Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

I Demand A Constitutional Amendment Banning Summer Vacation.

Tonight someone I know from Madison's school emailed and gave me a little update on her life. They're heading up north to their cottage for two weeks and in the second week her two girls will be going to camp from 9 until 5. When I read that I began crying because I actually think that might be the only way to save my children from me and me from my children.

I always hope when I write something about a situation I'm facing, like the never ending summer, that things will look different in the morning. Sometimes writing about things does help me to face them with a different attitude after I get it all out.

Unfortunately, this is not one of those times.

Tuesday we did attend Park Pals, and Max had a horrible meltdown so we had to leave after about 45 minutes. This was THE event of our week and he, not to blame him since he's just four and learning to control himself, but he ruined the entire God damned day.

I don't drive around muttering about things very much anymore, but I muttered the entire drive home that day. "All day you ask, 'what are we doing!?!?!' and when I take you to do something this is how you behave."

I think I still felt a little sore about how Tuesday's park date turned out and so today I decided to try out some of the recommendations left here earlier in the week. I'm not going to bore you with the details of what we did but I will say that I lugged the air pump and extension cord up from the basement. I lugged the giant pool out of the shed and opened it....finding a small colony of ear wigs. I squealed and sprayed and stomped and got them out. I filled the pool with air. Washed everything with bleach. Sweat my fucking ass off in this rancid humidity. Rinsed the pool several times. Noticed the air wasn't staying in the pool. Spent 20 or so minutes trying to locate the leak. No luck. Filled the pool with air. Moved the pool. Filled it with water. Filled the pool with more air. Got the kids ready for big fun for the fucking kids!

I have no other way to say this.

My kids, are incredibly annoying. When I think about the 20 minutes they spent in the pool today, not swimming, but rather standing in it. When Madison actually slipped and got wet....pool time was over just 20 minutes after it started. When I think about those 20 minutes they spent in the pool and the hours and hours they did staring at me all afternoon, wondering what they could do, I wince to admit this, but I hated them. For those hours this afternoon, I tried really hard to just accept that my kids don't know how to do summer. I tried to love them anyway.

But I fucking hate summer and I am trying really hard to remember what it is I loved about them. What did I love about them? Because I do remember loving them. I really do. I remember not wanting to hold them down in the wading pool screaming at them to have some God Damn Fun until they started to gleefully splash around.

I just hope I start to love them again. I know I will.

Madison's class assignment for next year arrived today. I am guessing that right around August 29th I'll feel madly and passionately in love with my children again.

I know it sounds just awful, and it is. It really is. It's not helping that Logan is gone from 6am until midnight each night. He does come home most of the time to eat dinner with the kids and for that I am eternally grateful.

He is physically exhausted and I worry about him. Not only that, he's so exhausted there is no room for anything else. I can't lean on him because he can't take one more commitment. When I explain to him how I hated them today. How I filled the pool and cleaned it and they spent 20 minutes standing in it and I just can't do this anymore. I can't face one more day doing this.

He says, "Yes you can."

Or I'll say, "Here's what happened I can't believe this! Who are these people we're raising?" and he'll say, "Well did you try a? Or b? What about c? You should just do c."

Which appears to be helpful except that a, b and c are always things I ALREADY DO and they are not working and the fact that he says that is so dismissive of the hard time I am having being responsible for these kids all the time. I crumble under the weight of that responsibility.

I tried tonight, before he left for work again, to explain it this way. "When you complain about a client, how helpful would it be for me to say, 'Well, did you tell him it just can't be done that way?' or did you try explaining to him it doesn't work that way? What about explaining your budget doesn't allow that? You should just tell him that." Because those are all things that really should work right? Those are the things which would diminish a lot of his headaches right now. But it's not how it actually works and for me to suggest these things would be a lot like saying "This is easy, figure it out. Here's how, why didn't you think of it!?"

But that is all he is able to give me right now because he's being pulled in 400 different directions. The effect is that I'm worried about him, I'm worried about me, I'm worried that I really am going to hate my children for the rest of forever and I feel emotionally abandoned.

I'm also worried this isn't PMS but is actual reality.

Entertaining! All the fucking time!

Between summer [fingers]vacation[/fingers] and Logan's job, we're all dying a slow and painful death.

Tomorrow is the weekly park playdate I set up for the summer with the preschool moms. I did it because last summer I fell into a pretty horrible depression. All the daylight which had to be burned overwhelmed me from the moment I opened my eyes in the morning to the loves of my life staring at me asking, "What are we going to do for kids today?" Right through to the minute I went to sleep each night, panicked about what I'd need to do to burn through all of that daylight too.

After this last weekend I now have back up to my theory that we didn't do anything for kids when I was growing up. We just played and if we didn't play we didn't sit around asking our mother to take us to the movies or out to lunch or to the bookstore or the library or to the zoo or to the nature center or the state park or to the science museum or history museum or art museum.

We spent the summer riding our bikes and skinning our knees and running through the sprinkler and if you were lucky your friend had a pool like my friend Kelly did because that killed a lot of the summer. And, if you were blonde like me, it also turned your hair green!

I know I'm a young-ish mother but I don't have the time or the energy to create field trips every God damned day. So a weekly playdate with Max's preschool buddies (and their older sister's who Madison loves) will hopefully keep me from collapsing under the weight of "What are we doing today? And after that? And what about tomorrow?"

At least today I could say, "Tomorrow we're going to the park. And if you ask me what comes after that I will splay your innards all over the dining room table. Ha ha!"

I was talking to a mother at the library a few weeks ago, just before school let out for the summer. She mentioned how she wasn't quite sure if her son would be ready for preschool in the fall. I said, trying to be supportive, "Well, it can never really hurt to wait can it?"

