Sunday, September 27, 2009

Nightmare on my street...

So, is anyone else out there just freaking exhausted?

I am in a constant state of frenzy.

Yesterday in a rush to put my son down for a nap before I had to frenzy off to pick up the den and frantically shove something muffin-y down my throat, I gave him the wrong bottle of milk. I gave him the one on the bookcase that my husband left there God knows when, hot and starting to curdle, instead of the cold, fresh bottle sitting on the changing table. I didn't realize it until he had gulped down over an ounce of spoiled milk. Great. Thank goodness, no tummy ache.

This past summer has been the worst summer I can remember. Financial problems, death, unemployment, miscarriage, stress, lots of tears, lots of anxiety. We made it through with the faith that fall and winter will bring happiness and relief. So far, so good.

But, the scars left from this Summer of Sam, are the reason, I think, that my nightmares are back.

Now, let me insert this disclaimer before you all delete me off your blogs: I am not a psychopath. I'm just repressed. That's better, right? Anway.

Close friends and family know about my nightmares. I have had brutal nightmares for as long as I can remember. As a child, I had dreams about sharks biting off my legs in the pool, or a two-headed monster slamming my sister and I down on parking lot concrete, or riding my tricycle off the roof of a tall building. I rarely had good dreams. Just nightmares.

As I got older, the dreams became more gruesome. Let me put it this way: my dreams would have put Rob Zombie and Clive Barker to shame.

When I turned twenty-nine, I went to therapy for a year to deal with childhood issues, my parents' divorce, problems I had in my own romantic relationships. I dealt with issues of resentment, repressed anger, insecurity, fear, shame. You know, all those really fun core issues.

Insert soap box here:

I'm proud of facing my demons and going to therapy. More people should. It isn't something to be ashamed of, as some might believe, instead something of which to be proud. Most don't have the guts to face themselves in therapy. Those who do, I say, "Bravo!" And I am glad the negative social ideas about therapy are starting to fade. Anyway. I'll jump down from my slippery, soap box.

To continue. After therapy, my gruesome nightmares stopped.

Until now.

Yes, five years later, they have returned, although not as frequent. And, instead of being as gruesome and abstract as they used to be, they are now more personal. This week I had one I haven't been able to shake off.

I won't go into the details of the dream, but it dealt with murder. It was the worst nightmare I have ever had because it was so real. I felt every emotion I imagine those left behind might feel.

In the dream, I knew how this person was murdered and couldn't stop thinking about how they must have suffered, how scared they must have been, how desperate to get away. The horror of it replayed over and over and over again in my head. I thought about how we would never do the things together that I wanted to do, how I would never see this person again. I felt sick, angry, I could no longer function in my own life or even move about the house. Most of the dream, I spent bent over, sobbing and screaming.

Eventually, I woke up around 4:30 am. I was crying in my sleep. I curled up into a ball on my bed and sobbed long and loud. I cried harder when I realized it was just a dream and not true. Meanwhile, my husband didn't move. Sound asleep. I wanted to wake him up but realized there wasn't much he could do anyway. It was just another bad dream.

I cried for an hour. I turned on the TV for comfort and eventually fell asleep right before my son woke up. Then, I cried on and off the entire day.

I know the more I deal with this past summer and find peace with everything that transpired, the nightmares will cease and I can once again go back to dreaming about Jon Bon Jovi or flying in and out of castle windows, watching my deceased grandfather, who in the dream is now gay, flying around holding hands with his boyfriend.

Does anyone else have nightmares?

Monday, September 21, 2009

Date Night? Nah....

My husband and I don't do date nights. We have been on I think 2 dates since our son was born a year ago. Once to a matinee to see The Hangover and once out for dinner and drinks on our anniversary. We just can't seem to get it together enough to plan one and get a babysitter and then go through with it all. We talk about going on a date, but then...

The truth is...and this is like the cardinal sin of parenting, I know, if you want to stay sane and bonded with your spouse...but...we'd rather stay at home with our son.

