Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

I am wiped out. I mean it.

My sister came over last night with a car full of craft supplies and also beer. Sierra Nevada beer.

We spent the evening crafting and I know you see the link to our Cafe Press store on the right side of your screen, but we have more up our sleeves.

Look, I nearly hurt myself creating goods for sale:

Glue guns don't kill. Glue gun users kill.

Here is the mess we created.

Doesn't my sister look like Wednesday Addams* here?

Anyway, there are t shirts up on Cafe Press and we have plans for other items, like the bumper stickers but we're waiting until we find the place to order from which requires the least cash up front to order.

Logan created his own, more graphical version, of the MomTini. He also claims he'll create a new banner for this website, but I'll believe that when I see it. He's a busy busy man. I love him. But he's very very busy.

If you need a t shirt. You should get one at my cafe press shop because you need to show up at your play dates ready for a party.

We're exhausted here at the Bliss household. It's sad when it's Sunday night and you're happy because tomorrow is Monday and a return to weekdays will be less stressful than the weekend has been.

[Edit: Lisa let me know that the character I was looking for was Wednesday Addams, not Tuesday. I'm retarded.]

Flailing.

Hey! I have a job!

It's a little job and it's not 'the' solution to our situation but you know every little bit helps and perhaps this will ease my mental load enough to focus on some of the other projects I have going right now.

Logan also got two freelance jobs today.

I'm afraid to say things are looking up but could they be?

Also, I was talking with friends today about some of the ugliest moments we've had while parenting and we all had some hairy moments to share. We comforted ourselves with the thought that in the end these hairy moments aren't the moments they'll remember.

Tonight after dinner we all ended up in Madison's room and we were listening to her music and dancing. I wasn't dancing, I was laying on the bed watching because....I AM NOT USED TO WORKING! I'm only used to laying on my arse all day waiting for clever emails to come through my inbox in between endless games of Whack A Mole.

Logan is a really shitty dancer. While he danced he begged me to please make sure Madison takes her dance tips from me and not from him. I'm not a particularly good dancer but I'm better than Logan who calls 'flailing' dancing.. Robots can't dance.

But there was my beautiful family dancing and laughing in my little girl's bedroom and I just pray that one day those are the things my children remember about growing up in this house.

Fun times punctuated by momentary bursts of insanity. From all of us.

When I tell you the song we were listening to you're going to wonder how our children will ever make it to adulthood unscathed.

Peace Frog from The Doors.

In my defense it is kind of a catchy tune. Of course, I wasn't completely aware of the lyrics. The good news is the kids are already familiar with the entire Rage Against The Machine library so they were already fucked. At least Peace Frog is totally danceable. Unless you're Logan and then it's totally flail-able.

Lots of flailing with momentary bursts of stillness.

Reindeer Games.

Wow, my head was spinning last night when I first tried to write this and I don't think it was just the two bloody marys I had yesterday with Chrissy.

Chrissy would like it noted that we do not 'Galavant', rather we like to call what we do 'Reindeer Games'. Also, Chrissy may or may not want this noted but you should always go to the potty before you partake in the Reindeer Games because childbirth can often weaken you bladder muscles. You know, since the whole gig isn't a big enough mind fuck we also need to piss our pants!

I love reading all these comments, except the ones from people who enjoy being judgemental and ugly and post anonymously. Who said this? I don't remember I've been reading so many things today and yesterday this may not have even been in my own comments but someone else's. Someone pointed out that apparently 'Judgement' is a family value. Hooray!

I have new books to read and more things to think about and I think all of this thinking can only lead us to better places. Hopefully places where I'm not stealing quarters from Madison's piggy bank to fill up my gas tank!

A few things have been on my mind lately besides mayonnaise and the parenthood/self/work/balance dilemna. One is the fact that this website's look is now terribly outdated and once again I'm stuck unsure what to put up. I guess I could go with the irish theme since St Patrick's day is right around the corner and as we all know I'm a raging irish lass. So until I decide, pardon the pinky theme.

Another thing is I really have to update my about page, Max is going to be four on March 20th for christ sakes. I've tried to update it but I guess at first I had a lot to say about myself and now I don't have very much to say about myself. I'll keep working on it I guess.

The final thing is, you should know that I read all my email and I love it (except if you call me a bitch or reatarded [sic]) but sometimes I don't respond to it right away. Sometimes I leave it in my inbox as I try to come up with a witty or clever response and this usually takes quite a while because I can often be slow with the witty emails and then a few months goes by and there it is, your email sitting lonely and dejected in my inbox. By then it's been so long I'm embarrassed so I don't even respond. I'm sorry.

For example, this gem from my nicer, funnier sister in law, has been in my inbox for two months now. I laughed when I read it and then, when I tried to respond....all I could say was 'Uh. Funny!' And that's not witty or clever is it?

The Setting: Our kitchen as we're getting ready for work. Your brother walks in with something in the pocket of his shirt [remember, he's a fireman.]

Me: 'Is that a ziploc of bacon in your pocket?'
Him: 'Yep.'
Me: 'Okay, have a nice day.'
Him: 'You too.'

