Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

It could always be worse.

Last night I went to bed at 9:30pm.

Would you like to know why I went to bed at 9:30 when I usually go to bed at 10:30 or 11:00 or even 11:30?

I went to bed so early because my laptop broke and I was so depressed there was nothing else to do but go to sleep or keep Logan on the edge of the sofa listening to me rage about Apple and the STUPID LOGIC BOARD issue I already had repaired in MARCH! Remember?

Honey? Don't you remember? When I sent it back then? Remember how I was so upset and forlorn without my lovely waste of your hard earned money...the iBook? Remember how I wasted all that hard earned money but I was 'smart' enough not to waste even more money on a cd burner!

Hey! And remember how I haven't actually gotten around to printing ANY of the last 6 months of photos I've taken with my digital camera?

Believe me I tried to stay awake running through these scenes but pretty quickly Logan ran out of anything to say other than, 'This is your punishment for buying this behind my back.'

This infuriated me further, so I just went to sleep. Excellent coping mechanism of mine.

Listen, I love Apple. I love everything about the apple. Suggesting I buy a pc is like suggesting I vote for Bush.

But I am so pissed about this Logic Board issue.

While the 'Genius' at the 'Genius Bar' was making sure I actually knew that my screen was black he said, "It looks like you have the Logic Board Failure...."

I said, "I know, I already had the Logic Board failure in March."

He said, "Really? I've never had a repeat Logic Board failure."

And I said, "It appears I suck the life out of computers AND men."

He said, "It's my break, I'll get someone else to help you."

Final thoughts: SO HELP ME! If this repair takes 2 weeks like last time.....I guess I'll just be really really pissed and everyone, yes...even you Internet....will pay right along with me!!!!!

Other thoughts from today!

*Does everyone have children who talk ALL THE TIME? I ask because HOLY SHIT my kids talk all the time. Madison is as I type, on this OS 8.6 G3 Power PC MONSTROSITY, talking herself to sleep. They talk and they talk and they talk and they talk and HOLY SHIT thank you LEXIPRO! Because by 8:00pm I haven't killed anyone!

*Today on our way to a playdate and errands Max kept asking me, "Why do we have to buy apples at the store today." and I kept responding, "We're not buying apples today."
Then I realized he thought we were going to the Store Which Sells Apples, As In Braeburn. Isn't that cute? Instead we were going to the store which taunts me with beautiful new machines while it carts away mine.

*Out of my first 5K this past weekend I've gotten, so far, a breakfast, a dinner, extra beer, undying adulation, tiny 3 year old cries of, 'I knew you could do it Mommy!' I'm working on new shoes, a haircut (I haven't been since the last iBook debacle!), highlights.
It's amusing how I can milk these types of things.

*Fireman Uncle Scott is something like 80 today. Happy Birthday brother and fellow Leftie.
My brother and I always sat next to each other at the dinner table because our odd use of the left hand and arm while cutting my mother's Rubberized Pork Chops wasn't disturbing to either of us. We understood one another.

*Also, many get well wishes coming to my Nicer Funnier Sister In Law who had surgery last week to repair a detached retina. Ouch. She's been incapacitated for 10 days. Laying with her face looking at the ground. Jesus.
Now that sucks and everything....but did her Logic Board Fail!? I don't think so!

Okay, enough. God I feel like I just sent out a long distance dedication and that ain't right. I gave you all a lot to think about.

Feel free to print this out and write notes in the margins and color code where necessary.

I've got time. My computer is gone you know.

Prime Time After School Special.

You know I wanted to write this post last night. But instead, I was entirely drawn into the teenage drama happening next door. I can't really describe the drama because I am utterly clueless about what the hell was happening.

But it was loud. There were hysterical tears! Yelling! Threats of leaving! Dramatic departures! Followed by slow talking downs!

The entire time we were attempting to watch Kill Bill Vol. 2 (and also attempting to write something) and the whole thing was fairly distracting. Could we really help it if we turned off all the lights in the house and sat in the kitchen window watching?

I begged Logan to give me $20 if I'd go outside and say to the Dramatic Teenagers, "Hey, kids....could we take the 'After School Special' inside for the night?"

Because that is absolutely what it was. A Prime Time After School Special.

Now that it's over, I can get down to writing something about my weekend.

Saturday night I played cards with friends until one o'clock in the morning. This is uneventful. Except that on Sunday morning, at 8:30 am, I was wearing shorts. Yes. I was wearing shorts even though I've sworn off shorts for the rest of my life.

