Confession time with Glamazon

I’m playing with Glamazon today. Come join in! After this, we’re going to get out the Barbies and reenact soap opera scenes…..

I confess:

• I re-read my mouse post late last night and laughed till I cried.
• Mostly because I know how ridiculously true it is.
• Then I read the book I got from the library till late.
• It has a severed arm on the cover.
• May not be the best book to read late at night…after the trauma of my afternoon.
• I kept seeing things scurrying just out of the corner of my eye.
• I think I may be scarred for life.
• When I was in 9th grade I was involved with a sit-in demanding higher pay for our teachers.
• I’m such a hippy.
• Stickin’ it to the man!
• Fighting the establishment!
• Or looking for a way to get out of going to science class.
• The teachers didn’t get paid more
• But I got to sluff 2 classes and didn’t get in trouble!
• The news crew came and everything!
• Saweeet!
• When I finally went to bed last night, I found myself oddly grateful for that mouse incident-it seemed to lift the fog in my mind through adrenaline and laughter!
• Not saying I want it to happen again any time soon!!
• I’m just sayin it was a strange and furry (and a little bloody) miracle.
• And I will take it.
• Kay, Glamazon, I call my Barbie and Ken are Hope and Bo!!!

Murderer

Yes, I am a murderer.

You know that scene where a  seemingly yet debatably completely sane person in a movie goes ballistic and wields a knife, stabbing  the evil dude repeatedly? You know, the one who is reeking havoc in their small town?

That would be me. Only my weapon of choice was a flip flop (formally known as a thong but now we can’t call it that because that would make this a totally different kind of story).

We set up 4 or 5 traps for this very social mouse that seems to want to be a part of the family. Maybe we’ll name him Stuart and dress him up. Or hope he walks into that tantalizing plastic castle to have his neck snapped.

I like choice number 2 best.

This morning we were chilling out watching cartoons after my oldest went to school when my 5 year old said, “Mom, I just saw the rat, it went under the TV again.” This nonchalant attitude was completely different from the one she had the night before when she was bawling and saying, “Whyyyyyy did Jesus make mouses?!!”

I stared at the entertainment center wondering how I was going to get through the day knowing that mangy piece of swear word was in my house. Suddenly, I saw this little furry face poke around the corner. That mouse came back out and wandered around the for a second. While I was attempting to use what little brain power I have in the morning to come up with a plan to catch the little swear word, he took off for the bedrooms. Specifically, my baby’s bedroom. Which was a huge mess. He could hide in there for days!

Not knowing what else to do, I went to keep my volunteering appointment in my daughter’s class, all the while seething with frustration that that stupid animal was still alive.

I came home to get my daughter’s backpack for school, thinking about what I was going to do to get rid of him faster. As I turned the corner to walk up my stairs, I came face to face with that little piece of swear word!

Let the screaming and profanity commence.

I grabbed the nearest weapon while he was stunned by my totally planned  war cry, a mangy flip flop, and beat the living swear word out of that little menace! And I beat it good.

I needed to grab something to put it in so I could take him to his grave, aka garbage can, but I didn’t know if he was playing dead, so I grabbed a heavier shoe and beat it a few more times, went and got a grocery bag and using it like a glove, I picked up the carcass and ran outside to the garbage.

All while squealing like a deranged lunatic continuing my war cry.

When I finally got back in the car, where, luckily, I had left the kids, I was sweating, panting and shaking. My 5 year old looked at me and said, “What are you doing??”

I’ve been wired ever since. I think I have PTSD or something.

Here’s a picture of the crime scene. Yes, that is blood.  I may or may not have some aggression issues but I’m not sure.

All I know is sometimes a good murder can be very cathartic.

But if PETA shows up, I’m denying everything.

**PS- Thanks for all the kind words sent my way yesterday! It always helps to express your feelings and have people tell you you’re not alone! You all are the best!

Quiet

I’ve been very quiet.

I have so much going on in my head and I just keep my mouth shut most of the time. Sometimes I am afraid that if I open my mouth and say what I feel, I may be committed and while I could go for some peace and quiet in a padded cell, I’ve never been one for straight jackets.

