What Color Is Swamp Ass?

It is imperative that I know the answer to that burning question because I am trying to draw the Swamp Ass Swamp and can't seem to find just the right color. At first, I was drawing the swamp as the starting point for a game board to mark progress for my little sister, who has just started a vet tech program that is accelerated and promising to be an intense next 2 years. But then things took a turn that I was not interested in them taking, and now I find myself in that swamp with Sugarbowl, trying to navigate my way to the finish line. Why did I have to make such a long path to the finish? It wasn't so bad when I wasn't on that path with Sugarbowl -- I don't mind others' suffering, only my own -- but now all the obstacles that I have to go through seem very obstacle-y and long.

Before I go into why I am now a player in that game, let me give a rundown of the board itself. I took Cookie Monster and Burt out of my Walk Along Sesame Street game, cut out pictures of my face and Sugarbowl's, and stuck them over their faces. I am Burt and she is Cookie Monster. We start out mired in the Swamp Ass Swamp, ride the Beginner's High roller coaster, which then plunges us into the Homework Ocean. From there we must navigate our way through the I Have To Stick My Finger Where forest. I'm looking forward to that forest strictly to enjoy Sugarbowl having to lift tails and insert her digits, and hearing how she deals with it. And that promises to be a great story, she having the most sensitive gag reflex of anyone I have ever known, and anal glands being the worst thing I have ever had the displeasure of smelling. From there we will mosey into the swirly twirly Slumpy Mountains. They being so swirly and twirly one must go slow through them, hence the hideous slumpy-ness of them. I fear those slumpy mountains because I really hate the slumps. If we make it safely through those, we enter the dark tunnel of Is There A Light At The End. If we can find the light, it is the light of our goals. It's going to be one heck of a journey and I most certainly was not interested in traversing this path, but traverse it I must, because. . .

I found out earlier this month that my ex has started dating someone. The shock of that put me into a pity party in the middle of the Swamp Ass Swamp. It's not that I begrudge him dating, it's that I want to be able to go out and do those kinds of things that can result in meeting someone, instead of turning into a pumpkin at the hour when most people are gearing up to go out. And then my pity party really got rocking and rolling when I started thinking about who could possibly want to be with me. I have no money, no energy, but plenty of MS that promises more fun in the future. When I was saying this to Princess, she came and put her arms around me, told me that she wants me, and that she loves me more than I love her, which is not possible, but very nice to hear anyway. I have to be 100% honest and admit that the hurt of him moving on is at least equal to all the other hurt from not being able to go tear up the town myself. Why does someone getting over you hurt so bad? And why does it mire me so deep in that swamp? At least I have a game board to track my progress to my goal of. . . not sure what my goal is, but I will let you know when I figure it out.

Today Is The 6th Day Of The Rest Of My Life

My new life as a non smoker. That's right, I did it! I quit smoking 6 long, hard, stressful, frustratingly slow, days ago. Days where I had to just hold on and know that tomorrow would be a little less horrible than today had been. Riding out cravings that had me gripping white knuckled on to anything near me. Trying not to be too bitchy with anyone who had the bad luck to come in my path. Reading to rags 7 Steps to a Smoke-Free Life, which is an excellent book for any of you who may need a little help along your own obstacle course of quitting smoking. In fact, that book helped me not fall off the wagon during a very bad time in my house right now. It recently came to light that Princess has not been handling her stress in a healthy way: She has been cutting herself. Now, in case you missed it, for all my crabbing about her bitchy ways -- and they can be very bitchy -- that little girl is the light of my life. I would die for her without even having to think about it. She is the reason I'm still on this planet, because she is still on it and I know I can't leave her until she no longer needs me. She and her mother have a very rough relationship, to put it mildly. Very mildly. I know that somewhere under all the hurt, misunderstanding, and loads of hate they have for each other at times, there is a drop of love. It may not be much, but at least it is there, and I hope that someday, when Princess is older, they can try to build a relationship of sorts, because this one is not very good. They are such oil and water it stresses me out sometimes trying to keep the peace around here. Sugarbowl's Borderline Personality Disorder makes things so rough, especially when she has not been taking her meds (which she has not taken for a while now) that it can be a lot of work keeping her from going over the edge about a perceived slight. If you have ever dealt with some one with BPD, you know how incredibly difficult it can be. When her BPD is fired up (it seems like she is good for awhile, then it breaks down and she is ultra sensitive and ready to take everything the wrong way and go into a HUGE RAGE over it) I feel like I have try to keep their dealings as minimal as possible. I try very hard to say things with as little negative inflection in my voice as possible, and if she still takes it as an attack, I have to hold back my own temper, and explain that she has misunderstood what I was really saying. And even then there are no guarantees that it will stop a rage. They will cling to what they think you meant, regardless of what you did mean, and fight with you about how they took what you said. It does not matter how many times you explain that that is not what you meant, they have their BPD up and can't be rational until it calms down again.

In all this BPD mess, I have a voice because I can lose my temper and throw down with Sugarbowl if she pushes me too far, which is saying something because I am very slow in getting to that level of anger. Princess can't say a word, or even twitch a facial muscle when her mother gets angry at her, and that repression is coming out in the wrong way. Communications came to a screeching halt for a few days because Sugarbowl was angry at me (and indirectly at Princess too) because I told her that Princess is cutting herself because of her mother. I should have made it more clear than that because Sugarbowl took that to mean that it is her fault, which is not what I meant. I meant that the problems she and her daughter have are not being handled in a healthy way, and I was trying to give her a heads up before Princess goes to counseling (she has an appointment) and she hears all this from someone else. I'm hoping that we can get through all the ugly that is on the horizon for us and come out the other side with some healthier ways of dealing with each other. Sugarbowl is going to look into counseling, but I would rather she take her meds on a regular basis, if I had to choose. All the counseling in the world is not going to change how she acts when in a BPD rage. I accept that she has Borderline and gets angry easily, but I do not think that is a free pass to do and say horrible things to people and not be held accountable for it. She may not be able to control the shortness of her temper, but she can control the words that come out of her mouth and her actions when angry. Princess does not have the luxury of being able to stand up to her mother like I do, so I have to run interference when Sugarbowl is raging. Right now Sugarbowl is upset about being told that Princess is hurting herself because of her mother, and doesn't want to say anything to Princess in case it adds to the problems she is having -- also as a passive-aggressive way of punishing Princess because her feelings have been hurt because she doesn't want to admit that she has hurt her daughter that deeply. I am the go between and the tension in this house is through the roof. I would rather we all not talk to each other than have any raging fights. As stressful as not talking is, the rages are a bajillion times worse. I think I deserve a HUGE pat on the back for not starting smoking again in the midst of all this crap. But I already broke my arm patting myself on the back, so I'm good. Besides, my focus is on Princess, and knowing that she is going to need me for some time to come makes me want to quit because I'm going to need all the time on this earth that I can get. That is helping me resist the sweet siren call of cigarettes. And what a sweet siren call that is! Darn you, cigarettes! Why do you have to be so delicious?! I look forward to the day that I no longer enjoy the smell of cigarettes. Pray for me.

