*as in five-year-olds.  Ok, so that was pretty bad.

The boy has been taking us to hell and back with his mood swings lately.  I firmly believe it is a combination of a case of terrible -uh- fives, and a butt-ton of changes to his already topsy-turvy life.  Since the ripe old age of 10 months, he’s been shuffled back and forth between his dad and me, graduating to a two-week on/off schedule which began at about 2 years old.  Poor kid, although I must say he is always the most well behaved kid on the plane!  

My house and his dad’s house are very different environments to boot.  Polar opposites even.  I strive for peace in my home life.  Uncluttered (although not always succeeding at this one), respect of other’s speaking, listening, a generally lower noise level, organized schedules.  I think these things are important, especially when dealing with children, especially when dealing with my children who have far too much chaos in their lives as it is.  They need a place of calm, of comfort, of safety for their thoughts and emotions.  (Damn, I’m sounding very touchy-feely here…)  Both the ex-men’s houses are full of people, thus noise.  Plus, there is no respect for others’ talking.  I think this may be a side-effect to big families that I’ve never really experienced in my own childhood as I was an only child.  They all talk over one-another.  I guess the goal is to be louder so you are heard.  The result is just, well, noise.  The ex-men (and their parents…have I mentioned they are grown men, with kids, still living with mommy and daddy?)  don’t keep to any sort of schedule or basic structure.  Meals are whenever, however.  i.e. eat a bite, go play, come back for two more, etc, etc.  Naps may happen, or not.  Bedtime is whenever they a) pass out on the couch, or b) daddy wants to have some alone time with his girlfriend.  This bothers me to no end.

In recent months, the boy has started school, cut down severely on his back-and-forth between his now full-time home with me and his dad’s house, and Mr. W has come back into our lives, full time, in our home (Mr. W’s home, but you know what I mean).  It’s a lot for the boy’s 5-year old mind to process.  So he’s acting out.  A lot.  He goes from whiny and completely unable to do anything on his own, to absolutely beaming with happiness, giggling with that oh-so-cute giggle of his, to quiet boy playing his games, to constant talker boy, just aching for attention of any kind, which usually leads back to whiny if he doesn’t get the attention which is apparently vital to his very survival. 

It’s all very frustrating.  For him, for me, for Mr. W.  He’s trying to figure things out without even knowing what to figure out.  He’s trying to find his role and his safe spot in all the chaos.  He’s trying to ensure he is surrounded by the love we profess at all times, lest he be forgotten.  He’s trying our freaking patience!  I feel bad for him, but sometimes I want to just shake him and say, “LOOK!  I love you.  Mr. W loves you.  We know you are there.  We know what you are able to do and not do.  SO STOP MESSING AROUND!  Be strong, little padawan.  We are here for you, but you must find your own way to be a true Jedi.”  And he would totally get it…well, if he was actually listening at the time…because he is a total Star Wars fiend  (so proud of that, btw!).  But he won’t listen.  Can’t listen.  And the wheel keeps turning, threatening to spin our family happiness right into space (like the outer rim deep…like Tatooine deep…yeah).

So how do I reach him?  How do I make him feel secure enough to just be a happy 5-year old kid?  He has enough to deal with:  school, new friends, divorced parents, step-family (ex#2) side-stepping out of his life, new siblings (Mr. W’s kids), tying shoes, and just being 5.  I know phases happen.  I know testing happens.  I know change is inevitable, but this is more.  He’s insecure and confused, and worse, he doesn’t even know it.  Oh, and in two months, school is out and he goes to his dad’s for a good portion of the summer.  What then?

Mr. W called me a couple hours ago to tell me that he took a little trip to Famous Footwear on his lunch hour…

Mr. W: I have to get rid of my new shoes…they are still hurting my feet, so I wore my New Balances today.  But, I was sitting at my desk, wondering what this horrible smell was, when I realized, it was the shoes.  So I went to Famous Footwear and bought a pair of basketball shoes and some new regular tennis-type shoes to wear on days like today. But I have to take them back.

Me: Ok…why do you have to take them back?

Mr. W: They are too shiny.