She looked me in the eye and said, "I know it wouldn't hurt him to wait, but it would hurt me. I am so ready for him to go!"

My mom-meter went off the charts at that moment thinking I'd found a fellow kindred spirit who understands how much pressure it is to be your child's 'everything' day in and day out. I moved into the summer vacation discussion. I was wondering if she had maybe signed her kids up for a very well run personal 5 days a week day camp which cost around nothing for the summer. Because that's exactly what I'm looking for.

But no, she hadn't found anything like that. However! She found that last summer when she broke each week into a "Learning Segment" it made the summer go by so much faster. For example, one week they focused on astronomy and they did art projects about the stars and even camped out in the yard to look at the stars late at night! Then they studied spiders for a week and next came the dinosaurs and they took field trips and blah blah blah.....my brain shut down and I realized I am not super mother, in fact I'm barely passing motherhood with a D+ (the + is simply because today I read a chapter book with Madison, wrestled with Max twice AND let them have ice cream at 3 o'clock in the afternoon).

I know a little more routine would help us survive this summer so much better, but I'm not seeing where the weekly lessons are going to come in. Maybe a "Mojitos For The Mommies" session? We can learn about fractions and we can draw pictures of the mint, maybe even grow some! Then we'll learn about Cuba! What other drinks come from Cuba? See, I'm too lazy even for this.

I actually almost can't believe how lazy I am.

I really like weekends.

This weekend my brother and his lovely wife came up to visit from Indianapolis.

I don't have a lot of energy left for anything but pictures. You can see our trip to the zoo and Bastone over here.

I took the Rebel to the zoo but once there I melted into a pool of sweat and was not able to take pictures, thankfully Logan took lots of them.

I think the moment from the weekend which sticks in my mind is the one where my brother told us the story of the cicada he ate on a kayaking trip, and as my sister and I gagged/vomited/tore our faces off with the horror, my sister in law said, "I married him. I could have married any of the other men I dated....any of them with a 'normal' family, but I married him."

Now, I can't speak to my brother's inexplicable desire to eat cicadas while on drunken kayak trips because that's just fucking freaky. I don't care that my family is full of a bunch of fucking lunatics, that's just plain freaky.

But the thing I can't figure out is if she said she didn't marry someone with a 'normal' family as if it was a bad thing. Because we're certainly not normal and thank fucking God because I have no idea what the hell I would write about if I were from a 'normal' family.

Today I decided to clean the house because our visitors from Indiana brought into glaring focus the ways in which I've let my house fall apart. Except! The Rebel beckoned me out of the house to take pictures of the kids and Logan while they washed the car.

This picture is my favorite so far with the Rebel.

This is my favorite picture of Logan's ass with the Rebel so far:

Here is my favorite cliched photo of a flower I've taken with the Rebel so far:

Also, I should let you all know I'm committed to traveling to California to DRINK MY FUCKING FACE OFF discuss in an entirely mature manner the pros and cons of discussing your life in such a personal way on the internet.

The 13 hour playdate.

Yesterday we attended a playdate at Leslie's house.

It started at 11:30 and it began with me stating, "I am going to be a gutter drunk by the end of this stupid summer."

And I am because these children are making me insane and it's only day 4 of summer vacation.

It ended at the brewery at around 12:00am-ish with Leslie and Andrea. I think. But I'm not sure. I walked home so don't worry.

There was some sort of game on the tv and it seemed like everyone was there to watch it....Andrea and Leslie and I were there to drink and gossip and talk and I hope I didn't admit to them my secret desire to be a cheerleader. Oops.

I am currently so sick, I don't think I can rise from this couch without an IV of fluids and an intravenous shot of B-complex vitamins.

Remind me not to do this to myself anymore. (Ha!)

At some point in the night I lost the lens cap on my new baby. Any idea where I can order a new one?

I can't wait until Madison has a blog.

Remind me not to leave the house for the day after writing out the pros v. cons of Blogher. I like to come home to 8 or 10 emails, but 85?

Things that tipped it over the edge: Logan heard about how it is a L E S B I A N event and also Alice mentioned Pillow Fights! There's a penis behind everything on the internet.

But what I wanted to write about was this journal entry I found amongst Maddie's end of the year paper work. I will share the image and then transcribe the text.

5/25/05 One day my fat cat [Gary] scrached my eyelid. It was bleeding. My brother was my only hope! [Drama?] I didn't need an eye pach I needed medasine that tasted like bubble gum. My mom was naked. She was screaming. My mom was in the shower. [Thank you for that useful tidbit!]

I'd wondered what it would feel like if Madison had a blog.

Now I know.

**The cat scratched Madison while I was in the shower. Max came and told me, I told him to send Madison in the bathroom. When she walked in her eye was totally covered in blood and I thought he'd scratched her eyeball and her cornea was laying in the living room. So yes, I was indeed naked (thanks for remembering that!) but no I did not scream.

Also, no I don't typically just hang out around the house nude waiting for one of the children to injure themselves. **

Blobbers.

There are a few things currently eating at my stomach lining.

Jenn of Mommy Needs Coffee sent me a note saying she was hosting a seminar at Blogher and would I go? My first thought was, dear God, No! I can't go. I just went to Texas for a long getaway and used up most of Logan's frequent flyer miles and now I'm going to use up the rest of them for another getaway?

But then I asked Mrs Kennedy (yes, I know she has a first name but I will always call her Mrs Kennedy) and Alice if they would go and they were all for it! And they want to share a hotel room and Alice promised she wouldn't be naked around me.

Although, God think of the content.

