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 |  Breaking the laws of blogging, one entry at a time. |
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Wanted: For repeated blog faux pas, including, but not limited to: Obsessive ranting - guilty on 92 counts. Repeatedly beating a dead horse - guilty on 17 counts. Unnecessary use of curse words - guilty on 142 counts. Boring daily recounts - guilty on 45 counts. Pointless entries - guilty on 214 counts. Contradictory statements - guilty on 72 counts. Recounting toilet actions - guilty on 15 counts. Overdramatization of insignificant things - guilty on 152 counts. Overreacting to meaningless gestures - guilty on 22 counts. Unnecessary temper tantrums - guilty on 75 counts. Cruelty towards animals, superiors, peers, and inferiors - guilty on 146 counts. Repeated bad grammar, spelling, and opinionations - guilty on 214 counts. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Do not confront directly, instead call the authorities and slowly back away. Do not provoke suspect, as she is easy to agitate. The best action to take is to smile and nod. Any other response could lead suspect to rant and rave for days without ceasing. REWARD OFFERED FOR CAPTURE Dead or alive. Offending evidence: ![Merit Badge in Journaling
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Given for penning the favorite response entry in the Follow the Leader contest with "Come Again?"](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Journaling-2180.gif) (Exhibit A) ![Merit Badge in Variety
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Because I never knew what to expect from your Follow the Leader entries, but I'm oh so glad you played!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Variety-2500.gif) (Exhibit B) (Exhibit C) ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| OK, so I'm not having problems with getting sick in the mornings, and I've been taking a vitamin B6 when I first wake up (100 mg) to help curb any nausea I might experience. I've taken a nap the past couple of afternoons just because I'm so tired, and I have experienced sever nausea with that. I can have up to 200 mg of B6 each day, so I'm wondering if I should take another one after I get up from my nap, if I take one. I guess I should call the phone nurse on Monday to find out. Richelle called yesterday and I was complaining about how tired I was. "You wanted to be pregnant," she said, "so I have no sympathy for you." Touche'. Point taken. Hear me complain no more, especially since I know that she wishes with every ounce of her being that she could be pregnant, too. "Sorry," I said, "but pardon me while I yawn." |
| I hate this laptop. Pregnant pause. I really, really hate this laptop. Another pregnant pause. Well, not all of the time. A third pregnant pause. Just when it doesn't behave itself and do what I want it to do. I'm running a virus scan right now because I haven't done it in a month and it's acting weird. It's a pragmatic thing to want to run a virus scan because your computer is acting weird, but it doesn't mean that it will fix the problem. I can't remember how many times, while working at the help desk, I had people call and tell me they thought they had a virus because their laptop/desktop was running slow, when it all actuality it was the 300,000 tasks they had running in the background that was eating up their RAM and slowing their performance to snail pace. 8-months-pregnant pause. So why am I running a virus scan? Oh, yeah. I was trying to comment in blogs and the damned windows weren't opening when I clicked the "Leave a comment" link. I rebooted. While shutting down, some "YXhtuzuwnatysHurHklP" program stopped responding that I have no clue what it is. Not that it must be a virus (or spyware, same difference), but I might as well run my virus scan to make sure. It requires, what, zero energy? Anyway... My youngest sister, Cassy, called my Mom yesterday and asked if it would be OK if she decided to move back home for a little bit. I guess her boyfriend is a drunk and an angry drunk at that. He comes home from work, drinks him some beer, and yells and belittles her the rest of the night. I told my Mom not to expect that C will actually leave D anytime in the next few weeks. It'll probably take something extreme before she actually makes the decision to leave. I expect we'll be seeing him at Christmas, at the very least. C is one of those girls who can't be uninvolved. I've tried to take her out, just me and her, and tell her that the best thing in life is to be independent and alone. It gives a person a chance to learn about herself and what kind of person she wants to be with. It didn't help, of course, because it's for her to figure out for herself, and it may take until she's 27 and been pregnant several times. By then it'll be too late because she'll have kids to take care of and whatnot, but right now she's single and not chained down to anything. I have to remember, though, that no matter how much I want to help her out, she has to want to help herself first. I just hope that she doesn't figure out that she wants to help herself before it's too late. She doesn't need to be stuck in an abusive relationship, whether it be mental or physical. Who cares if a guy has a good job and can take care of his things when he treats his things like dirt. |
| I have found a solution for world peace. Everyone must be required to take a 1 hour nap and a lavender bubble bath at least once a day. Then problems aren't as big and stress isn't as high. I'm thinking about getting Ethan up, going to the mall, and investing in some lavender scented candles along with some more lavender bubble bath. I'm sooooooooooo much calmer now that I'm not tired and crabby. |
