The older I get, the less significant time seems to become.  Or more significant, depending on how you define significance.  There are seemingly fewer minutes in the day.  There are seemingly fewer days in the year.  I remember when the two months of summer break felt like a decade and the school year felt like a lifetime.  But now, with only two short weeks left in the boy’s kindergarten year, it seems like only yesterday we had our first meeting with his new teacher.  Like only a week ago, he was gone to his dad’s for the summer.  And in the blink of an eye, he will be back there again for this summer.  Part of me, I suppose the more selfish part, is looking forward to his (and my) vacation.  I will still see the girl as normal, but I won’t have child or children around every day.  That part of me looks forward to me time.  That part of me looks forward for the opportunity to do what I want, rather than what is expected of me.  That part of me looks forward to shucking off a good portion of responsibility, even if it is only for a short while.  But the rest of me dreads his departure as one might dread the amputation of a limb.  As I dread each and every time I have to say goodbye to one of my children.  More often with the girl, but in no way less painful.  You’d think I would have gotten used to the idea by now.  I’ve been saying temporary goodbyes to one or both of my children since the boy was a year old and his father “decided” to be a father.  Granted, there isn’t the stream of tears that once followed his departure, even if only for a weekend.  At least not an outward display of them.  But there is still the inconsolable pain of loss in my heart.  Thankfully this gradual shortening of time does make their times away seem slightly less “significant,” if not any less painful. 

But really, why does time shorten as years on the planet lenghten?  I remember when an 8 hour day was more than sufficient to finish any project I decided to take on.  In my mind it still is.  But in reality, 8 hours is a drop in the bucket.  In reality, I can lose an entire 8 hours to researching the compatibility of Rock Band and Guitar Hero games and equipment.  Or more recently, researching wedding invitations and photographers, only to not find a suitable option for either.  Apparently time has a cruel sense of humor.  The older I get, the more I have to accomplish, or alternately, the more I take on.  And the less time I seem to have.  Does this time-warp phenomenon only exist in my life, or is it universally true?  I could have sworn it was only 10am five minutes ago.  Only now I look at my clock and realize I have less than an hour left at work.  Where did the day go? 

It might be different if I accomplished something every now and again.  Or even if I just sat, but had incredibly prolific thoughts all day.  But no.  I simply maintain.  I maintain a household, barely.  I maintain a couple children, most of the time.  I maintain a functioning body and mind, sort of.  Even my maintaining is lacking in accomplishment, and I swear it’s because I just don’t have the time to do it right!  10 years ago, I could get things done, done well, and still have time to party all night and do it all again in the morning.  15 years ago I could write an impressive 10 page report in a couple hours.  And 20 years ago, days seemed like they would never end. 

Today?  Today I accomplished nothing.  Today I will feel hurried and tired all day.  Today the sun will go down before I realize the time.  Today I will go to bed exhausted, far to late, and dread tomorrow as I fall asleep.  And in two weeks I will have all the time in the world, yet will accomplish nothing with it.  And two months later, the boy will come home. The school year will start anew.  And life will keep on trucking at far to fast a pace, leaving me gasping for breath until the end.  How very depressing it all is.

Picture this:

jeans that are:

• a size too big, but shrunken to fit some areas while leaving others unattractively lumpy
• used to be fashionably-faded dark blue, but are now so old they are simply faded
• too long to wear with flats, but too frayed and old to be appropriate with heels

black and white Payless specials that are trying really hard to be Converse…but totally failing

(eghad!) a brown belt

a red, slouchy, 3/4 sleeve shirt with ribbing at the bottom that makes it ride up around my waist (exposing the brown belt), and which my boobs are totally not big enough to fill out properly

hair pulled back into a 2″ ponytail that has its very own bi-polar personality disorder with bangs too short to make it and too long to leave down (solution: a head-band…brown, you know, to match the belt…)  can you say “fly-aways”

and while I could swear I put makeup on this morning, apparently it didn’t make it out of the house with me…

Yep, I’m not a pretty sight today.  But considering the amount of pain I am in and the amount of sleep I didn’t get last night, I think I have successfully pulled of an appropriate amount of “I just don’t give a -bleep-” today.