So I did the research on all the things I need if I'm to go, and it's really not that much money. My flight would be just $100 (Logan would need to gift me his frequent flyer miles), the hotel would be hardly any money and the conference is $100 but enh. If I eat beer and peanuts (as Mrs Kennedy suggested) for the 2 days and 2 nights I'm there, it's actually a very affordable, fiscally responsible, frivilous trip.

Logan said, "You have to go! I want you to go. Put some crap up on Ebay and that will take a bite out of the cost. I really think you should go." So that night while emailing with Alice and Mrs Kennedy over a few before bed drinks and I thought, "YES! I'm doing it!!!!!!! WOOOO HOOOOO!!!!!"

Then in the morning I thought, who the hell do I think I am? I'm not financially stable enough to be able to take weekend trips across the country to meet the people I wish lived around the block. I also berated myself for saving all that money to buy a fancy camera just for me. I berated myself for our difficulty to live within our means.

Also I realized Heather would be there and while I love her, she's very tall and when I am around tall people I feel extremely portly. In fact if I do end up at Blogher at the end of July I'll write "The Portly Blogger" on my name tag, just so everyone knows.

So then I said, No! No way. I can't do it. I'm not doing it.

But when I told Alice and Mrs. Kennedy, they said, No, you have to go. You're going.

I sometimes think Bloggers take themselves awfully seriously. We like to talk about it a lot and I really feel like the word 'Blog' doesn't come out of my mouth without a whole lot of heartburn following behind. Although, someone in my family calls them Blobs. Which works surprisingly well.

However, there are some times I find it worthwhile to discuss the Blobs. When my inlaws went up in arms and Logan was extremely angry with me in April because a reporter wrote that my in laws don't speak to me anymore, I emailed a group of my favorite Blobbers to vent and ask if anyone had ever gotten divorced because of their blob.

One of those women called me (yes, I used the phone!) and we talked about our similar struggles with the blobs and our spouse's boundaries and the friction it causes sometimes. And it helped a lot.

Perhaps I'm trying to put an intellectual spin on the Blobher conference so I can feel better about flying across the country to meet some remarkable people I've come to love in an internet way and also drink my face off.

I told Alice and Mrs Kennedy and Jenn to give me until Wednesday to decide.

And I know this is why I can't save money and why we are always barely treading water financially, but i don't see how I can not go. Hearing about it and not being there will hurt my Blobber soul.

No, I'm not selling the God Damn Camera on Ebay, so don't even.

Wine Humor.

Andrea hosted an informal wine tasting on Saturday. She set up a wine list at the market with the wine and beer guy.

When I went to pick up my wine for the party, just days after our viewing of Sideways, I was stunned to learn I was assigned a merlot. Brian, the wine guy, helped me choose the brand and he was very serious about wine. I am really not serious about wine so watching him stare at the Merlots, hand on his chin, "waiting for inspiration", struck me as riotously funny.

Finally, he was inspired and chose a merlot that "drank like a cabernet...." he also told me I would "...fool all the guests who would think it was a cab, but it's not! It's a merlot."

Then he dissolved into a fit of giggles. That Brian and his wine games! He is just such a card!

He went on to explain that my wine was from a vineyard in southern California, but it was extremely reminiscent of a napa vineyard.

HA HA HA HA HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

I fooled everyone!

I wish Brian could have seen us at the wine party Saturday night where everyone was just drinking and then drinking some more. And no one even cared that my wine was tricking them! Or which region of California it was from or even if it was a California wine.

Andrea's neighbors are the best. I sat there in the circle around a cast iron stove which was being used as a fire pit of sorts (!!!) and thought, "These are people like us!" Except that we have no fire pit and have no intent nor desire to have a fire pit.

Our neighborhood consists of "The Hippies Who Forget They Let Their Dog Out Before Leaving For 8 Hours", "The Suspected Pedophile" (by me only), "The Anally Retentive Audi Washer Who Sort Of Looks Like John Mayer and Makes It Into My Dreams Sometimes", "The Guy With The Car Which Can and Often Does Shoot Flames", "The Guy With A Boat Which Looms Over His Home". None of their names are even very catchy and I haven't even covered the "Suspected Drug/Ebay Addicts" next door and "Mullet Man and Family" down the block.

Once upon a time I dreamed about having a summer block party with our neighbors. How much fun we could have. There would be relay races and water gun fights and a bounce house for the kids and then we'd all put our kids to bed and do karaoke until Logan decided his vocal chords were tired (because once Logan starts, he can't stop and no one else would ever get a chance to sing).

Guess what? Andrea's neighborhood has a block party just like that except Logan doesn't hog the karaoke machine.

When we left the party, I could barely drag Logan out of the backyard (because he can never leave a party and I think I hugged all the neighbors and asked if anyone needed a live in nanny because I just really want to live there. Now.

In other really exciting news: John and Asa had their baby last night June 16th.

I'm posting these links to John's Flickr account without permission because it's 10:38pm and I assume he's currently trying to get the baby to sleep and in his sleep deprived state doesn't give a flying fig about a picture of his beautiful baby being on my website. I didn't even make her swear, but I will. Give me time and I will because I'm like that. But if he does care about me linking to pictures of his baby I hope he'll just tell me and I'll remove the pictures and he won't pinch me on my arm when we're out in public.

I like to call this one, Holy Shit this 13 year old has a fucking baby!

I like to call this one, Anzu! which sounds sort of like Anjou and I want to eat both of them.

Congratulations John and Asa.

So briefly you're going to be pissed.

You might want to go look at my flickr photos from this weekend. Well, actually mainly you should look at the ones from last night.

