Real quick, for Grampy

I know I've been slacking with the blog posting this week... sorry! I got a little wrapped up in all the Bloggy Carnival fun.

OH, and I've been taking care of my kids, and walking dogs (it's like one big, neverending dog walk around here!), and working. Definitely been working. [You'd think I would actually have some money with all the work I do, huh? Don't I talk about work A LOT? Yeah, I actually work A LOT... and they do pay me, sometimes. I think I need a raise...]

So, what else has been going on here, aside from stalking unsuspecting blogs, feeding dirty-faced kids, bagging dog poop, and inserting serial commas?

Gee, what else is there?!?!

We went grocery shopping yesterday... the whole fandamily. That's ALWAYS fun (like having a root canal-kinda fun). For some reason, Nick and I torture ourselves (and each other) quite often with the family shopping trip. I know from experience that it's sooooo much nicer, easier, faster, not to mention cheaper for just one of us to do the shopping, while the other lucky parent stays home with the monsters. But, for some reason, we don't do that very often. I think it's because we both hate grocery shopping... neither one of us wants to do it, so we figure if one of us has to suffer, we ALL suffer! Really bad logic, I know...

So, yeah, my big trip to the grocery store... I think that's the first time I've left my neighborhood (all that dog walking, remember?) since I can't even remember when. I really need to make it a point to get out more. Working from home for going on 9 years has done horrible things for my mental state (as if I needed any help in that department!). I'm turning into a hermit of sorts. Just the word "hermit" conjures up really scary images in my head... and do I want to be that person? Well, no. But it's happening/has happened (ack!).

And, gee, this was supposed to a "real quick" blog to pacify my dad... but I'm rambling, like I tend to do. So, I'm leaving off here and I'll continue this train of thought (the whole hermit thing) at a later date. Hold me to it (I'm really bad with follow-up blogging, have you noticed?).

Just to make my random post even more random... here's a random pic. He's cute, right? Yeah, he poops a lot, too.

Caving Under "Carnival" Pressure!

I've never done this before, so bear with me and please forgive me if I totally goof it up...

It's time for the Bloggy Giveways Carnival, which is something that I just recently discovered (I'm always a little behind on cool things like this, in case you haven't noticed). Anyway, it's pretty neat. You go to this site and you'll find a huge (and getting huger) list of participants (ie, people who are giving away random things... just because). So, if you see something you like, you go to their blog and read about their giveway and their requirements (most of the time it's just leaving a comment on their post). Then you play along and wait anxiously until the end of the Carnival to see if you won anything! (It's like Christmas, huh??)

So, I've been compulsively refreshing the Bloggy Giveaway list for the past 2 days... and I've visited lots of cool blogs that I never would've found before... and I've left more comments than I can count. And it's been fun.

But I've been feeling guilty for not participating on the other end and giving something away. So, here I am... posting a giveaway.

And, finally, this is what you can win from me if you're interested:

A book of stamps.

That's it. A book of stamps from the U.S. Postal Service (although, I might throw in a mystery "bonus" item before it's all said and done... you just never know).

Why a book of stamps? Well, because I'm one of those people who NEVER has a stamp when she needs one (certainly never one reflecting the current postage rate, since that changes every time I turn around!). And I have to make a trip to my local post office tomorrow anyway. So, I thought I'd offer something nice and practical (and I haven't seen anyone else offer it... yet. See, I'm trying to be "original") that anyone in America might be able to use.

So, all you have to do to be entered is leave me a comment here, on this post. If you have a blog, make sure your e-mail address is in your profile so I can find it... if you don't have a blog, make sure you leave your e-mail address in the comment, so I can find you after the drawing.

If you want two entries, take a few minutes to acquaint yourself with my blog and leave me a suggestion for a fun, creative, clever blog title. I've been posting here for almost three years and still have no blog title. That's sad.

Oh, I'll pick a random winner this Friday, August 1st... sometime after I've had my first cup of coffee.

Ready, set, go (and go check out the rest of the Carnival while you're at it)!

I've changed my mind...

I don't wanna be a mom anymore.

I just spent the last 15 minutes holding my 7-year-old tough guy in my lap, rocking him, and assuring him that "it's gonna be alright."

I know this sounds like typical mom behavior, and not something so earth-shattering that I should want to abandon motherhood in the face of it... but it was awful. Gut-wrenching. Heartbreaking.

I'm not even sure what the problem was... what had upset Damon so much. It had something to do with his neighborhood friends Matt and Jason. The boys came over this afternoon, at 12 o'clock on the DOT, like they do every day. And at some point Matt left (and went home presumably), which didn't surprise me because the brothers usually take turns coming over here because they don't get along very well...

So, Damon and Jason were in the living room playing a video game when they saw Matt walk past outside. He was just walking down the road in front of our house, so they ran out to see what was going on with him.

About 10 minutes later, I peeked outside to see what they were up to... and found Matt sitting in the middle of the road in front of my house (weird kid), Jason sitting in the yard staring at the ground, and Damon leaned up against our porch trying to hold back tears.

So, I told Damon to come in and talk to me (and had to shut the door in Jason's face because the kid doesn't understand that when I say "Damon," I mean DAMON, not "DamonandJason," grrrrr). I brought Damon into my room, away from the brothers' ears, and asked him what had happened. Of course, I got a typical Damonesque response that made absolutely no sense and left me none the wiser... but, regardless, I could tell he was upset. He was trying so hard NOT to cry... to be the tough guy that he's figured out he's "supposed" to be (grrrrr again).

At this point, I didn't care what was wrong or what had happened or who had said what to whom... my baby was hurt (emotionally) and breaking down whether he wanted to or not. I sat down on my bed, pulled Damon into my lap, wrapped a blanket around him... and rocked. And "shhhhh, it's okay"ed. And just held him and comforted him because that's what he needed at that moment and I couldn't do anything else.