Me: What did I tell you about buying shoes that are shiny? (We’ve had previous conversations about his unhealthy adoration of shiny sport-type shoes…it’s a little scary…no, really,…scary!)

Mr. W: Well, they didn’t look so shiny in the store, but they are definitely too shiny, so I have to take them back, and now I’m wearing my basketball shoes…(trailing off…)

Me: I love you. 

I am taking this horrible capstone seminar for my degree.  My degree which is a BSc in Math/Physics, Technical Writing, and Computer Science.  (yes, I’ve already established that I am in fact a nerd) Now, my capstone is a reading (three books, one of which was to be read in it’s entirety in a week…keep in mind that I am a working mother of two, now)  and writing intensive course, focusing on…are you ready…disability studies.  My first problem:  what the hell does disability studies have to do with my major?  My second problem:  apparently there is all this controversy and drama among the disabled population of this country…and that is what the focus of the course is.  Seriously.  Apparently people with MD hate Jerry Lewis and deaf people don’t only feel they are not disabled, but also think being deaf is like being Latin or African American, in a cultural sense.  WTF?  My world is just all topsy-turvey and stuff now. 

For my final thesis paper (after weekly research papers…did I mention I work full time and have two little ones at home?) I am supposed to write a 6-11 page paper on a controversy surrounding a disability or medical illness that I have, or that someone I know has.  Seriously?  Oh, and there is a caveat that I am supposed to tailor my paper to reflect my major.  WTF?!  Three weeks ago I wasn’t even aware that there was any sort of controversy related to disabilities.  And how exactly am I supposed to tailor a paper about disabilities/medical illness to my major?  And  I have never written 6-11 pages on anything.  Besides that, I don’t even know any disabled people (or people with controversial medical illnesses…whatever those may be) so I’m feeling very shallow right now.  I assume the professor assumes everyone knows someone with a disability, so the fact that I don’t basically makes me a big douche.  Hmmm…

So I’m at a loss.  1 1/2 weeks to figure out my topic.  2 weeks to put together a rough draft.  3 weeks to turn something in.  Fun, fun, fun!

Oh, on a side note…I reallyneed a haircut (not that you care, I just want to whine).  My hair has become content with this feathered mullet thing, which has gone totally awry with the mass presence of rain and humidity that is plaguing my area.  *Hrumph*  Can I get a break somewhere?

We humans are truly strange in our relationships, especially with those we are closest to.  Whether it be a child, a friend, a lover, or a life partner/spouse, they get to see us at our very best.  They get to experience our kindness and selflessness and love, our compassion and forgiving, our true selves without walls or holding back.  It’s a beautiful thing when you get to that place in a relationship with someone when you can truly be yourself without hesitation or fear.  It is the side that the others don’t know even exist.  It’s the side that sings in the car, that acts goofy, that says what is on your mind no matter what it is, that can make mistakes without feeling ashamed.  The others see the shell of a person, but it’s those that are close who get to experience the whole person.

Of course, the downfall to all of this is that those closest often see the worst of us as well.  They feel the stress and the pain.  They sit front row to the bad times, often too close, feeling the sting as we lash out against whatever is bringing us down.   They get the ugly and the mean side that the others aren’t faced with. 

When those waves of stress come to beat you down, you reach out for the closest thing in desperation or frustration or anger, and in your haste to stay above water, end up pushing whatever (or whoever) you get hold of down to hold yourself up.  Sometimes they are standing ready with a life vest to hold you both afloat.  But sometimes they’re not.  Sometimes you catch them so by surprise that they end up taking the brunt of the crash and end up more salty than you.

I was an asshole this morning. 

I have a strict time-table in the mornings before work.  I get up at the last possible moment to take a shower.  In the shower, I figure out my clothes for the day.  I get dressed (in the pre-figured-out outfit) and get coffee.  I wake the boy, give him clothes, and set his toothbrush up for brushing.  I fix my face and hair, check on the boy, then wake the girl.  I get the girl dressed (usually with lots of whining about how tired she is.  I work in an extra 5 minutes for this) and head downstairs.  On a normal morning, the kids get juice while I heat up the car, we put on coats and shoes and head out.