So, I’ve been quiet.

I find it’s best that way as I try to figure out my discontent. I just don’t understand it and I feel down right asinine feeling so horrible about a thorn in my side while others are dealing with a full on boulder pinning them down while the tide is coming in. It really is mind boggling.

So, again, I’ve been quiet.

I really am a very blessed woman. I may live in what is, apparently, a mice infested house(I saw one run by 3 times tonight while I was vegging out on my sofa!!!) the size of a postage stamp, that will never be clean, and a bulimic checking account; but I also have a man that showers me with love and affection on a daily basis, three beautiful girls at whom I marvel on a regular basis and they adore me and make me smile (when they aren’t testing my breaking point, which doesn’t take long lately), I get to continue my education and work towards my goal of having my degree and I always know where my next meal will come from. And yet, I seem to be slowly suffocating on melancholy.

And I am quiet.

I recently had a profound spiritual experience with my Heavenly Father. There were no choir of angels, no pillar of light, but there was the all encompassing feeling of His loving arms around me. He knew I was a desert needing rain and He made it known it was coming. I could hear the thunder in the distance and it made things bearable. While it has changed me some here and a little there, I knew that I wasn’t going to suddenly be the best disciple of Christ, a stellar mother or the fabulous wife my husband deserves but I knew it would make it easier to try. I remind myself of that night often, knowing He is there to heal me and it is what keeps me putting one foot in front of the other even when I feel so depleted.

So, for now, I’ll just be quiet.

And listen for the thunder.

Confessional Friday w/ Glamazon

 

It’s Friday Confessional and today I am doing it a little different, only one confession. There’s a bit of a story with it so it constituted it’s very own blog post.

Now that I have set it up to be this huge thing, you are going to be sorely disappointed. I’m sorry.

Anyway.

I have had many passions in my life but the only ones that seem to stick is exercise, eating and pure idleness. I have a serious passion for idleness. One of these passions was when I was a young ‘un.

Sewing.

I know, intense.

My neighbor friend and I, who happened to be much younger than me because none of the kids my age would hang out with me because I was just that cool, would hang out and make pillows all day long. For some reason we didn’t branch out from the pillows much so our dolls had A LOT of pillows.

I think an unconscious part of me thought of this as a way of bonding with or being more like my mom. She was quite the gifted sewer.  When I was around 5 or 6 she made me an ‘Annie’ doll that was almost as tall as me. She had the perfect red curly hair, red dress and even an orphan dress. She also made me my first Cabbage Patch Doll a couple years later that I made sure she knew was a failure because it wasn’t the real thing nor did it say ‘mama’. What an awesome kid. She made a lot of clothing for me and my brothers in our younger years. A true domestic goddess.

These kinds of skills are quite impressive in my book and I think I was trying to gain the skills my mom had. Another neighbor lady-you know the one in your neighborhood that you think is your BFF even though she is old enough to be your mom-she took us in to show us how to make a doll. It was so fun! It was some sort of sock doll and it looked like crap but I thought she was beautiful!

The years went by and my passion for pillows and one random doll faded. I went to Home Ec in middle school where I ended up getting a D. Apparently my mom’s domestic goddess traits didn’t pass on to the next generation as much as I thought.

I have no skill in that area at all now. I can sew a button on but that’s pretty much it. I hear of people making their own dresses or kids clothing or even drapes and I think, it didn’t fall apart immediately after??

Looking back on the clothes my mom made, while they did require great skill and this was going on during the 70s, I wonder if I am doing my children a favor. Here’s an example:

I think I am stopping a cycle of abuse and torture from continuing throughout another generation.

What I meant to say….

Come join the fun! Click the button above..you know you want to….No, don’t pinch it, just poke it…geez! Perv.

When my daughter told me she was feeling much better this morning I said, “Are you sure you feel okay enough to go to school?”

What I meant to say: pleasegotoschoolpleasegotoschoolpleasegotoschool I swear no one will notice you hacking away like a veteran smoker. You’re fine, I swear.