When I ushered Damon into the house, he resisted. When I pulled him back to my room, he resisted. When I asked him to tell me what had happened, he resisted. When I patted the bed and told him to come sit next to me, he resisted. When he felt tears welling up, he resisted.

But when I wrapped him up in my blanket and in my arms, he quit resisting. He grabbed ahold of me and, in an instant, I felt the resistance disappear. And, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he accepted my comfort. My little boy turned back into my little boy... he held onto me for dear life and he wept.

And then I wept.

And now I've decided I don't want to be a mom anymore.

I have a hard enough time feeling and dealing with my own emotions... how in the Hell am I supposed to be strong enough to support two little people through life? Knowing like I do that it's only going to get harder and harder for them; their hearts are going to break... a lot.

There's no doubt in my mind that Damon and Avery will make it through life's ups and downs and come out stronger as a result. The real question is: Will their poor basketcase of a mother live through THEIR inevitable disappointments and broken hearts??

Why doesn't anyone tell you about this stuff before you have children? Diapers and bottles and sleep deprivation and potty-training? That stuff is a walk in the park compared with comforting a broken-hearted 7-year-old. And now that I know that, I've changed my mind...

(my first ever) Commitment to Loveliness

A mommy friend of mine (who just happens to be a lovely person!) hosts this Commitment to Loveliness challenge on her blog quite frequently... and although I think it's a fun idea, I've never actually participated. Until today.

I don't know about you, but I could definitely use some "lovely" in my life this week. So here goes...

My five lovely goals:

1. Walk Comet twice a day (I usually cheat and only take him once, if that, because I'm a lazy slacker).
2. Sit down with pen and paper and actually write a letter (or card or whatever) to a loved one.
3. Remove the old, peeling polish on my nails and re-paint them a lovely, fresh color.
4. Clean my desk *shudder* and find a way to organize mail/bills/etc.
5. Get my butt to the post office and mail a box o' books that I promised Stephenie ages ago (and mail #2 while I'm at it)!

So... those are my goals for this week. I'll post an update next weekend and let you know how I managed! And if you'd like to play along, go visit Emily's blog and join us (I feel lovelier already!).

Say a little prayer...

for me and my young... and anyone else who is unlucky enough to cross Nick's path this weekend.

At some point yesterday (right before dinner, I think), Nick ran out of cigarettes. And we have no money with which to buy more. I mean, NO money. All of the drawers, pockets, couch cushions, vehicles have already been scoured for loose change... We're broker than broke.

And payday is still four long days away.

I've known Nick for almost 9 years, but I've never seen him without nicotine for 4 days. He's tried to quit smoking a gazillion times, but it never lasts more than 1 or 2 days (usually not even close to that long) before he's running to the nearest convenience store for a fix.

Of course, if Nick is out of nicotine, so am I. But, I've been a smoker for a fraction of the time my husband has. And, I'm lucky enough to be pumped full of Wellbutrin/Zyban, so it's not going to bother me nearly as much to go without.

Which is a good thing. At least I can stay sane (as sane as I get, anyway!) and protect our children from their father's wrath this weekend!

She's baaaack!

I don't know how much I've blogged about this in the past (I'm thinking not at all), but most of my readers hear bits and pieces of the Mom Drama via e-mails or phone calls or because they know her/us in real life.

So, when we moved back to the Hills in February, my mom joined us. It was quite an adventure for her... the first time she'd ever lived anywhere other than the Free State. And because we arrived here late one snowy night in February, her first impressions of the Ohio Valley weren't exactly favorable. It was cold, snowy, and very, VERY hilly (when you are not "from" the Hills, the Hills are a huge shock to the system... and to your car when you drive a rollerskate... Mom does).

Mom suffered through a couple of very cold, very snowy, very hilly months with us. And I was impressed that she "stuck it out." Really. She even moved out of our way-too-tiny-for-five-people house and got her own apartment at the bottom of our hill... super convenient to have Grandma only 1 mile away and super nice for all of us to have "our own" space again.

She also had her driver's license changed and registered her car here (things Nick and I still haven't done because we're slackers... oh, and we're poor, too). So, Mom became an official resident of the Hills even before we did.

And then, one glorious day, we saw the end of snow (we doubted it would ever happen, trust me!)... and Spring finally sprung in the Hills. It's positively gorgeous here when everything turns green again. The birds sing constantly and there's always a nice, refreshing breeze, no matter how God-awful hot it gets. It's our own little Paradise, kinda.

Then, after months of getting settled here in our little corner of Paradise (kinda), Mom decided to take one day off from work and go home for a visit. Uh oh. I had a feeling that her "visit" would turn into something else... because I knew she was homesick, missing the ocean, and wondering, quite often, what the Hell she was doing here.

So, we said goodbye and, although she promised the kids she'd see them in three days, I knew better.

Fast forward about two months... and Mom is back in the Hills. To stay... for now.

Last weekend, she came back here to empty her apartment and officially move back to the Free State. But, surprisingly enough, she found that she has a life of sorts here. She has her own, cute, little apartment and things are just more "manageable" in the Hills (plus she missed us... who wouldn't?!?!). So, she decided she wasn't going to pack her stuff and move out... she was going to stay put.

Today, Mom was offered a job (a great job) with the company that Nick recently started working for. Nick heard through the grapevine last week that they were looking for office/accounting help, so like a good son-in-law he thought of Mom and brought home an application for her. Which is pretty funny because Nick and I met 9 years ago when (and because) he and Mom worked at the same place...

Now that she's officially employed, I thought it was safe to announce that "she's baaaack!" For now. Welcome home, Mom!