The Mr. and I had a fairly uneventful and mostly ok weekend.  Friday, we went to see GI Joe with the kids.  It was great!  Action almost the whole time.  Just pure entertainment value.  Great.  Saturday we had a “pajama day.”  No showers, no getting dressed, just pj’s all day.  We headed out once Saturday morning for a Starbucks run, and to pick up the puppy post-op (snippy, snippy!).  3 movies and 3 hours of playing Generals head-to-head.  Nice way to spend the day!  Sunday was homework/housework/yard work day.  Unfortunately I was strapped with the homework for 7 hours straight and didn’t get to help much with the others.  But Mr. W did do a fabulous job with the yards (front and back) and the house and the laundry. 

As far as pain, yeah I had it/have it still.  I’m on antibiotics now, but no relief whatsoever from the pain, yet.  The antibiotics just give me another thing to remember twice a day in the middle of my brain fog (yep, it’s a real thing, not to be confused with a brain cloud, however) and it makes it so I can’t go out in the sun without sunblock and long sleeves and pants and shoes and a hat and…–anyway.  I did test the sun avoidance requirement Sunday morning, choosing to sit out front in the morning sun rather than head down stairs (very painful stairs) to the shaded back yard.  All the normally unnoticeable scars I have on my exposed areas were bright red and itchy within a minute, and are still much more pinkish than normal today.  I guess I won’t be visiting the beach this summer…

All in all, a decently slow and relaxing weekend with the man.  Except, there was something.  I mentioned before that he’s been kind of strange lately.  Moody, snippy, distracted, cranky.  He insisted it was from lack of sleep, when he was acknowledging it at all, that is.  But this weekend we got more than our fair share of sleep, and yet the behaviour continued.  I don’t get it.  I tried to talk to him about how I’m feeling and Lyme disease in general, passing on the random bits of knowledge I’ve been picking up on the Internet and the handouts the doc gave me last week.  He was very disinterested to say the least, and at one point actually made the comment, “you just want to be sick, don’t you.”  Er, what? 

Mr. W is one of those people.  Those people who don’t trust any doctors.  Those people who don’t take medicine.  Those people who believe that all anyone needs is a good diet and a good night sleep.  While I agree that adequate rest and good nutrition plays a big role in overall health, I do not think that everything comes down to that.  Quite the contrary.  While I do try to find alternative healing methods, homeopathic medicines, etc, I do not scoff at the power (and sometimes instant relief) of western medicine.  While I do get frustrated with doctors and tests and vague answers, I do not avoid the doctor’s office like the plague.   I am no longer in a place that I will accept that it’s “all in my head” either.  After years and years, I finally have some validation to my physical feelings.  After years of military doctors accusing me of simply trying to get out of work.  After years of husbands telling me I’m always sick.  After years of people telling me it’s all in my head I finally know that it’s actually not.  And I refuse to sweep that under the rug as it seems Mr. W would like me to do.  I’m the kind of person who likes, no needs to research what could be wrong, what is wrong, what is going to be wrong.  The way I see it is the more I know, the more prepared I can be.  I tried to share this with him, but he’s the type to ignore everything until it goes away, either because you got better, or your body stopped fighting it and you feel a little better, or you just die.  Whatever works.  I wanted to share, erroneously thinking he may just be curious what is going on inside my body, what to look for in my symptoms, how to tell if something is wrong that I can’t tell him about.  I thought I may have a companion in this new journey I’m on.  But apparently not.  And in my anxiety-ridden, mood-swingy, brain-foggy state of confusion, my current solution is to just. not. tell.  Yep. (My guess here is that Mr. W won’t make it this far down the post, btw…not so much into reading me lately, especially when he sees the “Lyme” part) If I just go on like nothing is wrong, he will be happier, then I can be happier, then we can be happier.  Win all around.  Unfortunately for you, I will need an outlet for all my feelings and fears and discoveries as they come about.  Enter the blogosphere!   

But don’t worry, I promise I will continue with some mindless ranting about the drama in my life, as well the mommy-posts too!

I just don’t get men! 