Finally Logan and I have made a pact to work on some cafe press stuff this weekend. My friend Jerry gave us the go ahead to use the artwork he created for me so we're going for it. I've also been looking for a place to get a car decal made. You know those white ones the soccer moms put on their rear window? I want one that's the martini glass and binky. I'm not having a ton of luck but I'll keep you posted in case you want one too. I think it will be perfect for my minivan.

Oh and also, Logan is the nicest guy in the world, I think too nice for his own good. I mean he married me and now he's trapped! But a kind reader emailed me about the clever note pad Logan crafted for me as a Valentine's Day gift. She wanted one for her upcoming anniversary and wondered how he made it.

I forwarded it to him at the office and instead of just giving her the directions, he offered to make one up for her. I love him and so does the Internet! Hooray!

Where I say a lot, but nothing at all!

I had all these grand plans to discuss in some intelligent or interesting manner the Judith Warner book and article in Newsweek.

I've been formulating notes and talking endlessly about the article and the ideas presented within it with anyone who is nearby.

"Max, don't you think it's bull shit that I can't make a choice that works for this family? That I'm not happy here all day every single day but finding a position that gives me the flexibility and pays me enough to be out of the house for a few hours each week, is so unbelievably elusive?"

"Madison? Didn't you get the feeling that this article wasn't necessarily blaming women for parenting the wrong way so to speak. It was just saying that a lot of the 'mommy wars' come out of this feeling that we can't do it right no matter how hard we try. That we're set up to fail and then, we think we must not be doing it right if we're struggling? But then in an effort to feel better about how we're doing we have to attack other people and their choices so we feel somehow better about the fact that we're not perfect either? Didn't you think that?"

"Okay fine, Socks, it's true that I haven't fallen victim to overscheduling and as I've become more confident in my own parenting I don't feel the need to judge other mothers. I still have this feeling that I need to be doing more or that I want to be doing more, but my choices are limited and it frustrates me. I feel I'm blamed for this family's financial flailing. Like it's my fault because all I do is take care of these children. And MY GOD one of them is even in school all day! I feel like I can't win. You know? Where are you going?"

So I was going to try and bring this topic to my website where I typically do the thinking and perhaps there would be other people who would be more interested in this conversation than my three year old and six year old and the cat who, by the way, was licking her anus the entire time I tried to talk to her. Is it any wonder I'm losing my mind here?

But now it's late and I got distracted by the 'Mommy Drive By' thread at Chez Miscarriage and I spent my entire evening from the time the children went to bed, until now reading with a mix of shock, sadness and fear that I've said these types of things inadvertantly and hurt someone as deeply as I myself have been hurt.

As I read I kept running through all the things I have said over the last six years since having Madison. I know that when I first started I felt very insecure about my choices. Staying at home full time, bottle feeding, my bought with PPD. All of it.

Some things added to that insecurity. My work out of the home sister in law verbally giving me a hand pat when I mentioned taking Madison to a playgroup ("Well of course, you must go crazy all day in that house."). The well meaning stranger asking me why I wasn't breastfeeding. All those things tweaked me in those early years. I didn't know what I was doing so I felt very sensitive to all those things around me.

I started to believe that staying at home with my child had to be the best thing because WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING IT FOR? As time has gone on I've realized I have stayed at home for a few reasons and none of those reasons have anything to do with it being THE Right Decision. It's been the right decision for us but that's all. There was the cost of daycare for two children versus what I would be making. There was the fact that Logan travels and works loads of over time. There was the fact that Madison is a nervous kind of child. She's highly sensitive and just can't take a lot of stimulation, daycare would have overwhelmed her.

It's been a sacrifice and right now we're dealing with the financial turd left behind by the void of a loss of income from my not working (and then compounded by the loss of an additional $30K of income Logan lost following his lay off) but even now I know it was the right choice for us.

At the same time? Have I felt trapped by being a stay at home mother? Have I felt unfulfilled? Have I tried to entertain myself by hiding mayonnaise in my unsuspecting husbands chicken? Have I blamed myself for feeling unfulfilled, trapped and conflicted? Have I blamed myself for the financial ruin we're dealing with? Absolutely. Is that fair?

My internet trolls think so! Weeeeeeee! But really? Is it so ridiculous that I should have the option to stay at home with my children and have our ends meet up reasonably well with one income? Why do I feel like I've failed my family by staying at home all these years?

See, I've said nothing! Also, I'm still unemployed!

Mayonnaise Betrayal.

One of my resolutions for 2005 involved using up all that mayonnaise I bought during Lice Fest '04.

It's amazing how fast one can use mayonnaise when one puts her mind to it. It's true I can't seem to stop our financial ship from sinking, but God Damn It! I can use mayonnaise!

I've made parmesan artichoke dip, several tuna salad sandwiches as well as a few egg salad sandwiches. Logan, as I've mentioned, HATES MAYONNAISE! and he means it.

But guess what? Sunday night for dinner I slathered our chicken breasts in mayo! And parmesan cheese and italian breadcrumbs and it was so delicious. I hid all the mayo evidence and when Logan ate it he asked, "Where's all the oil coming from?" and I lied. I looked him in the eye and said, "It's just a little olive oil and some parmesan cheese."