Now, as I mentioned above, I get up at the last possible moment.  Timing is everything.  So if anything, anything holds me up I go into a huge mini-meltdown.  Ok, I freak.  If I can’t find what I’d planned to wear.  If the kids are having an extra rough (taking longer than the allotted 5 minutes to resolve) morning, if the juice cups decide to spontaneously leap from the cupboard as I pull two out, anything.  And in true human condition, I begin to go under and lash out at those around me.  I know it’s not fair.  I know it’s mean.  I know I have issues and I am trying to fix them.

I was an asshole this morning. 

Mr. W and I (well, mostly Mr. W, in his constant effort at making my life easier…and I call him Mr. Wonderful) have been digging ourselves out of a huge laundry pile hill landslide for weeks.  As it stands, we have one more load of dirty (however ever increasing) and about 5 loads of clean to be folded and put away.  I went downstairs after my shower to dig out the shirt I was planning to wear…and couldn’t find it.  Digging further, I found several “hanging” items crumpled in the pile.  Picturing the work ahead, to include mountains of ironing, I freaked a little.  Thankfully the laundry room is in the basement and no one heard.  I walked up the two flights of stairs to find something in my closet, consciously telling myself it’s not anyone’s fault, chill out, don’t freak, calm down…but when I got to our room, he asked, and I…yep, FREAKED.  I tried to explain my frustration with the laundry but it came out all wrong, all yell-y and angry and stuff.  And, really.  Who wants to deal with that first thing in the morning?  He freaked back and walked away*.

Mr. W has been tending to the kids mornings (breakfast, dropping at school/sitter’s, etc) since he’s been back.  When I got downstairs this morning, I’d planned on asking him to get the girl up a little later since she didn’t sleep well last night, but I found the boy sitting on the floor, not eating, not doing anything.  I asked why, and he said Mr. W didn’t give him breakfast.  (Mr. W was no where to be found…although later I would figure out he was in the basement) Assuming (you know what happens when you ass-u-me) he was mad at me and decided to rescind his offers to help me with the kids, I got the girl up (crying because she was tired and didn’t know what was going on) and prepared them to leave.  Then the boy started crying.  He figured out he wasn’t going to be dropped off at school today and was very upset that he had to ride the bus from the sitter’s “with the big kids,” although I’m still not completely sure why.  Anyway, my kids are crying, I’m running even later now, and Mr. W has disappeared.  I saw red.  I blamed him**.  I FREAKED some more. 

I smoked a cigarette to calm my nerves, and decided to go in late so the boy wouldn’t have to ride the bus.  Crying boy: solved.  I sat with the girl and held her long enough for her to wake up and calm down.  Crying girl: solved.  I made breakfast for them, and went to find Mr. W to apologize.  Fighting with lover: not solved!  He cut me off three words into my apology***, and I freaked some more.  I don’t remember everything that was said, only that he sprinkled “I’m just trying to get away from you” into our conversation quite a bit. 

He left without saying good-bye to me (never happened before).  He left without giving me even a look, let alone a hug and kiss (never, ever happened before) even after the girl complained she didn’t get a hug and kiss and he came back for her. 

We aren’t talking now.  Our “family” plans for this weekend are gone.  I don’t know what to do or say at this point and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and spill one hundred “good-byes” at my feet. 

Why do we lash out at the ones we hold dearest?  Why must they get the best and the worst of us?  “You always hurt the ones you love…” -cliche as ever, but oh so true…

*I really hate when people walk away from me.  Can you say “abandonment issues?”

**Ex#2 was great at shoving all responsibility, for the kids, for the house, for everything back to me when we fought.  He would say it was my problem, so deal with it myself.  My kids were his kids, so I had a right to be mad.  My kids are not Mr. W’s kids, so this familiar scene brought out familiar feelings with no real ground to stand on.  While my heart wanted to blame him for their pain, my mind kept telling me “it really isn’t his problem.  You can’t blame him.”  Internal turmoil = an even worse start to the day!

***I really, really hate when people interrupt me/cut me off.  It has an instant effect.  It sets my blood boiling in my scull and makes my temper flare.  It’s disrespect.  It’s uncaring.  It’s just plain rude!