So yesterday, after my final diagnosis of Lyme disease, I called Mr. W with the “good” news and thought, yea!  That’s that.  No more worry.  No more stress.  It’s manageable and we are going to be ok.  Of course when I say we, I mean me, health-wise, and him, undying love/stress wise.  After my 3pm dose of meds for the Lyme plus my pain meds, I was pretty pooped and dopey, so I skipped the girl’s cheer-leading practice opting for couch/snuggle time with the man.  He responded wonderfully, encouraging my resting on the couch while he made dinner.  Of course puppy didn’t really encourage my rest as he has this incessant need to sit on any part of my body that is not my lap while chewing his bone, but I digress.  Halfway through dinner (and True Blood – fantastic show that we are now obsessed with in the absence of LOST) I realized that Mr. W was being a little standoffish and short with me.  Upon inquiry, he (over, and over, and over) insisted nothing was wrong.  About an hour later, he leans over to cuddle? in an oh so Lenny-like fashion (you know, like from Mice and Men), crushing me so sweetly, and apologized for being cranky (wait!  I thought you said you weren’t cranky?!), blaming it on a long day at work and being tired.  Yeah, ok, whatever.  By 9pm, I was passing out on the couch, begging to go to bed early.  Of course, with this diet we are on, prior-night prep of our meals is almost mandatory, so we smoked and went inside to begin.  I got a sudden wave of dizziness while standing at the kitchen island that I told him I needed to lay down.  (yeah, I may have left the dizzy part out, but only so as not to worry him more with my current physical state of being.)  By the time he came upstairs, I had passed out.  Of course, not realizing this (because apparently my being under the covers with most of the lights off and my eyes closed didn’t tip him off…) he dropped the dog’s crate on the floor from, like, the ceiling and asked, with a definite irritation in his voice if there was anything he could do for me.  When I responded, sleepily, “What??”  He said, oh, never mind, I didn’t know you were sleeping…uh-huh… So I passed out again while he brushed his teeth and washed his face and did whatever other pre-bed-time ritual he does with the bathroom door closed.  He sat on his side of the bed and violently applied foot lotion to his feet, so violently that it jostled the whole bed, and me awake.  I stammered, noting the jostling, to which he replied, “what??  I was just putting on lotion!”…uh-huh…  As I began to dose off, I (albeit very delayed) realized there was an absolutely undeniable tension? irritation? pissed-off? sound to his words, so I asked if he was pissed at me for something?  “Nothing.”  ok…no seriously…WTF, man??  And then the tears started.  I don’t know why the tears started, but they did.  “Why are you mad at me?  What is wrong?  I know something is wrong!  Why are you so stressed?  You can’t be stressed?”  blah, blah, blubbery-blah.  Yeah.  Not pretty.  He comforted me in that wonderful way that only my Mr. Wonderful can, and confided that he has been very stressed about my pain and sickness, and although it is semi-good news that I have Lyme disease instead of the alternative (which of course is still a possibility, but we won’t think about that right now) he is still very concerned and stressed and is soooo sorry for being cranky…etc, etc.  Yes, he’s wonderful.  Somewhere in there I’m pretty sure I passed out again.  Until…he leaned over to kiss my sleeping head before he turned his light out (awwww…), and put the entire weight of his upper body on the support of his elbow, which he positioned directly on my fore-arm (he is a fan of Steinbeck, after all), waking me with a start, and pain.  Ah, well.  The things we endure put up with don’t kill each other over get used to in the name of love!  …and I passed out again.

About 1am-ish, I woke to some strange sounds coming from the vicinity of his mouth, accompanied by an intermittent symphony of snoring.  Like any good, thoughtful, sweet, wonderful bed-mate, I did not wake him, but rather repositioned his arm across his body, which usually causes him to follow, rolling him over on his side, which in turn ends the torture.  But not last night.  He woke up, or at least I thought he was awake, and yelled at me!  “What are you doing?  Why are you pushing me?”  “Baby, you were snoring, it’s ok.”  “DON’T PUSH ME!!”  “Dude, seriously.  What the f-?  Why are you yelling at me?”  “Mmrrffhhrrff…”  By this point I was almost mad enough to sit up and argue (did I mention it was 1am?) but…yeah…no.  Back to sleep. 

I called at noon to find out our plans for this evening.  (Going to see GI Joe and have dinner with his kids)  We went over them, then he brought up last night.  He brought up last night!  I explained what I remembered and expressed, quite peacefully I thought, my feelings about him trying to yell and pick a fight with me over nothing at 1am.  He apologized and we ended the conversation.

I called again at 1pm to let him know I got word from the vet that the puppy is doing ok, per his request.  (He got fixed today…so you know, surgery and all)  He was short and impatient on the ph0ne, so I pointed out he asked me to call.  He said I was being cranky and I was like, dude, we’ve been on the phone for like 30 seconds and he was like, no, earlier.  “Oh, you mean when I was telling you about how you bit my freakin head off last night in your sleep?”  “Yeah, then. But I have to go.”  “Ok…-click”  Holy freakshow, Batman!  PMS much??