Me and My Baby

(Mary, this post is just for you... because you said there aren't enough pics of me on my blog. Be careful what you wish for! LOL)

Four-leaf clovers

A few evenings ago, we were all outside (like we are most evenings). Nick and I were just hanging out on the porch, and the kids were doing what kids do... running around the yard, looking for something to get into. Avery was probably busy with her hula hoop, and Damon started whining that he was bored, there was nothing to dooooooo (by some miracle, none of his neighborhood friends were over at the time... God forbid).

Our grass hadn't been cut in about 2 weeks at this point, so the front yard was full of clover. Nick told Damon to go out there and find us some four-leaf clovers. Damon looked at Nick like he had three heads. Damon is under the impression that you'll only find a four-leaf clover at the end of a rainbow, next to a pot of gold... or something like that.

So, Damon stomped off disgusted, as usual.

And Avery (always up for a challenge) and Daddy went to work searching for four-leaf clovers.

I don't think they ever found one... even though Nick assured Damon that there were "probably hundreds" of them in our front yard. See, Damon's no fool. But they had fun looking, anyway.

Sunday afternoon

Damon has been bugging Nick for weeks... maybe months... to fix his bike (which needed a new tube for one of the tires). So, yesterday morning, Nick and Damon took the bike and a bucket o' tools to the front porch and fixed the tire.

Later in the morning, driving back from the convenience store down the road, Nick spotted an "All Free!" sign in someone's yard... and the yard was full of old, rusted bikes. Naturally, Nick decided he needed TWO, so he came home with two old, rusted bikes in the back of his truck. He spent another hour or so fixing/cleaning one of the bikes.

Then, yesterday afternoon, Damon's friend Matt came over, with his bike.

Our house is conveniently located just down the street from the middle and high schools. So, Nick took Damon and Matt to the schools, thinking there just MIGHT be a flat parking lot for the boys to ride their bikes.

Avery and I decided to put Comet on his leash and follow the boys to the school parking lot.

We approached the middle school and there is, in fact, a HUGE, magnificently FLAT parking lot in front of the school. But of course, the boys weren't there. Comet, Avery, and I continued around the side of the building and found the boys... heading downhill, of course.

Nick pedals back to where we're approaching and says, "Mommy, you just missed it, by about 3 minutes..." Damon apparently took his first "spill" on the bike. Later I found out that Damon didn't really take a spill... Damon FLEW through the air like Superman after his bike hit a SIGN. Mommy is sooooo glad she missed that; I'm sure I would be scarred for life. But, luckily, Damon escaped with no injuries.

So, I lectured Nick about taking the boys DOWN the hill when there was a perfectly good flat parking lot (which was the whole point of taking them to the school to ride in the first place!). And we continued down the hill, around the schools, and back UP the hill on the other side to our neighborhood.

Halfway back up the hill, the rusted chain on Nick's bike says "SNAP!" and leaves Nick walking the death trap the rest of the way. Also, halfway up the hill, the sky turns really dark and the wind picks up and we KNOW it's just a matter of time before we all get really, really wet.

About a block from our house, it begins to rain... no, it begins to POUR. And the wind is howling. Comet wanted to hunker down under a tree we were passing... Avery was holding onto my hand, whining and crying and screaming, "Mommy, it's a tornado!!" I assured Avery it was NOT a tornado and dragged her the rest of the way home in the pouring down rain.

At some point, trudging through the wind and rain, dripping wet, pulling an unwilling dog with one arm and a whining 4 year old with the other, I found the humor in the situation... and I tipped my head back and laughed, for no apparent reason. Damon was next to me on his bike and he, too, started laughing. We both laughed the whole way down the alley behind our house. (Nick had run ahead because our car windows were down, and he was freaking about that; and Matt had turned off to go to his house to get a drink.) Avery continued to whine and cry, although I heard giggles escaping every now and then, just because laughter is contagious (she didn't think anything about this situation was amusing, I can assure you!).

So, finally, we all made it back to the house. We sat on our covered porch, dripping, and watched the summer storm that we'd been caught in just moments before.

Today, I was reading through the new Woman's Day magazine that came to my mailbox this morning, and I saw this on p. 18 (cheap ways to cool down and beat the heat this summer): "Play in the rain during a blink-and-you'll-miss-it summer shower."

Check.

On babysitters...

They are a Godsend.

And we might have a new one... to stay with the kids for a few hours each week... so that I can go to the little bar a mile down the road and pretend I'm a country superstar and belt out cheesy songs on the karaoke machine.

Life is good.

Now what?

The book is done.

Thank GOD.

But, that overwhelming sense of relief hasn't hit me yet... and I'm really starting to wonder WHERE it is, darn it. I've been looking forward to that for a week!!!

Right now, I'm looking around the house -- at all the housework that needs to be done. And around my desk -- at all the work work that still waits to be done. And I'm thinking I should probably do something "fun" with my kids this afternoon.

But what I'd really like do is nothing. I'd really love to curl up with a good book, lose myself in some other world, and eventually drift off to Dreamland. Uh huh. Fat chance of THAT happening today. But it's nice to dream!

I did take Comet for a nice (but HOT!) walk around the neighborhood a little bit ago. He enjoyed that. Avery and I enjoyed it (but it was HOT! and an afternoon at the pool didn't sound half-bad until I got back here to my nicely air-conditioned cave).

I think I'll "do the right thing" and work for a few hours this afternoon... then enjoy an evening off when Nick gets home from work, kinda like normal people!

Or... maybe I'll just read instead... (Go ahead, place bets on what I ended up doing today! lol)

Progress Report

I am almost finished with the Godforsaken book project!!! Hallelujah!