I was also standing among a large crowd of people, not so much waiting for a starting gun, more waiting for someone in front of me to move as a signal that the 5k had started!

I ran my first 5K this weekend!

I really ran it. I put shorts on and I woke up early after playing cards late into the night and I ran!

I was very nervous for several reasons:

1. I haven't worn shorts in three years.

2. I didn't shave my legs for the occasion.

3. I have a history with 'Runner's Trots' which I didn't want to endure publically.

4. I've only run on the treadmill and one of the two times I ran outside resulted in a heinous display of the Runner's Trots.

5. I've only ever run for 6-8 minutes straight. In my training I have always used a 5 minute cycle of walking/running and have always struggled to do that.

So, Sunday morning I ran and HOLY SHIT! I ran!

Logan and his other robotic friend Missy kept pace with me and at first I watched my stop watch to see how long I'd been running. And all of the sudden....there it was. Mile marker 1. I'd run an entire mile straight in just under 11 minutes.

Then, I just kept running. I was still able to talk and I wasn't feeling like I was going to puke up a lung. And right when I said I needed to take a walking break, there was mile marker two! So I kept going.

I took a one minute break and then we started running again. I took one more 30 second break in between mile 2 and mile 3...but I ran the entire thing in essence!

I can almost not believe I did it.

After the running I did earlier in the week I thought I might totally skip the run. I didn't because of my new shoes. I also went ahead because I had built this run up in my mind as a very emotional break through.

I tend to think I've already suffered enough in my life. I grew up with an alcoholic father who killed himself. You can imagine what life was like growing up in that home. A lot of the time I feel like I already pushed myself through hell and I don't have to do that anymore.

But sometimes that attitude makes me a quitter. It makes me shut doors before I go through them. It makes me quit before I get started.

I also tend to be a perfectionist. I want to be the best at everything I do. I have rigid standards I hold myself to and when I can't attain these goals of being the best, I walk away without even doing my best.

It's awfully cliche, but also very true about me and how my mind works.

Several times I nearly fell into old patterns while training for this goal. Even a day before the event I thought I wouldn't do it because the thought of being last in a 5K felt like dying to me.

While we waited for the race to start I saw a pregnant woman in the crowd and I feared she would beat me. I saw several children under 10....and I viewed them as the enemy. "If a 9 year old beats me, I'll die."

And then, as we got going and I passed that pregnant woman, I screamed, "You're going down, breeder!"

As I passed the little boys running, I tripped them. I know it wasn't nice but I really didn't want them to beat me!

I wasn't the fastest. But I didn't swear very much while I did it. I didn't quit. I walked for less than one quarter of the time.

As we turned the last corner of the run, I felt like I was going to die. I felt like if I didn't get this over, I'd die. So I started running as fast as I could. That's how I beat Logan and Missy (which was my ultimate plan).

In my training the fastest I've been able to run 3.1 miles is 37 minutes. Given the way running outside had gone in this last week, I estimated I'd make the 5K in 37-45 minutes.

As I crossed the finish line I saw 34 on the timer and I almost shit my pants.

Seriously. (Runner's Trots you know)

Not really but I did almost pass out and throw up. I think it was the sprinting at the end of the race and also the shorts. How could I wear shorts after I said I'd never do that again?

I didn't run the fastest 5K (but for the love of Christ, the fastest guy ran a 14:25 5K.....what is he? A robot?)

Here are the Summers' results. Logan and Melissa

Please note: I am 862 overall, Logan is 863 overall. Which is the real reason I ran a 5K....to beat Logan.

Down Goes Fraser! Down Goes Fraser!

Let's all remember this: Melissa Beat Logan.

Not that I'm petty.

Coming soon on Suburban Bliss: We save $54 making these all by ourselves. See?

Relief Pitchers

I have something new up at Dotmoms.

Here it is.

We're working with deadlines now, which is helpful for me. However, it's especially helpful when you actually REMEMBER the DATE of your deadline. I had in my head the 9th and 24th....I'm actually the 9th and 23rd. I'm sharp.

Anyway....there it is.

Serious Buzz?

Hey! A local paper mention. Nice.

Welcome Free Press readers. Here are the two stories Mike Wendland mentioned:

A Pickle Is Touching My Sandwich

The Last Diaper

But feel free to read all about my wonderful summer barely hanging on to my sanity.