And halfway through this post, at about 215pm, he called me, immediately beginning with “I’m sorry I was cranky.”  Uh, ok dude…  He promised not to be anymore, but seriously?  Seriously??  What the hell is going on?!  Is he really that tore up about whatever is wrong with me that it somehow justifies him being on some sort of male version of severe pre-menstrual estrogen overload and dragging me along behind the roller-coaster car of his mood swings, gaining bumps and bruises all the way?  Like I need anymore bumps and bruises at the moment?  He could at least wait until my health improves just, like, 10 more percent before inflicting all this whiplash!

Yeah.  It’s like that.  And I. Don’t. Like. It!

Nothing fits.  No, seriously, nothing fits!  Not even my “loose” jeans fit.  Not even my “easy-just-throw-it-on-when-I-wake-up-late” dress fits.  Nothing fits!  I’m going a little batty here.  I have gone up 2 full sizes in the last 6 months, most of that growth happening in the last 2 months and I have no clue as to why!  In response to my whining this morning, Y told me “you know, I hate to tell you but a woman’s metabolism slows down when she hits 30.”  I’ve only been 30 for 3 freaking days!!  What, was it a preemptive strike on my physique and self-esteem?  No fair!

But seriously, I really don’t know why.  I stopped going to the gym almost a year ago.  I haven’t been eating any differently.  I mean, really, here’s my food diary entries for the last two days (yes, I started keeping a food diary…I’m that confused by this whole thing):

Tuesday:

• Sbux Tea Latte – 200
• Sbux Low-fat raspberry muffin – 238
• 12 oz Gatorade – 100
• 2 20-oz bottles of water (+ 3 more glasses at home) – 0
• Tomato soup – 180
• Sbux Chicken cobb sandwich – 470
• A handful of pringles – 100
• Ramen with one egg and cabbage – 380+90

                                            Total calories: 1758

Wednesday:

• 2 slices of toast w/ cinnamon-sugar – 150
• 2 cups of coffee – 50
• a banana – 108
• a tuna wrap – 400
• cottage cheese and peaches – 120
• tea – 105
• home-made beef and broccoli over rice – 550

                                             Total calories: 1483

That’s not bad, and that’s how I eat most days.  Yes, occasionally I will hit up a fast food place and consume all 1500 calories in one meal, but I’ve always done that and for the most part my eating is like the above…so why the sudden weight gain that shows no signs of slowing down, stopping, or reversing? 

Yes, I realize exercise would probably help me out here.  I also realize my energy (or lack there of) problem would also be remedied by exercise, but seriously, how does one, a regular everyday mommy-type person begin and maintain an exercise routine when you are already tired?  What’s the secret here people?  And don’t tell me, “just do it” because even Nike dropped that logo years ago! 

I will be keeping my food diary for awhile, just to make sure I’m not missing anything.  I’ll keep the look-out for a non-exhausted period of the day to get some sort of exercise.  And, eventually, I will stop whining…maybe…

Silver lining:  I guess I will have to go shopping!  (You know, since none of my clothes actually fit me, like, at all…)

Update:  30 seconds after posting this, I got an email from Mr. W, the supportive one, the guy that is on board with cooking at home, eating better, being healthy…telling me he’s on his way out to lunch.  Nice.

Ok, I realize it’s only the 2nd, but most likely I won’t be blogging this weekend (as it is with most weekends) so I figure I’d cover it now.  So enjoy your (hopefully long) weekend; the celebration, the beautiful fireworks, the cookouts, the family.  We are planning all four for Saturday.  I’m going to try my digital with the fireworks so maybe I’ll get some good shots to share come Sunday.  fingers crossed!

(and now an awkward segway to sex…if you are on the prudish side, stop reading now.)
Mr. W and I had a short conversation about passion last night.  Ours seems to have waned a bit, not by anyone’s fault.  It just seems to be the natural order of things.  I’ve been thinking about it lately, and am curious on the “whys” of it all. 

In the beginning of a relationship (purely sexual or otherwise) the passion is generally strong.  It’s almost a constant fire that consumes (almost) every thought (at least when it‘s good   )  But as the relationship moves on to a more serious, devoted place, the passion wanes, at least in my experience.  It seems like there would be more as there are more true feelings coming into play, but not so much. 