After dinner I asked him if he liked the chicken and what kind of huge bitch am I? Because I didn't even tell him about the mayonnaise. I didn't tell him because I wanted him to read about it here when he gets in to work tomorrow and loads up my website to see if I wrote anything new.

There it will be, the ultimate betrayal. Because not only did he eat the mayo, he liked the mayo!

Next stop! Pickles!

Notice:

IF THERE IS A GOD DAMN SNOW DAY TOMORROW I WILL......

Well I'll be very pissed off. Let's just say that.

STOP SNOWING RIGHT NOW!!!!

Nostalgia For The Thrifty Acres? Seriously?

In the comments of my last post several ex-michiganders recalled Meijers, mostly fondly. It is true, as Sweetney says, that Meijer is a 'one stop' shopping mecca. Pinky recalls the freedom of being able to buy "...socks, birthday cakes, hamsters or food..." at any time of the day or night. I've had a lot of hamster emergencies in my life. Believe me. MonoCerdo is also correct, the Ypsilanti Meijer was the stinkiest in all the land.

While I attended Eastern Michigan University, in Ypsilanti, all my attempts to avoid a real job came to a close when I realized I couldn't pay my rent ($135 a month! Ha ha!) and my car payment ($94.19! HA HA HA HA HA HA!) by selling my plasma and stripping my clothes off for life drawing classes alone.

I had a two other on campus jobs but I still needed more money because somehow working one hour a day at the student newspaper wasn't making the ends meet. College was SO AWESOME for me! You know what else is SO AWESOME about college!? I'm STILL PAYING FOR IT! AND I CAN"T GET A FUCKING JOB!

Oh my God where the hell is this post going?

It was about Meijer when I started. So I got a job at Meijer and I didn't go to the Ypsilanti one because as I said before I went off on that self pitying tangent, the Ypsi Meijer was scary and stinky. I went to the Ann Arbor Meijer because I believed that Meijer to be a better, less stinky, place.

On my first night I was plopped behind the customer service desk BY MYSELF within 45 minutes of my arrival. In the middle of a transaction I excused myself for 'just a moment' went to the cloak room, grabbed my belongings, punched out and ran home.

This is the sure sign of a shitty work environment. The manager called me back and asked if I'd come back the next night. I WALKED OUT OF THE STORE IN THE MIDDLE OF MY SHIFT!

I'm sorry for all the yelling. I don't know what's wrong with me today.

I did go back but it only got better! In the sense that it got even more insane. To say I hated that job would really miss the point because that job was so amazingly awful you had to almost like it because it sucked so horribly.

I was the least loyal employee Meijer has ever had. I took returns for used merchandise. No receipt? Fine whatever just make it time for me to leave. I didn't care that you were deliberately committing retail fraud. I just couldn't muster up an ounce of outrage for these people.

But sometimes someone would for whatever reason incite me to follow the rules. The drunk man with no legs who asked to return a sweater. Sometimes in these instances, I'd just make up a price and take it because I don't feel like arguing with you.

But something about the drunk man with no legs and his worn and smelly sweater pushed my button that night. I told him I couldn't take back his sweater since it was worn, had no tags, he had no receipt and it smelled. Like him. (I didn't say that but I wish I did.)

He was so very very very angry he could hardly contain himself. He began screaming at me and calling me all kinds of unpleasant names. It was like the Internet Trolls had materialized in front of me and they were a drunk man without legs in a wheelchair.

He suddenly lunged at me! He FLUNG himself out of his wheelchair and onto the counter. I just stared in shock and he kept swearing and his anger made him froth so he hung onto the counter and screamed at me.

Of course when he lunged the wheelchair went flying backwards and there was no place for him to go. He just hung on the counter, leg stumps dangling and saliva flying from his filthy mouth.

It took all my strength not to push him off the counter. Instead I just laughed until security arrived.

Now, why is it I can't seem to force myself to work retail?

Burning Daylight

Dear Internet,

I really wish I could talk but I'm busily burning daylight. Burning daylight is a phrase coined by my friend Ginny. It fits.

On the bright side, it's Friday.

At the breaking point,

Melissa

PS. Amy In Motown: The beer was on sale at Meijer, the new sale starts tomorrow so hurry. We found it at the one at 13 mile and John R in Madison Heights. The other one in Royal Oak sells the most crappy of crappy beer all the time. Do not go there.

[Update! My friend Jerry just sent me a sound file and the originator of 'Burning Daylight' is John Wayne. But it still fits for our application. Here it is. However I sound much more weary when I say it. Because I am. Weary.]

How Risque Can A Mime Be?

It's really hard for me to believe my luck isn't about to change because this weekend we did our shopping and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale was on sale for $5.40. Miller High Life costs just about that much for the love of God. I love a bargain and a beer bargain is like a piece of heaven.

Once my sister inadvertantly slept with a mime. She didn't mean to sleep with a mime but when she came back to his apartment she found his decor to be decidedly mime like with photographs and posters of Marcel Marceau. Her date noticed the change in her mood and asked what was wrong. "There's just a lot of mimes in your room. It's....unnerving," she replied.