I've got to run, Max has preschool today and you know what that means. 2.5 hours of freedom like no other. Motherhood....without the kids!

The Candy Band.

I keep meaning to share this fabulous find with you Internet but I'm really not a music person so it makes it difficult for me to say anything intelligent about music. I say things like, "I don't know...I just like it!"

Mostly what I like is that this music doesn't make my soul shrivel up and die and my kids love it. And I love when stay at home moms have a life full of things other than....Gymboree and playdates. Also they're local and that's kind of neat too.

Here is an article about them and this is their website. It's kind of a blog because everyone has a blog now. Right?

They sell their cd's on the site and also t shirts which Madison is DYING to have. It's currently the 'bribe' for 5 happy smiley drop offs at school. We're at 2 smiley drop offs and 13 14 non smiles.

I'm also not ashamed to say we have our cd loaded on the iPod.

But it's not on my running mix. My running mix includes songs like:

It's been 4 months and still I'm dying!

What stupid asshole thought running was a good idea?

Anyhow. Check out Candy Band I predict big things for them. Since I know absolutely nothing about music.

Are you: FEELING THE PAIN?

Inside Madison's 4 foot 42 pound frame is a wrestler.

We've never actually watched wrestling in our home but tonight at bedtime talk turned to tomorrow's activities. Which include: The Worst Kind Of Torture Ever!

FIRST GRADE

Her: 'What are you and Max doing tomorrow?'
Me: 'Max has school.'

***I left out the part where I'll be dancing gayly. All by myself!***

Her: 'Well then, you won't be feeling the pain?'
Me: 'What?
Her: 'You won't be FEELING THE PAIN like I'll be FEELING THE PAIN.'
Me: 'What pain?'
Her: 'The FIRST GRADE PAIN.'

I realized quickly this was the kind of conversation which goes on and on and on. Leading to a very late bedtime and a wet faced mother in the bathroom questioning every parenting decision she's ever made. So I said, brightly, "Okay! We'll talk about The Pain tomorrow! Good night! I love you!"

What can I say, she has a flair for the dramatic. Just. Like. Her. Father. (And like me, a little.)

I didn't think much of this other conversation we had, but when I told my Texan friend about it today she was touched. So I'll share it with you too Internet.

I write little notes in Madison's lunchbox.

My mother once sent my 8 year old brother to school with a brown paper bag full of what she thought was a nutritious lunch. When my brother sat down to eat, he found a brown paper bag full of cigarettes. Because brown bag lunches AND brown bags of cigarettes are stored in the refrigerator. Duh!

I always hoped for a nice note in my lunch and not cigarettes. So Madison gets a nice note and on occasion, when I forget the Pringles, she gets cigarettes.

Usually the notes read something like: "I Love You! xoxo, Mommy"

Or!

"I think you're great! I hope you enjoy the cigarettes I packed for lunch today, it's a family tradition! Love, Mommy!"

The 4th day of school Madison said on the walk home: "Can you please not write 'I Love You' on my lunch box notes? Because it makes me cry when you write 'I Love You' and it makes me remember how much I love you. Also please don't write any hearts on my lunch notes."

So now my notes have a more formal tone: "Dearest Madison, I think you are great. Enjoy your day! Cordially, Your Mother."

Or I just write 'XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO -MOM'

Because hugs and kisses are formal enough for her.

It's so odd to think that one day, God Willing, Madison will be an eye rolling teenager who won't be able to even acknowledge my existence. When that happens I'll hold her teen age friends captive with stories about The Pain and then Madison will really be feeling The Pain!

Songs On Logan's iPod Which Might Make You Think He's A Girl.

1) Ray Of Light, Madonna

2) Toxic, Britney Spears

3) Move Ya Body, Nina Sky

4) Independent Woman, Destiny's Child*

5) My Immortal, Evanescence

*This is my personal favorite. Go ahead and picture my husband, running 20 miles while training for a marathon, singing along about independent women! He's an independent woman! Throw them hands up at me!

I just love my independent woman.

Tabula Pasta.

Madison has a way of bringing up all of my most deeply rooted insecurities.

I find myself constantly questioning who she is and how much I 'made' her that way.

Some things I really want to take credit for. Her sense of emotional awareness. Her ability to truly empathize with anyone. Her love of reading. Her correct use of the term 'Jack Ass'.