(I thought I would post this here because I've had an insane number of inquiries via e-mail in the past 2 days. I'm guessing you guys will be just as relieved to have this book project done as I will, lol!)

I could finish it tonight and have it ready and waiting for the project manager in the morning... but my eyes are really going buggy after staring at this computer screen for 15 hours.

So, by lunchtime tomorrow, I'll be doing a happy dance in the Hills!

Unfortunately, it'll be a short-lived celebration. My desk is FULL of work waiting patiently to be done, which I've had to ignore for the past week to get the book done. But little journal articles are gonna be a piece o' cake compared with this beast!!!

On being drugged...

A couple of days ago, my husband (not-so-)nonchalantly slipped this seemingly innocent question into our conversation (which had nothing to do with drugs or depression): "Ummm, have you been taking your medicine?"

To which I sheepishly replied, "Well, no... not really... sometimes when I think about it, maybe."

Why I EVER quit taking my medicine is one of life's great mysteries, I suppose.

A little history, shall we?

When Damon was around 4 or 5 or 6 months old, it finally dawned on me one day (as I was sitting in the middle of the floor, crying uncontrollably for no apparent reason, and praying that the clock would suddenly, magically forward itself to 5pm so that Nick would be home soon to take over Damon duty) that, uhhh, maybe something was not-quite-right with me.

And with that realization/acknowledgment came a little glimmer of hope. IF something was wrong with me, then something could be done to fix it, right??

Somehow my head became clear enough to make an appointment with my friendly family doctor ASAP. I don't think Dr. Bruce and I were even five minutes into our conversation before he was scrawling out a prescription for generic Prozac. (Lucky, or maybe unlucky, for me, Dr. Bruce had suffered from depression for years and had a nice, dependent relationship on generic Prozac himself.) Either he was prescription-happy or he could tell that I was in a baaaad way.

I don't know how long I took that particular drug... a couple of months maybe. And, for some unknown (or unremembered) reason, I quit taking it. And I diagnosed myself as being "fine, just fine." I figured I had suffered from a little (okay, a HUGE) case of postpartum depression, and well, I'd survived it (more by the grace of God than anything, I'm convinced). But now I was fine. (Famous last words.)

I remained drug-free for a few years. But when I was pregnant with Avery, I swore that I would NOT let myself get to that point... that if I started feeling even slightly "off" after she was born, I would recognize it for what it probably was and be on the phone with the doc in a heartbeat. And I did (about a week after Avery arrived), so I was.

When Dr. Windsor heard that I had a history of PPD and wasn't feeling quite right now, one week after giving birth, she didn't hesitate to phone in a prescription -- for Zoloft this time.

Zoloft made me realllllly sleepy, no matter when I took it (of course, having a newborn baby and an energetic toddler might have contributed a little to that!). It also put me in "The Zone," as I like to call it. The Zone is a place where I, thankfully, don't feel sad/depressed/despondent, where I'm able to function and make it through the day without screaming or crying episodes... all good things.

But The Zone is also a place where I don't feel much joy either. I like to think that I'm a pretty enthusiastic person... but enthusiasm does not exist in The Zone. In The Zone, I just (barely) exist. I'm not sad, but I also wouldn't classify myself as happy. There are no highs or lows, just that gray area somewhere in the middle.

Yes, The Zone is better than the dark place I existed for months after Damon was born. I'd take a little gray area any day over that... but, I missed feeling happy and excited. I decided (maybe foolishly) that I'd rather deal with the lows in order to experience the highs of life. The thing is, when you're under the influence of one of these miracle drugs, you suddenly forget what the lows are really like... meds make you feel better, so you think YOU are better and give no credit to those magical pills you take with your coffee every morning. (Hey, I said it was foolish!)

So, anyway, I stuck with the Zoloft off and on for a couple of years, I guess. At some point I either decided I was cured (being wayyyy past the postpartum phase) or I just kept forgetting to take my meds, or a combination of both.

But inevitably, eventually, that dark sadness comes back. And I ignore it for as long as possible before I find myself sitting in another doctor's office, rattling off my list of symptoms (i.e., reasons I think I'm batshit crazy and need drugs so that I don't decide to off myself).

[Maybe you'll be happy/relieved to know that, no matter HOW bad I got or how dark my world became, never, ever, ever did I consider... not even for one millisecond... harming either of my children, in any way, shape, or form. Ever. In fact, in my darkest hours, when I asked myself "what's the point??" and wondered why I had to suffer through this life, thoughts of my children are what saved me from doing anything REALLY crazy, that I wouldn't be around to regret. I include this "disclaimer" because that is almost always the first question a doctor asks a mother suffering from PPD: "Have you ever thought about hurting your baby?" They ask me this and I shrink back in horror and think, "What, do they think I'm CRAZY or something??" (Yes, I recognize the irony.)]

Anyway, the bottom line: I've suffered from depression for years. I've taken several different medications, for various lengths of time... and have had various reactions/side effects to all of them.

The last time I went to the doctor, I requested that he prescribe Wellbutrin. It's one I hadn't tried in the past, and I'd heard only good things about it from fellow crazies (who shall remain nameless). Plus, it's the same drug as Zyban, and at this point I was a smoker wanting to (maybe) give up that bad habit.

So I've been taking Wellbutrin for a while now. It is, by far, the best crazy drug I've ever been prescribed. It doesn't make me sleepy. It DOES curb my cravings for nicotine (although, as my wise doctor pointed out, "It'll work if you WANT to quit smoking; if you don't want to quit smoking, you'll smoke through it and the drug won't do a damn bit of good." He's right about that). And, most importantly, it doesn't take me to The Zone. When I'm taking Wellbutrin, I'm a much happier camper and much less stressed about life in general, but I still feel like I'm experiencing life... both highs and lows. I like that. No, I love that.