The other day when I told my husband that I was so proud of myself for staying within my calorie limit for the day…

What I meant to say: Holy freaking crap! I didn’t eat my weight in food today, can you believe it?! I should reward myself with a cheeseburger and chocolate shake!

On Sunday I find out the replacement for my Primary(Sunday school for kids) teaching assignment. When I asked the Primary President (lady in charge of making sure there are teachers and classes are taken care of) if she still needed me today and she said, “Yes, please”, I said, “That’s totally fine, I can handle doing it one more day…”

What I meant to say: (accompanied with uncontrollable sobbing) Please no! For the love of all that is right and good in this world don’t make me play “Red Light, Green Light” or “Duck, Duck, Goose” one more time. I may just go running down the hall screaming like a mad woman!!!!

(Parents of said children: I’m mostly but not at all totally kidding, you know that, right??? They are all very cute kids! But I think they are conspiring to destroy me.)

Multiply Life By The Power of Two

ElRey and I have been struggling with the age old question: Should we have another child?

Okay, ElRey isn’t struggling with it. He wants another baby now.

Yes, you read that right. I am the one dragging my heels.

I realize that I am at a point where I just need to decide and get on with it, my ovaries ain’t getting any younger.

I do have lame excuses very valid reasons for my trepidation on the matter.

1- Not to alarm anyone but I have to confess that I am a terrible excuse for a mother. Yes, my kids are loved, fed and taken care of but I see so many things I do wrong I wonder how I can add one more kid. Do you realize how much therapy I’m going to have to pay for the three kids I have already?!

2-I’m a little chubby. Every pregnancy I have started out a little too chubby and I regret it every time. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be losing weight while I’m pregnant. I will only expand from conception. In fact, I’m pretty sure that once the embryo is well established, I will gain 15 more lbs. Course, at this point I already look pregnant so I may as well make an honest woman out of myself…

3-There is nothing like ‘the birthing years’ to make a girl feel old. I’m in the lower end of the 30s but I would already be considered ‘high risk’. I had my youngest in my 30s and there was a noticeable difference in how difficult it was. I hurt from the moment I peed on the stick! It doesn’t take long for your uterus to be dubbed shriveled and dusty. I don’t care what Madonna says!

4-As I mentioned before, my last pregnancy was Hell on earth (what if that was really what Hell was like?? I mean eternally pregnant with no cute little baby to play with after 10 9 months?? That would be Hell!). I pretty much bled during the whole first trimester and constantly thought I was in mid miscarry. There was one time when we were headed to a family funeral when we stopped at Target to get me some wicked hot knee-highs. I went to get out of the car and felt that familiar gush. We had to rush to my Dr’s office for an ultrasound to find out everything was okay (thank goodness). It also ended with bleeding and a lot of it. I almost bled to death after the delivery. I cried for weeks after thinking about the fact I almost left my girls without a mom, a husband without a partner and the fact that I was useless, barely able to get myself to the bathroom for 2 full weeks. The fear of going through anything like that again fills me with fear.

You may be wondering why, then, am I even contemplating it? There is only one reason and that is I feel that there is another child waiting to come to our family. Why he/she would want to is beyond me, I’m sure he/she can see me in action and that should instill fear into anything living. I don’t know if anyone out there has had this feeling before but I don’t usually have feelings like this. Every time I try to tell myself that we have our family and we are done, I get a sick feeling in my stomach that this isn’t it. I just can’t get my soul to agree with my brain on this one.

So there it is. I may not make sense, I know I’m constantly thinking, Really? Seriously? But I cannot deny that stupid feeling. Since ElRey is against growing a uterus and mammary glands, I guess I will have to jump into the joy of pregnancy myself, with his help(which is difficult for them, I know…),  of course.

I’m a little worried, though. You see, I come from a very fertile family. Just the mere fact I put this out in the internet void, even thought about becoming pregnant has probably somehow caused a pregnancy. You don’t believe  me? Look at this:

See the grown-ups in the middle? Those are my parents who had 6 children and all these little people are the products of those 6. There has been one more added since this picture. Yeah, no need for fertility drugs around here. Just a mere thought is all it takes….

I better go take a pregnancy test…