Painting My Black Thumb Green

I love plants. Love, love, love plants. If I could afford it every room in my house would have a variety: fresh cut flowers in my bedroom, ivy along the top shelves in my kitchen, lots of ferns and tropical plants in brightly colored pots everywhere. I'd have a little backyard getaway and a picturesque front yard. Problem is, I kill every plant I get.

Our front yard looks abysmal. There was a large tree out there a couple years or so that got cut down and left an ugly stump. A few months ago my landlord sent a contractor over to grind down the stump. Now there's still a stump in the ground and several feet of barren lawn. There is a garden along the front of the house full of dead plants and weeds and even a new tree trying to grow that all needs to be dug up. The landlord is willing to pay for new plants we put in and my nesting has spread to the yard, like I just can't bear the idea of bringing home a new baby unless I can tolerate the view from the front of the house.

So, after a lot of online reading, I decided I wanted to plant hydrangeas. Today I went and bought six of them. After getting them out of the back of the van and turning on the sprinkler for the kids I was done. No more energy. I sat down for a while and then got out the shovel so I could turn over the soil and see what I was going to be dealing with. Thankfully the soil looks good, obviously commercial grade soil. No clay, thank goodness. The version of me in my mind wants to be outside right now digging up all the dead plants and tilling the garden. The real me is sat on the sofa feeling exhausted, hot and thirsty just thinking about going outside. It is windy today and it was blissful walking with the kids through the outdoor aisles at Lowes - I think they were convinced we were visiting a botanical garden rather than a store, and they enjoyed it too. But even with the wind, it is 80 degrees which might as well be 110 when you are in the third trimester of pregnancy.

Spring Cleaning and Nesting

I've entered that lovely part of pregnancy known as the third trimester. It's the wonderful time where my belly continues to swell and I put on weight at an average of a pound a week, want to eat everything in sight but also get heartburn as soon as anything goes in my mouth. Third trimester means even more pressure on my bladder, even fever hours of sleep, even more sciatic nerve pain, fewer positions that are comfortable.

Third trimester also means nesting. I've had my spring cleaning lists ready for weeks and had a pretty good start on it but somewhere in the last couple of weeks I lost my ability to keep up with my heathen spawn and the disasters left in their wake.

Unfortunately, nesting for me has never been the awesome energy and ability to organize everything and have a spotless house. Rather, I have an obsession with particular things, usually involving sanitation. With my firstborn the obsession was clean carpets, second time around it was scrubbing countertops with bleach, third time it was baking soda and vinegar. This time I've been repeatedly using Pledge on my kitchen table, and I can't exit the bathroom without spraying Windex or Scrubbing Bubbles on something.

So my house is a mess. There's laundry piled up and spilling over, food crumbs on the floor, kids toys covering every surface...and the only thing I can find energy to do is get out a step ladder and my trusty old Pledge and clean the ceiling fan. I'm really good at cleaning the things that people don't notice. After cleaning the fan I took the cushions off of the sofa and vacuumed the crevices. After that I wiped down the inside of my freezer (where my husband accidentally left an unopened Dr Pepper, and it exploded.)

My house is filthy, and I can hear the perfect supermoms out there right now wanting to recommend ways I can prioritize my cleaning. I'll stop you there, it won't work. Nesting is like OCD for me. I physically feel too exhausted to get up and clean something that I don't want to clean. My brain is set to only have a miraculous energy boost if I suddenly feel the desire to say, smell toilet cleaner. Then I'd be up and scrubbing the porcelain throne for an hour. At 2:00 in the morning I might have an uncontrollable need to get up and dab rubbing alcohol on an ink stain. Once and only once did I ever have the desire to put my nesting energy toward laundry. My husband will probably remember that because it was a Sunday afternoon shortly before my third child was born and I spend several hours going through practically every bit of laundry in the house.

I wish I was one of those people who could drink coffee and feel energized. Coffee makes me sleepy. When I want a cup I am more likely to be seen drinking it at night than in the morning. Sometimes I'll make it in the morning, but those days I usually end up taking a nap if I can manage it. I'm not a morning person. I'm not one of those moms who wakes up before the kids do and has blissful quiet time while they are still asleep. I can't get my house sparkling clean listening to the birds chirping in the first hour of sunlight. I'm the mom that stays in bed until my toddler is up. If he is up I have to be up, or he'll be swinging from my freshly polished ceiling fan.

