things about me, and then pick three bloggers who I want to know more about!  Should be easy, right?  Not so much.  I can think of three things, but narrowing down three people who I want to know more about is insanely difficult.  But, because I should have done this days ago, I'm going to pick.  Right now.  Well, after I put my three things.  Circular much?  Geez.





So, without further adieu (maybe, probably not, I have a hard time getting to the point this week):

1.  I love to cook.  I like taking recipes and tweaking them (read: I don't measure shit) to make them my own/accommodate the pickyish eaters in my house.  There's only been a couple of things they could have lived without, but when I get a resounding "nom nom nom" from the peeps at my table, it brings me joy.  I do not, however, enjoy cleaning up said mess.  But that's what I have kids for, right?  Right.

2.  Reading is a life source.  I mean, I love my husband and kids and dogs and other family members, but reading has been my escape for so long from so much, I cannot imagine a world without books in it.  I read anything and everything, so please pass on your favorites!  Don't bother asking me to pick my three favorite books.  It is impossible.  What three books would I bring to a deserted island?  My kindle, duh.  

3.  I was born in the wrong era.  I'm not a fan of today's music in the slightest.  I think the 70s and 90s channels were made for me.  No, I'm not wishing I was back in high school, I just love me some hair bands.  I think Woodstock would have made my entire life.  And my dream car?  --->  I want one so bad.  

Now, on to the best part - I want to know more about these incredibly talented bloggers!  These people make me laugh, make me think, and make me want to have them over for beers and Wii bowling.

1. Johi of Confessions of a Cornfed Girl.  Not only does she have the coolest name ever, and the view from her porch is of the majesty that is Colorado, her storytelling makes me want to move to Fort Collins.  Because if I do, maybe I can get Lyle Lovett's doppelganger's autograph.
2. Hoody Hoo.  Even though I know all about her pancreas and her ham-stealing cat, I'm sure there's stuff I don't know that I really need to.  Plus?  She's hilarious.
3. Bill at The Authentic Life.  I'm expecting good stuff here, because I just started reading him, and I don't know much yet, but what I do know, I like.  A lot.  I also liked that I remembered to put a space in between a and lot, because they're two separate words.  And that is my PSA for the day.

Misty, thank you for picking me! 

Conversations with inanimate objects: The pacifier edition.

Captain Awesome is two.  Captain Awesome is ornery. The dipshits who built the house we live in did not tack down the vents, which they put in the FLOOR. Hence, the vents are rarely covered in this house because Captain Awesome finds great joy in taking them and putting them in random places around the house, like on the toilet seat. (I really wish I would have taken a picture of that.) He also delights in throwing shit down said vents, and thanks to my Go-Go-Gadget arms, I have been able to retrieve all items.  Until last night...

*Camera pans to small child, giggling evilly, while lifting vent out of floor.  He puts the vent to the side, and attempts to crawl into space.  Frustrated at his failure, he grabs the closest thing he can reach, his pacifier.  After contemplating said pacifer, he throws it into the depths of the vent, not unlike the dude on Beastmaster throwing shit on the pyre, assuming his mother will come to the rescue...


Me:  Seriously?  Leave the vent alone, and quit throwing things down there you want to keep, because someday they'll go too far down for me to reach!

C.A.:  *cheesy grin*

Me:  *shoves arm down vent up to the shoulder, bravely braving what creepy crawlies may or may not live in said vent*  SEE?!?!?  I CAN'T REACH IT!  IT'S GONE FOREVER!