New Club

I am now starting a new club, the I Hate Princess Club. We are not exclusive, we will take any who want to join -- which will probably be anyone who has met her. We will be meeting at 4am in her bed every morning. Bring all the noise makers you can find, and crumby snacks will be provided in abundance. Our motto is going to be the loudest belch you can muster, so fizzy drinks will be provided too. She runs a heater full blast in her room all night, no matter how hot it gets in there, so wear your summer clothes and be prepared to sweat. Hopefully you do not mind washing your hands with cold water, because wherever Princess is using water, there will never be any warm water left. And I hope you don't mind drip drying after going to the bathroom, because there is nary a scrap of toilet paper to be found in any bathroom she uses. Odds are the sink will be backed up from all her hair balls that she leaves in there, so you may want to bring hand sanitizer just to be on the safe side. Do not bring anything you value, because she does not understand personal possessions and assumes everything is there for her use. And she will not warn you when she uses something up, so be prepared to get a nasty surprise when you go to use whatever it is. Bring a flashlight, because her room is a hodgepodge of clothes and other teenager crap that must be spread across the floor, not put away, and I don't want anyone to impale themselves on her stuff. When using the bathroom, be prepared to have the door flung open on you without so much as a knock to warn you, so don't be doing anything you don't want an audience for. If she should wake up during the course of the meeting, be ready for a steady stream of negative, snarky, rude comments meant to show you how hopelessly uncool and uninformed you are, so be sure you have a thick skin before you join. This is not a club for the faint of heart; you must be a secure person, confident in the fact that you are not as uninformed as 7th graders think you are, or you will be eaten alive. We will be discussing, among other things:

1. How does anyone survive their teenager years without an adult killing them?

2. Should raging, unchecked hormones be illegal?

3. Is it impossible to talk to someone in a normal tone of voice?

4. Should I see if the neighbors would like to use my stuff too? Maybe the public in general would like to use my stuff. Maybe I am being selfish by not sharing my pit juice with the world.

5. Will I ever be as cool and smart as a teenager, or is that just a ridiculous pipe dream?


Any topics that you feel need to be addressed will be added. If you are unsure of what would be a good topic, come spend a few minutes with Princess and your ideas will flow from you faster than you can write them down. Now I will close this announcement with our motto:

BELCH!

See you at 4 tomorrow morning.

Damn This Guilt!

I hate feeling guilty. I think guilt and jealousy are the 2 worst feelings there are. Both will eat you alive and destroy all reason. I'm not feeling any jealousy at the moment, but I am feeling guilty. Intellectually, I know I'm being dumb, but emotionally, I feel guilty. Feeling attack-y, and in a criminal amount of pain, I am not up to my usual sub par level of functioning, and Princess has been picking up the slack. Bless her buttons! She has been doing all the things I usually do without any complaint or grumbling, which she would do if I were feeling fine and made her do those things. She has made dinner the last couple of nights, and brushed off my apologies for being unable to do it with a terse, "I'm not a baby!" I know she's not a baby; she will be 13 in February, but I still hate having her do so much. I know it is the foster parent in me. I want kids to be kids and not have to worry about keeping things together. They shouldn't have to worry about whether the bills will be paid or not, making the meals, doing all the housework, etc etc. I believe in them having chores, but not doing most of the work. It bothers me beyond words to have Princess have to do so much. I don't want her to have to care for her aunt regardless of what a baby she is not. I want to do the basics to keep the house running, not her.

I worry about her being embarrassed to be seen in public with me. She says I'm being stupid. She doesn't care and isn't even slightly embarrassed. I worry about other kids treating her differently because she lives with a diseased person. I know how kids are; I know they don't want germs from someone who has a disease. I remember not wanting to take candy from disabled people on Halloween, thinking it would be tainted somehow. And I was right! Look at me! I worry that she may not want me to come to her basketball games because people will see me and know I'm her aunt. She says she doesn't care what people think -- excuse me while I wipe a tear from my eye -- and wants me there, even if she has to wheel me in on a hospital bed. She told me the other day that since I have been diagnosed, she sees people with disabilities in a different light. She sees them like she sees me: a regular person stuck in a body that doesn't work the way it should. If anything good has come out of my having MS, it is that. The fact that she sees beyond a person's disability and sees the person.

That little girl -- excuse me, young lady -- is the joy of my life. I love her more than I love anything else on this earth. I love her more than you should love something that can be taken away from you. The other day I hugged and kissed on her and told her that I would have no interest in this world if she is not in it. I would have no interest in this life if she is not a part of it, so she needs to make sure nothing happens to her. She said she has no intentions of having anything happen to her and that she feels the same way about me, so nothing can happen to me because she will always need me in her life. That helps lessen my guilt about not being able to do more around here right now. Doesn't wipe it out completely, but does help take some of the sting out of it. I'm glad she would rather have to make frozen pizzas for dinner than not have to and not have me. It makes me think I should believe her words and stop feeling so guilty about what I am.

How Could I Have Forgotten?!

All my blogging nonsense and I forget the most important thing that is going on in my life right now! I hope you are all sitting down or near a soft place to faint on to, because this is quite shocking. My new disability hearing/court date thingy is this Friday. I was surprised that it was so quick and when I called my lawyer, she said she was surprised too, which made me feel a little special and like maybe the government finally got my memo that I'm not going to slink away and let this whole brouhaha blow over. I do enjoy a good brouhaha and the government, or Social Security to be more exact, has gotten my hackles up and made me ready to fight to the death, either mine or the SSA's. Preferably theirs even though I will take one for the team if need be, and hopefully that need won't be. My lawyer said that because it was remanded back, that put me at the front of the line for a hearing. Sorry to all you poor saps behind me, but I've paid my dues and waited in that line for 5.5 years. And that is one sh*tty line. One anger inducing line. A line that only makes you that more determined to win.

My little sister is going with me. 1. To drive. Even though it is only an hour away, I don't do longer-ish car rides well. Especially if I am driving. It makes my legs more stiff and jumpy, which means I will be doing Cricket Legs later that day. (Note To Self, figure out a way to make music when rubbing legs together. I'm sure everyone in this house/neighborhood would enjoy being serenaded by a gimp trying to start a fire by furiously rubbing her legs together.) 2. She is willing to testify if the judge allows it. This is good and bad. She could really help my case by telling what she knows about how I am. Bad because I'm not sure I want to hear it. I hope the judge will let me leave the courtroom if she does testify. I know what I am, but I am not quite dying to hear someone say it out loud. I'm also afraid it will make me feel worse about myself.