As we chatted, we determined that when things are new, sex isn’t readily available, so you tend to want it more, or at least it becomes a greater priority when you are together.  There is a certain excitement about the potential to have sex, that carries over into the it and seems take the whole experience up a notch.  As the relationship progresses and you, say for example, move in together, things slow down.  Suddenly that person is always available, for sex or anything else, so the priority lessens.  The excitement lessens.  It’s kind of like going on a trip and finding a really good restaurant.  Every time you go back, chances are you are going to go back to that restaurant because it was so good and you can’t get food that good all the time.  You may even plan your trips around meal-times just so you can eat there again, because it’s just that good!  But if that restaurant makes it to your hometown, suddenly it’s not such a must-have because it’s always there and available, so you can eat somewhere else tonight because that restaurant will always be there tomorrow.  (Yes, I equate most everything with food or eating)  

So that’s where we are now.  Things were “hot and heavy” for most of our courtship time (even during our scattered breaks) and I do mean hot.    I moved in last summer, and he left for Iraq shortly after.  Obviously there was no contact during that time, and now he’s back and we live together.  We spend every evening together.  We sleep together every night.  We wake-up together every morning, so it‘s always available and other things have moved up the priority list.  (you know, like sleeping, homework, and I dare to say, tv-watching)  Things that we were willing to sacrifice before because of the scarcity of time for sex.  Also, Mr. W pointed out that since we live together now, our individual stresses have become our stresses.  When we lived apart, I had the kids, homework, the ex-men, finances, etc to stress over.  He had homework, his ex, finances, etc to stress over.  And we turned to each other to relive that stress through support, and other *ahem* physical means.  And it worked very well.  We could both step away from our respective lives and problems and be engulfed in the passion we shared.  Now, our stresses are our stresses.  We are surrounded by them, engulfed by them, imprisoned by them, and there is no escaping.  Don’t get me wrong, I am much happier having someone to share my burdens, and am grateful to be able to share his, but there are things you give up in the process (passion??). 

So my question is, how does a couple such as ourselves get over this.  We are on the same page, have the same mentality about it all, and are very willing to work at it.  But we don’t quite know how to get there.  We talked about “scheduling” which I quickly shot down because, quite frankly, “scheduling” and “passionate” don’t really mesh well for me.  So what will mesh?  What will work?  Where do we go from here?

Remember the good old days when you were all too eager to please your prospective mate, when you actually got greater pleasure out of doing all those sweet things for him/her than he/she even did?  Young love, honeymoon stage, whatever you call it, it all comes back to being nothing but a phase in the relationship.  But why?

Why is it the flowers and foot-rubs end?  Why does the sweetness and tummy-butterfly-flutter end?  Why does the constant consciousness of your “other” end? 

I remember the days when Mr. W would ask to rub my feet, nightly.  I remember when he told me how beautiful I was on a daily basis, sometimes more.  I remember when he was willing to do almost anything for a smile.  I remember when we couldn’t keep our hands (and lips, and …) off each other.  I remember when we could talk for hours and not even realize it.  And now?  Now we go to sleep at night.  Now we can go hours without saying a word.  Now I fish for compliments.  Now I have to erupt spell out my feelings of low to get a response from him.  Don’t get me wrong, his responses do end up being totally fabulous, but I miss the days when he just knew, and was ready to make it all better before I even realized what was going on.

I realize that I’m probably not the same as I was either.  But, just as he doesn’t realize his changes in specific, neither do I.  All I can say is the overall aura of our relationship has shifted to some other place and while I am fully prepared to take half the blame, I’m really not ready for the shift itself.  Problem is he probably won’t tell me my part of all this, content to stay quiet for his percieved peace’s sake, so I stay here blaming myself in the dark.

I started noticing these changes little by little over the last months, since his return from Iraq.  Something shifted in that time away, and while we have (probably) worked out the tension and thereby all but eliminated the conflicts, there is still something…different.  It has all become more poignant over the last weeks, with little expressed sympathy over my dad, and moreover, with the absence of the historically present overcompensation of loviness that used to accompany my son’s departures to his dad’s.  (34 days until I see him again!)  There was a time that he understood my bouts of depression that sometimes preceded and always followed a newly empty house.  There was a time that he would overcompensate, showering me with love and attention, taking my mind out of despair and onto some other distraction.  He got to the point (in all his wonderfulness) that he even launched pre-emptive strikes on my depression, making plans for my child-less time in advance, giving me something to look forward to.  But that time has apparently passed.