Last night we attended a party at Andrea's house and it was an amazing time. Logan and I have decided to sell all our earthly possessions and move into Andrea's neighborhood. Where, not only are the neighbors nice and chatty and fun, they're also people you might actually want to talk to! This is very different from our little neighborhood, less than half a mile away, where if the neighbors talk to you...you might want to avert your eyes.

Unfortunately, we can't afford Andrea's neighborhood at this time, so we're going to become squatters.

I have more to say but holy mother of God. My kids totally kicked my ass today and since tomorrow marks our first day of summer "vacation", I must go to bed now.

Tomorrow, more. I promise.

(I'm amazed how much goes into buying and wearing a bra. I can't take this....we need to live in an apartment without undergarments because I don't have the energy for this.)

((Happy Father's Day to Logan. While I was in labor with Madison, I, you know, pooped on the delivery table and the thing that makes Logan an awesome father is how he mentions that fact, repeatedly. Also, he changed Maddie's diaper for the first 6 weeks while I was a ball of hormones and he fell in love with Maddie at least 6 weeks before I was able to do the same. I love him.))

My T Shirt....Finally.

I ordered my Momtini tshirt quite some time ago. It arrived and was far too small for flattering public wearing so I asked to exchange it. A few short days later the new shirt arrived, in the same unflattering size. Yesterday....3 months later, I got the right size.

But I have a few questions: Is it totally stupid to wear my own website's t shirt out in public? I feel like Macy Gray in that stupid "My new album drops" dress at the VMA's years ago.

Also, and men, please don't answer. Do I need different bras? My boobs have always been so small I never really required any substantial support. But as I've gained weight, I'm starting to think the ladies need to be raised a bit higher. The above picture seems to show that in really horrifying detail.

Thoughts from bra experts? Can the ladies look better?

Also, I apologize for the shitty picture but GUESS WHAT!?

Next week between 6/23-6/29 a very special camera will join our family. I saved and I saved hard. Also my mom gave me the last bit I needed so now I'm in debt to the bank of mom. But not by much!

Hooray for Moms!

Also, Oprah made me love Barrack Obama. Not that he's unlovable, I just don't want Oprah to make me love anything.

Learning Is Fun

We're always trying to find ways to make learning fun in this house. Like, for example, while in the throes of 'Lice Fest 2004' we created story problems out of the event.

"How many lice does it take to make your mother completely insane?" Then we'd count them and pretty much the first one made me insane so that probably wasn't a great example at all.

We're always thinking up ways to make our interactions into a game. Since Madison has learned to write, she has taken to writing notes to us to express her negative emotions. The notes read, "You are a big fat meanie. I hate you. But I still love you." (Seriously.)

Last weekend Logan told me something which wasn't appropriate for young ears, I don't remember what it was (come up with something raunchy) and Madison was very displeased we wouldn't share.

She wrote up a note which read. "Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Or else I'll punch you."

Logan wrote back, "No No No I am the boss!"

She wrote back, "Bla bla bla bla bla bla."

He wrote back, "Fee Fi Fo Fum."

She wrote back, "Poop poop poop poop poop.

He wrote back, "I'll cover your head in snow pinky!"

She wrote back, "You're going down mister."

He Wrote back, "Get ready for a chocolate pudding bath pinky."

She wrote back, "Awhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Baby Logan. Goo goo goo."

He wrote back, "Time for a potato chip treehouse monkeypants."

She wrote back, "Time for a poo poo bath."

She's a really good writer isn't she.

They Can Have Him.

In the early days of my life as a mother, especially those early days as a mother of two, I spent a lot of time in the car crying and wondering how I was ever going to get through these years. Keeping in mind I have a very low tolerance for adversity or stress. I spent the first 15 years of my life just surviving, so I think that's why I am now unable to function well under stress.

Max was a few months old and my old MOMS Club planned a trip to a local waterpark. Since Madison has always loved water I thought this would be a good event to attend. I even thought enough ahead to get a neighbor girl to come along and help me out with Maddie and the baby.

We arrived and Madison, who hates large crowds and is easily overstimulated by children running wild (just like me. Damn.), was immediately overwhelmed. She began crying and begging to go home. But I'd just paid $35 dollars in admission and we were going to have some fucking fun. So I tried to just sit with the other mothers, giving Maddie some time to settle down. It really didn't work and she spent an hour crying and whining and begging to leave this place. So I gathered up all our crap and started to leave, fighting back tears. Max, by this time, had also started crying. I struggled through the crowds to leave and my stupid sarong, which I'd worn to cover up my post partum body, got tangled up in the stroller wheels and fell off.

WOOO HOOOO! That was an awesome day. I drove home that day sobbing and wanting to kill Madison for not being a "normal" easy going child. Why won't she have any fun!? I should never have had two children. Why did I do this? The poor neighbor girl.....she got to witness post partum depression first hand that day.

Another banner day in my early mothering was the day Madison appeared to be losing her mind. It turned out she had a raging sinus infection as a result of the "Plaster of Paris" incident.

We went out to lunch one afternoon before she was diagnosed and I had started to believe she was just plain crazy. In the span of 4 minutes, Madison poured a glass of water on the table. In the amount of time it took me to let the waitress know we'd be leaving so cancel our order she also dumped all the sugar and all the salt on the table and was heading for the ketchup when I made it back to the table.

On the 3 block walk back to our car, Madison screamed and cried. I pushed the stroller and dragged her by her arm down the sidewalk. She eventually threw herself onto the concrete and cracked a tooth and there we both were, in downtown Birmingham, sobbing our heads off.

At least my clothes didn't fall off, that time.

It's not just Madison either. I've left carts of groceries because of Max. I've been vomited on during a Maxwell tantrum. Sometimes, in those earlier days, I wondered if Max's goal wasn't to humiliate me in public everytime we left the house.

