Monthly Archives: October 2011

Oh Mister Sandman, lay off the drinks!

Last night I found myself lost in another odd dream:

The sun was just beginning to set past the tree line.  I was most likely taking out some trash, chasing off a stray cat or some other chore as I only remember grumbling as I headed out our door.

Then I heard it, a loud, sharp sound, clanking wood against wood with a hollow echo. 

And there he stood, down by our fencing, a buck, all ten points knocking against our fence. 

Excited (and a tad bit hungry) I rushed in to grab our crossbow, arguing with my husband that I was best suited to make the shot.

I dashed back outside (quietly of course), with the husband on my heels.  Then out of the shadows rushed a large, beautiful arctic wolf (like that twist?  arctic, in Missouri, right.).  The wolf howled towards the growing moon and lunged towards what was supposed to be MY kill.

My heart pounding, I drew back the bow, balancing it ever so carefully on the deck ledge, when…

A BEAR leaps out from another dark shadowy area and takes on BOTH the wolf and the deer!

The three creatures become entangled in some epic battle of life and death, as I struggle with planning my next move…

And then I wake up.

Tell me what THAT dream means.

(besides that it’s almost time for NaNoWriMo)

 

~Just~

May I call a time out?

Just for like a day, or maybe a week?  That’s not asking too much is it?

Today things are getting the best of me.  I can feel the anxiety swirling up through my veins, pulsing through my spine and ripping at my brain.  Yes, it happens JUST like that.  And the more the panic washes over you the further away the world slips.  Second by second your allies, your friends disappear into the shadows.  With each twinge of your skin the world grows hostile.  Each breath becomes burdensome, each action becomes hardship.

Underneath it all you get that no one’s changing, no one is leaving, and that you’ll be okay.  You get that your problems aren’t nothing compared to others’.  But it is still extremely hard to deal.

It’s just like all of that.

And I swear my lungs have taken up residence in my toes. 

I need a day to fall, to slip, to crumble.

I need a day to let it all out without the world watching, waiting, needing. 

I need to fall apart so I can get back up and pick up the pieces.

Chances like that don’t come with this gig… 

 

 

 

Our Family Community

Edited to add: WARNING:  It has been brought to my attention that reading this post while eating bannana bread will cause choking.  It is HIGHLY suggested to not eat or drink while reading.  I cannot be held respnsible for any injuries and or deaths that result from not following this warning. Thanks.  “M” many much prayers and bonfires for your speedy recovery.  ❤

The boy brought home a book he made in school yesterday. 

It simply read, “My mom does the dishes.  I do the dishes.  My dad sweeps.”

My heart raced as I read the last page, in his 5-year-old handwriting I SWORE it said, “My dad weeds.”  But I read it as, “My dad does weed.”  Instantly I was gearing up to race into the school and ask WHAT the HELL are THEY teaching my five-year old?!  I know public schools are liberal, but I didn’t think they were THAT Liberal.  Luckily he quickly informed me the word was “SWEEP”.

After my pulse slowed down a bit I asked, “What does daddy sweep?”

The boy quickly chirped, “Nothing, get it!?  It’s funny!  Like a joke!”  Yes, I get it boy, very funny.

And then I asked, “When do you do the dishes?”

The boy gave me a confused eyebrow twitch, and quickly changed the subject to his favorite part in a Mario game. 

Lucky for him he’s only five years old and I’m positive the teacher must have given them a list of words to choose from.  Otherwise I would have made him re-do the project to read more like:

“My mom does everything and therefore sold me and my dad to the gypsies.” 

The End.

Death Becomes Her

I have now been up since Sunday morning at 5 am, and I’m willing to saw off my own left foot for a few hours of real sleep.  And it might just come to that because then I’d have to be rushed to the Emergency Room, and then I’d have happy drugs and be forced to STAY in bed.

I’m not sure where things went off track, but the 15 month old decided that she did not need to sleep… at all.  And then as I was trying my best to lull her to sleep with snacks and milk and songs and stupid cartoons that I pray I never have to watch again, my insides felt like meeting the outside world.