I realized that I didn't have any nicer clothes to wear to the hearing -- why would I need dress up clothes to sit around the house? -- so I went to Goodwill and got a pair of khakis for 99 cents. It pisses my little sister off that I can get so many 99 cent clothes because she has to look in the fat girl sizes and says that I get to shop in the skinny scrawny ass hole sizes while all the other fat girls race in before her to get all the good clothes in her size. In fact, it pisses Princess off too. I am only 5 lbs heavier than she is and am 4 inches taller than her. Everyone was hoping that my being laid up with this damn knee would make me gain weight, but something about pain makes one not want to ransack the kitchen. I thought I would gain weight too, but I have actually lost a few pounds. Princess is saving her money to hire a hit man to come break my knee caps and force feed me. The other day, while doing my laundry, I wore a pair of her jeans and when she came home and saw me, she started counting her pennies to see if she had enough to hire that hit man yet. If losing 5 pounds would make my arse as firm and dimple free as hers, I would start fasting now. She doesn't get that what the scale says means nothing. It's all about what you look like, and I do not look like someone who is only 5 pounds heavier than her. Oh to have the flat stomach of a 12 year old! If I had her hips, thighs and butt, I would wear the tightest, most show off-y clothes I could find at Goodwill. Then Sugarbowl and Princess would pool their pennies and I would be laid up with 2 bad knees. I probably still wouldn't get disability though.

Yodeling

Yodeling is no longer just for climbing tall mountains or for proclaiming your love for Riccola; it has so many practical uses these days. It's a great way to let the other person sleeping in your bed know that you are awake and it also is a good barometer of the depths of your love. Even though I still like to use it in the old fashioned way when climbing the dog manure pile in my back yard to survey the surrounding countryside, I have found similar joy in using it in other areas of my life.

This morning I popped awake and was sure it had to be pushing 6 am I felt so awake. Oh no! It was barely past 3:30 am. I have an ironclad rule that I DO NOT get out of bed before 4 am, so I had to find a way to entertain myself for 30 more minutes. Princess, who can only find sleep in my bed when spending the night at my house, made the mistake of getting up to go to the bathroom. I laid cross ways across the bed, hung my head upside down over the edge -- do not do it if you have vertigo --and yodeled to announce to the whole house that I was now awake. Princess started laughing in the bathroom and I have a policy of trying to keep her laughing as much as possible because she is such a serious little tween. The dogs were so excited by my melodious yodeling that they were hogging the bed and Princess and I were forced to press together to stay on it. I started giving her hot potatoes (where you blow hot air into their shirts, a very gross feeling that I don't mind giving but hate receiving) and imitating the loud way the dogs yawn their rotten morning breath into our faces until it finally was 4 am. By that point Princess was laughing so hard and giving me hot potatoes, that I was glad to get out of bed so early in the morning. I don't think my morning breath smells like a unicorn's fart after feasting on roses, but I am now 100% positive that Princess's morning breath most certainly does not smell like said unicorn fart (more like a fish's arse hole turned inside out after feasting on his rotting brethren).

While swimming at the lake the other day, Sugarbowl was talking about a certain country singer that she has been in love with since she was 16. She summed up the depth of her feelings by saying that if he wanted to part her meat curtains and yodel into her vagina, she would do it without hesitation. I started laughing so hard I nearly drowned because their is no life guard on duty at the lake, and alcohol and open fires are prohibited. It's so ridiculous it's funny. And I can honestly say that I can't think of anyone I love that much that if they asked me to do that I would acquiesce. But I am still young enough to find a love that deep and true. Think of all the yodeling that would be going on in my bed then...

Shhh! Be Berry Berry Quiet!

I'm not hunting wabbits, but I am hoping to sneak out of here to go to my exercise class before everyone wakes up. Princess and Jabber are spending a few nights with me because Sugarbowl has to work the next few days and didn't want to leave them alone. She knew that they would kill each other if left to their own devices for a whole day. Or even half a day. Maybe even an hour or two. She actually cares when they start fighting about who did what. I don't. I'm an equal opportunity punisher. I don't care who did what to whom first. If I hear fighting, all are guilty and all will be punished. It is a great way to have the kids join forces against me to show me that they can not fight, because one thing they do agree on is not wanting to go to bed early. And I do loves me some early bedtime! I also love giving out chores, especially the ones I don't want to do, like clean the cat boxes, or clean the bathrooms.

I don't mind them coming with me to my exercise class, but I need to hit the grocery store after and I feel like a traveling circus sideshow when I have to drag everyone through the store with me. We all pile out of a tiny clown car and put on a show through every aisle. The kids juggle all the things they want me to buy while I repeat the same phrase, "No, we don't need that. Go put it back." I wouldn't be surprised if I heard applause when we finally left the store. It's amazing that running into the store to grab a few things can be drug out for so long, but the kids are dedicated to their act and would hate to disappoint the audience.

Last night they both wanted to sleep in my bed with me. They were not fighting about it but trying to figure out a way that we could all fit, so I let them do it. Jabber and I slept at the top of the bed and Princess slept at our feet with her feet up by our heads. I'm glad that Princess and not Jabber had her feet by our heads because Jabber is asleep right here, with his feet next to me, and his feet STINK! But it is a smell I am willing to inhale because I don't want to move his feet and risk waking him up. I just want to be able to do my stuff today quickly and quietly. I don't want the spotlight shinning on me as I try to do a quick errand that gets stretched into a long, slow, all day ordeal. As much as I do love being a circus sideshow, I am not feeling up to performing today.

How Do I Love Thee?

With Princess and Sugarbowl no longer living with me, I feel like my creative juices done dried up. Don't get me wrong, Acorn can crack out some hot ones, but Sugarbowl and I have been playing off each others wit for almost 32 years now, so we have perfected our most hilarious (to us) jokes. Sadly, not everyone -- Princess -- appreciates our witty ways. One time, while we were waiting for Princess to finish basketball practice, which is always fun because she lollagags and takes her sweet time about it, we made a list of things about her that annoyed us. It was born from our extreme irritation with waiting for her to come out after basketball practice when she was in there messing around knowing full well that we were sitting out in the car, in the middle of winter, waiting for her. And I don't mean just practicing longer, I mean truly messing around. Like, "we were turning our jerseys inside out and walking backwards! It was soooo funny! Then we took off one shoe and hopped on one leg! Ha ha ha!" All this for 10-15 minutes while we are waiting in the car. It gets a little annoying, to say the very least. So we made this list of things that annoyed us about her, nothing really mean, just things like "she never put out a solo record" and such. The list we made has been lost, but recently, going through our crap getting ready to move, I found the list she made about the things that she doesn't like about us. I am going to put it on here, with all misspellings intact, because it is too good to be lost. She is growing up to be just like her mom and aunt (wiping a tear from my eye), whether she wants to be like us or not.


Reasons I Hate Mom And [Blindbeard]

1. They are butt heads

2. They never forget anything

3.They change a story and think its twice as hilarious as the first time

4. [Blindbeard] steals my animals

5. They rename my animals gay nicknames

6. They snikker alot

7. Mom is always pooping

8. They make fun of me

9. They repeat quotes that weren't funny the first time and make them even less funny

10. You cannot have 2 seconds peace

(crossed out)11. They're borying

11. They agree with each other and not me

12. They don't listen to me


I have been reading this list to everyone and laughing over it. Princess still agrees with everything on there. Maybe my memory has faded over the last few months, but is her mom always pooping? I don't remember her always being on the toilet, but Princess still stands by that list, so I guess Sugarbowl is always pinching loaves.