Please don't yell at me! (I'm crossing my arms up in front of my face and wincing)

When I tell people this, they look like they want to slap some sense into me. "WHAT? YOU'D RATHER STAY AT HOME WITH YOUR KID?" Yes, we would.

Have you ever seen the first episode of The Brady Bunch? The one where Mike and Carol get married and go on their honeymoon? Then they miss their kids so much that they leave the hotel in the middle of the night and go pick up their kids and bring them along on their honeymoon? That's what we are like. We are like Mike and Carol Brady, except I don't have a mullet and Steve isn't gay.

Our version of a date is renting a movie after Max goes to bed. And that has only happened a handful of times, too (like last week, we rented The Soloist, but Steve fell asleep sitting up on the couch, his head fallen forward on his chest, within the first 20 minutes. He blamed it on the potatoes we had for dinner. Yay, date night).

Where am I going with this? I don't know. It's just something I was thinking about because perhaps...just maybe...we could enjoy 3 or 4 hours without our son and go on a date. I think I might be ready. will be harder to convince my husband than me. If he could, he would attach Max to my right hip and his left, sewn and dangling between us...the three of us, walking together in a Red Rover line forever and forever. I hope he doesn't read this post - I don't want to give him any ideas...

How about everyone else? How often do you have date night? And is it hard for you to get away?

Friday, September 18, 2009

Doggie-style battle of the sexes

In the book, Julie and Julia, Julie Powell says this about blogs: "Nowadays anyone with a crap laptop and Internet access can sound their barbaric yawp, whatever it may be. But, the surprise is that for every person who's got something to say, it seems there are at least a few people who are interested. Some of them aren't even related."

I'm counting on this with my next story.

So, a few posts ago, I said I would share my dog feces and urine overload story.

You've all been sitting on pins and needles, I'm sure.

So, last Tuesday evening about 10:30 pm, I am in bed, getting cozied in with my magazine and David Letterman, when I hear a ruckus under the bed. I immediately think, "Where is the dog?" The dog I am referring to is our female toy rat terrier and chihuahua mix, Pia. Only she would be able to fit under there.

Following the ruckus, a pungent, poop smell wafted from down below. Dangit. She pooped under the bed. I leaned down and she had pooped under our king-sized bed, right smack in the middle, so that my arms weren't long enough to reach from any angle. The bed would have to be moved halfway across the room to reach it. Daaaaaaangit. And my husband wasn't home to help move this heavy, wooden, way-too-big-for-our-bedroom bed. DAAAAAAANGIT.

I immediately started whining. I tried to move the bed alone...okay...well...not really...that's a lie...but I did push a little. Okay, that's another lie. But, I knew that if I did try to move it alone, it would be a grunting, fruitless effort, so I waited for my hubs to return from Wal-Mart. He returned, we...ahem....he moved the bed, I mopped, and went to bed with the mild, slowly dissipating smell of Pia's digested dog food in the air.

Fast forward to the next afternoon. I returned home from a long 8-hr day of babysitting my three-yr old nephew, and Pia ran to greet me. The minute I picked her up in the kitchen, she started pissing all over me. All over my shirt, my brand-new leggings, and my feet. I think she pissed her own weight in pee pee. It was never-ending. I had to get in the shower, while my sweet hubs cleaned and mopped up the small swamp on our kitchen floor.

Fast forward to the same evening. I am putting away laundry, walking from room to room. I walk through the kitchen and step in something wet. Assuming it is drool from our bull terrier, Meeko, or water from my husband's dripping hands (he can't seem to use the provided towel hanging from the oven handle after washing his hands, instead shaking them dry and leaving water droplets all over the floor, which I inevitably walk through in my socks on a daily basis), I kept walking. It wasn't until the second or third time I stepped in the water that I realized it wasn't water at all, but splashes of urine, courtesy of Meeko. Being a male dog, he can't NOT pee on top of another dog's scent. After all, he must claim his territory. He must have caught the faint scent of Pia's earlier bladder failure and couldn't resist the opportunity to do the same. Back in the shower I went, out came the mop again. Dangit.