| I thought I was doing pretty good at staying even keeled, so far. I hadn't had any episodes where I've thrown off the axe handle because my hormones are so out of whack. It was actually making me worry about the vitality and development of my hormones, but I will worry no more. The mood swings have hit. I'm so pissed off at nothing. I'm a screaming schrew today. I think I may crack windows if my voice raises another decible. I'm trying very hard not to be angry or mean to my son, but he is doing everything he can to push on every last nerve today. I'm close to calling Jason's mother and asking her to come get him so I don't get to the point where I can't keep myself as even tempered as possible. It's very difficult, you know, to not scream at the top of your lungs for your child to not color on the television when he knows he's not supposed to. It's very difficult, you know, to not ring his neck as he gets into everything while you're trying to accomplish something, anything that doesn't involve cleaning up after him, entertaining him, or taking care of him. And it's not like he doesn't know how to play on his own, because he does. He just doesn't want to because I'm wanting to do something that doesn't involve him. I'm thinking very strongly about both of us just going down for an early nap. Maybe I can wake up with a better attitude. And just for Problematic Content  :Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. If that isn't enough about being pregnant for you, I can write a whole lot more. |
| I am really concerned about when, in history, it became the norm that women had to become super human. When was it decided that we should be the one to change every diaper, cook every meal, clean every speck of dust, and do it all while smiling and conveying a chipper and positive attitude, all while barefoot, pregnant, and without a complaint? Why is it acceptable that women go to work, come home, take care of everything in the house, and let their husband sit and watch them perform the equivalent of three jobs? I am the first to admit that I'm not a super hero. I'm lucky if my socks match on any given day, and I'm lucky if I find enough time during daylight hours to take a shower, do the dishes, do a load of laundry, and keep the house from burning down around me. To me, the fact that I have a child who shares better than others his age, who doesn't seem to convey any dissatisfaction with the amount of attention he gets, and can eat his food with a spoon, is more accomplishment than I ever thought I'd be capable of. To me, it's more important for him to be well rounded, taken care of, jovial, and with a clean diaper than it is for the living room to be spotless. (I mean, come on, it's where he plays a majority of the day, so it's only clean for about ten hours a day - all hours while he is asleep.) It is more important that he is healthy and fed than it is that the dishes I used to make him lunch are in the freshly unloaded dishwasher. And it's more important, to me, that I have the energy it requires to keep him occupied during the boring winter months than it is that I put my laundry in my dresser. Does anybody else think my priorities are skewed because I choose to spend more time reading to, playing with, and taking care of my son than I do myself or my house? I only have so much time and so much energy, and the energy is even less now than it was two months ago because of the new life that's growing inside of me, so why can't he see that I'm doing the best I can? Why does he think that I should sacrifice my down time to clean and cook when he doesn't seem willing to do the same? For him to tell me that it isn't his turn to cook because he cooked four days ago (and that was driving to the Little Caesar's to pick up a pizza) and he's too tired while sitting and watching television and not paying any attention to his son really pulls my chain. Some days, I really love and appreciate him. Others, I wish I could just change the locks before he gets home from work. Not that it matters, he can take a lock apart and put it back together with his eyes closed. But it would probably get my point across, wouldn't it? |
| He makes me so mad, sometimes. So hypocritical, that's what I call it. He says, yesterday, when he got home how tired he was. I cooked twice yesterday, once for breakfast and once for lunch, and I told him he could make dinner. I even had something picked out for him that would take about 5 whole, long minutes of preparation, plus a packet of Easy Mac for Ethan because he doesn't like beef stroganoff. You would have sworn he had performed brain surgery by the way he talked to rest of the night. He proceeded to nag me irritated about doing the dishes. I was tired, too. I told him, since he screwed dinner up (that's right, he can't even make beef stroganoff out of a box right, folks) he got to clean out all of the dishes but I would load them in the dishwasher. "I cooked dinner! I don't have to clean up anything!"  