For now I'm pooped. I am staring at a bag of frozen peas that I forgot to put back in the freezer after wiping it down and I am debating how long I can let it sit out before I'd have to throw it away because I am just that worn out. I'm thankful today is sunny and warm outside because my offspring have chosen to play in the backyard. All I had to do was open the box of sidewalk chalk. If staying in this same position wouldn't result in feeling like I sat on a knitting needle in a while I'd probably be able to fall asleep right here. Nevermind, the kids read my mind and they've just stormed back inside. Might as well put those peas away...

I'm Still Alive!

Last week my lack of posts was because I didn't have much to say that I figured I should say. Then I had to go and get sick. Last Tuesday my littlest monster had his 16 month old well child check-up, and you know how those pediatrician offices are. I was the only one there with my three in tow, next day littlest monster is sick and I just assumed the fever and sniffles were from his vaccines, then Friday morning the kids and I all woke up sick. My oldest remained horizontal the entire day which convinced me that I was in for a bad weekend, that child has had a 105 temperature and been on the verge of scarlet fever before and still acted perfectly normal.

So Friday night comes, and while I had been miserably trying to breathe and vomiting for a few hours at that point my kids are all back to normal. Yay...

I don't keep much medicine in the house. For one thing I don't like having too much around in case the kids get into it, and for another it seems silly to me to stock up on cold medicine that will expire in 12 months when you might not need to use it before the expiration. So over the weekend my local Walgreens made a lot of money. I couldn't figure out what would be the best thing for me to take, so I tried a few different things and nothing really helped. Each trip to Walgreens further drained the bank account, and for some reason Kleenex never made it back to my poor irritated nose.

Monday I woke with severe abdominal pain and wound up in Labor and Delivery. My midwife determined all the coughing and vomiting had led to some very sore ligaments. Baby is fine, blissfully unaware that mommy is sick while he explores the space under my ribs. I should have begged for something to relieve me of my misery. I did at least get my Kleenex after another Walgreens run.

Yesterday my husband stayed home, too sick himself for work. We took turns going to the doctor so that we wouldn't have to get out with the kids. My diagnosis was bronchitis and a double ear infection. Walgreens made another small fortune and I got an antibiotic that has helped me at least resemble a human being today. I can breathe, at least, which reminds me that I need to change out my Scentsy wax and spray every surface of my house with Lysol...(and bleach the garbage can, and drop lemon slices in the garbage disposal, and clean out the refrigerator, and discover what crawled under my couch and died, and shampoo my rug and wash all the bedding and scrub the toilets...)

My Kleenex supply has greatly depleted, much thanks to three children who all seem to think it is fun to pull out all the tissues and drop them on the floor.  Here's hoping I won't be needing them much longer. Here's also hoping that my children are saints for the rest of the week.

Shameless Advertising

I sell wickless candles. I did the math earlier and discovered that in order for me to support myself and four children on my own based on current living arrangements and expenses I'd need to sell $7,200 worth of product on a monthly basis. Currently I average $150 in sales each month which takes a considerable amount of begging and some of my own money. $150 in sales equals around $37 in my pocket on the 10th of the following month.

So yeah, that sucks. Unlike some people I know I don't have a million friends and acquaintances who adore me and want to buy whatever I'm selling. I can hear the echo of some thoughts right now... Maybe if you were in church... That is the answer to everything for some people. Like my mother-in-law, who told my husband we wouldn't be having issues in our marriage right now if we were in church. I'd like to write her a nice little letter and explain in detail to her all the things her little boy got into while living under her roof and attending her church...but they like to blame me for the way he turned out, might as well let 'em because it would be like arguing with any given inanimate object.

But I digress as usual...

I've never been a people person, never been a great salesperson either. I sucked at telemarketing, I sucked at trying to get customers to open new accounts with my bank, I suck at selling this product that I love. There are two main reasons: Firstly, my area is so freaking saturated with consultants that every time I go to the grocery store there is a vehicle parked near mine with the company logo and consultant's contact information on it. Two of my neighbors are consultants. My friends and family all know other consultants. Just recently I had not one but two people want to order from me and then go behind my back and order with someone else. I want my catalogs back, bitches. Those things cost me money!