Other things I really don't want to take credit for. Like her inability to separate from me. Her ability to stay awake for hours and hours in her bed late at night. Her extreme anxiety in new or unfamiliar situations. Her inbelievably discriminating palate, which allows her to eat 5 food items. Total.

We all make mistakes as parents. We do the very best we can and sometimes it takes a little extra time to do things better. I have been fighting depression and anxiety most of my life really. I've always thought I could just pick myself up by my boot straps and get through the worst times.

Since I've become a mother my depressions have taken on a new dimension. While I'm muddling through these depressions, it's nearly impossible to be the kind of mother I want to be. It's also nearly impossible for me to be the kind of mother I want to be when we spend every waking moment together.

I struggled for so long to avoid medication again. I wish I hadn't.

Two weeks into the medication and I'm still struggling a little, but I'm able to carry on in spite of the struggle. My children are happier. I'm happier. The house is nicer to be in. I have the capacity, emotionally, to take care of my kids needs without feeling entirely overwhelmed. When you're depressed and struggling through your own emotions, it's very hard to take on anyone else's feelings.

I worry about all the time in my kids lives I've been trying to just 'pick myself up' and how much it's affected them.

When Madison struggles with school or social situations or anxiety.....it brings into focus all the ways I haven't been my best for her. And because I am catholic-ish and also a mother, I feel guilt. Deep in my soul I feel guilt.

On the other hand, (because this post isn't just about beating myself up...have you noticed how AWESOME I am at beating myself up!?) sometimes Max helps to prove to me that even though I do make mistakes and I am doing the best I can and sometimes the best I can has fallen short, sometimes it's not my fault my daughter has a specific temperament.

Both my children were raised by the same parents, in the same house, with the same general parenting philosophies. I've struggled with depression through out both their lives. I didn't breastfeed either of them. They both had a run with the cry it out method of sleep help.

Today I took Max to his first day alone at preschool. No parents staying behind to make things 'safer'. My big boy was going to be on his own.

And so was I!!! But this isn't about me.

Dropping off Madison involved tears and screaming pleas, "Don't leave me MOM-EEEEEEE". I tried several tricks to ease the separation anxiety. We read The Kissing Hand in the morning and I wore a vibrant shade of lipstick so I could leave a kiss mark on her hand. Still, the tears fell. Almost every single day for both the years she was in preschool.

Today Max marched ahead of all the other kids. Who were 'Nervous' or 'Anxious' and I swear he called one of them a 'Total Pussy' as he passed by. That was a little embarassing. He marched right into that classroom and plopped his cute little tuckus down on the circle rug and that was that.

I waved bye from the doorway and then. Well then I PEELED OUT and raced home to the beautiful silence of an empty home! But this isn't about me. God!

My point is, Madison brings up my biggest anxieties about being The Mom and in charge of the little psyches I've been blessed with for some unknown reason since I'm so screwy. With Madison I worry about how I've influenced her temperament.

But then I have Max, who has a very different temperament than his sister. He's not afraid to say good bye to me for a few hours. He makes friends easily and loves social situations. He doesn't seem to think about everything so hard. He might want to think a little harder before calling his classmates the 'p word' though. He just has an easier time with the things that give Madison a lot of trouble.

Of course he also has Grand Mal Tantrums and Madison has never done that in any consistent way.

I didn't create their temperaments. I just have to do all I can to help them navigate their strengths and maybe help them compensate for those qualities which hold them back from certain things.

It's a lot easier to do that part of my job when I'm not bogged down in the gray world of depression. I really never want to let myself get back into that place again. If the price of not being on medication is my ability to be the best mom I can be, then it's just not worth it.

I think I'm getting better. Don't quote me on that but I think things are starting to get better.

God help me they're getting better...how much longer can I keep this website full of intense whining?

A step closer to freedom.

Logan has the week off work this week and we're not doing anything in particular. Except, you know, having wild sex all over the house while both of our children are at school!!!

I said that simply for the effect it would have on my sister.

We're not really having sex on the dining room table. But my God we could! Because both our kids will be at school. At the same time.

Today Logan took Max for his first day at school. We were both going to go, but that seemed a little too enthusiastic for my taste. So I stayed home and made Logan call me on his cell phone to narrate the proceedings.

I didn't really, but I wanted to.

I was a little surprised by my level of excitement about this day. I guess I knew I'd be excited about the start of school. I've been thinking about this day since before Max was even born after all. Thinking about the day I'd drop him off at school and walk away empty handed for 2.5 hours of freedom two times a week.