So at midnight last night I had a bebe screaming her head off from her crib where I had to quickly dump her, the hubble was sound to sleep, rooms away and I was puking my guts out violently in the bathroom.  I’ll spare you anymore details beyond the violently part, you’re welcome.

Around 3 am I finally was able to unclench my body from the fetal position and stopped breaking out in hot flashes that I swear where going to melt the leather furniture.  Anddddddd the girl was still awake.  She is STILL awake.

But hey, I got to watch the clips of the Cardinals kicking the Brewer’s arses all night long… almost worth it. 

5 am hits and the huble just now stumbles out to see where I am.  I inform him that he was ->this<- close to finding my corpse on the bathroom floor and that he might want to stay home because I’m certainly not capable of doing anything which may or may not include breathing.

Quarter to 7 now and the bebe is still awake, the boy is up, the animals are all up and the huble is at work.  I am clenching my coffee tightly enough that I’m pretty sure not even the Preditor could rip it from my grasp.  All though he’s more than welcomed to try as long as he takes care of the animals first, gets the boy on the bus, tucks me gently into bed and keeps the bebe entertained all day. 

But that’s not the way things work.  Not even close.  Instead I have to convince my stomach that I have to move and convince my mind that 5 minutes of sleep is plenty to stay on task for the whole entire day. 

Coffee do not fail me now.

~Words~

 

tattoo

 

Tattoo

 

Tattoo

 

<img src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/276468878_DsiMGvLr_b.jpg&quot; alt="TWLOHA

 

(all images are from pinterest, with no orginal source mentioned)

I think they said it all.  ❤

Nothing, Seriously.

Because blame always has to lie somewhere, I’m blaming today’s monday-ness on Rosanne Barr.  She’s the perfect example of the Monday Stench Wench.  Starts out great, but just needs to go jump in a hole already. 

That said I really have nothing to write about today.  Unless you want to hear about my great adventures of scaling Mount Washmore, or how I Almost saw an elderly lady run over another elderly lady in her boat of a car, all at the speed of a snail.  No?  Fine.  Moving on.

Again, I have nothing.

Hrmmmm….

How about a quote of the day?  That’s almost something right?

“I want someone to occupy a kitchen and make me a sandwich”

Eh…

Maybe a picture?

Moosen Goosen

You can thank me later for wasting 5 minutes of your life.

 

Stealing First

It’s been a rather hellish week around here.  I was fully planning on dusting off the good old soapbox and gracing you on a wonderful speech on how protesting on a street named after a business that no longer is there is not the best idea… but you’ll have to wait on that one.  Try not to be too upset. 

I’m in a mood, a peculiar mood and it’s taking every ounce of my brain to rise above it.  It’s an odd twist of self loathing and wanting to eat the brains out of half the people I know.  It’s being happy and ticked at the exact same time. 

It’s trying to steal first base and then feeling guilty about such an insane idea, but still needing to fulfill that need. 

(give me a break I live in the Baseball capital of the world and we’re in the playoff’s)

It’s needing more in life, while still being extremely happy with where you’re at, but others losing the heartbeat in the message and crying out words of guilt at you.  It’s believing what they say.

It’s believing that you have to steal first to get anywhere instead of getting there outright and on your own.  It’s thinking that first base holds any merit at all instead of home plate, where by the way is where you start from. 

~And this is where I lose track of mind and suddenly end this very random post suddenly without really wrapping up the whole point.  You’re welcome~

 

 

Mommy Ran Away With the Goat

Monday ate my good-natured children and left their skins filled with rabid beasts last night.

Honestly.

Their fighting, tantrums and whining would have broken Mother Theresa, I’m sure.  There wasn’t a second where one of them was not yelling, crying or whining about something causing visions of National Geographic and giant katsup bottles to fill my head.

After the second, or fifth time of having to sit on the floor to keep them separated I had more than enough.  With no wine, no xanax, not even a beer in the house I did what any mother would do.  “Do you hear that hun?  That sound?  The goat MUST be in trouble….”  And I ran out the door.

Sweet, sweet, silence. 