But now, now it's different.

I rarely cry in the car anymore and I also rarely wonder who these demonic little people are and how it is I raised them. I'm mostly pretty pleased with how they're turning out. They talk a lot but that's not a character flaw and it's also something a little duct tape takes care of.

Yes, it's different now, most of the time.

Except yesterday I took Max to buy a BIKE! A two wheeler with training wheels! And flames on the side because it goes so fucking fast! Unfortunately, next to the bikes were the battery powered items. And Max wondered why he couldn't have one of those.

I glossed. We're buying a bicycle today and isn't this one awesome? How about these flames? This is the best bike I've ever seen.

He became sullen and whiney.

I became angry. What kind of child doesn't appreciate what he's getting but wants something better? But then again, I wonder where he's learned that? Maybe he learned it on Sunday when I took the children with me to fondle The Camera for nearly 3 hours.

On the walk to the register he decided he really needed shark goggles. Now. Since I said no, he said he hated me. Now we're in the check out line, and yes, it occured to me this monster didn't deserve to get a bike that day. But we were at Walmart and I really hate Walmart and I really try to avoid going there. I've been there three times in my entire life and I'm trying to keep my life long visits to under five.

People stared at us in the line because, gosh, why is that child crying while his mother is buying him a bike?

I didn't cry on the way home but I was so angry and as I drove I shook my head in disbelief. How do I have a child who doesn't appreciate getting a brand new bike?

I don't miss those days when I didn't think I'd make it through mothering. I don't miss questioning the job I was doing almost daily. I don't want to go back to that place.

So I decided to leave Max at Walmart.

My family is insane.

Every family has at least one member no one quite understands. That person who is a little off, maybe even crazy. That person who you hope doesn't get famous because you'd have to claim that person as one of you. Family events sometimes center around discussing how crazy this odd ball of the family is.

In my family we mainly sit around at Thanksgiving dinner and discuss the normal people, because the majority of people in our family are, to put it mildly, completely insane!

Instead of sitting around and wondering how that one person turned out so odd, we sit around and debate how that one person turned out so normal all things considered.

One of my cousins is seriously bizarre. At this point nothing this cousin does shocks me. Burning down a garage? Doesn't shock me. Smearing a stolen lipstick all over the women's bathroom during a posh country club family wedding. Not surprising. Juvenile hall stay? I wasn't shocked but did feel somewhat safer.

My cousin was a troubled child obviously. He's grown into a troubled and sociopathic adult.

One day not too long ago, he began calling my house. Frantically. Over a period of 3 days he called me literally 35 times. I counted them on the caller id because I refused to pick up until I had some idea what he wanted. I called my mother and he had talked to her.

Nothing my cousin does shocks me anymore, but his choice of careers shocked the living hell out of me. My sociopathic cousin is a knife vendor. Not just any knives, really sharp knives.

He was calling to see if I, and dozens of my friends would like to buy knives in my home from a sociopath.

Gee, sign me up!

"Oh hey Jennifer, Chrissy, Andrea.....do you guys want to come to my house to look at extremely sharp knives with my sociopathic cousin? Just be prepared to buy because I'm afraid of him really."

I didn't return his call.

If he wasn't in Chicago I wouldn't post this.

I've been pretty angry with Logan for the last two weeks. It's not the kind of anger that makes me rail against him and his stupidity. I've hardly yelled and have mainly told him in quiet, calm tones; "I'm really pissed."

It's been the kind of anger that simmers in the back of my mind.

That's the kind of anger that's dangerous for a marriage, don't you think? The anger that silently simmers is the kind of anger which silently kills relationships.

I remember "a couple" Logan and I used to hang out with a lot before we were married told me that they had never had an argument. I remember thinking that was the saddest thing I'd ever heard. I also remember thinking she was a fucking liar. But let's just say that they never had an argument. Did they share a brain? Because I argue with myself on a regular basis, how do you never argue with someone who is not you, who you have to live with day in and day out?

Especially if that person, had an affair. The boy part of this couple we used to hang out with had a long term affair with an ex in the early parts of their relationship. But they "Never" had an argument?

I prefer arguing really. But then to each their own because I believe everyone has a few somebodies that fit their imperfections perfectly since there are no perfect people. Well except Logan.......and he's not perfect either is he?

I've been stewing in this not overwhelming but still irritating anger for almost two weeks.

And now Logan's gone and I miss him....and not just because I could use a little back up for the Minutia Twins.

"Mom? Look Mom! I can do this!" [jumps over a matchbox car]

"So what you're saying is, this works like this [where a=anything b=anything and c=anything] a, b and then c. Or it could work like c - b= a. But what if it's raining....then how does it work? AB times C?" [Continue until you jump from a rooftop.]

They never stop.

I've missed him the last 4 days because I love sitting next to him while I type on my computer and I miss watching netflix movies with him and making fun of his choices. I miss sitting on the porch and feeling a storm roll in and the temperature drop 20 degrees in 15 minutes and that tension of watching the sky together wondering if the tornado sirens are going to start up. His calm attitude entwined so closely with my "Oh my God! We're all going to die," attitude.

I miss the way he sits with one foot on the coffee table and one on the floor. I miss the way he checks the locks on our doors before he goes to sleep. I miss how he remembers to turn off the lights and check on the kids before he goes to sleep. I miss the way we say the most ridiculous things in bed before we go to sleep that make us laugh until we hurt from all the laughing.

I miss the way he says, "I'm mixing one more cocktail and that's it." [but really, it's not....because we're like that...please judge us.]