C.A.: *sits on dog*


Me: *puts face near vent*  Hey little pacifer, it's okay.  I'm so sorry he did this to you.  I know it's dark down there.  Are you alright?  Do you need a night light?  REACH FOR ME!  No?  Okay.  You may like it down there, actually.  I bet it's quiet.  And now he can't throw you, or chew on you, and neither can the dog.  Maybe I should join you down there.  I like quiet.  Can I get you anything?  Are you giving me the silent treatment?  I miss you.  He's going to miss you.  I'd say he's sorry, but I'm not so sure he is.  Is there anything else down there to keep you company?  You know, like a random Lego or spiders?  Because pacifier, if there are spiders, I expect you to go all dragon-slayer on their asses, because I am not having spiders in the house.  Are you even listening to me?  You're probably on some Pacifier Indiana Jones adventure, while I look like a complete fuckstick talking into a vent.  Maybe your adventure is more Goonie-ish.  I hope you know how to play the piano, or your pretty much fucked.  If you find One Eyed Willie, will you bring me back some sparkly things?  I like sparkly things.  Well, both of my kids and the dogs are staring at me now, so I should maybe fix dinner or something.  But I'll be back tomorrow.  You're not alone, I promise.  Nai-nai.

*If anyone wondered before this post whether or not I needed help, I think the answer is now clear.

Oh, Internet... Quit making me be so serious.

You know, we all are flawed people.  There is no such thing as a perfect human being; we may have been made in His image, but He also granted us free will, therein allowing us to screw up all over the place.  Learn something, humans!  Yeah, about that...

I can pinpoint the minute my self-esteem took a nose-dive. I was in fifth grade. My Violet is in the fifth grade. Don't think I don't stare at that pink elephant every day. I do. And I'm trying my damnedest to make sure that that girl knows her self-worth.  Luckily for her, being a member of this society, she is thin, and absolutely beautiful. I was chubby with bad hair, not great clothes, and I was the new kid at school. May I remind you that Kelly rhymes with jelly and belly? Hence, the little masons inside started bricking up those walls at lightening speed, starting at age TEN.

I look at photos of myself at age 17 and wonder why I hated myself so much. I look at me now, and my flaws and imperfections - they're ME.  This body has walked an unknown number of miles, brought life into this world, danced, ran through sprinklers, felt the power of a horse beneath it - how quick we are to call babies miracles, yet forget that we are walking ones ourselves?

Learning to find the beauty in ourselves for those of us who truly don't believe the compliments we've been/are given is a daunting task - like trying to climb up an icy hill with high heels on.  Over the past few days, at the age of 35, I've realized the skies are finally parting for me and I'm finally starting to get it.  Starting to truly understand that I am a person who deserves to be happy and to be proud of herself and to not get all Stuart Smalley on y'all, but dammit, I am good people.  I have an amazing family who raised me right, yet despite that, in my 20s, I got dealt a pile of shit. But now? I am going to slam these bones down and yell, "DOMINO, MOTHERFUCKER!", because for the first time in my life, I feel how I've wanted to feel for years - strong, determined, loved, able, and willing - not meek, tattered, and broken. These demons will be exorcised.

I think I just had a Towanda moment.  I am in need of a viking helmet.

In other news, I think my uterus has gone rogue.

I'm not even remotely kidding.  Every time we start talking about having another baby, my uterus responds with something that could kind of be described as shards of glass trying to escape from inside my lower abdomen.  It makes me stabby, to say the least.  Now, Dear Uterus is not throwing the hissy fit from hell because we want to expand the brood, she's just throwing her weight around and being quite the asshole because she can.  She's really probably still pissed off that she got sliced into when Captain Awesome was born.  I've tried to explain it to her that I really didn't enjoy it either, but shit is always about HER.  Whatever, Uterus.  You just wait until I elect to have you vacated permanently.  I thank you for bringing my son to full-term, and I'll thank you in advance for the child I hope we have sooner rather than later, but soon you'll be out of a job.  Don't worry about unemployment.  It's straight to retirement for you.

Sorry dudes, this was overly girly and probably gross, but eh, such is life.

I really could benefit from buying stock in Advil as much as I've consumed this weekend.  And Yuengling, for that matter...  Happy Three Day Weekend!  A Monday with no alarm clock almost makes today better. :)