First of all, if I didn't clean up after myself after cooking, the kitchen would never be clean. Second of all, he acts like he made a goddamned seven course meal to hear him talk. All he did was poor some noodles out of a box, mix it with some soup and water, and stuck it in the oven. And it didn't even turn out right because he used the wrong size pan and put it in the oven for too long so the noodles overcooked and clumped together. I couldn't even force myself to choke down a single bowl. That's another thing. When I threw my food out, I literally threw it out. What did he do? He left it sitting on the counter all night long, and I went to bed early. I was really tired, not just feeling lazy. He stayed up until 11 pm, so he couldn't have been nearly as tired as he bragged about when I asked him to dump the noodles out of the box. So this morning, when I went to load the dishwasher, like I said I was going to do, I had to scrape out dishes of food that had sat overnight. Nasty ass, stinky, clumpy, overcooked noodle-type food. He just really pisses me off sometimes with his hypochracy. It's like he thinks I am here for nothing more than to serve him and his whims. Well, I have news for him: I am not his servant and I will not put up with this. Tonight is his turn to do dishes. I filled the dishwasher as full as I could. There was no room for the pan I used to make eggs yesterday or the pan he made his overcooked noodle crap in, either. I scraped them both out and left them to soak, which is more than I can say for anything he would have ever done. What I should have done was left them as they were, so the food would dry to the pan and he would have to spend an hour scrubbing the fucking things. I'm not that mean, though. Instead, I'll do something else equally devious that he can't blame me for. Like accidentally cook something with peas in it tonight. Ethan likes them. I just conveniently forgot that he pukes when he eats them and didn't think he would notice that they were pureed and something he could pick out. Though, I would end up having to clean up the puke, which wouldn't happen because I'd just throw up on top of it. Hmmm... I could always make meatloaf with oatmeal instead of crackers and barbecue sauce instead of ketchup. He really hates that. Alright, who has some devious revenge ideas? I'll give GPs to the most devious that I can say is an accident. Maybe even a merit badge. |
| We took Ethan outside to try out the new sled that his Grandma and Papa bought him. He had a lot of fun, especially when we unbuckled him so he could run around the yard and do face plants in the snow. (Seriously, he thought it was so fun because then he could eat the snow since his mittens didn't make it easy for him to pick it up with his hands.) Ever since, I haven't been able to stop shivering. That's what I get for laying down in the snow while wearing a fleece pullover and a pair of jeans. I was drenched by the time we went back inside, but I had successfully taught him how to make a snow angel! Did I mention that he thought it was the coolest thing, ever?! I tried to take photos, but it was too dark and my camera wasn't enjoying the cold very much. When I came inside, I put on my warm pj bottoms and stole a long sleeved, heavy shirt out of Jason's closet. They're always so much warmer when they're his. See? My shivering's almost all gone. And he didn't believe me when I told him his shirt was better. |
| I've been sitting out here in my living room with the dogs this morning thinking, "Damnit, I smell shit again!" As I'm sitting there, I noticed it was when I would breathe out of my mouth and then in with my nose, so I thought, "Maybe it's my morning breath." I get up and go brush my teeth, and then take a shower for good measure. Actually, I just wanted to take the shower so that I don't have to worry about it later. But anyway... I come back out here and sit back down, and a few moments later, I smell that same nasty smell again, except it's worse. After a few seconds it goes away, but brushing my teeth made it so the smell was more clear. I looked all over the living room for a pile of shit because that had to be what I was smelling. I was all of the way across the room from the dogs, and I smelled it again. It got stronger, the closer I got to the dogs. It was then I realized... One or both of my dogs have really, really bad gas this morning. *Sigh.* |
| I start Monday at 8 am. I didn't think they would have me start so soon, but I also found out that it's only part time, which makes me feel so much better. I was nervous about going back to work full time and how Ethan would react to that, plus trying to adjust to working again with being pregnant was worrying me, too. I'm not getting paid a whole lot, but it's enough to cover what we need extra per month, and then some. We'll be able to get our credit cards paid off within 6 months and build a savings back up again. I'm really excited about this because it has turned out to be the exact job that I was looking to get! I'll be doing data entry for Title 1, which is the grant money the school gets from the federal and state government so that kids who live in the shelters are able to get a decent education. I have to keep track of their attendance, grades, and things like that. If they, for some reason, miss the bus, I may have to occasionally go pick them up and take them to school so they don't miss a whole school day. For the most part, though, I'll be sitting behind a desk and pushing buttons for 4 hours a day, Monday through Friday. Did I mention how excited I am for this opportunity? Even moreso than when I thought it was a full time job. I was really dreading not having as much time anymore. I'll only miss about 3 hours per day with Ethan, which isn't bad, and I'll still have my "me" time when he naps. Life fell into place this month. It has never been this easy for me, but I'm not waiting for the ball to drop because everything feels right. Everything is right, right at this very moment, and that's all that matters! |
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Whatever you do, hang in there, he'll be sleeping like a big boy in no time!