I knew that was exciting. I imagined, for a long time, how great that part would feel.

What I was less expecting was the pure joy and excitement I would feel for Max. My cute little boy who loves people and playing and who knows I may leave but I'll always come back. I wasn't expecting to feel this excited for him.

I wondered if I might feel a little sad to see my son, my youngest, my last, growing up.

Not surprisingly I don't feel sad to see my youngest growing up. I become a better parent the older my kids get. It fits me better I think to have school age kids. I feel myself getting closer to becoming the parent I want to be as my kids grow up. Of course I'm currently having a nervous breakdown, but you know let's not split hairs.

It's for this same reason my age doesn't bother me in the least. Of course, I'm only 31 saying this. But I never dreaded turning 30 because being a 30 year old mother seemed to make more sense than being a 25 year old mother.

Seeing Max go off to preschool just seems to make more sense to me. I'm better at parenting when I'm not solely responsible for it.

Of course it helps that I love Max's preschool teachers and they adore him and couldn't be more pleased to have him in their class.

It's nice to see other people enjoy your kids.

Here is Max getting ready to head off to prep school. He's not really but my God could I have dressed him more like it?

Yesterday, I Turned 31.

It was a lovely birthday, spent mostly alone.

I slept until 10 am. Wrestled with the children. Ate a doughnut (which is typically verboten). Spent 2 hours alone in my house while the kids went to the zoo with their Uber-Father. I went to a coffee shop in town and gathered my thoughts.

When I came home there were two children who had been fed, a lovely dinner waiting and a spouse who was flustered but hid it, far better than I ever can. (Imagine: While cooking dinner the glass jar which holds our flour, shatters all over the kitchen. I respect my husband so much.)

After dinner we share a lovely cake, which Madison had a very obvious hand in decorating.

I realize this may not seem like a great birthday.....but how badly last year sucked, this is a vast improvement.

Thirty One is going to be the best year ever. I can feel it.

God is good. Every day!

I'm always torn on this website between being genuine and trying not to hurt anyone's feelings. Also I'm torn between being genuine while still protecting the privacy of my husband or anyone I care deeply for. One rule I've given myself and I generally follow is to not write anything about anyone in my life here that I haven't or won't say to them personally.

Of course, my in laws are an exception to this rule since everything I've ever written about them here I've also said to them. Repeatedly. But life is full of compromise and I love my husband more than I love writing about my in laws and the most horrific details of our unbelievable relationship. So I guess I'm not genuine in that way. But then if you've been reading long enough you know I have unpleasant feelings about those people so I don't really have to write about it anymore, do I.

Sometimes though, I have to break my own rules because the comedy is too much.

On the off chance my cousin or someone else from my extended family comes across my site, I feel I must apply some loving disclaimers to the following recollection of our wedding weekend.

Let me start by saying, I'm not sure I've ever seen a bride more glowing than my cousin on her wedding day. She was radiant with joy and her new husband seems like a great match for her and my cousin certainly deserves to have love and joy and happiness in her life.

She also deserves to have the pleasant wedding of her dreams. Her first wedding involved a lot of powder blue tuxedos on a lot of exceedingly short men. Except my brother, who at 6'1", towered over all the other 5'5" groomsmen like a powder blue freak of nature. Considering the powder blue wedding of her dreams nearly 20 years ago, I'd say this was an improvement and I'm absolutely certain the groom is an improvement over the first one.

It seems a lot of the love and joy and happiness in my cousin's life comes from organized religion. Conversely, none of the joy and happiness in my life comes from organized religion.

When reading what I'm about to write you must understand this fundamental difference in my outlook as opposed to my cousin's outlook. This doesn't mean there is anything wrong with my cousin's love of PowerPoint presentations during her wedding mass, it just means I prefer a different, maybe a more traditional wedding mass.

I was raised in the Catholic church and things were a little more sedate there. There was singing, but generally there wasn't a projection screen at the front of the church making it some kind of Holy Karaoke.

There wasn't dancing in my church. Crazy dancing in the aisles and arms raised up to heaven and seizure like movements indicating joy. These things make me, being as demure as I am, uncomfortable. In my church while growing up the craziest things got was the part when we shook hands and offered 'peace' to our neighbors in the surrounding pews.