Secondly, I have trouble trying to talk people into buying something that they may not be able to afford. I can barely afford to keep my stock of scents up. I learned fairly quickly that I couldn't afford to pretend like I'm a top seller. I dished out loads of money at first for all the supplies and doodads to throw a great house party. I've done two parties in the last year. The first party I sold $20 in product, the second was better, but not enough to earn back the gas money spent driving to the hostess' house.

Anyway, venting about that is over. Just one of those little threads in my mind at the moment. If you're looking for some wickless candles and you want to support a snarky bitch like me, I'm not difficult to contact.

How Was Your Weekend?

I'm home from the weekend with my in-laws. You know, I wasn't particularly dreading going all too much but it did prove to be disastrous anyway. It started with three wide-awake children who had slept most of the drive there like I knew they would. I managed to say pretty much everything the wrong way, which led to some criticism about me not having a good relationship with my parents. Mind you, my in-laws know plenty about my family so I was biting back saying something like "Really, YOU wouldn't want to associate with my parents, but you expect me to allow my children around them?" I didn't because I knew what the answer would be. "They're faaaaaammmmmiiiilllllllyyyyyyyyy." I forget that I am one of those rare breeds (AKA bitch/bad daughter/anti-social, take your pick) that doesn't think family's behavior should be ignored just because they share some DNA. I hold family to a higher standard than I do friends, if you treat me like crap I don't give you a big hug and kiss and invite you for dinner at my house next week.

The weekend also confirmed that this blog has already been discovered by certain nosy people who like to gossip. You know who you are because you're the one who doesn't consider it gossip to go call your family and tell them what I've said. If you think I care you're in for a big surprise.

Saturday was a nice day until dinner. There was some indecision about where to eat plus three irritable children who hadn't napped. After dinner the night got about 100 times worse when I asked my husband if I could see his phone to look at pictures taken earlier in the day. Details aside I learned that I'm too old and fat to be what turns my husband on these days. I've never felt old, never thought I'd feel old until age was accompanied with deep wrinkles, white hair, great-grandchildren and failing organs. In any case I would have expected it to be another 15 years at least before I felt like my husband wanted to trade me in for a younger, thinner model. I haven't sorted through all of that yet, I think my primary emotions are disappointment and embarrassment.

Being the good whatever it is that I am, I stayed, didn't make a scene (but did notice the double standard that it is okay for my husband to be on his iPhone half asleep on his parent's sofa but it is rude for me to do the same) I sat there trying to hold it together on my in-laws sofa while my husband was hiding and deleting things off his phone. I kept my temper in check when my in-laws started the attack on why my children don't behave the way they should and go to bed when they're told. I don't have them on good schedules, I give them too much sugar, my mother-in-law's kids never were like that...I tuned out the rest and focused on my phone. My father-in-law asked me if I was on Facebook, and remembering his hatred for me plus social media I said "Something like that."

I even went to church with everyone in the morning. I didn't burst into flames when I stepped through the doors like I think one or two people may have hoped. I laughed in my head at a few little things here and there and did my lip service. The sermon was basically that if bad things happen in your life you should be questioning whether or not you were ever really saved. I disagree, naturally. Shit happens because that is just the way it is.  I marveled that people actually buy into some of the dogma I was hearing. The preacher stressed that people out of God's will are convicted and guilty because they are out of God's will. It was a scriptural, fancy way of saying if you're a heathen you are going to be judged by your Christian family and friends. No surprise there. The scripture came up that mentions an "unequally yoked" marriage and I about laughed out loud. I wondered for a minute if my in-laws asked the pastor to mention that one. But they needn't fear, because the preacher said that because one spouse was a believer the children would be okay. The rest of the sermon continued with the theme of backsliders, non-believers only experience surface happiness and he never answered his own question, "Doesn't God want me to be happy?" Believers want to follow God's will because the bible promises a lack of reward in heaven if they don't. *sigh*

At lunch my father-in-law asked my husband what he thought of the service. He mentioned something about the uncomfortable slanted floors and theater style seating rather than saying what he said to me in the car when discussing atheism, agnosticism and deism. My opinion wasn't asked for a reason. (Besides that the woman isn't the spiritual head of the family and has no say, I mean.)

So, now we're home. My house is a disaster. I woke up sick today and my kids quickly took advantage by trashing the place like they always do. When husband is home I am locking myself in my bedroom.

Naked Baby Dolls...?