No need to fast forward this time. It was literally minutes later. My hubs and I took our son to the back bathroom for a bath. And what did I see outside the bathroom door, randomly distributed throughout Meeko's bed and the surrounding floor? Pia-sized logs of poop.

Are you freaking kidding me? It was like they were having an excrement war. A foul smelling, doggie-style, battle of the sexes.
Or maybe they are just still pissed about those Christmas outfits we made them wear last year.

Four accidents (or on-purposes) in 24-hours. So, out came the mop again. By the time this 24-hr period came to a stinky close, I had mopped almost the entire house.

Is this the Universe's way of telling me, "Hey down there, you filthy lady ragamuffin. Clean your damn house!" If so, then okay, okay. I get the picture. Be a little less obvious next time.


Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Sort-of Random Thoughts Tuesday

I've seen people do this RTT and it is exactly what I need today. I've got a lot to say and not a lot of time to say it in. My husband just took my son for a walk, so I've got about 20 minutes tops to be alone...let me say it again...alone... Okay, no time to relish in it.

First of all, I want to say a great big thank you to Modern Mom over at How To Survive Life In The Suburbs for giving me the Splash Award! I'm so stoked! I feel very blessed that there are people out there who like to read about baby poop and dog urine. Yippee!! If you haven't visited her blog yet, please do! She is very funny and witty!

Here is the Dish on this award:

The Splash Award is given to alluring, amusing, bewitching, impressive, and inspiring blogs.

When you receive this award, you must:
* Put the logo on your blog/post.
* Nominate & link up to 9 blogs which allure, amuse, bewitch, impress or inspire you.
* Let them know that they have been splashed by commenting on their blog.
* Remember to link to the person from whom you received your Splash Award.

I will have a good lovin' day and give out the Butterfly Award and the Splash Award to some of my favorites!

Next random bit of news...I have a stomach ache and a champagne hangover today because my husband found a job!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yay!!! What a relief!! We won't be living in the Wal-Mart parking lot after all!

It is the job he wanted, even though it is quite a bit less money than he was making before and he may have to get a part-time job at nights to make up the financial difference...but, he is okay with that because he sees a future with this company. I want him to be happy and feel challenged and be proud of the job he does and I think he will be all those things with this job. So, we know there will be an income coming in and we can keep our health insurance.

We are so grateful for this opportunity and from the bottom of my heart, I want to say thank you to all my blogging buddies who have given me such encouragement and support during the last couple of months...especially Michelle at Waddlers and Toddlers. She has been a great friend and comfort, as have you all, and thank you for sharing all your own stories with me. And thank you to everyone who gave me such great ideas for being a WAHM. I am going to research all your brainstorms and find something I can take a whack at.

(how are hubby and baby back already? oh no...I hear footsteps...about to get's moment...)

I'm back. Speaking of baby, my son took his shirt off tonight by himself for the first time (it's the little things that excite me)! He was sitting in his highchair after lunch and started taking off his shirt, one sleeve at a time. He got both arms out and pulled it off over his head. I started to tear up. It's silly, I know, but he is getting so big! He took his own shirt off! All by himself! Next thing I know he'll be strippin' down like the hillbilly he is and runnin' around the yard naked (pronounced neck-ed, of course).

Final random thought, or story: As you all know, I babysit my nephew two days a week for 8-hours at a time. He is three years old and is obsessed with his weiner. And his bootie. And talking about pecks, or boobies, or any part of the anatomy, really.

Last week we were playing Wii and if you have played, you know that the Mii's are not anatomically correct. The boys and girls have the same bodies.

So, we are boxing on the Wii, punching away, when all of a sudden he stops. He looks so distraught, so devastated, so upset. He drops his remote and his nunchuck and stares at the TV, frowning. "HEY!", he says. "WHAT HAPPENED TO MY WEINER ON THIS GAME!!!!"