I sometimes waited with giddy anticipation for that moment. When we got crazy and shook hands with near strangers. Sometimes my sister and I would just shake hands with each other or dramatically hug one another over and over.

Then there was communion at my cousin's church which consisted of what appeared to be a big fat chocolate chip cookie. It was more likely a piece of whole wheat flatbread, but I half expected the pastor to do a Cookie Monster impression shoving The Body Of Christ into his mouth yelling 'Cookie cookie...me eat cookie....'

In the church I grew up in, we got a piece of styrofoam and we shoved it in our mouths and it stuck to the roof of your mouth and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD (!) don't stick your finger in your mouth to dislodge The Body Of Christ! Just wait for it to dissolve and try not to think any impure thoughts while it's in your mouth.

In my church there were no musical stylings, there was no band and there were no electric drums and like I said, there was no 'breaking it down'. Ever. In my cousin's church there was all of that. Plus a guy in a purple suit with a yellow t shirt who fancied himself the Don Johnson of christian rock.

My personal favorite part was the "Church Cheer" which goes like this:

Pastor: "God is good!"
Everyone else, except my own stunned family: "All the time!!!"

Pastor: "God is good!"
Everyone else, except my very uncomfortable family: "All the time!!!"

Pastor: "All the time!"
Everyone else, except my familiy who was now thinking, 'can't we just shake hands or something?': "God is good!!"

Then everyone hooted and hollered and it was weird.

At the reception it all started going down hill when my brother yelled out at our table, "God is good!" and I answered, "All the mother fucking time!"

This segued into Logan 'Putting 'em up for Jesus'

The rest of the night was littered with "High Five For Jeeeeee-SUS!!!"

Because we're a bunch of heathen assholes. Except my brother and his wife who regularly attend church and pray for our souls.

But really the wedding was exactly what my cousin wanted and it's nice to see my cousin looking so happy. She certainly deserves it after that first powder blue wedding and the powder blue marriage that followed.

I believe God was with us at the wedding, because he sat me at one end of the aisle and my sister, brother and sister in law were at the very other end. If we'd been sitting together, all hell would have broken out.

God really is good. Every mother fucking day.

Here are some pictures from the wedding. I didn't get a lot and my camera is so awful inside without the flash and it's also awful inside with the flash so the quality is lacking. Maybe in ten years I'll have my dream camera. Until then, enjoy these shitty pictures!

I used to be funny.

A few papers have run an article which links to my site. And WOOO HOOOO! The articles mention how I tell FUNNY stories about my kids!

Isn't this funny? That part below where I compare mothering to punching myself in the face? I'm a laugh riot lately!

Anyway, if you're here from the article I'm going to supply you with some links. Because even though I'm losing my mind and falling off the deep end lately, sometimes I can tell funny stories.

There's this one where I talk about mercilessly torturing my mother. I'm Pretty Sure Making Fun Of Your Mother Puts You In The Carpool Lane To Hell.

A Pickle Is Touching My Sandwich.

Puppy Love

The Last Diaper

See, sometimes I'm less of a complaining, whiny spoiled brat who takes the Lord's name in vain and goes crazy instead of counting her blessings. Sometimes I'm funny!

Titles are for babies.

At first it felt like being home all day with just one child would be so easy.

Instead it's like I'm punching myself in the face a little more gently.

How did I get such a bad attitude about mothering? I'm annoying myself now.

It is actually better with Madison otherwise engaged all day. Of course, it would help if I didn't have to physically peel her off my body everyday. But this appears to be my curse in life. To raise a child who believes I will leave and never come back.

We went on a date night last night. It was our favorite brew pub's 9th birthday! Which meant $2.50 pints. Which meant we were happy.

We talked about moving. We talked about selling our house and moving to a townhouse. I mentioned that a lot of the townhomes I've looked at don't allow cats. Logan's been resistant to the idea of moving, but when I mentioned the cat thing and how we'd have to find them new homes....he got a sparkle in his eye and said, "Of course we should move."

If only it were that simple.

I'm tired of having a house. I'm tired of worrying about fixing things. I want to call someone else and tell them something needs fixing....and then I want them to fix it.

We bought a house before we were ready. We bought a house because we'd always planned on buying a house when we started a family. We'd planned on starting a family after we'd been married for five years. Then, 8 months after our wedding, we were pregnant. So we bought a house because that's what we'd planned on doing.

My house overwhelms me. The yard overwhelms me. I don't want to take care of anything, just the kids and Logan and myself. There isn't any time or energy left for the house (or the cats).