At some point I usually quit taking my meds... because I simply forget and keep forgetting and then say, "well, I haven't had one in three days, so what's the point? I'm cured" (even though I know damn well there IS no cure). And every time that happens and I inevitably find myself BACK in the doctor's office, getting yet another prescription, I say that I'll never let that happen again (I lie to myself a lot... have you noticed that??).

Finally, we arrive back at this morning (sorry, I didn't intend to ramble on for days about this, but I kinda got into it once I started, in case you didn't notice)... I guess Nick has seen me through this vicious cycle so many times that he now knows the signs to look for that tell him I'm NOT taking my meds like I should. And, God love him, he wants me to be happy (because the cheesy saying that's splashed all over t-shirts on every boardwalk in America is true: "When Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!").

Ohhhh, and did I forget to mention the OTHER side effect of Wellbutrin?? It does amazing things for a crazy person's sex drive. Yeah, I dunno, my husband just MIGHT have an interest in that (lest you should think he's entirely altruistic, lol!).

So, this morning, when I woke up, I found these things waiting for me on my desk: a yummy egg/sausage/cheese breakfast, cream and sugar with a splash of coffee (just the way I like it!), and a dose of happy pills. I inhaled all three of them, gladly.

Random Things

Momma Trish tagged me, woo hoo!

I'm supposed to post 6 random things about myself... so here goes:

1. I like a little coffee with my cream and sugar every morning (and sometimes at night, if I have to stay up late working). I call myself a fan of coffee, but I don't think that's the case... I really just like an excuse to drink sweet milk and/or creamer.

2. I have/had (apparently the jury's still out on whether it ever goes away) Lyme Disease when I was newly pregnant with Damon. Pregnancy itself was bad enough (as far as the sick factor); pregnancy with Lyme Disease was twenty times worse. Ticks are evil.

3. I attended two colleges before I graduated (10 years ago! eeeeek!): freshman year at the University of Dayton and the next three years at UMBC. I hated almost every day of my college years, but now sometimes wish I could go back and try them again (enjoying them the second time!).

4. I spent three weeks of my 17th summer traveling around Europe, singing with a group of fellow American high-school chorus geeks. I ate chicken nuggets and set my hair on fire (damn power converter piece o' junk) in Paris; was sick in bed with tonsilitis during my time in Austria; cried a lot as I walked around Dachau concentration camp in Germany; climbed all 509 steps (ouch!) to the top of that darn cathedral ("The Dome") in Cologne; and was thrilled to be back on American soil at the end of our tour. (And, in case you're wondering, I really have no desire to return to Europe.)

5. I will eat almost anything, but a few things I absolutely cannot stand are raisins, coconut (of the shredded variety), and canned spinach. Blech!

6. I still have to edit 195 pages of this Godforsaken medical book. Pass the cream and sugar!

I'm supposed to tag six fellow bloggers, who are supposed to then post six random things about themselves on their blogs. So... Ellen (this is your punishment for not liking the Outlander books, lol), Carrie, Alli (although she's on her way to England right now!), Tilda, Lisa, and Linda Lou --- Tag, you're it!

Introducing...

My dear husband has arrived in Blog Land.

Nick has always been a faithful reader of my blog. Even when he was out on the road for weeks at a time, he'd come home and spend hours online, getting caught up on developments with the kids, around the house, and in my pea-sized brain.

When I first started this blog, I never expected him to read it... let alone ENJOY reading it. And I abso-LUTE-ly never expected Nick to start his very own blog (even after 9 years, I still look at him some days and think, "who is this person??").

When Nick made his very first blog post, he asked me to edit it... and I said, "No." When he posted his second entry, he asked me to PLEASE edit it... and I said, "No." He stopped asking, but kept posting... and I kept reading. And then I decided I HAD to edit the poor blog, just a little bit! I didn't want to edit Nick's blog because I was afraid it would sound like I wrote his blog... that my editing would take his "voice" away completely. So I hesitated. But, I think he knew I would cave eventually, that the misspelled words and insane punctuation (and lack thereof) would drive me MAD. They did... so I edited (and now edit) Nick's blog posts. But I try not to go too crazy with it. It's far from perfect, but I hope it still "sounds" like Nick (not me), without totally offending people who know a thing or two about the English language.

Without further ado, go check out Nick's little space on the Web. And, if you feel like it, go really crazy and leave him a comment... it'll make his day to know that I'm not the only person reading.

Comments about comments

My friend Angie made an interesting blog post today.

And I wholeheartedly agree with her... I think we, as bloggers, SHOULD absolutely respond to the few (in my case, anyway, lol) comments we receive. I appreciate the fact that people comment, so I'm sure they'd appreciate it if I commented back (and when have you ever known me to have NOTHING to say??)...

And, I do try to comment back quite a bit (I think), or at least more than a lot of bloggers I read! I can probably count on one hand the amount of times someone has responded to a comment I left on their blog... and yeah, it's a little disheartening (just a little).

Sometimes when I do respond to a comment someone made on my blog, I find myself wondering if they'll even come back to those comments to SEE if I responded. I know that I don't always do that... follow-through to see if a blogger responded to me (well, because they rarely do!). So, every now and then, I'll respond via e-mail... because then I KNOW that person will see my response.

So, here's the point of this post: Like Angie, I'm going to make an effort to respond more to comments left on my blog. So that means you commenters should check back, k?

And, REALLY, I encourage anyone who's reading to comment! It really makes my day when I get lotsa comments on a post, any post... or when I get a comment from someone who's never commented before (THAT'S like Christmas! and thanks, Libby!). It's just nice to know you're out there reading, even if I don't have a clue who you are (introduce yourself!), or haven't spoken to you since our days of playing kickball on the playground.