We’ve been a little pick-y at each other over the last week.  Granted, I blame myself for most of that.  He has been stressed over a test (which he passed yesterday, YEA!!) and school.  He also has been having some trouble in dealing with my kids…which worries me.  What if, instead of growing to love them even more, he ends up growing to dislike them?  I know they are a handful, and annoying, and at time royal pains in the ass, but they are my babies and he needs to love them and like them.  There is no other option.  Of course I haven’t been dealing well with those thoughts.  I get on mom-defense and lash out a little.  Add to that my tiredness, my own stresses, probably a little bit of PMS, and the imminent departure/post departure depression that has been knocking at my door, and I’m not being very pleasant or forgiving.

Dammit!  Since this is my blog and my space, I’m going to air my probably unjustified but no-less-real feelings here:  I’m bummed about a whole slew of things (my kids, my dad, my stresses).  I feel like I’m getting fat and unattractive.  I’m tired all the time.  And quite frankly I’m not getting some nearly as often as I’d like due to the tired/stress/general crankiness of us both.  And he’s supposed to fix it all, tha’s his job! (I told you this would be a little unjust)  I remember when I hit my all-time low, post separation from ex#2, mid-custody battles, pre-to-post bankruptcy, taking happy little white pills and mind numbing bigger white pills regularly, etc, etc (etc, etc, etc) and  it was Mr. W who pulled me out of that hole.  He breathed life back into my self-esteem.  He got me to a place where I could stop the anti-depressants and cut back a lot on the migraine meds.  He had my back and held me up against the emotional beatings I was taking from my exes.  He reminded me to love my children unconditionally, and to tell them, especially when I was the maddest.  He helped me keep my temper in check and suggested this very outlet for those times that were the hardest.  He got me into the gym and reminded me (although at times a little drill-Sergent-ish.  Yeah, he convinced me to eat flax seed wraps while throwing away all the chocolate in the house!  Sacrilege!) about the importance of a good diet.  He did all these things for me, and so much more.  (And that’s why I call him Mr. Wonderful!) 

But Mr. Wonderful seems to be on vacation lately.  Or asleep.  Or…I don’t know, but I want him back!  I love my Mr. W, infinitely.  Not for what he does/has done for me, but for who he is.  But I also love him for how he makes/made me feel, mostly brought on by all the wonderfulness that used to ooze out of his pores.  I need to get him sweating again!  I have issues, and I know it.  But he used to know it too, and was not only ok with it, but motivated to support me through and help me overcome those issues…used to…  I know he loves me as much as I love him, and it’s not a conscious change on his part, but I miss it nonetheless.  Not that an actual honeymoon is in our future (financial/kid matters), but I would at least like to think about one before it’s declared over and done with!

Last night was better.  Granted, the girl was caught standing on the dining room table, jumping on a bed, and intentionally breaking one of the boy’s toys, but given the choice of screaming, defiant whininess and just regular 3 year old bad behaviour, I’ll take the latter every time.  At bed-time, she jumped right in, no arguements, and (presumably) went right to sleep.  Whether she did or not, there was  no pitter-pat of running (playing) feet, or talking, or fussing to note.  Score one for Mom!  Now let’s see how tonight plays out.

In blogging news, I’ve been crappy on here lately, but I intend to work on it.  I think I’ve forgotten what an outlet my blog has been for me in the past, and in neglecting it I’m also neglecting myself.  I have a tendency to hold things in until I just can’t anymore, resulting in volcanic erruptions of some sort of emotion or otherwise (not fun for anyone in my path).  I did update my set-up awhile back (you may have noticed the change to the blaring orange that now graces my page), but have done little productive since.  And, in case you are wondering, I am not a complete deviant…I intentionally spelled “peace” that way, its a play on words, see…  Of course, I messed with some other settings and now, according to the handy wordpress stats thingy, NO ONE reads my blog*.  I was admittedly a little bummed about that, until The Girl from the Ghetto graced one of my posts with a comment containing some fabulous money-saving ideas for my upcoming wedding.  So, obviously someone is reading…but now to figure out how to turn my tracker do-hicky back on…

Home life has been, well, home-life.  The stress of the kids 1) being whiny and defiant and 2) leaving soon for the summer has been weighing on our house-hold.  Mr. W is working on his “parenting” patience, and doing quite well actually.  It’s been 10 years since he’s had to deal with all the pain frustration stress joys of a 3 or 5 year old, so I do my best to cut him a little slack when it comes to joining in the parent parade.  Besides that, we do differ on some of our views when it comes to raising and ruling kids, so I allow him some leway on that lerning curve.    On top of the normal kid stuff, there are all the looming factors.  And the cherries?  Work, school (for us both), and life in general.  All in all we are holding things together pretty well.  No real fighting.  We are taking it all on on a united front, as far as I can tell. 