Okay, my alone time is up. I'm needed in the baby feeding, changing, and putting to bed departments. Why don't I get paid for this again?

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Working and Exterminating from Home

So, ladies, and my one gentleman follower. I have a slight plea. In exchange, I will share two phenomenal uses for baby powder, besides booties.

Irresistible offer, right?

I was hoping some of you might have some work-from-home ideas you would like to share. I know, I know, wouldn't we all like a genius work-from-hom idea, and if you did have one, you'd probably be workin' it yourself. But, hey. It doesn't hurt to ask.

With my husband being unemployed, but hopefully on the downhill slide, skidding toward EMPLOYMENT, I need to earn an income, albeit possibly small, from home. You know, to help out and ways other than my weekend part-time job; washing, folding, hanging and putting away the laundry; dressing, changing, playing with, and feeding our son; mopping and vacuuming; cleaning the bathroom, cleaning the kitchen, dusting, grocery know, all that piddley stuff. During those two too-short hours that I get to myself while my son naps, and those few hours after my son goes to bed, I need to be joining the WAHM workforce. Because, frankly, I just don't have enough to do.

I can' t sew, so no homemade purses or winter wear on Etsy for me. Should have paid more attention in those home ec classes. Dangit.

So, any suggestions are greatly appreciated and I am open to anything within legal limits, although I'll let you know if I get desperate. However, that might be a topic for a whole different set of bloggers.

And thank you in advance. Thanks to all of you for reading, commenting, and keeping me sane with this window to the outside world.

And now for my part of the bargain. Even if you don't have any suggestions for me, you can keep reading without guilt. I'm still happy to share my bp tips with you and I would love to hear anything you have to say, whether it be about working from home, baby powder, or why anyone cares about the size of Kim Kardashian's boo-tay.

Tip #1: I don't know about you guys, but I don't get a chance to wash my hair NEAR as much as it needs it. Showers are golden around here and hard to come by. Somehow, hair washing gets forgotten like pedicures and make-up.

I have blond hair...well, okay, it's not really naturally's highlighted...but don't tell anybody. And sometimes it looks, well, not so blond because of a little, teensy, weensy, tiny thing called grease. Yes, I said it. Sometimes my hair is GREASY!!

Step in baby powder. Sprinkle a little on the roots, rub it around or brush it around with one of those forgotten make-up brushes, and voila. Fresh, clean hair. It works until I can get a moment to myself to use soap. This probably won't work if you have dk. brown or black might just look like you fell into a ashy fireplace. But it works great for gray, white, blond, dirty blond, and light brown hair.

I hope those of you with dark hair don't feel cheated.

If so, this next tip is for all hair types.

Tip #2: My mother taught me this, so it's gotta be good. Every tip your mother gives you is golden, right?

Those of you who have read my previous posts know that I have an ant problem in my kitchen. Ugh. I have tried many ways to off them, but those little cockroach wanna-be's eventually return everytime. My husband calls me a homicidal temptress because of all my insect genocide schemes.

However, finally, a solution that involves no post-homicidal guilt or dangerous chemicals on my countertops.

Baby powder.

If you can find the point of entry for the Anthill Marching Band, then sprinkle the baby powder there and it keeps them from coming in. I'm no expert or anything, but I suppose it has something to do with their tiny legs not being able to walk through the powder. All I know is that it works. At least temporarily.

Our ants were sneaking in through the corner of the window sill above our sink. So, in between the glass and the screen, we poured little mounds of baby powder. Voila. Bye, bye ants. They were absent for two whole weeks until we left an ice cream container lid in the sink overnight, which proved to be a great motivator for those little bastages and we found several in the sink by morning. Those tiny ninjas must have built tiny catapults and launched their way over the powdered mounds. And I understand. I'd do just about anything for ice cream, too.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Fabio in a circle with an "X" through it

I am so stoked! Not only did I get to watch a fabulous speech by President Barack You Rock tonight, but I won another blog award! I can't believe it! There ARE people out there who enjoy my drivel. Who would have thunk it?