I have an itch for a creative outlet that is in desperate need of scratching.  I’ve been hovering over some of my favorite art and photography sites lately, longing to create, but there just doesn’t seem to be enough extra time in the day, week, month, year, lifetime to do it.  I doodle from time to time, sure, but nothing substantial lately.  (You can see some of my past doodlings here and here)  I’ve been longing to create some grand masterpiece of a photo, but I haven’t touched my camera.  Well, I did snap a couple of the full moon a couple nights back, but I still can’t get the settings quite right to capture what my mind’s eye sees.  The brief euphoria of actually getting paid to shoot has finally passed and I’m looking around desperately for my next fix.  Serious withdrawals here!

With school drawing to a close, I am tempted to take a photography class over the summer.  The kidlets will be gone for most of the summer save a week here and there, so I will (should) have lots of free time on my hands.  Mr. W and I plan to do a little traveling, sans children, but our planning never seems to turn out just right, so I won’t hold my breath.  I should take a class.  I want to take a class.  If I don’t sign up soon, though, I know me…I won’t do it at all.  On top of that, if I don’t like the class for whatever reason, I won’t go, and that’s just a waste of money. 

My little spark of my dream came and went so fast it left me spinning and now I’m not sure what to do.  I set up my website, but haven’t touched it in months.  I’ve been meaning to draw a new tattoo for me, and possibly take a couple other samples up to my local (fabulous) tattoo artist in hopes he might display some of my stuff, but I just haven’t gotten a real spark of inspiration.  I’m in a rut and I’m stuck and I don’t really know how to get out of it.  Or maybe it’s just that I haven’t had a reason to get out of it, or I just don’t want to get out of it…hmmm…has my perpetual whininess found a new home?  When allmost else is on plus side, is my subconscious sabotaging me to maintain a place to throw tantrums?  Maybe I should schedule another reiki appointment!

Stress is like an unexpected wave at the beach.  You know, you’re splashing along, enjoying the cool water and the bright, warm sun above, when an unexpected wave hits you just right.  A small one simply splashes you square in the face with some of that oh-so-salty water that may or may not end up in your nose, leaving your heart racing just a bit.  The bigger ones may go over your head, leaving you startled and spitting more of that salt water after the quick dunk.  And then there are the really big ones which push you down, swirling, leaving you disoriented and gasping for air, desperate to reach the top if only you could figure out which way is up.  And the tidal waves, well their path of destruction can wipe out everything that is familiar and safe with little effort, leaving behind an array of disaster to deal with (and more waves). 

I’ve been through many levels of stress, the small waves, when I was smacked in the face and startled, leaving my heart racing and my breath short.  I’ve been through bigger ones which left me with so much salt water in my throat that I’ve been sick for weeks on end.  And even the really huge stresses that seem to go on and on, leaving me searching for the light, for the sun, desperately gasping for air, and finally leaving me worn out and roughed up from the beating it dished out.  Thankfully, I haven’t had to deal with any full on tidal waves as of yet, but with the unpredictability of life (and the ocean), who knows…

Some people seem to deal with stress better.  The better swimmers, I suppose.  They seem to be able to dive under those waves, holding their breath in one smooth movement, and emerge on the other side a little wet, but otherwise unscathed.  I, on the other hand, have never mastered holding my breath, and must go through the motions of taking a deep breath and physically holding my nose before going under, something that those surprise (waves) stresses don’t allow for.  I always end up breathing/swallowing the water, leaving me with a sore throat, and I always end up with some form of sick when I’m under stress.   

Mr. W is like me.  A better swimmer, but apparently not a strong one as he generally ends up worn out and cranky in the wake of stress.  Unfortunately, his physical ailment takes the form of insomnia.  Of course, when you are worn out from swimming, or stressing, or whatever, sleep is what your body craves the most…and so begins the vicious cycle that plagues him (and by him, I now mean us).  I have had my own battle with insomnia going on for years.  I know his pain.  I have had nights when I quite literally got no sleep at all.  I have had days that I called in sick to work out of fear that the sleep would finally hit me during my commute.  I’ve had weeks where I felt like a zombie on a constant caffeine drop-off, as I wandered through my day, drinking as much coffee as my stomach would allow…and then one more for good measure.  So yes, I know his pain.  But I don’t suffer with him.  If he is next to me, I can sleep for days, no matter what is going on with my life.  Next to him is my safe haven, my peace, my bubble of tranquility.  Ok, maybe not that last one, as my stress is still on my mind, but I am able to put it away long enough to fall and stay asleep.  I don’t have that same healing effect on him, however.  If a wave of stress takes him, a wave of insomnia takes him and nothing can help him then, not even me. 