I am trying my damnedest to plan some sort of weekend getaway for just the two of us, though.  It’s been awhile since we have taken a trip together.  We used to quite often when we were still dating (granted there was more opportunity then).  We’ve done DC, the mountains, Philadelphia/Atlantic City (not our best trip, but hey), Detroit, and a little bit of Miami (before our family cruise).  I think it would help…but then there’s planning, financing, and pulling it all together sans stress…hmmm, wish me luck!

*hint, hint. If you are out there blogoverse, let me know it.  Send me a “hey how, ya doing,” or a comment…you know, whatever. 

I have so much crap swimming around in my head that has now melted together into an ongoing din of noise.  (Is that the right use for that word?  Oh, well I don’t know, and don’t really care at this point.  The fact that I can put any word other than “ugh” down is a feat in iteslf!)  I wouldn’t really say that I am stressed, although I probably am.  But I don’t feel stressed, just, well, kind of blank.  Knowing me like I do, I’m almost sure I am stressed, so now I’m just waiting for that wave to hit.  Maybe I was wrong in my analogy of stress.  Maybe it’s more like a hurricane, and I’m just stuck in the eye. 

So what’s going on in the world of Writebrite and co. you ask?  Well, where should I begin…(knowing all the while once I get it all out in one place/list, it will look totally inconsiquential and silly!)

The boy is leaving for the summer.  I’ve known this was coming for, oh, like his whole life, but still.  It’s a constant thought in there with all the others.

The clock is steadily counting down to the drama over the girl.  Will we move? (a whole new crowd of thoughts to add to the din)  Will ex#2 move?  Will I have to hire another lawyer and do another round of court-fighting?  (Yeah, like 4 years and 3, yes 3 lawyers for the boy wasn’t enough for one lifetime?!) Will she suffer through it all like the boy did?  Will it change her from her happy-go-lucky child-like self into a shell of a child, containing insecurity and stress all her own? 

Moving.  Well, we want to move.  We probably need to move.  But where? How? When? How much?  And what the hell do we do with the house we are in? 

School is holding steady at fairly easy and do-able…for now.  Programming has kicked my ass a couple times before, so I’m waiting for this new class/language to follow suit.  Just waiting…  Plus there is the possibility I will be taking the previously ass-kicking language again before I’m graced with that pretty piece of paper that ultimately does nothing for me, so yeah, there’s that too.

Work has also been suprisingly peaceful as of late.  Hmmm…we all know that won’t last.  And if it does?  Well, I’m supposed to be figuring out where I would like to expand my horizons, as in find a new job to match my newly degreed self…did I mention supposed to?

Wedding planning hit a snag over the weekend with Mr. W.  There were about 2 hours in there where there was no wedding left to plan.  Yeah, always a fun time.  But we overcame, and the impending-although-totally-willed-against stress that probably maybe most-likely will come from all that is also on the horizon, camped next to the girl, the boy, the house, and the job.

And it’s around the time of the full moon…which for all of you who don’t know me and my crazy tendency to blame external occurances for internal turmoil, means that Mr. W is going through his stressful period.  He’s a little more closed off than normal, and stressing silently (although totally obviously) about every little thing.  I’m hoping with all my might that I’m not part of the list, but historically…

In a perfect world, we’d win the lottery and all our troubles, stresses, looming horizonal problems (yeah, I know “horizonal” isn’t a word, but you get the point) would melt away in the shower of money.  They say money doesn’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell buys a lot of stuff…like houses, and lawyers, and other people’s completely self-serving but still undying loyalty. 

Ok, yeah, not happening…so in a semi-perfect world we would find a house that works for us, with a big yard, in the next year.  We would hold our already planned to be casual wedding in that big yard, with all our loved ones in attendance.  Ex#2 would release his hold on the girl, and let her start school with her brother in the fall, strengthening their bond.  I would get my ass to Human Resources and the HR chicky would see my degree and find the perfect job for me (both qualification and personal fulfillment wise), which would incidentally come with a GIGANTIC raise so Mr. W could stop stressing about school and work and all that other stuff.  He could then just relax and enjoy the fabulous new dream job he picked up last month. 