He told her Marcel Marceau was his idol and he started the Society Of Mimes at his school but was kicked out for performing a 'risque pantomime'. When she told me this a few months ago, it made me spray beer across the table through my nose because WHAT THE FUCK IS A RISQUE PANTOMIME?

I kept meaning to write about the mime and the lewd pantomime which knocked him right out of the Mime Society and ruined all his mime dreams, but I forgot. Until last night and I think it's just another sign that my luck is changing.

Last night my sister called and invited me out for a drink (or four) at Woodward Avenue Brewers and as we sat down our waiter came to take our order. She introduced me and after he left said, quietly, "That's the mime! The Risque Mime!" And thank God I hadn't gotten my drink yet because she mimed a blowjob and I'd have sprayed the entire place with beer.

It's a little known fact: Making fun of mimes is really entertaining.

I'd also like to share an odd little dream I had last week.

I stopped to visit my sister at her office and she was wearing a star of david armband and I asked, shocked, if they were being forced to do so by the Nazis. But no, it was actually just to get free beer! Wow, what a well thought out plan that would be. I'm sure it wouldn't offend anyone.

I came up with that dream I'm sure because Logan forced me to watch Office Space for the 89 millionth time last week and the part about the Nazi's forcing the Jews to wear pieces of flair really struck me this time as opposed to the other 88,999,999 times we watched the movie.

It's day three of vacation and surprisingly everyone is still alive. I filled in today with the zoo. Tomorrow is a Bloody Mary Playdate (don't worry! I'll let the children run around with steak knives while I get totally shit faced!). Then Friday will be the last day I have to kill. God willing something will come up, something that doesn't involve bloodshed.

My Valentines Rule. I also suck at Valentines.

About 7 years ago, over Valentine's Day weekend, Logan and I went to the Old Shillelagh and later got unexpectedly pregnant with Madison, just seven months into our marriage. While on the pill.

I am terrible at these types of holidays.

This afternoon I debated what kind gesture I could make toward Logan, the love of my life, which wouldn't cost any money or require a lot of creativity because I'm not good under pressure. I came up with two ideas: I'd clean the bathroom because that's the thing in my life I hate doing more than anything. Not because I'm opposed to cleaning but because my bathroom is literally falling apart beneath the walls. So I mainly try to shower and dry my hair without really looking around. Cleaning forces me to see how horrid the bathroom is. The other option was a blow job.

I'm a romantic at heart so you can imagine which I chose in the end.

Logan on the other hand is perhaps the most romantic man I have ever known. Of course my father once bought my mother a freezer full of meat for Christmas so I'm not coming from a particularly romantic background.

The kids and I woke up to find cinnamon rolls, freshly baked, before Logan left for work at 7am. Next to the cinnamon rolls were a few small gifts.

Three books titled 'What I Love About....[fill in our names]'

I don't have Madison's because she hid it in her room tonight at bedtime. However can you guess which text is from which book?

So yes, my Robotic Husband is also incredibly demonstrative in his loving. I hope to be demonstrative later on.

The other gift Logan left on the counter this morning with the cinnamon rolls and the books was a magnetic notepad of his own clever design and construction.

At the bottom of each page:

I am so lucky. If having an awesome husband was a marketable skill, I'd have at least six jobs.

Sunday Night Thinking.

I referred you all to Mr Kato's site because I was quite touched he bought a text ad just to be kind. I thought it would be nice to send some traffic to his website.

On Saturday morning our friend John emailed me and informed me he's friends with Ken. They went to high school together and were drama geeks together and recently went to Las Vegas with him and a larger group of pals, many of whom I also know. But then it's even weirder because Ken has known Logan's sister in law since the third grade. He asked me if we were at Logan's brother's wedding and we were in fact at the wedding. I was the maid of honor and Logan the best man. Ken found a snapshot of us all up there on the stage during the ceremony. Me, wearing an awkwardly fitting dress which smooshed my breasts into the most unflattering boobs a bridesmaid has ever had.

They had a very clever wedding at the Michigan Theatre in Ann Arbor. I wish I could show you the pictures but I probably shouldn't since my sister in law loathes me and hasn't spoken to me since that fateful October when I was informed she had read my website and proceeded to share it with my parents in law. Thus, I don't write about my in laws anymore. Don't ask me, I'll refuse.

Isn't that so odd? I love the random connections the internet reveals.

Sometimes you just have to let things go for a little while. I'm coming to realize that it's time for me to stop discussing my job situation and my crumbling financial house because at some point the venting becomes counter productive and actually quite boring. Even for me. Of course it's easier for me to say this on February 14th, because as I've mentioned before we are paid on the 15th and the 1st of each month.

But there's good news for all of you. I'm so neurotic, unstable and also certifiably insane there are plenty of other things for me to lament in this public forum.

This week is Mid Winter break. Didn't we just have winter break back in December? Isn't the hell of summer vacation looming? What about Spring Break? Is it any wonder American children are so stupid? It's so much easier to love my children when we're not together all of the time.

