Ass! On Ice!!

Matt had his arms around me resting his chin on my head, and was hugging me tightly. I said (whined, ok? I WHINED) “I think I broke my ass.”

I felt his body start to shake as he began to giggle.

I said, “If you say ‘Yeah, you cracked it right up the middle!’ I’m going to hit you!”

He laughed harder. After his tears abated (TEARS! *frustrated sigh*) he asked what I meant.

“Remember when I fell? I think I broke something because sometimes it really really hurts.” (I fell three and a half weeks ago, so if I had bruised myself it would be mostly gone by now, if not completely gone.)

I appear to have fractured my ischium (I think that’s right). It’s part of the pelvis. Do you have any idea how often you USE your pelvis?? Yeah. For pretty much everything. So…if I stand too long, PAIN. If I sit for more than 23 seconds, PAIN. If I lie down too long, PAIN. I can’t win. Most of the time I’m at a level 4 (on the ER’s pain scale from 1 (bearable) to 10 (someone has to die). When it gets higher than that I try to stop what I’m doing and rest.

Earlier tonight I had a massage because the hamstrings attach there and something about some muscles overcompensating for repositioning to protect the area in pain and swelling and ligaments and blah blah blah. So, massage of the hamstrings which lead to something every woman wants to hear — apparently my ass is swollen.

As if it wasn’t big enough!

After the massage I had acupressure and he said he felt something move which apparently means that “the pain should go away now.” And it did. For an hour or so.

So, me and my big ass are right back to square one: lying on the couch on a bag of frozen carrots and peas (“Honey, where’s dinner?” “I’m sitting on it.” “What’s for dinner?” “Ass veggies.”) as often as possible while taking over-the-counter pain medicine and trying not to walk (except for the occasional hobble to the bathroom where I also get to sit on a hard toilet seat or kitchen for Abby food). I’ve been in so much pain lately that I’m nauseous and can’t hold down food or even stand the smell. (YIPPEE!)

I’m also trapped in the house because we’re on the third floor and two flights of stairs down and two flights of stairs to come home? NO. I can already picture me flopped on the fifth step up from the front door leaning against the wall and crying because the pain is so bad I had to stop and frustrated because I know that no 350 pound Russian weightlifter is going to happen by and ask “Why are you crying, little girl?” and listen to my tail of woe (ROFL…get it?) TAIL?? hahahahaha *ahem* and then carry me back up the stairs, set me gently on the couch and bring me a cold drink and some Subway. I will be trapped on the fifth stair until Matt comes home and forces me to get off my butt and work my way back upstairs. Oh…and I’d also have to carry Abby down and back up and I really don’t see that happening at this point.

By contrast, someone else with this problem has crutches to keep the muscles attached to her pelvis still when she walks, is taking Percocet and Vicodin for pain and is lying down almost constantly and was told to expect a 6-8 week recovery time.

Uh. I have no crutches, no prescriptions and a 12 month old.

One of my friends years ago told me there’s never a dull moment in my life.

The legend lives on.


Quick Update-ish

Sorry I haven’t posted lately. I have a couple of posts in the works, but our internet connection is SO sucky I haven’t been able to post anything or navigate anywhere. I haven’t been able to get my email to load for almost a week. GRRR

So, I’m around, still alive. If you don’t hear from me assume everything is just fine…

unless I call you. ROFL 🙂

Today I Threw Myself In Front Of A Bus

perhaps I should back up a bit.

Since I’ve moved here I’ve felt sort of isolated. I’ve met a few new people, semi-reconnected with some old friends…but in a town as small as this I have RARELY run into someone I know. It’s ridiculous. And some days,  I could use an unexpected adult conversation with a friendly face, you know?

Finances have also been weighing on me. There are good moments but overall it feels like all we’re doing is cutting back to save up. I’m not complaining. We haven’t lost any ground that we’ve managed to gain, and things have gotten better (because we tightened our belts). It’s just stressful when all you want to do as a wife and mother is be able to surprise your family with the occasional gift or needed clothing item without having to mentally decide to eat noodles for a week to make up for it. Okay, that’s never happened, but you get what I mean, right? The joy of giving and all that. None of that unexpected “I was thinking of you today, Baby, so I swung into the Maserati dealership and bought you a little something.”