Good To Know

Now that I have Acorn with me, I have been trying to fill her in on all things MS. She hasn't lived with me since my diagnosis and hasn't spent large quantities of time with me since I became such a broken down old gimp. I've been giving her a crash course in all the things she will need to know if she lives with me -- good thing she is such a good listener to my good talker. Among the important tidbits that she needs to know are these gems:

*I'm tired. No, really, I am tired! As the day progresses, I get more tired and need to hold down the couch more and more. By afternoon I will have to balance my activities by rest, get something done, rest, try and do something else, rest, eat as much junk out of the kitchen until I need to rest, rest, I think there is still some peanut butter and cake mixes left... better get on those.

*I can walk short distances without too noticeable of a limp, but anything more than that and I will be dragging my right leg along. And that gets very tiring. I showed her how to do an arm for me the best way. My little sister has it just right; my mom grabs my arm (instead of letting me take hers) and walks so fast I get drug along behind her, great for energy conservation, bad for the knees of my jeans.

*I forget everything. I will forget what I was just talking about. I will forget what you were just talking about. I will ask the same questions over and over again and never remember what the answer was or that I have even asked that question already. I will forget what I was planning for dinner and what is in the pot that is burning on the stove. When I need to remember something, I tell whomever is with me so they won't forget and it will get done. I carry about 5 million little notebooks to write down things so I don't forget and it is VERY important that I carry them all in my purse, which resembles a suitcase more than a purse, and, yes, I must carry everything I own with me at all times. Why do you think I need to drag around my suitcase/purse? I couldn't possibly only take what I need, I must take everything.

*When I push myself too far, which I have gotten very good at listening to my body and slowing down when I feel my strength ebbing but it does still happen sometimes, I need to rest NOW! And it would be nice if you would drop grapes into my mouth while I repose like the goddess I am.

*I am showing her how to do my shots and explaining that even though she has to feel me up to make sure she is not injecting into an area that is still swollen from a previous shot, it does not mean that we have to take our relationship any further. I don't usually allow anyone to feel me up on the first date, but she and I have known each other for a few years, and even though I want to just be friends -- it's not her, it's me -- we can cuddle sometimes. She can do better than me and I only want her to be happy.

Of course I have been running her through all the ins and outs of what MS is and what it does and how it effects one, which is all that boring crap that, if you are like me, you are bored stiff with. She is a good student and interested in what it all is and is not, and she has the arm thing down just right so my jeans may last a little longer.

"Finally An Adult!"

One of my old foster kids moved in with me. My little acorn is all grown up and ready to come back to the ol' oak tree. And this ol' oak tree was waiting with open branches for her to come back. She is 20 now. I got her at 12. 12! And she will be 21 in October. Ahh, how times flies when you're not having fun. She is my all time favorite foster kid. I always said that she and the oldest boy we had, with the 3 boys we got, should have been mine. These 2 kids and I bonded and I let the oldest boy go because he was only 3 and I didn't want to separate him from his brothers, even though it broke my heart to bits to let him go, I did it out of love.

When she got to go home she was 100% against it. She wouldn't pack anything more than an overnight bag to go home because she was "going to be right back." I packed up a bunch of her stuff, but she still left as much as she could at my house. After the courts said they could go home, I expected the girls -- there were 3 of them -- to ride with their parents, if for nothing else for their parents' feelings. Both the older girls rode home with me, only the youngest, 7 at the time, rode with her parents and I remember my shock at seeing her climb into the front seat with her parents and drive off with no one wearing a seat belt.

Taking my acorn to her parents' house, we held on to each other and cried and cried our goodbyes. I know it didn't make her parents happy to see how much she and I loved each other, but it was just a fact. The girls were with us for 15 months and when they were finally able to go home, their case worker gave us the option to keep them, but it was a package deal. We kept them all or none, and as the 7 year old was convinced that she "was gonna die!" if she didn't get to go home, we let them go. My acorn -- who I will now call Acorn -- went through a hell of a time with her parents. She suffered through serious depression, and dropped out of school. When they were with us, they were all straight A students. The 15 year old had dropped out of school before she came to us, but I don't play that game. She went back to school and had to do summer school before she went back to catch up, but she did catch up and, as I said, they were all straight A students.

The 7 year old, who is now 14 almost 15, says that if she could go back in time, she would tell the courts to not let them go home, because things were better with us. She says that even though she hated when she got in trouble and got grounded, she needs that. I say what I mean and mean what I say. If I told her to do something or she would get grounded, I meant it and I still love the memory of her telling me that someday she was going to come back and ground me and make me go to bed early. I can't wait for that day! Their parents try, but their mom is working full time and trying to keep it all together. They don't have the resources that my ex and I did. They don't have an extra car for the girls to use to get a job, or even get the practice to get their driver's licenses. I respect their mother for trying so hard, especially as it is exactly as my mom had to do to keep it all together for us. I respect their mother even more for telling Acorn that she shouldn't have made her come back to them, she should have let her stay with us. That to me is a true mother. She loves her daughter enough to want the best for her, even if it was letting her go.

Now Acorn is back with me and one of the first things she said was, "Now I am on my own. I finally get to be an adult!" I'm not so sure of how adult I am, but I am glad that she is ready to spread her wings and get to make her own decisions about her life. I always say that kids need a solid platform to jump off of to launch themselves into the world. It makes it so much easier to launch yourself if the platform is solid. Not that you can't launch yourself on an unstable platform, but I think you will be more successful with something solid behind you. I may not be an adult, but I am a solid platform that she can always count on.

This ol' oak tree is THRILLED to have her Acorn back, and looking forward to seeing her get her life going the way she wants it. I know there will be disappointments and things may not turn out the way she is planning, but that is just part of the game. And I am ready to rejoice or mourn with her every step of the way. Ahh, my little Acorn, how do I love thee? I will have to count the ways in a different blog. As usual, I have blathered on for too long.

*Author's Note

*Author's Note: I gotta write this quick before the kids wake up. We have Jabber this weekend and have not had a quiet moment since he climbed into the car. If they spill out of their rooms before I'm done, this will disintegrate into a pile of words with no sense in them. Wish me luck!

*Author's Note II: This may disintegrate into a pile of words with no sense in them without the kids' help. It's not fair to blame them for my lack brain cells, even though it sounds better to say, "They did it to me!" then admit I can't string 2 thoughts together without getting confused.

*Author's Note III: I think I'm already confused.

*Author's Note IV: Was I born confused? I'll have to ask my mom, although she can get lost in the simplest of ideas, so maybe that is where I get it from.

*Author's Note V: Maybe it comes from my father. No, he has been stuck in the same rut of ideas for as long as I've known him, so it must be from my mother.