I'm just praying there's a bloody mary play date on the horizon because it's been a very long time since we had one what with all the illnesses interfering with our drunken galavanting.

A comparison.

My nightstand:

Logan's Nightstand:

Perhaps you didn't notice the half naked man on my husband's nightstand:

Also, he called me on his way home to tell me he's found a new song which will be added to the list of songs which might lead you to believe he's a girl.

Okay enough poking fun at Logan. Although, I'm writing this at 9pm on a Friday and he's AT THE GYM.

Gaybo.

Secret Agent Josephine has done it again.

How can you not love her?

These will be perfect for my sister and her Not Boyfriend to celebrate the upcoming holiday.

My Big Day.

How to make this as funny as it actually was.

I've been getting a LOT of advice about my job search recently from everyone. I appreciate it, most of it. Except if you say stupid things like, "Wow, you're really sad that you've been looking for a job since September and haven't gotten one, YOU NEED MORE MEDICATION!" or "Is your PRESTIGIOUS address worth your mental health? Why don't you just move?"

But I do appreciate the help, honestly. I'm totally desperate and sharing experiences and ideas is always truly helpful. Just don't tell me what the right thing for me to do is, because that's just rude.

The Internet is so....funny sometimes.

Today I arrived for my interview five minutes early, as planned. The office manager seemed nice enough and the sales guys who worked in the office seemed extremely attentive.

"Do you want some coffee?" one asked.

"A bagel?" another asked.

"Fruit?" the first asked.

I was slightly shaken when the office manager invited me to have a seat in her office and there was a doll leaning against her desk hiding her face, as if playing hide and go seek. I had to sit with my legs touching the 2.5 foot tall doll. Also in the office were various ceramic hippos and that was unsettling as well. Although that child sized doll against the desk resting on my leg was pretty fucking weird.

The interview started and we chatted and I made lovely small talk because my most marketable skill right now is my 'charming chatter'. And we chatted. Her husband works in Royal Oak, which is where I live. I asked her if she realized Royal Oak is a very prestigious place to live. I also asked her if she realized the sidewalks are paved with gold in Royal Oak and she didn't realize this either. Neither did I.

We were chatting and having a wonderful time and every once in a while a salesman would peek his head in the office just to see if I needed anything. And I didn't. She never really asked me any questions, she reviewed my resume with me and talked a lot about what she needed the person in this position to do.

Some of it made me uncomfortable I'll admit, because I knew it was over my head. But I heard the voices of the many many volumes of advice I've gotten in the last five months of this job search. Those voices said, "Most of what they tell you, you'll never have to do in your position." And, "You just need to get the job and you can figure it out once you get in."

So I assured this woman, this woman who loves ceramic hippos, that YES! Of course! I know how to do that! And THAT! I can do that while I'm sleeping! And I love doing that! It's my favorite thing to do!

So she handed me a document and she asked me to recreate the document, using a formula in a program I really don't know how to create a formula in. I know how to not fuck up the formula in this program, but I don't actually know how to create a formula in this program.

I could figure it out with a book from the library and a few tutorials, but there was no book and no tutorial in the office.

But I'd implied to this woman that I could create a formula so you can imagine what happened when she took me over to a computer (a WINDOWS based machine for the love of God) and left me to point and click for a while. Until I realized there was no fucking way I could figure this out.

It was pretty awesome to walk back into her office and tell the lady who loves ceramic hippos that I uh...didn't have a fucking clue what I was doing so I'm just going to grab my coat and my handbag here and then I'm going to drive my car into a brick wall because this job search is going so fucking awesome!

And so, I did.

*I'm just going to turn off comments because you guys? I've done everything. It's just not happening yet. I don't know what that means exactly but you can't fix it. I love that you want to fix it but you just can't. This sucks and I'm depressed and I'm angry and I'm sad. I don't need more medication. I don't need to sell my house and move to Canton.

I'm not going to give up but I am going to need the weekend to process this latest upper cut to my jaw. I'm humiliated and hurting and tired. I know that I share my 'sob story' on the internet but I don't do that so you can fix it. This is a blog, a diary and this is what I'm struggling with. I wish it was like TV and in 20 minutes, with strategic product placement and advertisements, I'd have gotten the right job (for now) and this wasn't an issue but life doesn't work like tv. I can't clean it up nice and tidy for you...so don't get pissy with me and be a shit head about it. JUST DON'T READ IT WHEN YOU GET TIRED OF MY WHINING. Please, please please promise me that. Just stop visiting for a while and maybe when you stop in again I'll have figured this out and it will be over.

I don't want you to kiss my ass. I just want you to not say anything if you don't have something nice to say. I just don't need it, it doesn't help and I'm surprised you think it would help. If you don't like those rules then don't read website. You can start your own blog and solve all your problems yourself in a nice neat manner. With product placement and a guest starring role with Joe Namath.

Okay?

Hey, go read Real Kato Online for good times and I'll bet he won't mind if you tell him the answers to his dreams are in Canton Michigan.

Well, I Tanked.

I thought the other interview and lack of job was the low point. This is a new low and I don't think it's getting any better any time soon. I think I'm only at a plateau of the shit.