I woke up last night and he wasn’t there.  Yes, we are stressing.  About our own individual stuff.  About our joint stuff.  About our future and futures.  About lots.  I am sick, again.  I think it’s a nasal infection, but who knows.  I’ll fight through it as usual.  And he couldn’t sleep.  While the insomnia doesn’t take me when he’s there, it’s almost guaranteed it will when he’s not.  It’s infectious.  So I went to find him, out back, smoking…that’s normal.  I asked what was wrong.  Nothing.  That’s normal too.  I waited for him to get done, and pulled him back to bed with me.  He rolled away (normal) and I fell into a deep sleep.  This morning he couldn’t get up, not for the gym, not for the cup of coffee I left on his nightstand, not for a kiss goodbye, and not for the later alarm I set for him.  He’s not talking to me (normal) and I’m stressing about that now (normal, normal, normal). 

And the waves keep rolling in.

So I just found out some shit (sorry, no other way to say it) and I’m not sure what to do with it.  I know if I confront Mr. W, it will probably bring up some old shit that we will obviously get over, but the drama of it is almost not worth it.  Notice I said almost.   The problem is, if I don’t bring it up and confront him, it will eat at me and will inevitably begin a cycle of snowballing bitchiness that will end in it coming out anyway, only in a much more dramatic, big thing way.  So I’m thinking I might as well bring it up now and deal with the mini-drama, rather than drag it out and create a possibly huge-ass drama that could be way worse.

What is she babbling about??

Well, basically, on New Years Eve, sans chilluns, I went to a party at a friend/co-worker’s house with a my friend Y, and a bunch of other random work people, and Mr. W’s close friend W and his wife.  W’s (not Mr. W, but Mr. W’s friend W…yeah I know, I need to figure out a better acronym system, but bear with me for now.) wife went home and left him in my care.  The party progressed and I got a little (a lot) shitty, random alcohols, silly drinking games (seriously, can anyone tell me the point of flip-cup??!!), and general merrymaking galore until midnight.  Mr. W called me from Iraq to tell me Happy New Year, or so he said, and proceeded to freak out a little that I was drunk “alone with a bunch of dudes that just want to get in my pants.”  Yeah, so he said it a lot less eloquently than that, but I try to keep this at least a PG13 blog.  We fought briefly, and then I got more drunk, threw up quite a bit, and passed out in my (girl)friend’s bed.  Y stayed with me, and the hostess locked her bedroom door so no one could get in.  W crashed on the couch after making sure I was secure (he is a safety guy after all!). 

The next day was absolute hell.  I threw up when I woke up, and again when I tried to get up again, and again before walking to the car to go home, and again in my front yard, twice, and again after getting upstairs, and at least 4 more times after that.  The rest of my day was spent in and out of consciousness, with bright little breaks of text-fighting with Mr. W about my “immaturity” and his being a generally jealous, controlling ass-hole, a la the ex-men.  (Yeah, he didn’t really like that comparison too much.)  After fighting, breaking up (at least twice), making up, apologizing, (and more throwing up) we worked it all out and all was good in the land of the W’s again.  (Mr. W and Writebrite…not Mr. W’s friend W…keep up, would you!)

Today, during a general girl chat session among myself, Y, and the (girl)friend who hosted the party, I found out that Mr. W went to Y’s husband, K (who was with Mr. W in Iraq, and is still there), and asked if Y had mentioned me fooling around with anyone.  WTF!!??  K didn’t even ask.  K doesn’t even really know me except by reference of Y, and he didn’t even need to ask to know I didn’t.  Yeah, I totally could have.  Yeah, I was drunk and lonely and probably feeling a little pissed of and frisky (it had been 3 months by that point, after all)…never a good combination…and in any other lifetime I totally would have.  But I didn’t.  Didn’t even think about it.  For truth.  Seriously.  Didn’t even cross my mind!  And the one who knows me best, the one whom I love more than any other, ever, the one who I couldn’t hurt if I tried, the one who broke my heart on at least 3 occasions, one of which involved his ex, yeah, like that.  The one didn’t trust me, actually believed I could, I would, and couldn’t even ask me himself.    I say again: WTF!!??