Hey, it could happen.

Anyway, isolation and stress. Even self-inflicted stress and worry because that’s the kind of person I am. I just felt heavy all the time. The weight of the world was weighing  me down.

In the past week I’ve run into old friends, had some of those unexpected conversations, Matt has let me know the money situation isn’t as sucky as I seem to think it is and I am now formally employed (part-time).

Have you ever seen those shows on tv where this team of people goes to a messy house, clears it all out, redecorates, introduces storage solutions and brings in the homeowners crap they decide to keep and make everything functional and pretty at the end of the show? Yeah. That “TEAM” is me. That’s what I’m going to be doing. By myself. *sigh*

Not complaining. I’m thrilled. I’m useful again, feel some sense of purpose (as opposed to feeling like a languishing couch potato), I have “my own money” like a big girl (insert cheesy grin) and my schedule is totally open. I can bring Abby with me to work and if she spazzes out I can leave and come back later. All they want me to do is keep track of start and end times. Everything else is no biggie.

Matt and I are getting along really really well, Abby is flourishing and learning things at this amazing rate (it’s truly jaw-dropping to see). She’s been walking, is starting to run, and is talking now. Our quiet baby. She’s talking. I love hearing her little voice. She’s so amazing. We take turns staring at her and welling up with tears. She’s unbelievable.

So you’re probably wondering why I threw myself in front of a bus.

Well, our friend Patty (I mentioned her back in the You Can’t Take Us Anywhere post) drives a city bus. We call it the “Patty Wagon”. Abby and I were on our way to the grocery store and Patty was just pulling out of the station. Sooo…I jumped in front of the bus. Patty laughed and opened the doors and said “I’m not going to hit you. Too much paperwork!”

I said, “But you’d get a vacation!”

She said, “Yeah. For forever!”

That was enough to lift my mood. (I was freaking a little about the proposal I submitted today.) I had called Matt at work before leaving for the store and he met us at the dollar store after he got out of work and I got done with groceries. So, we got to see Daddy sooner than we would have otherwise, we got a ride home (WOOT!) and all’s well that ends well.

Is it sad when throwing yourself in front of a bus cheers you up?

The Harder I Try

the screwed-er I get.

I keep telling myself I’m here for a reason. WHAT??????????? Gah. trying my best gets me nowhere. Not caring gets me nowhere.

So again, I’m on the verge of not having anything or anyone. Because? What the hell did I do wrong in a previous life? Haven’t I lost enough? Why bother giving me people if you’re going to take them away?

I’m so frustrated I could cry.

I’m here for a reason. If that reason was just to get the kids here then I’m done. I can go. Right? Why keep fighting and trying and going through the motions of “survival” if you don’t have anything to LIVE for. Is an existence of mere survival worth the pain of breathing everyday for the rest of my life?

I don’t even know what to wish for anymore.

I’m Moving!

So I’ll be offline for a while with only the library for internet access. That means, I’ll be able to post blogs (can email those) and read comments (ditto:email) but won’t be able to respond unless you include your email addy in your comment.  (Because the library computers won’t let me anywhere near my blog. Go figure.)

At least, I think I get your comments and not just the first Xnumber of characters. (??)

I’m doing the best I can. Between that and being pushed to the brink of a future I didn’t want…I’m hanging in here. So far. It’s also really VERY TRULY unbelievably FREAKING hot, which hasn’t done a thing for my migraines which don’t do a thing for my ability to comprendo.

Will write when I can. If you want to email me, feel free. I don’t know how often I’ll get to the library because I also have to look for a regular job. Or two. Or three. Ugh. Remember me when I wasn’t sleeping? Yeah. It’ll be like that for about the next two years. (That’s my disclaimer for future bouts of insanity, half-sentences and random thoughts.)

Again, thanks to everyone who reads, those who write, and those who bother with me at all.

Happy Summer!


That’s how I see it — all caps. Newsflash! Headline! SHE’S AT IT AGAIN! (subtitled “Oh my god who gave this woman children?”)

I have a new internet friend who recently thought less of herself for smashing one of her daughter’s toys because it was broken and wouldn’t stop singing the Winnie the Pooh song. So, to let her know she’s not alone…and probably give her a superiority complex (“Geez, at least I’m not Elisa!”) I submit the following QUIRKY PARENTING MOMENTS from my house.