Last year my son (3 at the time) started the phase of always wanting to be naked. Any time we were home or in someone else's home the clothes came off. He's finally outgrown that (mostly) but now my daughter is the little nudist.

Girls have to make everything more complicated than boys do, too, my daughter isn't simply satisfied with being naked, she has to flaunt it - run outside after me completely nude when all I am doing is going to check the mail. Her dolls have to be naked too. Right now she is asking me to remove the sewn on diaper on a little rag doll that has already lost its dress. 

What I don't understand is why she is so picky about her clothes in the first place when she never keeps them on. The child never wears the same pair of underwear for longer than an hour unless she's asleep. I will hold out every item hanging in her closet piece by piece trying to get her to pick an outfit and she'll say "nope," to everything and then wind up dragging out a ratty old pair of pajamas that she outgrew a year ago and demanding to wear that instead.

I started buying her night gowns fantasizing about how cute she'd be in them and how nice it'd be once she realized that she didn't have to take it off every time she needed to use the bathroom. She hates the gowns. She hates all pajamas except those outgrown ones. She hates oversized t-shirts. I even gave her one of my shrunken undershirts, she hates that too. 

Two paragraphs later from my mention of the dolly diaper removal demands I find myself sitting next to an army of naked baby dolls. I told her she can pick ONE doll to take with us for our weekend with grandma and grandpa. Naturally she chooses them all. Now how to explain this one of my mother-in-law. I'm sure HER children never went through a naked phase.

Thursdays Are Worse Than Mondays

Thursday. My least favorite day of the week. Thursday is the day I'm reminded of all the things that I needed to get done before the weekend and have either forgotten about or have been trying to put off. Thursday is the day that taunts me with the hope of Friday. Thursday is the day I don't remember to check and see if the trash was taken to the curb until I hear the garbage truck pass my house. This particular Thursday is the day I'm stressing over the fact that I will be spending the weekend at my in-laws house with a couple hundred miles and a state line separating me from the comfort of my own home.

I don't hate my in-laws, we have more of what I suppose is a mutual polite dislike. It's the whole "not good enough for their son" thing, and my beliefs, opinions and choices probably aren't up to their standards either. Oh well. I gave up my hopes well before the marriage certificate was signed, and I still have to admit that I have a better relationship with my mother-in-law than I do with my own mother. One just disapproves of me, the other is toxic.

Back to why I'm stressed out today. I need to pack and since I'm pregnant I have very little appropriate clothing to wear in public (I'm a fan of lounging around the house in my pajamas or the awesome maternity sweat pants I scored for three dollars at Old Navy.) I have even less when you factor in a church service. My "nice" tops are low cut, and my skirt of choice might not be long enough. My kids will be wearing their Easter clothes.
Besides needing to pack I also was hoping to leave my house in a fairly clean state. Last time we went out of town for the weekend my aunt who inconveniently lives next door tried to stage a break-in which led to police breaking in through my back door and walking through the house to check for signs of an intruder. It was right before Christmas and right after my kids celebrated their birthdays (equal to three birthday parties plus a house full of guests) and I had just made several batches of Christmas candy and left the mess in my kitchen. So now every time I leave my house I think about the possibility of policemen walking through it.

I've completely lost my train of thought thanks to the constant "mom...mom...mom...mom..." I am hearing from my four year old. He's currently sat in front of the TV playing the Playstation and he has asked me three times now in the last minute, "Mom, what'd the pig say mom?" For children who have absolutely no idea what a record is they have grasped the concept of sounding like broken ones very well.

Put THAT In Your Cupcake and Stuff It!

I'm an opinionated, emotional, bitchy kind of person. That's just me. People used to try and succeed at making me feel like crap every time I had a bad day and posted about it. I've lost "friends" who have complained about people who complain. People have told me I'm too negative. I have spies on my Facebook page who report to my in-laws about every little thing that goes on. My poor husband has been in numerous arguments with his parents over posts. Of course, I shouldn't feel too sympathetic towards my husband since he doesn't shut down the "Facebook is the devil" talk as soon as it starts...

In my opinion if someone isn't going to be your friend anymore because you complain about something they aren't a very good friend in the first place. We all have our outlets. Mine just happens to be blabbing incessantly about things that are on my mind, and often the things that are on my mind are things that I can't express aloud when I'm stuck 24 hours a day in a house trying to keep a smile on my face and a singsong voice intact for my children who don't need to see their mommy have a nervous breakdown. I can't unleash all of the crazy on my husband in the very, very limited amount of time we have alone together. I'd rather enjoy the silence that is those five minutes we have in bed together when the kids are finally asleep and he hasn't started snoring yet.