*Author's Note VI: My mother's family is notorious for being... well, out there, off, crazy, nuttier than a truck load of fruitcakes, etc etc. I got the MS from my father's side and got the crazies from my mother's side.

*Author's Note VII: My maternal relatives are fun to visit. It is a whole vacation of randomness. They will pop out something that has no meaning to anything anyone is saying, ever said, or ever even thought about saying.


Wow! Look at the time! It is almost 7am and I have to get my happy arse into the shower before everyone uses up the hot water. I'm glad I got to write down my ideas before I got off on a tangent and totally confused myself. (Blindbeard, you are a fountain of wisdom and a shining example of staying on track and not running off to chase something shiny! You bring a tear to my eye.) Now, off to the shower before everyone barges in to check out my goodies. Tootles!


*Author's Note VIII: I really don't have anything that should be called "goodies." Since losing all that steroid weight my boobs deflated and ran off without even a "Dear John" note. And my arse became as flat as the Nebraska plains, which no one hesitates to point out to me.

*Mental Note to Self: You need to find a better family.

In My Defense

I got this comment the other day in reference to my blog post http://http://blindbeardsmsblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-hate-puberty.html.


Why do you need to be so critical, how about instead of venting your story off to the rest of the world you remember your own puberty and realize that she just might be embarrassed or scared? How about you try to make her feel better instead of making up a dumb story of how you're going to kill her. Guess what, every other mother has to deal with these issues and you can read that from other parent blogs or watch it on sitcoms. So get over it! Plus, if your daughter wants to play cash cab trivia, maybe you should just go along with it and then stump her. You sound like my mother: critical all the time, doesn't seem to care, and has no sense of humor other than negative sarcasm. I know she really does care, but would you want to be close to someone so cold? And about the bathroom issue, I assume not caring as much develops with age, but for the mean time, wouldn’t you rather they were embarrassed instead of flaunting their goodies to gods know who? Nonetheless, unless you are like the last commenter, trying to vent some steam, to read such negativity from someone who seems to be so negative and trying to prove she is so much better than two children and a bunch of teenagers. I’m sure if your daughter read this when she is older, she would feel bad and be embarrassed for being so ignorant. But you're the mother and if you weren't thinking about how witless youth can be, I'm not sure what you could have been planning for. Aside from that, your writing is quite superb. I don't know what you do for a living, but you can beyond any doubt be some kind of writer.

--Anonymous


I pondered this comment for almost 3.26 minutes last night, reread that post this morning and am now ready to add a little information that might make things more clear. I'm not Princess's mother; I am her aunt. I agree with the whole respecting-her-right-to-guard-her-goodies-like-they-are-precious-metals. In fact, we are very careful about her in the bathroom. We knock and let her know we need to come in so she has plenty of time to wrap herself head to toe in a towel.

It may sound like I am being cold and critical, but I am not. Or I am not trying to be at least. I still kiss on her and hug her throughout the day. I always tell her that I love her, have a good day at school and to not stop being adorable each morning when I drop her off at school. The problem is her teenager attitude. She is snarky, stubborn, quick to point out anything anyone says or does wrong, and 100% committed to her belief that what's mine is hers and what hers is hers, and gods help you if you touch anything of hers. A perfect example: she took my pit juice to school and "forgot" it, yet still popped a vein when she saw me using some of her old pit juice that she doesn't even want. I had to wear a pair of her socks the other day and she bitched and moaned about it until I really did want to chop her into bits and stuff her into the walls. She wears my socks and when she gets home from school, takes off her shoes and walks around in just my socks for the rest of the day, leaving them nasty and forever stained. She needed new brassieres but wanted me to go get a bunch for her to try on at her leisure here and then I return the ones that didn't work and get her more of the ones that did. She was mad that she had to go with me and try them on. She wouldn't talk to me the whole way to the store and when we were done she said, "that wasn't so bad." Last night she told me that she doesn't want anymore vampire shirts -- she is on a huge Twilight kick -- and to get her some werewolf shirts. Aye aye, Captain Craphead, let me get on that for you. She hates having to load the dishwasher so she loads it so nothing gets clean and when I showed her how to load it so things do get clean, she said that if we didn't like the way she does chores we shouldn't have her do them and just do them ourselves, to which we got a good laugh out of and she still has to load the dishwasher. Now she just has to do it again if she deliberately does it wrong.

When she starts up with an attitude that is going to get her into a lot of trouble, I give her a warning and let her try again before I lose my patience. Most days she will take the warning, other days... not so much. I do remember how it is to have your hormones all messed up and try to be patient and understanding about it, but some days she pushes me until I snap, and then, yes, I do think a quiet cell on death row would be nice. Lastly, she reads my blog posts and knows what I write so it is no surprise to her what is on here.

On a positive note about kids, we were playing Apples To Apples the other day and were reading out loud the cards that we had in our hands still when the game was done. Jabber's first card was "Ever glads," which amused us and Princess, in a rare moment of kindness for her brother, told him it was Everglades. His next card was "Canned Indians," which stumped us because we weren't sure what that could possibly mean. It was Canadians, but now we like to say, "Do you have Indians in a can? You do?! Well, you better let the poor guys out!" He also just had a conquer sore in his mouth. I hate those conquer sores; they hurt! Princess used to say that cracktice made perfect and called Jacuzzis, shaboozies. I miss those good ol' days when she was obsessed with Disney princesses and so sweet and funny. Some days I still see a glimpse of that, and I like those days.

Never Gonna Live That Down

What an eventful last few days we have had. Being snowed in has brought us so much closer and made us remember just how much we love each other. Well, not so much. It's been more like fighting and seeing who is the Queen of the Wii and that only depends on which game we are playing. I'm so out of practice on a ton of those games that Princess has been handing my ass to me more often than I get to hand hers to her. But today promises to be another snow day so I will get to hone my skills and maybe not be last in all the games. Sigh, dare to dream.

The other day Princess wanted to see what her zodiac sign was so she looked it up and announced that she was "Pissy." I about fell off the couch laughing and told her she is a Pisces, although Sugarbowl and I agree that Pissy is more fitting. Now we tease and heckle her to no end about being a Pissy and think we need to start a petition to have it officially changed. She doesn't see the humor in being a Pissy and thinks that her wonderful pre-teen attitude should not be taken into consideration. If anything she thinks we should start a petition to have a non-Catholic be able to be canonized and have her be the patron saint of tortured pre-teens. I think she should stick to being Pissy; she is no saint -- said by another non-saint.

Last week Sugarbowl was having abdominal pains. They kept getting worse and worse until she woke up one morning no longer able to bear the pain so I drove her to the emergency room, it being too early for any doctor's offices to be open. We spent several hours there while they took blood and x rays and finally a CT scan to make sure she wasn't having an appendicitis. And the official diagnosis? Wait for it... wait for it... She was full of sh*t! Literally! (I am writing this really early because if she knew I was telling this story we would have an even worse fighting day than yesterday and my poor butt can't take much more hitting). She had been under a lot of stress and was not emptying her bowels, even though she had been pooping, it was not enough. The CT scan came back with an "enlarged colon" and the nurse said it had to be really bad for them to note that. She is so embarrassed that she went to the emergency room to find out that she is full of sh*t. I'm not! It provided us with the punch line to every joke about her for the rest of her life! It will never get old. She could probably get disability before me with such a great diagnosis. Maybe I should have tried that one... "MS and full of sh*t," it's a sure thing!