I tanked so badly that the only way it could have gone worse is if I accidentally burned the place down. Or if I fell out of my clothes as I walked through the door.

It went so badly that I'm going to short out my computer if I keep typing. Because tears and snot are not meant to mingle with the iBook.

I'll tell you all about it later and believe me you'll walk away saying, "Wow, she wasn't kidding, she really doesn't have a single marketable skill."

The only thing that could make me feel better is if Chrissy invited me over for a bloody mary after school...but I can't do that because I have to go sell my plasma with the homeless.

Hey! I broke the vase!

The good news about Madison's unexplained fever is that instead of taking the time to melt the chocolate before dipping her in it, I can just place the chocolate on her forehead, it will melt and I can then swallow her. No messy clean up afterwards!

She woke up this morning, happy and fresh faced with a perfectly normal temperature of 98.6 F. So I rejoiced to the Lord and said, 'Thanks Be To God. I can now sell my plasma to pay for cocktails instead of doctor co pays!"

I decided to keep her home from school, even though it's a T day and we don't fuck with T days around here. Also, I'm such a good mother I wanted her to be completely healthy before being hit with the onslaught of germs all those small people carry while trapped indoors all winter. Really I just want to make sure I don't have to deal with this again, in the uncontrollably vomiting form.

All day the fever was gone! She was her usual crabby self! Fighting with Max and bossing him around! Our doctor's office closes at 5pm. Guess what time I found her laying on the sofa with watery eyes? 5:15pm. Guess what her fever was? 102.7!

Tomorrow is Wednesday, she'll be home from school tomorrow which will be the fourth day she's missed school since Friday of last week. Monday the 14th is the first day of some atrocity called "Mid-Winter Break"

ANOTHER WEEK OF ALL DAY TOGETHERNESS!

It's something to look forward to really.

I'm getting nervous about this interview. I revamped my resume in November and prior to that I'd not gotten a single interview. Since the revamping, I am actually getting interviews. You could even say several. You could say I did a nice job fixing up my resume to highlight my best skills (which would be swearing like a trucker and holding my weight in sierra nevada pale ale). I'm starting to realize I must be doing something wrong while actually speaking to these people. Am I spitting on them while I talk? Blowing snot out of my nostrils? Begging them on my hands and knees to please just give me a chance? It's my hair isn't it? My eyebrows? I haven't had them waxed in, forever. If I were interviewing me, my eyebrows would offend me too. In fact, I'm not even interviewing me and I am offended by my eyebrows.

I've read about interviewing and I've made up scripts and memorized acronyms and honestly, for the types of jobs I'm looking for, all I really need is a fucking pulse.

I'm running out of the funny here people. I'm trying really hard to just get through this. I can see how people get trapped in this cycle and actually I see how Logan and I have ended up trapped in this cycle. This is really depressing and stressful and anxiety provoking. It's easy to see how we peeked at this looming issue over the last 3.5 years and didn't want to face it. Because facing it meant feeling like this, and this really sucks.

So now the challenge is to not let it shut me down. It's easy to want to go to bed early, at say, 10am, and not peek out again until it's all over. It's hard to keep sending out resumes and keep going to interviews, only to be rejected. It's hard to face a day where something might break and need fixing. It's hard to walk out the door in the morning and realize you need gas. It's hard to face a day where you'll get an email from friends reminding you of your dinner plans for the weekend. A dinner you can't go to after all. It's hard to say no when going out with friends is the thing that gives you some of the best joy in your life lately.

Someone told me it was taboo to talk about financial issues and I never realized that. Maybe I did realize it. Maybe that's why we kept the curtain shut so tightly on the behind the scenes juggling we were doing for all these years since Max was born. We thought it would get better and we'd catch up. It always did before.

It always got better before and I'm still kind of grieving the fact that this isn't getting better. That it's all fallen apart on us. That the juggling stopped working and we're left with all these pieces which aren't easily picked up. (And secretly and mostly unreasonably, I blame GW.....I know, don't argue with me. I know I know I know. All I know is that when the president was getting blow jobs we were still paying our bills and were upwardly mobile. I know I know I know. That's stupid. Of course blow jobs have nothing to do with our financial situation but maybe if George just tried to get a few blow jobs every once in a while...I mean maybe it would help us? And if it didn't help us, it seems like it couldn't really hurt anyone? Right?)

The kids started saying this thing whenever they drop something or fall or break something, they picked it up on the Tee Vee I'm sure because I'm constantly trying to dumb them down by plopping them in front of the idiot box. Whenever something falls or gets broken they yell out, in a goofy, happy voice, "Hey, I broke the vase!"

I've adopted this odd saying myself. I walk around saying it all day. At least once an hour, sometimes more depending on how my grip on my sanity is holding up. Lately, I've been saying it a lot. And the kids keep saying, "No Mom! You only say it if you drop something!"

The thing is I say it when I balance the checkbook, or as I open the bills or when I answer the phone calls or when I think about the plumbing or anything else which is related to the storm of doom...."Hey! I broke the fucking vase!"