Somedays I have come up with divine plans on moving in with the goat.  She’s soft, she’s warm, she cuddles and she keeps her mouth shut.  I could totally become a survivalist, living off the land, all alone in complete silence.  Just let me have a gun, a lighter and at least two months worth of coffee.

But they would all find me, most likely before I finished building my hammock of heaven out of twigs and vines. 

So I returned back inside, with fire wood of course, so it wasn’t so obvious that I had been running away.

I have 18 more years of this.  At least. 

I best get started on digging that wine cellar under the goat hut, I have to be prepared.

But dear, sweet minions, mommy has plans, you just wait until you’re old enough…  *evil laugh*.

 

 

 

That Thing

I used to have a “thing”, a thing that was all my own.  I’d have that spotlight that I craved, get that attention… it was mine.  All of which was an odd thing on its own, as I’m incredibly shy and would be on the verge of vomiting and panic attacks when I would even consider standing out. 

And then the uniqueness fluttered away, my thing became everyone’s thing and I slowly lost my nerve.  Competition always destroyed my guts.  I’m a wuss.

And then the thing became replaced by new things, family, bills, being an adult.  I lost sight of anything outside of the family/adult thing.  Things of the past just couldn’t fit in.

Lately though I have come to realize that I’m missing having my own thing, whatever that thing may be.  There’s a gut feeling that without that thing I may soon lose the edge on the things I do have. 

Have I said “thing” enough yet? 

But what is that thing? 

How do you fit in a thing of your own while still kicking arse at the day-to-day things? 

Will I ever figure this out and stop rambling endlessly on this topic? 

Did you notice that in that picture I still managed a ponytail even though my hair is like 2 inches long? 

And will George Harrison’s song about time and money ever get out of my head this morning?

“To do it, to do it, to do it Riiiiiiighttttt.” 

*headoven*

Exhaustion and Deer Guts

I am flat-out, 100% exhausted.

The night before last I tossed and turned the entire night with visions of forgetting things.  Not ordinary things, but odd things like forgetting to put the bebe in her crib (because hello, where else would I put her?), and her escaping her room, and reaching our stairs, which of course I thought I had left the gate off of, which means she would fall down the stairs, and would I hear her?  Or would she be in the laundry room eating cat poop and chasing it with liquid detergent?  Of course she was safe and sound in her bed with all dangers safely secured, but none the less I kept waking up with the same thoughts. 

Then I had a nightmare that my husband had people after him, and they were on the way to our home, and he was leaving for work, leaving me home alone with the kids and some psycho shooter.  Thanks hun. 

Of course that day the bebe decided naps weren’t important and it was better for me to chase her all day.  Lovely.

Then last night she decided she didn’t need to sleep and that playing at 1 am in the morning would be way more fun.  Which I might have survived through if I had not taken medicine to make sure I didn’t have a repeat of the night before.  Or if the huble had not woken me up to ask about laundry and something else equally deadly to ask a woman who had not had any sleep and was under the effects of sleeping pills.  I do however think that I am close to finding my death ray eye power.  Very close.

So now after a full day of not harming car dealers, and only mildly threating one loan officer guy with a stale cheeto to his eye, I am doing my best to pretend like I care about anything beyond closing my eyes.  You’re welcome mom.

And the huble, he’s out in a tree pretending to be rambo.  Which is great and dandy, because I would have passed out if given two seconds of quiet, and we really need the meat, and I love venison.  But.  If he gets one tonight.  I.Will.Cry

Unless someone can quickly mainline Dead Man’s Reach coffee straight into my arteries there is no way in HELL that I’m going to go trekking through the woods to help him drag a carcass up towards the house, in the dark, in the cold and then have to process the dang thing.  Did I mention that it’s cold and that I’m exhausted?! 

So chances are he’ll get two of them, even though he only brought out one arrow, but he’ll do it, somehow.  And they’ll both probably end up in thorn bushes, up hill, both ways, and a bear will probably chase after me while I’m out there… or the moosen goosen will attack me. 

I better go see a doc about getting that IV. 

Goodnight.