Lastly, this has nothing to do with anyone I know, but it is so ridiculous I have to share it. We went to the children's museum a little while ago, before Mother Nature wanted to test our endurance and see how long we could be stuck in a house together before cabin fever sets in (must grab axe and chop up family...). There was a woman there that was wearing a homemade shirt that said, in puffy paint that she had most likely done herself, "single and looking." Why would anyone wear that shirt to a children's museum where most of the men there are with their families and probably not looking? Better yet, why would anyone make that shirt, never mind actually wearing it out and about?! I tried not to stare but I couldn't help it. It's not everyday that you see someone that incredibly dense and displaying such poor judgement. Not counting when I venture out, of course.

Cast Of Characters

A comment I recently got started the crusty wheels in my head a' turning:

"... I feel like I know you and your family (sugar bowl, princess etc.) Sort of like a familiar tv series that you get to know all the players."

That made me think that maybe I should give a more formal rundown of the main cast to this R rated drama that is my life. (Once upon a time I would have called it X rated, but things have really changed for me.) Princess is going to give her input here too, to help balance (?) it out. Youngest to oldest we are:

Jabber

Blindbeard says: He in an 8 year old ADHHHHHHD kid whose tongue is hung in the middle and flaps at both ends. There are only 2 thoughts rattling around in his head: boogers and video games, namely Mario and Luigi. His hair is a red/orange, more orange then red, so we also call him Pumpkin Top, like if he hits his head we tell him to be careful not to spill his pumpkin seeds, or to start using his pumpkin seeds to form a thought that doesn't involve boogers and video games, or, being a boy, his penis. You don't want his hands to touch your face or, God forbid!, get in your mouth because you run a VERY high risk of getting raging Shigella. But he is also a very creative kid who can entertain himself for hours with the simplest of things, like a pair of earmuffs and a bungee cord will keep him occupied for hours. Who knew that bungee cords and earmuffs could have such great conversations? I wouldn't have thought they would have much in common.

Princess says: He is an annoying 8 year old boy who is addicted to video games but only the video games we have here. He has to take his DS every where and loses his games, and sadly, we bought him more for Christmas. Sorry, I was asleep when you asked me and I had a dream you were drawing a cow that looked like a sink.

Princess

Blindbeard says: She is an 11 year old know-it-all who is highly intelligent and can be a good companion but hates shopping to the point that it drives me crazy to take her with me. She is worried someone might see her naked body and goes to great lengths to make sure no one does. She is one stubborn mule and will dig in her heels and not back down no matter what the consequences may be for doing so. She doesn't think her mother and I are funny when we know we are damn funny. She is breathing down my neck right now and is watching every word I type and correcting me about everything.

Princess says: I'm the best person ever! Don't put that! I don't think that! It makes me sound conceited. You know, I am going to go in and delete all this! I hate you.

Sugarbowl

Blindbeard says: That woman and I are either getting along great or at loggerheads about something or everything, depending on the day and whether she took her meds or not. She is very creative and she and I can play off each others wit and amuse ourselves for too long. She talks too loud, due to ear problems as a child, and will blast everyone out of the bleachers at Princess's basketball games, no matter how many times I try to shush her. Her car is a mobile dump that drives me insane to have to ride in it, so we take my car so she doesn't have to hear me bitch about what a disgusting mess her car is. She likes stupid pets and I have to pull out my bossy big sister to keep her from starting a petting zoo in her room. She is allergic to cleaning and one tired lazy slob, but I still loves her.

Princess says: I say nothing about her.

Blindbeard

Blindbeard says: I know I have a lot of faults. I am a clean, organized person by nature and living with slobs can make me very hard to live with at times. I do not share well, what's mine is mine and I will not share with you. I tend to not have a lot of empathy for others, and do not care what anyone thinks about me, only what I think about them. I have certain things that I do not like anyone else to touch, like my favorite pen. One time Sugarbowl took it to work because she couldn't find any other pens. She didn't tell me until she got back home because she knew I would pop a vein in my head if I knew. I now hide that pen better. I change the words to songs all the time, to suit my mood and what is happening around me. I am very literal and will miss a lot of things that are not meant to be taken literally, or it takes me awhile to figure it all out. I read boring books that no one else can understand why I would read, but I am an historical non fiction addict who can only go so long without my fix.

Princess says: You are a great big glob of greasy grimy gopher guts; smell so bad it drives me nuts. You like to go shopping way way way too much. You can be fun and funny when you want to, other times you are an ass hole (she actually said that! And told me I could write that!). You steal my animals, even though I recovered one. The other I will never recover (her dog). You yell at me to get ready even though you have nothing else to do. You talk constantly; you have diarrhea of the mouth (HYPOCRITE!). You think the couch is yours even though you DIDN'T EVEN HELP MOVE IT INTO THE HOUSE! (The couch is mine, for the record.) You read dumb books. You get up at the crack of dawn.

BB: Don't you have anything decent to say about me?
P: I don't think I do. But you can be my best friend at times.

Party In My Pants

And nobody is coming. There have been so many parties at my house, one would think we are a bunch of wild & crazy gals. Alas, we are not. We can't even pretend to be. But sometimes we like to think we are rockin' the place.

Princess's Party

Princess has been grounded for the last umpteen years for yelling at her mom to "SHUT UP" when her mother told her to turn off the wii and get ready for bed. That went over like the proverbial lead balloon. I was reading in bed and heard it all. I was surprised that Sugarbowl did not react worse than she did. I was afraid things were going to get so ugly I would have to pry my tired arse out of bed, don my striped referee shirt, grab my whistle that I use to get the dogs' attention and whip their butts back into shape. Sugarbowl did not go off on a yelling spree, but grounded her for a long time. The next morning she gave Princess the option to apologize and have her sentence reduced, but Princess is one stubborn mule and wouldn't back down. She told her mother that she could have said more! (Sound of all those lead balloons crashing to earth.) Now Princess is on a party of "I'm sorry now, so let's all be friends and unground me" and nobody is buying it. She's trying to play the martyr and show how innocent and sweet she is but the last 11 years are against her. So until her sentence is over -- Christmas day -- she will be partying by herself.