It all feels overwhelming and the hardest part of my days lately is not crumbling right down with all the pieces, crawling back into bed and just giving up.

The other hard part is not eating all five boxes of girl scout cookies in one sitting.

It's not going very well so far.

as good as i'll feel all day.

I read (saw in a movie? Saw on a blog?) somewhere that Frank Sinatra said, "I feel sorry for sober people because when they wake up, that's as good as they're going to feel all day."

I've been not drinking because when I'm seriously depressed, drinking just doesn't particularly appeal to me. Mildly depressed? Sure! Totally happy? Make it a double! Even when I'm mood neutral I like a few happy hour cocktails. But when I'm seriously depressed I lose my will to drink.

Each morning when I wake up and still feel mildly hungover, because I'm not a morning person. At all. I think of old blue eyes and how totally right he was. God bless him and his cirrhosis ravaged liver.

I have another interview set up for Thursday which has elevated my mood a bit.

It's a job which pays enough for my working to have monetary value in this home. It's a schedule which is totally livable for Madison, Max and Logan's ever demanding career. It leaves me time at home with Max (just not 24 hours a day, which is a bit much for me. I'm self absorbed!), time at home with Madison after school and time with Logan when he's not working.

It would be really nice if I walked in there on Thursday and it felt right and she liked me and I liked them and they said, "Every Thursday is cookie day and we bring your favorite kind of cookies! And Tuesday is Try a New Cocktail Day! and Wednesday is Take a Nap At Your Desk Day! And on Monday....we go shopping! With an expense account!"

Short of that, it would be nice if the people in the office smiled and it would be nice if the woman I'll be working for is nice and doesn't have halitosis and an overwhelming need to talk about her goiter. But maybe I'm getting too specific.

Madison has been sick since Friday morning and I'm pretty much totally over it. It's just a fever so far but she never runs a fever and our experiences with fevers have been unpleasant to say the least. I'll tell you about her febrile seizure sometime. Otherwise known as The Moment We Believed Our Daughter Was Dying In Logan's Arms. Good times those.

She did throw up tonight but it was very surreal. She was brushing her teeth, children who have stuffy noses and are mouth breathing have the most HIDEOUS breath you can imagine, and called me into the bathroom. "Mom, can you come in here please?"

I arrived and there was something on the bathroom floor but her calm demeanor made it seem impossible that she'd just vomited. She's a "Loud Puker" like her mother I'm proud to say.

I asked, "What happened?"

She replied, with a shrug, "I don't know. That stuff just came out of my mouth."

I guess I'm calling the doctor tomorrow. I called today but it was busy all morning. Literally from 8:00am until 11:00am, busy signal. Then I stopped calling because it seems to me the plague has arrived at my doctor's office and I don't want to catch anything else in that festering petri dish.

Max has been trapped in this house since Friday. His playdate had to cancel because of Madison's fever and we've been unable to leave the house. Though he did get out for a while with Logan on Saturday and Saturday night with my mother.

Today as we played I asked if he wanted to play with his race track set (must have toy for your 2-4 year old) and he said, "I think it will bother Maddie since she's sick."

And tonight he asked her how she was feeling while she was snoozing in her bed and even though she was as rude to him as ever (Eyes rolling, "I'm fine Max.") he said as he left her room, "Have a good rest sweety sweetness."

We may be stewing in sewage and financial doom may be swirling around our heads, but I love my kids. Also I love those costco sleeping pills.

good night.

Nyquil

Today has been a particularly painful day. From about 3pm on I began thinking, longingly, of the moment I'd take a dose of Nyquil and fall into a deep restorative sleep and how tomorrow everything would look a little brighter. I'd be feeling better and I'd get a call about a job and it all hinged on that dose of Nyquil.

There aren't a lot of feelings worse than getting ready to take that sweet sweet nectar of slumber, and realizing the box....is empty.

Sure I'm going to lose my house, and I can't get a job and our home is surrounded by sewage oozing from pipes but what's sealed the deal on this day is the Nyquil stolen from me.

Right now I'm laying in bed and figuratively shaking my fist at God.

i've gone from mommy blog to unemployment blog

I just plowed through 261 pages of job postings. I have as of today sent at least 50 resumes out. This doesn't include the resumes I sent out before I started recording each one. I've interviewed at just six places and have yet to get a single job offer. I'm taking it personally.

I did locate a plasma donation center. Conveniently located on the very edge of Detroit, but don't worry it's on the suburban side of the edge. Max can sit in my lap while I sell my plasma.

Logan and I keep saying this set of years will go down as some of the darkest in our lives, in our marriage and in our life as a family. Sometimes we look at how things are going and how we've arrived at this point and it almost doesn't seem real. Sometimes we pretend it isn't real at all. And we're both shockingly good at denial.

It's not that our marriage is falling apart or that our relationship with our children isn't as strong as ever. It's all this stress we're constantly under. We can't get out from underneath it. It's a steady stream of soul sucking stress. I just hope that one day we will be able to look back at this time as something other than what it is now. Saying we'll look back at these years seems to imply that things will be different and I know everyone, including Logan, thinks that's true but I'm totally and completely deflated.