I'm really a drag right now. One more week until I'll be in a medicated stupor.

I still have to write about the wedding, but I'm having a hard time concentrating.

I realize I sound like a raging lunatic....but I'm not. I do have an upper lip in dire need of a waxing but I look relatively normal...it's inner turmoil mainly which I spew all over the internet. (My new way of torturing myself is taking pictures of myself on the way to events to see how obviously my upper lip needs waxing. I really am going crazy I think.)

But while I spew my craziness onto the internet, I get email reminding me not to take the Lord's name in vain and telling me to count my blessings instead of going crazy. I tried that, in fact I'm up to 75 right now and I'm still going crazy.

Thanks for the tip though.

Break It Down.

We have a tv/vcr for the car and we've heard a lot of comments like, "When we were kids there weren't tv's in cars. We actually talked! And sang Kumbaya! It was good enough for me and it's good enough for my kids!"

The thing is, when I was a child we didn't have a tv in the car either. Instead we had an angry father who threatened to 'Give you kids something to cry about in about 10 seconds!' for most of the drive.

We didn't have tvs in our cars back then, but we also didn't wear seat belts because in the 70's seat belts were something the hippies down the street were forced to wear. And 'God damn it, we're not hippies!'

We didn't have a tv in our car, so my brother and I entertained ourselves by putting my little sister on the arm rest in the middle of the back seat. The 'Hump' seat, which she liked because it made her taller and she could see. The exciting part of my sister sitting on the hump seat was the constant threat of her becoming a high speed projectile should we come to an abrupt stop.

Also, I seem to recall a cooler of adult beverages in the front seat.

So of course we didn't need tvs in our cars back then, but things change.

We wear seat belts and we don't place small children strategically for ejection and we don't drink while we drive. When you add all this up....watching a few movies while driving doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore does it.

I'll admit it's a little sad how my children become brain dead zombies while we drive. But I finished an entire People magazine AND the Ikea catalog on the way home from Chicago yesterday, so can tv in the car really be that bad?

I have more to tell you about my weekend. Most of it involves a church with a band who, in the middle of a song, called out, 'Now we're gonna break it down!' The black hole in my heart where organized religion might have gone grew five sizes that day. Thankfully, no one noticed.

My vision of God and Jesus really doesn't involve breaking it down. Ever.

Anyway, there's more to tell but you know how it is. Remember how I'm really unstable? And how the doctor said it should take 3 weeks for my medication to work? It's been 10 days, so you can imagine how things are.

Break it down....

medicating mommy.

Thank you all for your reassurance, kind words and understanding.

Most of the time I do think Madison is just who she is and I didn't 'make' her that way. Just like I didn't make her a Potty Prodigy and I didn't make Max a Potty Retard. It just worked out that way.

Sometimes though, especially when I'm just emerging from a time where I haven't been the best mother I could be, I feel tremendous guilt and I worry about who my children are and how who I am affects them.

I worry about that more than anything else about being a parent. I can't change who I am that much, so I'm just holding my breath and hoping I do enough things right so they still turn out to be happy, smart, self actualized adults. Okay, not self actualized, but it'd be great if they never formed a John Tesh Fan Club. Mostly I just hope they'll let me be a grandmother to their kids one day because I think I'll be a lot better at grandmothering than I am at mothering.

So hopefully I apologize enough for all the things I'm doing wrong. Also, I hope this medication works and makes me less freakish. It might also help if we move somewhere with year round schooling.

I really love my kids. I think they're cute and smart and sensitive and well behaved (generally). I adore my little family and I feel so lucky to have them.

I'm just really not very good at the actual work of raising a family and keeping a house. Most of the time I take that statement as a simple fact. It's just how it is. Other times I feel like a terrible failure at the most important job I'll ever have. I truly wish I was better at this part of my life.

Hopefully school for the kids some of the time and medication will make it a little easier to do my job here. Hopefully it will at least allow me to let go of the guilt and be a better mother.

We're going to Chicago this weekend for a family wedding. My whole family is going and I think we'll avoid giving my mother a stroke or a heart attack. But if this wedding sucks, all bets are off and Mom is becoming our source of entertainment.

Don't act appalled....you and I know you're hoping the wedding sucks.

First Day Of School.

School is back in session.

Aside from my boobs, the experience of dropping off one of my children at school each morning has made me the happiest I've been in a very long time.