So, yeah, I guess this means I will be asking him about it.  For the above reasons, and because he reads this blog every now and again and will know I know, but totally won’t ask until I ask, and it will just create an even more uncomfortable tension leading to bitchiness on both our parts leading to fighting and extra drama and who knows what…so yeah, I’m going to ask. 

I’ll let ya’ll know how it goes.  (Yes, I totally just typed “ya’ll.”  I speak country every now and again too.  Don’t judge, it’s just a thing, and you know, it’s not that bad, and “ya’ll” is just the contraction for ”you-all”, much clearer than just “you, ” because, really, does “you” mean you-one-person, or you-collective-people?  I mean it just makes sense…kinda…ok, I’ll stop now.)

I am not a good future planner.  I don’t have a 401-k or an IRA or any other retirement thingy set up.  (I don’t even really know what they are, except that they are retirement thingies!)  I don’t have a college fund set up for my kids.  I don’t have any savings.  I don’t have any solid goals I’m working towards.  I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  And I’ve recently discovered I don’t have a degree that will do anything at all for my career. 

My hastily made well laid plans to get a BSc have backfired.  I think I rushed into a program to finish my degree in something because I knew my marriage was on its last legs and I needed desperately to do something for myself.  Besides that, I do enjoy school and learning and it is one selfish thing I can do just for me that isn’t questioned or looked down on as such.  But my options were limited because I have two kids, and my marriage was on its last legs…my marriage to a man who had me take the kids to daycare on his days off so there was no possibility that he would help me out by taking care of them a couple nights a week so I could go to class.  I had to find a completely online school, which I did, and find a degree, which I did, and then finish it, which I will in June.  The only problem is that my interests and projected career path don’t lie in degree areas that can be attained by distance learning.  So I had to get creative…Interdisciplinary.  What a magic word.  Yes it sounds really cool when you say your degree is in Math, Physics, Computer Science, and Technical Writing.  Ok, maybe cool isn’t word so much as Oh my god! What are you thinking you super nerd you?!  But still, it’s impressive on some level, right?  But what does it mean?

Nothing.  It means I’m a jack of all trades, master of none.  It means I can better do the job I currently have, but can’t wave my piece of paper to anyone else with hopes of something better.  It means I can’t go into a Masters program.  Well, that is half true.  For the Masters program I want, I need a 3.0 or better (yeah, totally not happening right now), a specific BSc in Engineering (oops), and/or experience in the field as an Engineer (damn, that little “Tech” part at the end of my title screws me there).  *hrumph*

In the end, I have no retirement, no plan for my kids’ education, no career path (not even a muddy, slightly worn patch in the grass for me to follow), and a very pretty piece of paper to hang on my wall that basically says nothing more than, “yeah, this girl can learn something.”

First I would like to mention a new (new to me, apparently not new to, like, the world) blog I stumbled on which I totally love in that special love/hate way.  The Bloggess (check my links on the side-bar).  Love, because since 715 am I’ve been sitting at my desk, laughing my ass off at every…single…post.  Seriously.  Out loud laughing.  I never out-loud laugh (aka, laugh out loud, but I like to make up my own way of saying things.  I’m original like that).  Hate, because since 715 am I’ve been sitting at my desk reading this hilarity, finding all sorts of fabulous things to do with my time today, none of which have anything to do with what I’m supposed to be doing at work, you know, like work.  They will also significantly cut into the time I had set aside to do other non-work-related things today.  Dammit!