And, oh my goodness, when I don't get any comments for a while, my dad decides that all of my so-called friends have abandoned me... and I think he worries (isn't he sweet?!?!?). So, if you won't do it for me, please comment for my dad's sake!

It's just a driveway!!

It's been a while since I've posted a story about my new (sometimes weird) surroundings (i.e., my neighborhood in the Hills). And I've been meaning to post this one for a while... I'm glad I waited, though, because the story just keeps getting better and better.

I have awesome neighbors on one side (Izzy's family); and a sweet, little, old lady on the other side (whose mailbox I plowed through a couple of months ago, remember?). And, directly across the street, there's a nice family (Andi belongs to them).

But, in the two houses on either side of Andi's live some grumpy, older people, who really have no business living in a neighborhood with other people (let alone noisy, rambunctious children and pets), as far as I'm concerned.

I've heard some fabulous stories about the weird people to the right: 1) They threatened to call the cops on the man who lives across the street because he flipped a cigarette butt into the road. 2) They threatened to call the cops when the 12-year-old girl next door (Izzy's sister) and the 13-year-old boy across the street (Andi's brother) were standing on the sidewalk outside talking at 10:05pm one night this summer. The town has a 10pm curfew, apparently, but the kids were basically IN the girl's yard, and they weren't being loud, obnoxious, or disruptive at all... they were just standing outside, talking. 3) My husband had his own "altercation" with these people a few nights ago, when Comet, being the friendly beast that he is, ran toward their yard to greet the man, who was taking his trashcan out to the curb for trash pick-up the next morning. Comet wouldn't hurt a fly... he's just big and dumb and thinks it's his duty to say hello to anyone who enters his line of vision. And Nick was right behind him, bringing him back to our yard... but not before the old man had a chance to scream and yell and call my husband a "dumbass" for not having our dog on a leash (another law in this town, apparently).

These same people have a strange aversion to anyone "turning around" in their driveway... their not-particularly-fancy, gravel driveway. They posted this sign in their yard, near the end of the driveway, several months ago:
The first morning that I went out to my porch and saw that sign, I thought "What in the world??" I've never seen a soul approach the house, so who exactly are they trying to "keep out?" And I also thought, "Wow. What a friendly place! I looooove living here!"

Not long after the sign went up, they placed an obnoxiously large planter smack dab in the middle of their driveway, close to the road, along with a cinderblock... again, to dissuade anyone from using their driveway to turn around, I guess. Again, I scratched my head.

OH (I almost forgot this part!)... one day they also had another sign out there, next to the planter. It was Sharpied on the top of a tv tray-kinda thing (turned sideways so it could be easily viewed), and said, "God answers prayer" (only, they misspelled "answers," which made it even BETTER). That's nice. I'm glad God answers prayer. Maybe they should pray to God to keep people out of their driveway, then they wouldn't need obnoxious "keep out" signs and planters.

A couple of weeks ago, the police were at their house. Apparently someone stole the huge planter at the end of their driveway (I'll admit, I giggled... c'mon, that's funny!). A few days after that, Nick spotted a mason's truck there, measuring. Are you kidding me?? What, they're gonna build a WALL at the end of their driveway? I'm sorry, but that's just mental.

Then, there's another grumpy old man who lives in the house on the other side of Andi's. (I really feel sorry for Andi's family, sandwiched between the neighbors from Hell!) He screams and yells whenever a football from next door accidentally lands in his yard. I'm not talking about someone trying to launch it through his window and disturb his existence... I'm talking, like, the 13-year-old boy next door was playing football in his backyard, missed catching the ball once, and it landed in the grumpy old man's yard. I mean, horror of all horrors, right?? Well, Grumpy Old Fart actually confiscated the ball once when this happened. For real. Mental.

And apparently this man is just as obsessed with his hideous, weed-ridden, gravel driveway as the weirdos two houses down. Not long after I used his driveway to turn my car around (subsequently hitting and knocking down the sweet old lady's mailbox next door), Grumpy Old Man put a huge post in his yard, on one side of his driveway... attached a rope to that post, ran it across the driveway, and connected it with a hook to his mailbox on the other side.

It kinda cracks me up... because he just made life much harder on himself, really. Now, when he wants to leave his house, it's QUITE the process. First he has to hobble down to the end of the driveway and unhook his rope. Then, he hobbles back up his driveway and drives his car out of the garage and to the street. Next, he has to hoist himself back out of his car, hobble over to the rope, and RE-hook it to the mailbox (God forbid someone approach his driveway during his absence!). And, then he has to repeat that whole process when he comes home. I'm thinking, "Wow. That's a LOT of trouble... just to keep people from turning around in your damn driveway!" I love to sit out on my porch, relaxing, and watch him him go through this whole process... he glares at me now and then, while he's hobbling down the driveway, and I just smile.

So, I've told you this long, painstakingly drawn-out story just to illustrate a valuable lesson I've learned since moving to the Hills: The driveway is sacred.

Who knew?!?!?!

My new favorite place on the Web

Yeah, yeah, I'm working. Really, I am. But I wanted to break long enough to share this...

In my blog-hopping a few days ago, from this blog and then to this one, where I also read this, I finally stumbled upon Babble! (And, for some unknown reason, I can't remember the name of that site to save my life... I keep wanting to call it Blabber instead. See I've been working too hard, clearly!)

Anyway, back to Babble, which claims to be "the magazine and community for a new generation of parents." I'm probably one of the last moms to discover this fun site (just like I was the last person on the planet to discover Dooce when I first started blogging). But now that I've found Blabber... BABBLE (damn!)... Now that I've found Babble, it's quickly becoming one of my favorite sites to visit.