Jessica at A BookLover's Diary gave me the Butterfly Award! Now, I'm not sure if there are any rules to winning this award, but I am definitely going to pass it on! I just have to think about it. Let it stew for a bit. I'll get back to you. Thank you so much, Jessica. After the day I have had (which will be blogged about later, but it involves dog feces and urine and lots of it), I loved getting this award. Thank you! Everybody should FOR SURE check out her blog. I am a book lover, as is she, and I know so many of you out there are as well. Check her out!!

I have so many things I want to blog about and so little time. As I write, my husband is waiting to play Call of Duty: World At War on the computer so I've gotta be quick like ninja. After searching for a job for the last two months, I think he deserves some brain deadening time.

So, here's my quick post.

I love books. Love, love, love books. I have boycotted the Kindle because I don't want to ever give up my precious books. The sight of rows and rows of them on bookcases. The feel of a book between my hands. The smell of an old library book or a brand new paperback. I wish I could live in a library! If I was wealthy, I would have a room that would be floor to ceiling bookshelves full of all my precious gems, with a ladder that rolled from one brown bookcase to the next.

I am also finding some great book blogs, which I am probably a little too excited about.

So, my bookworms, I want to share my favorite books with you, the ones I would save first in a fire. In my next post (when my husband isn't oh so very patiently waiting for his turn to kill and maim the WWII Germans), I will explain why. But, until that time arrives, here they are in no particular order:

1. The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom
2. Diary of Anne Frank
3. Night by Elie Wiesel
4. A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
5. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
6. The Complete Poems of Elizabeth Bishop
7. The Vaccine Book by Dr. Robert Sears
8. Odes to Common Things by Pablo Neruda
9. The World According to Garp by John Irving
10. A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf
11. Facing Love Addiction by Pia Melody
12. The Poetry of Robert Frost

There are a few more, but I think my brain might be clouded from all the dog droppings I've had to scoop up ever so gently so as not to get any on my fingers (gag), therefore I can't remember the rest. Right now I am reading Julie and Julia and having an awful time getting through it. We'll see... Oh, and I love Harry Potter! Who doesn't, really (well, except for the whack jobs who think the books are the devil's work...I hope that isn't any of you...ahem...cough, cough...if it is, I take it're not a whack job, just a little...a little...okay, you're a whack job. Sorry).

And furthermore, I would love to hear all of your favorite books! Write a blog about it or just put it in the comments! I am always open for suggestions and would love to hear about ANY OF YOUR FAVES (although, you are excused, but not forbidden, from admitting anything embarrassing, like loving those romance novels with Fabio on the front).

Peace out!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

My two cents...or maybe more

My two cents:

What a sad day it is in America when the President is no longer respected and trusted to give a speech to our youth. How sad that some children weren't allowed to hear President Obama's speech, some didn't get the chance to be inspired by his words, encouraged by his story, his past. Shame on those naysayers. Shame, shame, shame.

I watched the speech this morning and I still don't see the problem with it. He encouraged kids to stay in school, try hard in their classes, reminded them that they won't be great at everything and that is okay, not every subject will be their best, not every teacher their favorite. And despite hardship at home, despite obstacles they must overcome, these aren't excuses to not try in school, to start fights, or argue with teachers. He told them that they will never know where their talents lie if they don't write that English paper or do that science experiment.

And his words were so true. I never would have known that I enjoyed English and grammar if I hadn't done my homework, written hundreds of papers, and worked with my teachers. I never would have known that science really isn't my thing, but math is a challenge I love to tackle if I hadn't taken those dreaded Chemistry labs or worked my way through Finite Math.

I wonder if the naysayers were disappointed that he didn't try to convert our youth to socialism or encourage our children to grow up to be left-wing liberals. Maybe next time.