But we all know the world isn’t perfect, or even semi-perfect, so the din continues.  There are probably other things in there, contributing to the noise, but it’s so hard to pick anything out in the mess so I’ll try to concentrate on the squeakiest wheels.  Meanwhile, I’ll be taping windows and filling sandbags, keeping watch for the other side of that eye…

**on a side note, there are no misspelled words in this post (according to the handy wordpress spell-checker)  Is that even possible?  Yea, me!  But of course I didn’t actually write about marraige, which coincidentally is a word I misspell every. single. time!  Does that say anything about my propensity for failure in marraiges, I wonder?

I’m in a rut.  Actually, a number of ruts.  Just about every facet of my life right now involves a rut.  The boy, Mr. W, work, personal growth, health, inspiration…with the upcoming ruts of school and ex#2 on the horizon.  Even in writing this, I am feeling very ruttish.

Basically, I feel like crap all the time.  Migraines, upset stomach, sore joints, constantly tired.  I’m eating like crap.  I’ve gained weight (size 4 to a size 8-ish) in like a month, so literally nothing in my closet fits.  I can’t sketch.  I can’t write.  I can’t bring myself to pick up my camera.  Work sucks more and more every day.  Mr. W and I are a little on the shaky side.  And the boy, well, he’s five.*  All these things are affecting all the other areas of my life, which in turn affect the affecting areas until it snowballs out of control. 

And now I feel like I’m whining.  *argh!*

Mr. W and I had another bout of  “having it out” yesterday on our long drive up the road to pick up the boy.  We yelled and then went into silent mode…never fun.  We came out ok in the end though…after about 2 hours of the above.  At least we both want this relationship, want to make it work, want to work on it.  That’s a start. 

So here are our starting points (which coincidentally we are totally failing at already):

• Get to bed earlier. Aim for 9pm, hoping to be sleeping by 945pm. (Last night we went to sleep around 1030)
• Get up earlier. No more rushing in the morning.  (3 snoozes had me up at 535am…10 minutes earlier than normal…I guess that’s a start…)
• Work out in the morning.  He bought me a Wii Fit a couple weeks ago, so that’s my goal.  He will resume his morning gym routine.  (Of course this means we both have to be up and working out by 5am…you can see how that worked out for us this morning above)
• Eat better.  Fruits, veggies, eating home-cooked, well-balanced meals, and little junk food.  (Yesterday we had Starbucks for breakfast and Pizza Hut for lunch.  This morning I hit Dunkin Donuts…although I only ate half of the fat pill bacon, egg, and cheese bagel…)
• Communicate. Here is where we really struggle.  We re-implimented safe words.  His is “mean,” for use when my tone begins to stray to the dark side and I, for lack of a better term, hurt his feelings (he is not a wuss in any way, but I can be pretty mean at times without even realizing it and I need to be called on it).  Mine is “explain,” for use when he’s asking the same question over and over, despite not getting the information he is looking for with said question.  We shall see…
• Chore list. We touched on this briefly.  The state of our chaotic, cluttered (yet very clean) house is a root to all the stress and tension for all of us.  We plan on decluttering by tossing or donating what can be gotten rid of.  This will be a challenge for the both of us, as we both tend to be rather rat-ish about our stuff.  Besides that, we will set up a basic chore list (dishes, laundry, etc) to avoid any future eruptions about the dishes being left in the sink (both assuming the other is going to do them) and the lack of clean underwear. (side note: the boy has only one clean pair of pants right now…which he is wearing…and the list hasn’t been accomplished yet…hmmm…)
• Trust. I have trust issues.  He has trust issues.  Our individual issues are very different, but have the same result: lack of communication, assumptions all around, and general crankiness/fighting.  Not fun.  I think if we work on all the other areas, the trust will follow naturally.  We don’t really have a specific plan for trust so I hope my thoughts turn out to be correct…again…we shall see. 

If nothing else, we love each other and are willing to work at this, together.  My issues, his issues, our issues, together. 

*The girl is not mentioned in this post, because, well, I don’t know.  No issues with her as of late.  No real issues with her father either, although one is coming.  She is my bright spot at the moment…but give her time, she’ll join the pack soon enough I’m sure.  She’ll learn a new way to say “no” or develop a case of swine flu, or possibly just decide she wants to be five too.