I even miss how he touches me with his feet while we're in bed. His feet with the really bizarre hammer toes [remember that woman who declared my feet unfit for public viewing? If she saw Logan's hammer toes she'd be licking my feet].

When I wrote this, he called me to say, "No father should ever let his children down. Not such a deep and binding way. It's not fair what happened to you."

I've been angry for a while now and I think I had a right to be really mad. But, on the other hand, a healthy marriage isn't built by silently seething.

Who knows what the future holds, but I know that I love Logan now even with his stupid robotic imperfections. I also know he loves me when I act imperfectly.

Relationships are hard to navigate. Especially when you feel compelled to write about them on the internet.

Conversely.

I like to imagine this is what Logan's morning looked like at the hotel spa.

Conversely, my morning involved picking up a dead, rotting bird with a shovel off our lawn. I even did it with a pint sized audience and a chorus of squeals. A friend of mine used to channel someone called 'Opera Girl' with high quality soprano squeals anytime she saw a spider. This morning I played opera girl as I ran across the yard with a decomposing bird on the end of my shovel.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

(this is not my bird. my bird had actual flesh showing and it was totally repulsive. you're welcome for not sharing it.)

A cure for lonely.

My sister called this morning to see if I could come out and play today. She's on vacation at one of the lakes nearby at the cottage of a coworker. She thought a long weekend alone would help her mental state, (she hates people like I do!), instead she's realized she HATES spiders and the noises a 1930's cottage makes in the night. Also, she's lonely.

She called to see if I could dump Logan and come out for the day. Unfortunately for all of us, Logan was un-dumpable, since he was on his way to the How conference in Chicago. He was also on his way to the lap of luxury.....a fancy hotel, which, for a four day stay costs as much as my monthly house payment. When I saw the charge on our online banking statement I first swallowed my tongue, threw it back up and then ran into oncoming traffic screaming at the top of my lungs.

Since I couldn't come out by myself she suggested I bring the kids out, which I was all for. Because when the kids are on vacation and/or Logan is out of town, we're burning daylight.

When we arrived at the cottage, 45 minutes later (that's 45 minutes of daylight burned, you know), the weather was fair. There was sun and it was warm. We decided to eat some lunch before breaking out the suits, sunscreen and sand toys. Fatal Error.

We spent the rest of the day trapped on the tiny concrete porch while it poured. Then poured some more. Then life threatening lightning came down from the sky. Disappointing.

On the other hand, after spending a few hours with my extremely talkative children on a tiny concrete porch, my sister was ready to feel lonely. I offered to let her take the kids home and I'd stay at the cottage so she wouldn't feel lonely but shockingly, she said she was ready to be alone.

I don't think I ever knew how much talking kids do. I like talking, but even I don't need to talk this much.

I bet Logan's talking....or maybe he's quietly taking in the view from his high rise hotel room. Actually he's drinking his face off. Odd, so am I.

*Who recommended I read "Why I'm Like This"? I just finished it and loved it (though the end fell a little flat and schmaltzy for my taste). Thank you.

Friday. Ho Hum.

Max and I are incredibly bored today.

So I took his picture.

Popcorn Body...Yeah!

When Logan and I first started dating, he'd just moved back to Michigan from Houston. For a few months he was living with his parents and so our sexual relationship was somewhat stifled since I was living with my parents as well.

Eventually he subleased an apartment from a friend and things really got hot!

Not really but they at least got a bit more adult. The problem was, at the time I was 20 years old and I still felt about 14-ish. So the first night I stayed over at his new apartment Logan decided to make the night 'special' by lighting candles in his room. Which is a very nice thing to do. Except I was still 14 and we have never been a particularly romantic kind of couple. Actually Logan is romantic, but I am pretty much an asshole.

So I laughed like an asshole and to this day Logan has never again lit a single candle in our bedroom.

As time went on we experimented with more things of a sexual nature and this one night we were, I don't know why, doing it in the kitchen. And for some reason it seemed like a good idea to get all oiled up.

This was before the internet for us and before I knew about Flea and the Honeysuckle Shop and latex vaginas and more appropriate forms of body oil apparently.

Logan pulled out a bottle of vegetable oil and (wow, this is surprisingly embarrassing to recall with anyone but Logan) well you know. We were in the dining room and trying to, you know, and all the sudden I blurted out:

"It smells like popcorn in here."

And it did. And it ruined the mood and we realized what a stupid fucking idea it was to put vegetable oil on one's body in an attempt to be "wild" sexually.

So we took a shower and called it a night.

Except the next morning, on the dining room wall, we found a vegetable oil butt print. Which remained for the year Logan lived in that apartment and reminded us how we were doomed to have nothing but quiet, standard, missionary sex for the rest of our lives.

Except not really. But now we use Olive Oil!

When Logan moved out I hope they primed that wall before they decided to paint it. Actually I hope they didn't and as they attempted to paint over the butt print the paint inexplicably wouldn't stick and they were all dumbfounded by the mark on the wall which looked remarkably like a butt.

Bumpy Transition

I've been meaning to tell you a story about another mother, Leslie, from preschool. Leslie is one of the mothers (there are many of them actually, some are in my actual life and not just taunting me on the internet) who give me hope that not all mothers have to make me want to jump head first out a plate glass window.

It appears I've created a monster with the comments here (no you didn't imply that my fair beautiful friendly funny friend Leslie has a hairy ass. Oh no, tell me you didn't do that just now!). When I say I "hate" Leslie, what I really mean is I "hate" the fact that I can't do it like she does. That I'm jealous. That she's a wonderful woman and if I were choosing someone to have babies with, I would choose her over me because I am certifiably insane and also very bad at navigating those weeks when you are suddenly NOT pregnant anymore.