If you're going to read this blog, you are going to read about the times that my life sucks. I've got all the baggage that comes with trying to be a normal happy adult who was once a scrawny underfed, abused, sheltered little girl. I don't write my vents because I want people to feel sorry for me. I write them for two reasons. The first reason being that, as I said, this is my outlet. The second reason is that I think more women out there need to know it is okay to quit trying to be perfect. It doesn't make you a bad wife or mother if you have days where you want to pull all your hair out and get away.
Even if motherhood was your ultimate dream (it was mine,) it isn't always or even mostly what you hope it will be.
I haven't gone a single day since December 21st, 2006 where I haven't heard a child crying, had to change a diaper, worried constantly about everything and had to put the well being of another human being above my most basic needs. We all handle stress differently, and it doesn't make someone a better mom than you if they can do the supermom song and dance from dawn to dusk without breaking a sweat or thinking a negative thought (though I bet if they say that, they are lying through the perfectly straight and sparkly white teeth that they surely have.)

I absolutely adore my children and my husband and life in general. I'm just not your rainbows and unicorns kind of gal. If you read my rants and take it to mean that I am selfish and don't love my family, than this isn't the blog for you.

Hump Day - and Other Pet Peeves

I hate it when people call Wednesday Hump Day. I know it is supposed to be because this is the middle of the week and it is downhill from here to the weekend, but who doesn't think of the word hump as a verb first? With our dirty minds we all know it is more fitting to describe Saturday as Hump Day... who has sex on Wednesdays anyway? Don't answer that.

My detest for the Hump Day title reminds me of my other pet peeves. I really shouldn't find it ironic at all that I have encountered most of my pet peeves on Facebook in the last three days. It's really simple: I wish that people would either learn to spell or hire a stenographer to do all of their postings for them. Is it considered rude to unfriend people simply because you can't stand trying to decipher what the hell they are talking about? I try my best to politely correct some things: If someone continually spells a word wrong I'll comment and make sure that I spell the word the right way. That never works, in fact, it seems to have the opposite effect. The offender instead not only continues spelling the word wrong but seems to use that word more frequently. I'm not talking about commonly misspelled words either! I once knew someone who spelled the word cheap as cheep. All. The. Time. Of course the excuse in that case would probably be that a spell checker isn't going to correct cheep because it isn't the spell checker's job to determine whether or not the writer is describing the sound a bird makes or something that is inexpensive.

Besides the poor spelling, I want to hit people over the head who use text speak instead of proper English any time they are online. Sometimes I have to Google a text term to figure out what someone is saying to me.

A few others that go along with that general pet peeve include USING ALL CAPS - IT IS RUDE AND IT MAKES ME WANT TO GOUGE OUT MY EYES; Using excess punctuation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Especially when your sentence should end with a period instead of an exclamation. Don't get me started on people who Capitalize random Words - this seems popular in my mother's family, I'm not kidding, I thought it was just her and maybe the drugs she's on but all of her blood relatives do the same thing and it grates on me about as much as filing my nails does my husband. Finally, things such as double negatives and phrases like 'got my nails did' are just plain annoying.

My other Facebook pet peeve is when people's profile pictures are always one of them taken in the bathroom mirror with a cell phone camera. Can nobody else snap a picture for you? You didn't flush the toilet, by the way. Gross.

"Ironing" Out the Kinks

I can think of one time that I've actually put my iron to use in the last six months, and seeing as that was to remove spilled Scentsy wax from a bookshelf rather than getting wrinkles out of clothing (Put it in the dryer for a few minutes, honey, it'll be fine,) I'm enjoying my own little joke about the title of this post.

But I digress. As usual.

If I can get it to work and look pretty I made a little banner for this blog. Between making the kids breakfast/lunch, putting the toddler to nap, sweeping and mopping my entryway for fear that the UPS man would call CPS, that is. You know, the usual. A blog without a banner isn't much of a blog at all anyway, and I've added pictures so my stalkers can be 100% certain they've found the right blog. Enjoy.

That's How I Roll

I've gotta get me one of these!

New Blog

Hi there, just created my new blog, I'm going to iron out a few things before I start posting so consider this just a test.