I haven't even scratched the surface of the whole Web site (which gives me something to look forward to, weeee!), but I have read some of their more recent and more "popular" articles. A few that I really enjoyed were: The Over-Parenting Crisis, Game Over, and The Breastfeeding Conspiracy. And then there's FameCrawler, "your daily baby celebrity fix." Who could live without that?!?! (Not me, in case you're wondering. I admit that I'm shamefully addicted to celeb gossip, especially of the baby variety.)

So, go check out Babble and tell me what you think!

(Carrie, I especially thought of you when making this post; Babble looks like your kinda place!)

wahhhhhhh!

I've had so many "blog ideas" in the past two days... and obviously I was on a bloggin' roll earlier this week! But I've had to force myself to stay away from Blogger because I have a HUGE work deadline tomorrow. Yuck.

I'm editing my first medical book (rather than the journal articles that I usually work on)... 12 chapters, plus front matter, Problem Sets for each chapter, and a huge section full of "answers" to those problems. Ohhhh, it's thrilling stuff!

And, even though I've been working my a$$ off for the past few days, I've only gotten through Chapter 4 (hence the "wahhhhhhh!").

I had really hoped to at least get through the first half of the book by tomorrow morning. But, well, it just isn't gonna happen.

I have a screaming headache, even the words that I'm typing here now are blurring together, and my fingers may be permanently bent (as in curled around the keyboard?). I also have so many medical abbreviations and their definitions swimming around in my head that I'm sure I'm losing other vital knowledge -- like my name, birthdate, social security number, etc. (But thank God I know that LR stands for likelihood ratio and PSA for prostate-specific antigen... that will be really helpful tomorrow when I attempt to log-in to my online banking.)

In my defense (because of course I'm feeling like I need one right now), I've only had one week to get this project done... and it's all new for me, this book-editing nonsense (it's surprisingly insanely different from journal editing!). So I'm hoping the project manager will realize that when he receives less than half of the book tomorrow.

This will be Nick's first full weekend home with us in a very long time (yay!), and I'm beyond thrilled that I'll get to spend it working 'round the clock on this Godforsaken book (boo!). Although, on the bright side, I'm grateful that Nick will be here on kid and dog duty for 63 hours!

Just one more time: wahhhhhhhhhhhh!

Now, I'm taking my whining butt to bed (if I can unglue myself from this desk chair), so I can start all over again in about 6 hours. *groan*

Test for Carrie

Did it work??

Don't wanna totally waste the post, so here's a pic!

Warning: It's a bit frightening...

Don't envy me. Not every girl is lucky enough to wake up to that face every morning!

(Witschey, I TOLD you I would post it... that's what you get for refusing to smile pretty for my camera. *pout*)

(One of these days I'll have him trained... if it's the last thing I do.)

Yet another way that Erin avoids work...

She catches up on phone calls to distant relatives!

I just spent the better part of an hour on the phone with my cousin Carrie. The two of us are GREAT at procrastinating and not doing our work/school work! *wink*

It was great chatting with you, Carrie Leigh! Give Addie Girl a big hug from Cousin Erin, k??

Oh, and don't work too hard at naptime, lol.

Spoiled Rotten

My husband loves me.

How do I know this?

Well, today was HIS first day of work at his new job. So, naturally, he was up at O'Dark Thirty. He walked the dog (so I wouldn't have to)... and then he slaved away in the kitchen, making ME a huge omelette and muffins for breakfast (he didn't even eat anything himself). He also brewed ME a pot of coffee (he's not a fan).

It's going to be very, very nice having him home again! :)

(I'm still avoiding work at all costs, can you tell?? What else can I possibly blog about this morning? hmmmm...)

Baby Blues

Yes, I have a huge work deadline in, ohhhhh, 3 days. (Just in case you're wondering why I'm blogging like a fool this week!) I'd much rather look at Avery's gorgeous eyes, wouldn't you??

She's been practicing!

Okay, so maybe she can't button her dress straight... but, the girl can hula!!

Shake it, Ave!

Damon at 7

This evening, I was out on the front porch snapping picture after picture... of Avery.

And I realize that the majority of the photos I post on here are of... Avery.

It's not because I favor her over my son. I promise I love them both equally (although it's true that most days it's easier to love Avery!)... but, you see, THIS is what I get when I try to take Damon's picture. In fact, this is what we see just about every time we LOOK at Damon:

Pure Angst.

It is tough to be 7 years old.

Love it when a plan comes together!

About a year ago, Nick and I sat in our house back in Maryland and came up with a plan... a plan for our lives that we figured would take a few years to accomplish. And, well, honestly, I figured it would never happen (because we've never been really good at the whole planning thing, in any way, shape, or form!).

The Plan:

1. Nick was going to work really hard to get his CDL.
2. Nick was going to get a job driving for a trucking company, and probably spend at least 1 year driving over the road for them.
3. After that OTR experience, Nick was going to look for a "regional" driving job near the Ohio Valley, so that we could move back to his beloved River (where we've both always dreamed of raising our children).
4. Hopefully once we got back to the Hills/River/Valley, Nick would eventually find some sort of local driving job, so that he would be home every night with his family (kinda like a normal person!).

Like I said, we figured this would take a while... years. It was a pretty big plan with lots of changes for our whole family and a whole lotta work involved for Nick.

But, today, only about 1 year later, I'm thrilled to announce that the Plan worked!!

It didn't always seem like things were going "according to plan," and life has been far from ideal for the past year. It took several tries for Nick to get his CDL; his time out on the road was a nightmare for all of us, and to this day, we're still recovering from some not-so-great things as a result; the move to the Hills was hard for everyone (especially poor Damon); and the regional driving job wasn't much better than the OTR one (still lots of time away from home and Nick working himself to death).