Kegan (age 3) running to me in the living room: Mom, Cade (age 4.5) is picking on me!
Me: That’s why I had you — so he’d stop picking on ME.
Kegan: Mo-om!

One day they were fighting almost non-stop. All I heard all day was “He hit me” “he took my toy” “he hit me first”. It got to the point where enough was enough already.

Kegan: Cade hit me!
Cade: No I didn’t!
Me (taking both boys by the hands and quietly walk them from their playroom to the living room): Okay. (I draw a circle in the shag carpet.) You two stand in here. (They look at me like I’ve lost my mind.) You want to hit each other, you can go right ahead. The only rule is you have to stay in the circle because I’m not cleaning up a big mess.
(They stare at each other, then look out the corners of their eyes at me like I’m a wild animal and if they make a big move I’ll attack.)
Me (urging, encouraging): Come on. You wanted this. I’m trying to help. Go ahead (I say to Cade) hit him.
Again, they look at each other, then back at me. Then they quietly take one another’s hands and walk back to the playroom where they play quietly for the rest of the day.


Cade and Kegan are running back and forth from their bedroom, around the little table and chairs in there back through the hallway, through the very echo-y kitchen, down the echo-y hallway to my bedroom where they turn around and repeat. While screaming. And giggling. And yelling intellectual things like “YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA!!!!” I’m in the kitchen, trapped, because I’m doing the dishes and getting dinner started.

Me: Please stop being so loud, and don’t run. The floor is slippery in your socks.
(On next pass) Me: Please settle down!
(On next pass) Me: Guys! Come on! Stop!
(On next pass) Me: STOP RIGHT NOW!!!
(On next pass) Me: If you don’t stop right now, I’M going to bed!
They stopped. ((0.o))


Cade was about 4 and one day just kept saying, “Mommy. Mommy. Mommy.”
Cade: Mommy.
Me; What?
Cade: Mommy.
Me: What?
Cade: Mommy.
Me: What?
Cade: Mommy.
Me (sighing heavily, I decide not to answer because he’s not saying anything.)
Cade: Mommy.
Cade: Mommy!
Cade (whining): MomEEEEEEE!
Me (frustrated): WHAT?
Cade (whining louder): MOM-MEEEEE!
Me (ARGH!): WHAT???
Cade: (almost crying now): MOMMY!
Me (spinning around to face him, bending over so I’m at his eye level I whip out my index finger, point it right at his little face and say): “NEVER! Call me MOMMY!”


I meant “Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice.” Cade’s eyes got big, he realized I’m nuts and he BACKED out of the room and went to play.


Boys are older, about 6.5 and 8. We go out to dinner with friends of mine. We go to an Italian place that has all you can eat spaghetti and they serve it with a humongous meatball on top. I have briefed the kids on manners, acceptable behavior and make it clear we will never leave the house again if they act horrendously. All goes well until the food is served. Kegan, the logical child, cuts his meatball and eats the smaller pieces with his fork. Cade watches and then pokes his meatball with his fork and shoves THE WHOLE THING in his mouth. He has trouble chewing because his mouth is so full. Naturally, we’re in public, we’re out with my friends and I am mortified. I say something to Cade (I can’t remember what exactly because I’m still mortified) and Kegan looks mortified. Cade starts to attempt to say something to defend himself when I cut him off saying, “Cade! Do NOT talk with your mouth open!” (What?)

Kegan laughs. “That’s not right, Mom.”

I take a bite of my spaghetti and shrug. “You know what I mean. Don’t chew with food in your mouth.”

Kegan, giggles, “Uh…mom…?”


Oh! And I also tried reverse psychology once. They knew I’d never spank them, so any threats were HILARIOUS. I was standing in the living room talking to them. They were sitting on the couch, bouncing up and down and giggling, getting louder and louder.

Me: Please stop jumping on the couch.
They keep going.
Me: Guys, stop bouncing.
They keep bouncing.
Me: All right. Do you want me to hit you now or later?
Boys (laughing and STILL bouncing): Hit us now! Hit us now!
I laughed. How could I not?