And you know, when I say Logan loves his job but doesn't feel compensated for the amount of work he does? And remember all that email I got telling me how horrible I was to want to tear the joy from my husband's life in the name of money?

Let's try to keep in mind that this is a public website and I can't exactly vent about my husband's job and share his vents about his job because as neat as it would be for me to get my husband Dooced, it's certainly not worth it.

But trust me he has complaints about his job. And I'd like to share them with you...but I can't because it's 5pm and I am at the beginning of the illness that's been roaming through my house and I have to go make dinner because 'Mr I Love My Fucking Job And My Wife Just Wants To Suck The Joy From My Life' is at the office finishing up a project because that's the kind of worker he is. He stayed until 11pm and 12am three out of five nights last week and he's been at the office since 11am this morning.

I'm sick, exhausted and still unemployed!

'Special Hug', Not Effective.

Madison likes to ask me stories about the past. When Logan and I met and our first kiss and about the day she was born.

she'll say, "what did it feel like when I was born?"

I'll want to say, "I felt like I was breaking in two." But I want grandchildren someday so I leave out the 12 hours of labor and the 3 hours of pushing and the forceps and the slicing. I just say, "It hurt a lot."

She replies, "I don't think I want babies."

"You don't have to have babies that's okay."

She says, "Right, I know! I just won't get married and then I don't have to have babies."

I felt the need to clarify and it all went to hell at that point.

"Well you could get married but, remember when we talked about the sperm and the egg? And how they have to get together to make a baby? And there's a special hug that lets them get together? There are things you can do to make sure the sperm and the egg don't get together if you don't want to have a baby."

She ponders and says, "Okay so I'll get married but I won't hug my husband."

[Frantically thinking: WHERE THE HELL AM I GOING WITH THIS?]

"Well no, remember I said it was a special hug?"

She looks confused, "Okay, can you show me the special hug?"

...
...
...

"Maddie, maybe you should just be a lesbian."

[Job Interview: will pay $xxx.xx a month. day Care will cost $xyy.yy month. The difference between $xxx.xx and $xyy.yy is $44.00 a month. Still looking.]

I love Secret Agent Josephine.

I have always been a fan of Secret Agent Josephine and her blog. She takes great pictures, often graces us with a video, draws lovely pictures, makes lumpy cats, she also designs and on top of all that she does floral design

In fact, she is so amazingly talented....Logan's looking almost lame now. The two of them would be an annoying multi talented couple and no one would want to be friends with them.

She started a cafe press shop with cute items meant to help augment her upcoming Paris trip with her sister in law and mother. Isn't it nice that she wants to go to Paris with her mother? Because when my mother and I go anywhere we drive each other crazy and can never make a decision and when we walk together we inevitably bump into each other while we aimlessly wander. Stupid American indeed.

I wanted to help her in her quest because I do love her things so much, but we have not a single penny of extra money since I am seemingly unemployable. So I emailed her and asked if she'd be able to put together some sort of valentines cards for Maddie to exchange at school since that's the only 'extra' thing I'll be purchasing in the next few months.

After going back and forth with ideas she came up with these! And I love them! And Maddie told me she can't wait to give the one with the puppy to Ryan who she loves now. Recall last year when it was Brian, not Ryan for Christ SAKES!? My how things change in the world of the first grader.

So go, and download the pdf and keep your karma nice and clean, make sure you click on the donate button and chip in some cash for the custom valentines which will save you from Shrek2 valentines this year.

Bubbling Trouble.

It takes a lot of energy to obsess about things and believe me I know because I'm exhausted. On the bright side all this obsessing has caused me to be on the kitchen floor scrubbing all morning for dear life. It seems to me there may very well be answers in that floor if I could just get it clean enough. (This makes me believe, wholeheartedly, that I've already lost my mind and the Lexapro is a little like scotch tape holding me together.)

Surprisingly the plumbing which could cost $1000 at best and $20-$40K at worst, really isn't even bothering me that much. It's because I have honed my denial skills over the years. The pipes are running deep beneath the ground and when things are hidden you can't see them. Since I can't see the pipes, which may or may not be spewing raw sewage into the ground around my house eroding the foundation of our home, I really don't need to worry about it.

Of course when the house falls down around me I'll think to myself, you knew this was lurking beneath the surface and you did nothing.

No, no, no. I'm not obsessing about the pipes. I've moved along to obsessing about my future and my plans and how I'm going to make those things happen. I'm mostly wondering why it is that I seem to hit my self destruct button whenever an opportunity pops up in front of me. I'm wondering why it is I try so hard to say the meanest things about myself first before someone else can say them. I'm wondering when I learned to be so mean to myself. I am questioning why I have this need to stop myself before I even start.

Of course, I can't find the answers to these questions so now I'm going to obsess about what the hell I'm going to wear to my second interview tomorrow afternoon. It's a job I don't want at all, it's not the right job, but it's a job I need. It's a job I'll do for as long as it takes to actually find the right (enough) job and at that point I'll quit and leave them scrambling, resentfully, to find my replacement.

Do you think gray pants say all that well enough?