One of these totally entertaining wastes of my time is something I will undoubtedly use everyday: Wordle.  It’s so freaking cool!  I don’t know what the specifics of it is, but it basically makes a word cloud thingy from a group of words, or your blog, or your delicious, and then makes it pretty, which is of course very important, the pretty part I mean, ok, let me just show you:

This blog:

 Writebrite.wordpress.com:

 And my delicious:

Apparently…I use the word “apparently” way too often currently, as it popped up in a prominent size in the cloud for this blog.  I apparently talk about the boy way more often than the girl, since “girl” didn’t even make the cloud.    My delicious seems slightly angled towards photography…just slightly.    Only my old wordpress* site seems moderately balanced for a mommy/life blog, with happy sprinklings of words like “hope,” “excited,” and “thankfully.”  (Ok, yeah, there are words like “insomnia” and “grumble” but what is balance without good and bad?)

These clouds are like little computer created totally irrelevant windows to your inner soul.  I like words.  I like pictures.  It’s like putting my two likes together to create an answer to the unanswerable question: Who am I, really?  Ok, not so much, but it is pretty cool nonetheless**.

In a moment of weakness, I put in Mr. W’s ex’s blog in and got smacked in the face with the word “chicken.”   What the hell is that about?  Ok, confession: I still read the blog, beating myself about the neck and shoulders when I do from guilt.  Maybe I have some perverted fantasy about shame and spanking I haven’t yet tapped into...hmmm… (watch those search hits rise for that one!)  But yes, I do read it so I know what the chicken thing is.  I guess I half expected something like irresponsible drinking and sex, all-about me, and oh yeah some more of me  to litter the cloud.  Oops, sorry, is my malice showing?

*ok, shouldn’t WordPress be in the spell-check dictionary of a wordpress-driven site?

**and how come nonetheless and fabulous did not make either of the blog-clouds?  I make efforts to sprinkle in nonetheless as often as possible, both because I like the word and I feel it makes me sound far more intellegent than I actually am.  And fabulous?  Well that is just a general staple in my vocabulary because, well, fabulous is just such a fabulous word to say or write or even think.  Say it with me now…Fa-bu-lous!  See, how fabulous was that?!

My Victoria’s Secret Online shopping bag has $524.00 worth of merchandise in it right at this moment, begging for me to hit the check-out button.  There is something about shopping on the Internet which brings pure joy…maybe it’s that the pictures always look so pretty.  Maybe it’s because the check-out cart does all your math for you.  Maybe it’s because I’m sitting at work and  indulgently shopping, with no crowds, ample merchandise in all sizes and colors, and no looming dressing-room mirrors to ruin my day.  Who knows exactly why it’s great, but it just is.  I always seem to have much more luck and less frustration when I do my shopping online. 

And be proud, that fore mentioned $524.00 is not on frivolous articles that won’t ever see the outside of my closet, but rather on very work appropriate attire which would be well worn if purchased.  That $524.00 buys me 7 spring/summer blouses, 3 pairs of well-fitting slacks/trousers/pants (whatever you call them), 2 pairs of fabulous-yet-practical pumps, and 1 pair of totally work-appropriate trouser-jeans (probably way more appropriate than any of the jeans I currently attempt to pass off as “work-appropriate”).

But, alas, I won’t be clicking that happy, inviting, wonderful, indulgent…. pink “proceed to checkout” button any time soon.  Partially because I can’t actually fathom spending $524.00 completely on myself in one single purchase, partially because Mr. W’s welcome although unscheduled return has created a pocket tightening situation which I must adhere to, sacrificing the little indulgences* (and big ones…like $524.00 ones) for the comfort and betterment of our family.  *sigh* 

So I close the window, bidding farewell to my well chosen, totally work-appropriate, would definately wear, what could have been wardrobe, and take a short moment of silence for my fallen (could-have-been) friends…

*coincidentally, I did visit Starbucks this morning, one of those smaller (but probably adding to much bigger) indulgences that I’ve been actively and (mostly) successfully cutting out of my routine.  As I ordered my normal Grande coffee (keeping it simple = keeping it cheap = not as much guilt) I was disappointed as apparently all the coffee had run out and needed to be brewed.  But thanks to my friendly neighborhood Starbucks’ policy, I was offered a Americana (apparently Espresso w/ hot water) …ready?..for free!  Yea, Starbucks people!  It was yummy and I was happy.  Getting my coffee and not paying for it, too!  What could be better?  (well… maybe a Vicky’s shopping spree, but I digress…)