Two days ago, Nick got frustrated (like Nick tends to do) and quit his job... the job that he worked so hard for and that brought us here, back to the Ohio Valley (where jobs are not always easy to come by).

Oddly enough, I didn't panic. I should have panicked... because we're having enough trouble as it is making ends meet and the thought of Nick NOT getting a paycheck should have been enough to send me head first into the Ohio River. But I didn't panic. Simply because I've spent the past 9 years stressing about Nick's jobs and health insurance (or lack thereof) and our inability to pay bills (and shamelessly asking more-than-generous family members for handouts)... and, well, I think I'm to the point where I just can't allow myself to worry about it. In the back of my mind, somewhere, I'm sure there was panic. But I kept the tears at bay and put a smile on my face and told myself "it will all work out; it always works out." And I enjoyed the fact that Nick was home with me for a change.

This morning, I stood on my porch and kissed my husband and said, "Now, go find a job, you fool!" (Still smiling.)

Less than 2 hours later, Nick returned home, smiled at me and said, "Well, I got a job... just like you told me to."

He got a job. And completed Step 4 of our master plan.

Tomorrow morning, Nick starts his new job... driving a truck for a local beer/wine distributor. He'll have to drive his own vehicle only 2 miles to work each day (thank God, because the possibility of additional commuting expenses was almost enough to send me into panic mode). And he'll work Monday through Friday, during the day, and will be home every night and every weekend with his family, for once! The pay is decent (really decent for the Ohio Valley), and our health benefits will be paid 100% by the company (a huge improvement over his last job; benefits were taking a HUGE portion of his paycheck each week).

Needless to say, we're both beyond excited. And I'm really glad I listened to the little voices in my head that told me NOT to panic two days ago when Nick came home unemployed. It all worked out, just like the voices said it would.

And, for once, Nick and I stuck with a plan and made it happen. Whew!

Avery's New 'Do

I know that most kids take it upon themselves to play with scissors and chop their hair (or their little sister's hair) at least once in their childhood. But MY children seem to be obsessed with scissors and hair.

Once again, we had a haircutting incident at our house today.

Avery was in her room, playing at her desk (complete with safety scissors, which she uses ALL the time to cut PAPER!). Then she came out for dinner. And I was looking at her thinking, "hmmm. Something looks different..." Then she announced that she had cut her hair. Nick and I both got wide-eyed and thought, "oh no." Avery TOLD us that she used her fake play scissors, so then I breathed a sigh of relief... that was very short-lived.

Nick walked back to Avery's room... and I heard, "Oh God... Oh God... Oh. God." As he walked around her room, he kept finding pile after pile of nice, long, Avery hair. She wasn't cutting with the fake scissors... she was, in fact, cutting with REAL scissors.

I had fixed her hair earlier, and put two little pigtails on top of her head... with just the "front" hair, so it would stay out of her eyes. And it looks like she just decided to chop off those pigtails (or right under them, anyway).

Here's Avery after she took the scissors to her head (it's kinda hard to see the real damage in these pics, but trust me, it was BAAAAAD):





And now, after I took my scissors to her head, in a lame attempt to "fix" her mess (clearly, I'm no hairdresser... and for good reason!):






Honestly, I kinda like her new 'do. I think it's cute and fun and summery... and she looks like the diva she is! Her father, on the other hand, is still having heart palpitations. He looooooved Avery's long, pretty hair. It's okay, Daddy, it grows back... I promise!

Rain, Rain, Go Away

When we moved here back in February, I stated (several times) that I thought we'd made a wrong turn and ended up in Antarctica... because it did nothing but snow, for weeks.

Now, I'm thinking we might actually be in Seattle.

And I think I need to invest in some rain gear, for me and the dogs!

Although, I'm not REALLY complaining... I kinda like these summer storms (and I'll take them over snow any day!). But they're really putting a damper on Comet's daily walks that he's come to love so much.

Comet's Girlfriend

Our neighbors got a new puppy a few weeks ago. Izzy is a gorgeous little (but growing like a weed!) black lab.

When they first brought her home, she was extremely intimidated by my crazy dogs... Lizzie (yes, it's a tad bit confusing that their names are so similar!) because she's evil and barks like a maniac... Comet because he's HUGE.

But, Izzy's growing up fast, and she and Comet have recently become pals.

So, every evening, my neighbor and I take the dogs out in the yard for a Doggy Playdate (i.e., a couple of hours for the dogs to wrestle and run around and completely wear each other out so that they sleep like rocks for us the rest of the night!).

Poor Lizzie just can't hang with the big dogs. She usually spends our playdates locked in her crate, in the house, barking like a maniac. She's way too spastic for her own good (little dogs are just annoying, bless her little evil heart!).

Here are a couple of pics of Comet and Izzy from this evening. Unfortunately, my camera battery died as soon as I snapped these two, and they aren't the greatest. Really, it's quite difficult to get a GOOD pic of two dogs rolling around on top of each other. But, I can assure you that in real life, it's friggin' adorable!

She knows she's cute!

My Avery. She's too much, I swear.

I grabbed the camera (with a nearly dead battery that's just barely hangin' on!) today in an attempt to take pics of Avery's hair. Her hair is growing like a weed lately!! But the diva couldn't quit posing... and I never did get a good hair shot. In most of these pics, it looks like a shaggy mop.

Avery and I have had a nice, quiet Girls-Only day today. Nick went back to work this morning, and Damon decided he wanted to ride along with Dad.

It's amazing how peaceful my house is with just ONE child versus two. I haven't had to raise my voice all day, and I've even gotten a good bit of work done. Avery is really very calm and GOOD when her big brother isn't around. Of course, the same can probably be said for him when Avery isn't around! (Why did I have two children again?!?!)