A viewer of the speech in another country sent an email into the news. This person said that the people of their country respect and trust their Prime Minister and even if they don't agree with his politics, they would trust him to speak to their youth.

My sentiments exactly. I thought President Bush was wrong most of the time, not all of the time, but most of the time, and I still would not have denied my kids the right to hear him speak. A President's speech is an historical event. I wouldn't deny my children a piece of history. No one should.

That might have been more like my ten cents.

Peace out!

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Over the Top!

Hey everyone! I'm going to yell YIPPEE SKIPPEE now! Hold on...clearing my throat...taking a deep process of yelling...out of breath...okay! I got an award from Twenty Something Momma at Ruminations of a Twenty-Something Momma! Thank you so much! She has awarded me the Over the Top award! This is a fun one.

Here are the rules for the Over the Top Award:

USE ONLY ONE WORD! It’s not as easy as you might think. Copy and change the answers to suit you and pass it on. It’s really hard to use only one-word answers.

1. Where is your cell phone? Questionable...

2. Your hair? Wet

3. Your mother? Friend

4. Your father? Intelligent

5. Your favorite food? Hummus

6. Your dream last night? Long

7. Your favorite drink? Champagne

8. Your dream/goal? Stablility

9. What room are you in? Junk

10. Your hobby? Blogging

11. Your fear? Unmentionable

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Fulfilled

13. Where were you last night? Home.

14. Something that you aren’t? Risky

15. Muffins? Glutenless

16. Wish list item? Employment

17. Where did you grow up? Arkansas

18. Last thing you did? Pray

19. What are you wearing? Jammies

20. Your TV? News

21. Your pets? Smelly

22. Friends? Supportive

23. Your life? Changing

24. Your mood? Quiet

25. Missing someone? Sister

26. Vehicle? Dirty

27. Something you’re not wearing? Bra

28. Your favorite store? Free

29. Your favorite color? Yellow

30. When was the last time you laughed? Today

31. Last time you cried? Today

32. Your best friend? Amazing

33. One place that I go to over and over? Future

34. One person who emails me regularly? Mom

35. Favorite place to eat? Mom's

Now I would like to bestow this award upon five lovely other blogs that I enjoy reading so very much...they help me get through the day and sleep well at night. Thanks again to Twenty Something Momma!

Waddlers and Toddlers
Peeling an Orange with a Screwdriver
Strawberry Seeds
Life Not Wasted or Lost

I hope you guys have as much fun with it as I did! And everyone have a wonderful holiday, or as my husband says, when you are unemployed, a holiday is just another day, so we're going to pretend like we're off work and party like it's 1999. Or maybe we'll just sit around all day watching TV. That's more likely.

Friday, September 4, 2009

A little laughter goes a long way...

So, I learned a valuable lesson today.

I have been in a foul mood for days. The above picture demonstrates exactly how I have been feeling, although my reasons have nothing to do with my mean parents making me wear an itchy tuxedo simply for their own entertainment and cutie pie pictures to embarrass me with someday (sorry, sweetheart).
It is the stress of waiting, waiting, waiting, to see if my husband will find a job. His severance runs out in one week. After that, if he doesn't find a job, we are screwed. I was hoping, hoping, hoping, that tonight we would be drinking the bottle of champagne we have been saving in the refrigerator, celebrating his new job. But, we haven't heard anything. And since this is a holiday weekend, it won't be until mid-week or the end of the week before we know anything. Days before his severance runs out.

And I haven't felt quite right since my miscarriage. My mood is off and I have a feeling that the scar tissue from my c-section last year and the scar tissue from my endometriosis are wreaking mucho havoc down there in the lower regions, causing me to have a constant ache in my abdomen. Stupid scar tissue.

I also discovered that some of my favorite pictures of my son were deleted from my camera when I saved them onto the computer. Not sure what I did to make that happen, but I was pissed.