However, I still hate her and I can't help it.

One Thursday Leslie came to preschool dropoff looking particularly pregnant. Since I've known her (her little boy joined our class midway through the school year) she'd been a cute pregnant person. And honestly, I didn't want to hate her for it, I wanted to rise above it and like her for her funny sense of humor and her adherence to my strict policy of not sugar coating the hardest parts of raising small children. But there it was, I hated her for being a cute pregnant person.

Leslie carries a baby like Maddie's pregnant barbie does, with what appears to be a pop off belly magnetically laid over the top of her tight abdomen. She is what people call "All Baby". People said I was "All Baby" which means my baby was seeping up into my fat face and squirming around to take residence in my ass. Also, what pregnancy does to this woman's hair makes Chrissy and I sit and talk to her, as if we're paying attention, but we're really fantasizing about pulling it all up into a thick and luxurious pony tail and gnawing on it.

That Thursday though, Leslie finally looked pregnant. The kind of pregnant I remembered, except with better hair and no baby seeping into her face. She had another month until her due date and I felt so bad for having hated her for being such a cute pregnant person when she would have another month of being particularly pregnant all while caring for a 19 month old, a 2.5 year old and a 3.75 year old.

The following Tuesday, 4 weeks before her due date, Leslie came to morning drop off looking, once again, particularly not pregnant.

I didn't think things could get much more cruel. How could she suddenly not look pregnant when, at 4 weeks before my due date, I hobbled around crying all day because my legs were falling right out of my hip sockets. Which hurts if you'd like to know.

I stared at her thinking about what to say. How could I tell her she didn't look pregnant like she did on Thursday? Wouldn't that imply I'd been looking at her on Thursday thinking, "Wow, you look so HUGE today"

It never once occured to me that between Thursday and Tuesday she'd actually given birth. She didn't look like someone who'd given birth. At all.

After I gave birth, each time, I looked like the walking dead. You might see me and think, "That reminds me of Melissa....except sort of crazier looking." I was not myself. I was like a big sponge of hormones and if you touched me I would dissolve into a salty pool of hormones. If the baby cried, I would dissolve into a pool of hormones. If there was no vodka left in the freezer, I would lay on the floor sobbing in a heap....never mind, I still do that.

But there was Leslie, in real pants, with an actual face not marked with red welts from the crying and the rubbing. There were no visible signs of dementia or signs she might bolt into Canada if we all stopped looking for just one second. She looked like herself, only without a baby in front and she seemed fine with that. Maybe even "Joyous".

Leslie noticed me staring at her having an internal dialogue about the kindness of telling her she didn't look fat today but last Thursday, Jesus! You were HUGE!

She saved me and said, "I wish you could see your face right now. I had the baby!"

And I squealed, louder than I've ever squealed about the arrival of a new baby.

I think I also squealed because what I sort of wanted to do was throw her down on the ground and beat her senseless for being so good at being pregnant. For being so good at giving birth (6lbs ish at 4 weeks premature!?). For being able to walk around in public just a few short days later (keeping in mind she has a three children already, 3 and under) and for looking not pregnant when she stopped being pregnant.

Squealing seemed like a nicer reaction than a body slam.

Four days postpartum you wouldn't have found me out in the light of the regular world. You'd find me standing in a hot shower soaking up my own hormone tears. The first time I left the house without the baby after having Madison I stood in the bank looking around and adding the two checks I had for deposit over and over and over because, gosh, What is $100 plus $50? What is it! OH MY GOD.

Then the sobbing started again and I told the teller I didn't have the baby with me, but I did have a baby and I am now stupid. Can you add this up for me?

She said, "Sure I can help you but it looks like that baby left behind a twin....in your ass."

I killed her.

But there was Leslie, looking just like herself except not pregnant.

Last Friday we had a playgroup at my house and we cracked open the very first drink I've ever seen Leslie have with us (since she's been pregnant since I've known her). While chatting about the new baby, who drank a bottle and slept for the rest of the day, I mentioned what a calm baby he is.

She replied, "Well yes, but he's only 2 weeks old."

I realized I thought he must be at least 6 weeks old because I was unable to leave my house with all the psychotic episodes and the tears and the feeling I was living inside my skull but not really inhabiting my body.

But there was Leslie, hanging out like she'd never been pregnant at all. So we toasted to her! And to us! And I secretly toasted to Logan's vasectomy and Zoloft because I really suck at transitioning to new motherhood.

I also leaned over, and without Leslie noticing I stuck a tendril of her hair in my drink, just to soak up it's thick and good at newborn parenting goodness.

Adding: Today at the park, Leslie said to me, as she burped one child in her right hand and two others sat on her thigh gnawing on crackers, "I feel like there's some velcro stuck to me." and I, being an asshole, looked at her shoulder wondering how on earth a piece of velcro got on her back. But she was referring to the children sticking to her.

I know you want to hate her but she's so fucking nice and funny and calm. That witch!

You're all going to leave me for my sister.

Tonight I wanted to write about the mom from preschool who gave birth and then just bounced right back into life and seems happy as a clam. She's happy as a clam even though she now has FOUR children and the oldest is not quite three.

Not only that she's skinny just 3 weeks post partum and was skinny 3 days post partum and her hair is so thick I've spent many hours imagining gnawing on a pony tail made out of it.

But instead of writing all of that (because I have more to say, because I'm just insanely envious of that kind of easy transition into mothering a newborn. My experience has been much different), all I've been doing is thinking to myself, "My stomach hurts. My stomach hurts. My stomach hurts. My stomach hurts."

And it does and it has all day and I think, I'm dying. I told Logan it feels like I ate a brick and then later on I said, "What am I going to do about this?"