Sugarbowl's Party

So Sugarbowl boo hoo-ed and got herself a dog. He is a Chihuahua and mini pin mix and one cute little booger. He is also very resistant to house training. We toss his butt outside but he couldn't possibly pinch his stinkies out there. He can hold it until he gets back inside, thanks. The other day Sugarbowl had a date, which is a great story in itself, and came home late. Her room smelled like a fresh pile of poo, but she thought the cat boxes got too close to the furnace and it was pumping all that stinky air into her room, so she just went to sleep. When I had to poke my head into her room the next morning, I noticed the horrible smell, but thought the same thing about the cat boxes and maybe because she closes her door at night the stench was trapped in there. It was trapped all right, because Rupert (her dog) had a diarrhea party in there and squirted crap all over a bunch of her clothes. Sugarbowl says she was the only one who showed up for the party because Rupert sleeps in my bed and he can only come in her room to crap. She wants him to stay with her but she says -- to my great amusement -- that he strains his main butt hole vein to get away from her and get to me and will only use her room for a bathroom. She was so mad about all her clothes that were covered in crap, and her breathing in diarrhea air all night, that she gave me custody of Rupert for the last 2 days. I don't want custody of him. I already have, against my will, 2 dogs and DO NOT want a third dog. I actually only have one official dog, my yellow lab, the corgi is Princess's but for some reason that dog attached himself to me and only has 2 thoughts in his head, "Protect Blindbeard, and DESTROY!" Now Rupert has decided that he likes me best and with him and Widget in my bed, there is little room for me, but we sure do keep warm. Widget gets pretty pissy about Rupert in my bed and I have to break up their fights, which they usually like to have in my face, too often. It's a good thing I like dogs so much or they would all be sleeping on the floor. Damn my soft loving nature!

Lastly, I will leave you with this 12 Days of Christmas that Princess penned about all our pets. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. (I'm going to condense it with comments.)

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
A Pembroke Welsh corgi.
2 golden labs,
3 crapping Chihuahuas
4 sneezing Stubbys (a stray cat that adopted me and has a chronic sinus infection)
5 cross eyed kitties (her Siamese cat that is cross eyed but the best hunter we have)
6 not-so-Angels (a cat that is a pain in the butt)
7 dirty Kiras (Sugarbowl's cat that doesn't "wipe" after using the cat box)
8 little Nellies (an outdoor cat of unknown origins)
9 Butterpads (her gerbil)
10 squeaking Squeakers (her other gerbil)
11 stinky dog farts
12 diarrhea parties.

Fabric Of My Soul

If you could take apart yourself, strip everything down to just your soul, what would be the very core of who you are? Your biggest passions in life. What makes you you, or makes you tick. The very fabric of my soul is 3 things. Just these 3 things that if I got rid of all the superfluous stuff would be left.

BOOKS!

The printed word is -- pardon the pun -- printed on my soul. I cannot be without a book or I get restless and crabby. I am a huge reader and will read anything if I can't get my hands on something better, even Sugarbowl's teen crap or my older sister's sappy romances. I never read just one book at a time; I'm always reading at least 2, although that feels like almost nothing to me. I like to read 3 or more, or I feel like I'm not getting any reading done. I can't understand people who don't read. It is incomprehensible to me. What do you do if you don't read? How do you go to sleep at night? No matter how tired I am, my eyes must go over printed words for at least a paragraph or it takes me way too long to get to sleep. A world without books would be a very dreary place and not a place I would want to live in.


Old Houses/Antiques

I love old abandoned houses. I love to photograph them and just take my time appreciating every last detail. They make my soul sing. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. I like to go alone and just let the house speak to me without someone else jabbering in my ear, which makes my family nervous, hence why I have a cell phone now. I like the antiques/houses of the common man. I can't relate to the rich and upper classes, being a common woman myself and assuming I would have been in the middle no matter what age I was born in. When I can get away and tear up crappy back roads, I am in heaven.

I love to go antique shopping and could spend all day looking at the old pictures. I have several old albums that I fill with the pictures that spoke to me and that I couldn't leave behind to molder in an antique store when they so obviously needed to come home with me. I have spent a lot of time studying fashions of the past 150 years so I would be able to date the pictures and know what I was looking at. It's amazing the great antiques you can find at a Flea Market or even garage sales and I am always on the look out for anything old -- except old men, sorry, gramps.


Princess

That's right. I love my family like nothing else, but Princess is the light of my life, the apple of my eye, the cream in my coffee. If something happened to that little girl, I don't think I would survive it. I don't want to live in a world without her. That world would cease to have anything for me if she was not a part of it. Yes, she drives me crazy, but I love her like nothing else. She doesn't believe me, but it's true. I would most likely off myself if something happened to her. I don't tell her that, but I do tell her that the world would have nothing to offer me without her an inhabitant on it. She can get me every time. She doesn't know how much she could really get out of me and that is a good thing, because I cannot resist that little girl.


I am very curious about the fabric of your souls, so please do tell. I like to know what makes other people tick, and please forgive me such a serious subject. I don't know what came over me. Probably this great book I'm reading, the old house I drove by yesterday, and Princess's sleeping face in my bed, reminding me of her sweet little face as a baby.

So Dude-ing Dumb

Sorry for not getting back here for so long -- I'm sure you all had the hounds out looking for me -- but I have just fought off the last vestiges of a hideous, dark, ugly depression. My older sister is getting ready to have surgery tomorrow and I have been helping her get ready to be laid up for a while. She's having a hysterectomy and has that pre-surgery "must get everything done NOW" going on. My mom is coming down to spend the next 2 weeks with her to help out. I live just down the street and can't wait for my mommy to be here and spend 2 weeks with us. I would end that sentence with about 50 exclamation marks but then I would be writing like Princess, who has now embarked on the most irritating "Dude" stage. She uses Dude for everything and everyone. To the dogs, "Dudes!!!!! You're on my homework!!!!!!!" To me, "Dude, I told you last time I don't eat that and, Dude, you just made it for dinner AGAIN!!!!!!!!!" Talking on the phone, "I know, Dude!!!!! He always does that!!!! Dude, do you think he is just a stupid dude who can't figure anything out, Dude?!!?!?!!!?!??!" It's really wearing on my nerves. I started using Dude like the Smurfs use the word Smurf, as an adjective, verb and noun. "Dude, that is so dude-ly dude-ish! I was just dude-ing this really dude book about something dude-ly close to that dude-est subject!" That didn't phase her, so I had to step it up a notch and have been calling her "Penis Wrinkle" every time she calls me Dude. I suggested that she use that instead of Dude all the time but she didn't think that would be such a good idea at school, plus she thinks Penis Wrinkle is gross. I would rather be called Penis Wrinkle right now than have to hear "DUDE!!!!!!!!" one more time.

Speaking of penis wrinkles and all things male anatomy, I have been pondering why so much stuff centers around the female anatomy, and have started a one woman crusade to change that to all things all male anatomy all the time. If you would like to join in this crusade, I will give you a few statements to help you get started, Penis Wrinkles, and hopefully we can make a dude-ing difference.

"Who used up the last penis-ing roll of toilet paper and didn't replace it?"

"Get your fat prostrate off this couch and get something done today or I may hurt you!"

"Why the testicle didn't I get this bill before it was late?"