The problem is when I am terribly afraid of the future or sad because of the past or present, these emotions reveal themselves on the outside as anger. I suppose it is my defense mechanism to keep from crying all the time, although the foulness of my mood just causes other problems.

So, I was in my son's room with him this afternoon, playing with his recycling truck and his blocks. I laid down on the carpet, as I often do when he has worn me out, and sprawled out my legs and hair and arms.

Suddenly, my son dove on top of me and rolled over my body onto the floor next to me. He thought it was hilarious!! He laughed and laughed, and decided to do it again. He rolled over me and screamed and giggled over his own cleverness. Even though I wasn't in the mood whatsoever to laugh, I forced myself to fake laugh for him.

And a funny thing happened. The more I fake laughed, the funnier he thought it was. And the more he laughed, the more my fake laugh became a real laugh. We just layed on the floor together, staring straight into each other's eyes, and laughed as hard as we could!

He started poking his finger in my mouth because he is fascinated by my teeth, so I stuck my finger in his mouth and touched his teeth, which he also thought was hilarious! Then he leaned down and baby kissed me, which of course consists of just drool (he hasn't quite gotten the kissing thing down yet), and I was thrilled. We must have layed there and laughed, touching each other's teeth, for at least a couple of minutes.

And you know what? When I sat up, I felt so much better. The anger that was hardening my heart went away and I felt so light. So airy. When my husband walked in the room, I didn't try to kill him with my eyes. I even smiled! I forgot to be foul!

So, lesson learned. When wishing that my looks could kill, stop and laugh like a child. Repeat at least once a day. Gosh, I just hope I can remember to do it again tomorrow.

And I hope I never use the word "gosh" on this blog again. Where did that come from?

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

A Quickie (no, get your mind out of the gutter, I'm not talking about sex)

I have been busy this week with oh so many things and haven't had time to write. This has to be quick too. As a result, I apologize in advance if this post is indecipherable or random with shameful missspellings. See? Here are the highlights.

My son got his first haircut! He actually did pretty well considering he has become an expert at slapping anything out of anyone's hands. His hairstylist, Julie, did an awesome job while he swung at her scissors and played with the electric razor (then razorless, of course).

Comb and razor in hand!

My husband had a job interview today. So, we have our fingers, toes, hair strands, eyes, eyebrow hairs, and anything else that can be crossed, crossed! Unemployment has been no fun.

My cousin sent me a couple of books about dealing with miscarriage, which was incredibly wonderful of her. I am looking forward to reading them and finding a brighter and more peaceful point of view about mine. I'll write about my insights, when I have some. Which isn't yet. Maybe soon?

And finally, the evening after our grill caught on fire, we used it again and everything went smooth like Jif. However, the next morning, I decided to make pot roast in the slow cooker. AFTER I had put in the meat, the potatoes, the celery, the carrots, the seasonings, the broth, the water...there was a loud SNAP! WTH?

The ceramic dish in the slow cooker cracked! My gluten-free seasonings that took me FOREVER to find and the gf broth were quickly leaking their way into the bottom of the cooker.

I had a conniption because I hate touching raw meat and our other slow cooker was too small to fit the giant roast, therefore the meat had to be cut up. And there was a giant bone running through the middle of the roast.

My husband stepped in with his strong arms and hands and unafraid-of-raw-meat attitude and cut the meat and transferred the goods to the other cooker.

Fifteen minutes later, it looked like a crime scene.

Roast blood dripping off the cutting board onto the counter, stray carrot and celery appendages strewn about, a bloody knife in the sink. I swear I almost had a panic attack.

I H.A.T.E raw meat.
And my sister even gave me a box of plastic gloves for my birthday (as a helpful joke) so I could begin touching raw meat with speed and purpose, instead of nausea and screams. I forgot to wear them. Oops.

Anyway, this has been my week as a nut in a nutshell.

And this is my son in a tuxedo, dancing like Elvis. Now is that random, or what?