Logan replied, "Well I think the first step is stop eating bricks."

He has a point. Until then I'm dying and you don't want to listen to that.

My sister has been handing out advice at one of her band's MySpace location.

She's really quite funny. We're all funny. Depressed people are funny!

You should go there instead of here because all I have to say is that my stomach is exploding and I think I'm dying and that's just not funny.

Buy My Friend's House.

A huge storm blew through our neighborhood last night and wiped out a power line across the street. A few huge green blasts of light followed by some extremely unsettling zapping noises, which I assume were squirrels being fried off the wires, and then silence. But it wasn't done! Then there was flickering and bright yellow light in the trees and I started shrieking, "We're ALL GOING TO FRY!!!!!!!"

Logan slapped me and I calmed down and we didn't die. Instead, we had another cocktail and watched all the neighbors run down to watch the (extremely hot) firemen do their job. Their job which was to wrap yellow caution tape across the entrance to the court the wires were flapping around on.

We didn't lose our power, thank you Jesus. But our neighbors did and we felt a little bad about that so we turned off all our lights because isn't it rude to flash your electrical powers all over the place while others are suffering?

But that didn't stop us from sitting on the porch surfing the internet by candlelight.

After Logan's drunken night a week or so ago, I told him I would never again sleep on that mattress (for reasons I am not aloud to discuss with the internet). The floor isn't comfortable and the sofa bed= pain in the mother fucking ass. So I amended my ultimatum to be: "I will never again make the bed until we have a new (queen size) mattress."

And I haven't. Unfortunately, as you recently read, money is being dumped from our ship in an alarming and totally non sensical way. So the mattress is not coming anytime soon. However, not making the bed is seriously depressing. I realize lots of people don't make their bed but for me not making the bed is like not brushing my teeth everyday.

Also? Do you need a house?

Do you need a house in Sterling Heights, Michigan?

Because I have the perfect house for you at a bargain price! The good things about this house are: Mostly just the fact that Mike, our friend, is one of the most anally retentive men I've ever known. Which means, he takes extremely good care of the things he owns.

Mike actually has a preference for his mower. He bought a honda but then decided the toro was way better. Logan and I had a mower which was compiled of 3 different mowers. Don't buy our house. Buy Mike's. Oh and look at those pictures in the listing, see the one of the workshop? See how everything is pristine and all hung neatly on peg racks? The organization, it makes me tingle.

Also it has all those 'real estate things' like a nice lot, it's on a quiet cul de sac, with a nice deck and a nice layout. Bathrooms and first floor laundry! It's in move in condition, which is something I've never seen for that price out here. But there it is, waiting for you!

Idly Obsessing.

I really wanted to write something today, but I'm currently obsessed with staring at my bank account.

I finally figured out how to set up Quicken. Unfortunately this means I have minute by minute access to our money, and where it's going.

This means I spend 75% of my day looking at reports and figures and WOW Logan spends a lot of fucking money on his hair. Princess.

Also, we haven't reconciled our checkbook in, I am ashamed to say this, 7 years. Somewhere we skipped a month or two and then, how do you jump back in?

So I'm trying to reconcile it but I can't. It's like money just keeps disappearing. How far do I go back? 7 years? Everytime I adjust our checkbook to match what the bank says, by taking $200-300 each time out of our register....ouch, I wake up and we're off again by at least $100.

It's not a new withdrawal or old checks being cashed, because like I said, I have a minute by minute eye on our account. When money comes out, believe me, I know about it.

"Logan, did you just buy a soda 7.3 seconds ago? How many times do I have to tell you! Drink from the water fountain!!!!"

I can not stop looking at our money and trying to understand it. Which is good, and also bad. Because money makes me anxious, which explains how things fell apart as they did. Now we're trying to be different but this anxiety is really unpleasant.

Even Logan, who used to perform one hell of financial juggling act, is secretly wishing he'd never involved me in the money. If he's not being grilled about that $3.00 lunch he just ate 3.7 minutes ago, he's getting frantic phone calls demanding to know why our stupid register won't balance! WHY ARE WE STILL LOSING MONEY OUT OF THIS FUCKING ACCOUNT!!!!!

"...or you'd be dead!"

I don't like a lot of people, but then, there are a lot of people I do like.

My weekend was full of a lot of people I like.

We spent Sunday at a friend's parent's cottage on the water.

Stephanie is my friend with all the lovely furniture. She also has a set of lovely parents who I try not to lick when we're together.

I had to try really hard not to lick them at this barbeque because it was a pretty nice way to spend a Sunday. Our kids played so pleasantly together, although Max is unable to walk without tripping and he believes the tripping is related to his shorts so WHY DO I MAKE HIM WEAR SHORTS?

The adults played nicely together too, although, when the girls gave me a yellow necklace and named me "The Queen" Stephanie was understandably overwhelmed by this turn of events.

Mr Gillette makes a lovely fire and also makes the most delicious, fall-off-the-bone ribs I've ever tasted. He also makes a delicious vodka/lemonade drink, which he claims is a secret recipe.

It's a secret I now possess, but I won't share it. Not now anyway. You'll wish I would. You'll beg me to, but I won't.

Really the only bad thing about my weekend was this odd creature from the parade we attended on Monday.

Oh and the 8 year old who yelled off a float in a Memorial Day Parade (you know, the holiday which honors SOLDIERS and veterans): "I'm glad you weren't aborted, or you'd be dead!"

I erupted into near hysterical laughter at that point because what the hell? What. The. Hell?

I'm not even discussing the validity of the argument. Yes, he's happy we weren't aborted because we'd be dead now. Hooray for him.

It was all so....."festive"!