The Worst Nights I Ever Weathered

Friday night my Hug was squeezing the living turds out of me (cue Princess saying, "You have turds living in you? Mine are all dead."), so I took a Flexeril to help loosen that hug and get some sleep. Great plan -- usually. That night the big dog, Gus, had the runs. I had seen the dogs snarfing the overripe and fermenting pears that had fallen from the trees earlier that day, ignoring our long talk about eating things that could potentially upset one's stomach and the need for caution before unhinging our jaws and swallowing things whole like a snake. But the dogs eat a lot of things that, at best, would give me the trots too, or, at worst, bring about my untimely demise. So I wasn't worried about taking Flexeril that night. As anyone who has tossed that lovely sleep inducing pill down their gullet knows, you sleep like the dead. The big dog usually wakes me up by whining in the night to let me know he needs to go outside NOW! Because I was in such a drug induced haze, he started barking in my room to wake me up. It worked. This wouldn't be so bad but he did this 3 times that night! When I got up that morning, I had the catch phrase from that commercial from years ago, "does constipation slllllooooooow yooooooou doooooown? Does diarrhea speedyouup?" running through my head. I was so dead tired after that night, and pushed myself so hard the next day, that I fell into bed dead tired the next night.

I figured that because I was so dead tired and could barely keep my eyelids up all day, I didn't need any relaxing sleep aids that night. Princess had her cousin spend the night, which usually doesn't keep me up because I sleep so soundly, but that night sleep was no where near me. I fell asleep, book in hand (I lost my page and had to search for it the next day), and should have been out for the night. I slept good for about 2 hours then popped awake and couldn't find my sleep anywhere for the rest of the night. Sure, I dozed off and on, checking the clock to see how long I had been out each time I woke back up, and got about 5 hours of sleep by my calculations and adding as much to the time as I could and still be somewhat accurate. About midnight, Princess and cousin were so noisy that I shut my door. I raised the white flag at 4 and staggered out to get a strong pot of coffee going. When I opened my door, the little dog, Widget or Midget Poo Poo Platter, fell into my room and I fell over him. How I didn't blow away without him to hold me down is a miracle. How my chastity stayed intact without him to guard it all night, I can only attribute to my chastity belt and my foresight to put it on that night. Someone could have come in through my window and threatened my chastity without him there to protect me! I shudder to think of ever having to share my bed with a person instead of a dog. (I also wonder what would happen if I ever did try to share my bed with anyone else... how would he react to that?)

I was tired as all hell yesterday and plodded through the day like a zombie. Luckily I decided to play Russian Roulette with my medicine cabinet and got a Flexeril. It was a close one. I almost got more Baclofen, or Xanax, but last night I got a bullet of Flexeril and slept like a baby with no dogs with the runs or Princesses with cousins spending the night to disturb my slumber. It was pure bliss.

Status Report

Due to a raging infestation of Facebook on my brain, I have been neglecting my poor blog. (Damn you, Facebook, why do you suck up so much of my time and short attention span?) Millions of people struggle with Facebook addiction, this is one of their stories. Dear Blindbeard, I have seen your addiction to Facebook negatively effect you in the following ways:

You no longer do your chores in a timely manner. Because you cannot step away from the Facebook, the cat boxes are not as fresh as they used to be. You have let yourself slack in a way that the old you would never have done.

You "over share" too much. Because of that diabolical "What's On Your Mind?" you have fallen into the trap of giving status reports that no one cares about, not even yourself. Is it really that important to let everyone know that your nap was total crap, or that you are going to run errands all day? How could you let yourself go like that? Where is your pride, woman?

You have lowered yourself to fighting with Princess over the laptop and over who can get the highest scores on games. Why do you feel that you must try to beat her scores when before this addiction you were content to let her bask in her pseudo-superiority? You would never have done this before Facebook took over your life.

You have encouraged Princess to use Facebook and wreak havoc on her mother's farm, all because this addiction has changed your morals. You would never have endangered a child's psyche before this hideous problem took over.

Please accept this kind offer for help today and find yourself again. Or at least do your chores first before attacking Facebook to see what others' thought of their naps and whether they are going to go with the thong or brief undies.

Love, Blindbeard & Family

Sucks

There are a lot of things that suck. And not just the obvious MS either. Out of all the sucky suck stuff, here are a few that are on my mind:

Getting sick on vacation. Sugarbowl has a sinus infection that she has been suffering with for 2 days now. She is flying home today and I told her to load up on some ibuprofen before the flight. All that pressure + sinus infection that is making your ears hurt = That #%^!@*& HURTS! I hate being sick away from home, especially when you are supposed to be visiting people and are too sick to get out of bed.

Sleeping next to a stuffed up sick person. Princess called me at 5 this morning; sadly, I was lying in bed thinking about what I wanted to do today before everyone gets home tonight. She said that her mom's snoring sounded like bowling pins being knocked over and it was keeping her awake. I yukked it up over the bowling pins part, and she insisted that that was exactly what it sounded like.

Sleeping next to a person who talks in their sleep. Jabber talks in his sleep. And not just mumbling about a bunch of nothings, he says your name throughout the night. Nothing will wake me up faster than a kid saying my name in the middle of the night, which is why he has not been allowed to sleep in my bed since he learned to talk. Princess said that while her mother was knocking over bowling pins, Jabber was saying her name all night, waking her up thinking he was talking to her. Lucky for her she has an aunt that gets up too early and was able to ask inane questions for an hour before the aunt could get off the phone. Very unlucky for the aunt. ("How's Harry (her cat)? Does he miss me (how does one tell?) Is he still being cute (depends on if you think cross eyed cats are cute)? Do you miss me (you, not your mess)? Are you glad we're coming home (not as glad as you are to be leaving that hell hole)?" and so on.)

Camping trips gone awry. My friend (makes it sound like I only have one, which I do) and her family went camping this weekend. Not only does she have my admiration for camping with a 3 year old, but she has my sympathy for having a, in her words "sucky camping trip." It rained like hell this morning, which I'm sure added to the fun fest. (While drinking my coffee and watching the torrential rains, I idly wondered why I never finished that ark I started years ago.) My ex and I went camping up in the sand hills of Nebraska when we were newlyweds. It was supposed to be a fishing bonanza, but turned into a hellish trip that we still tell stories about, because it's funny now. It was an unseasonably cold spring that year and we were staying in a 2 person tent. We were not worried, we had heavy duty sleeping bags and both of us are insulated to -30 degrees. My ex forgot the tent pins to hold the tent down because he was more concerned with getting all his fishing gear and just grabbed the tent and tossed it in without checking to make sure all the parts were there. We had to use all the gear we had -- coolers, our bags, everything but the truck and boat -- to hold the tent down, leaving us with thismuchspace to sleep in. That night a HUGE storm hit and we were rocked and thrown about with all the junk that was in the tent with us, like a bunch of freezing popcorn. After cutting our way out of the mangled tent the next morning, I let my hubby know that I would NEVER for NEVER EVER CAMP IN A TENT WITH HIM AGAIN! I don't care if he does remember the tent pins the next time, I WILL NOT camp in a tent ever again. From then on, whenever we went up there we spent the extra money and got a cabin.