I still have two weeks until Max starts school, but having one child as opposed to two is like a little bit of heaven right here on earth. Although, recently Max has started talking, a lot.

Several times during the last week of vacation I didn't think I'd make it. Madison used her spit to 'give the cat a bath.' Max is officially potty retarded. He stood in front of the toilet about to sit down (we haven't even attempted the stand up method) and he peed on my foot. This was upsetting to me for some reason. The Big Deal was/is looming large. One day last week we came home and found what looked like a kind of large disembowled bug on the floor. I closely inspected it and wondered what the hell kind of bug this could be. A few minutes later I found more pieces of the 'bug' on the floor. A moment later, I realized the fish bowl was empty...guess what my cats disembowled? Holy Fucking Gross.

Every time I called Logan to complain about things like the cat covered in Madison's spit, the potty retardation, the homicidal cats, he would reply, "Just one more week baby."

And as I melted the chocolate, I didn't think I'd make it. I really didn't think it could happen. But sure enough, time passed, and here I am. I've been so happy today, running errands without The Bickerson's. Bickerson #2 without Bickerson #1 is a lot easier to tolerate...even if he does talk a lot.

I dropped her off on Monday morning, expecting the worst and was pleasantly surprised. She was so brave and marched right into class and sat down and slyly waved at all her friends from last year and kissed me goodbye with a little nervous smile on her face. I could see in her eyes that she was nervous....but she did it anyway.

I don't always force myself to do things that make me nervous or uncomfortable, so I really admired my little girl. My nervous and anxiety ridden twin daughter. She looks like me, she acts like me, she reacts emotionally to the same things I do.....and I was so proud of her for marching into class like a FIRST GRADER!

But then tonight, Maddie cried herself to sleep and I sat in the living room (after an hour long bedtime cuddle) crying too.

Yesterday when I picked up Madison she told me about the fire drill on Wednesday. She told me Mrs Rutherford told them it would be loud when it happened and Madison didn't want to go back there because she didn't want to hear that loud fire alarm. "Can't I go to a different school?"

Then this morning she cried at drop off and had to be physically removed from my arm. Somehow this puts me in an unsettled mood in the morning. Leaving my daughter crying for me at school. Knowing the teacher has a lot of children to take care of. Knowing that she'll get lost in the shuffle. Knowing that my little girl is scared.

It all makes me feel like a horrible mother. Why is my 5 year old so afraid of being away from me?

But wait, it gets even sadder!

In the past when she's struggled with being away from me (you know, for the last 3 years since she started preschool), she was only sad at drop off. But today we got the added treat of sadness after school, and sadness during dinner and then all out sobbing at bedtime.

At bedtime we laid down together to talk and I tried to empathize by saying things like, 'I'm sorry it feels that way.' and 'I had a hard time when I started first grade too.' and 'I know it's scary now, but I promise it will get easier.'

I left out the part where it gets easier when you're like 25. I also left out the part where I tell her she's doomed by having me as a mother because she looks like me and apparantly we share the same emotional makeup.

During our bedtime chat she said something that was so smart and so heartbreaking and I'm crying again thinking about it.

"It's just that the lunchroom is so loud and it's so big and all the big kids are there and I'm only 5 and I feel like a little mouse and they're all like cats or snakes and I'm scared of all of them."

Sometimes when Maddie acts like this I feel frustrated. I feel irritated because I can't have a child who can roll with life a little easier. Mostly this happens when I can't understand or empathize with what she's feeling.

Other times, like now, I know exactly what she's feeling and I feel sick thinking of her in that school feeling scared and lost. I know what it's like to feel small and overwhelmed by all the kids and all the noise and the chaos. I felt that way in first grade and I felt that way in 12th grade.

I try not to project too much of my own experience onto her...but I feel sad because I want her to like school more than I did. I want her to have a happier childhood than I did. I want her to feel comfortable in her own skin and sometimes I feel powerless (even with my boobs) to help her.

This is probably happening because I didn't breastfeed her. Or because I'm a depressed and anxious lunatic. Or because I don't love parenting enough.

I tend to avoid Mother Guilt because I think women are mean and judgemental enough of one another without me being mean and judgemental of myself. But sometimes it's really, really hard and I just really want to raise happy and healthy little kids and sometimes I feel like I'm failing.

**Please....please....do not suggest I home school my daughter. There couldn't be anything worse for both of us.