Tide and Downy and Bounce Sheets, Oh My!!

I think I've figured it out. The source of my never-ending laundry problem. I have noticed that even though I do laundry every blessed day, I never can seem to find the end. As soon as I have all of the laundry put away, there seems to be a basket-full in each and every bedroom. And it frustrates me TO NO END.

So, I started paying attention to what was going on around here with laundry. And I finally pinned down the cause of my dismay.

It's the children. (duh)

They change clothes every single day. Sometimes more than once. And at night? They INSIST on wearing PAJAMAS. What's that all about? Every night. Then they wake up in the morning and put on NEW CLOTHES. Geez, people! Give me a break! Can't you see that those clothes are CLEAN??? I just hung that shirt up yesterday!

What's wrong with what you wore yesterday? Okay, so there's a little spot on that shirt. As if you aren't going to just get stuff on the shirt you wear today. Whose gonna notice? You're in first grade. You ALL have crap on your shirts.

I'm not even going to go into the towels. And the sheets. And the SOCKS. Oy vey, the socks!

But they remain resolute in their ridiculous daily wardrobe changes. Nothing I can say seems to sway them. And worst of all, their father is BACKING THEM UP! Though, the man is the only one who does wear the same thing several days in a row....as military pilots are wont to do. But he sees nothing unreasonable in their actions. Bastard.**

So, as it looks for the moment, I am stuck washing clothes for these people over and over and over again. For the rest of my life. Does anyone else have this problem? Any suggestions?

I'll be in the laundry room if you have any ideas.


**Just kidding! Love you honey!

Today I am bitching about:

1. The odor emanating from my guest suite. This is pretty funny of you have talked to me on the phone in the past week or so.


2. The Ron Paul for President people. You know I'm a Republican, but this guy is a little too fringe for me. (Didn't he used to be a Libertarian?) These people are every.where. I'd give you a link but I don't want to encourage them.


3. TWITTER. Okay, I am loving the Twitter. But one of the people I am "following" is getting totally put of hand with the postings. It is making me crazy. When you stop following someone, are they notified? I don't want to piss this person off. If you are reading this and you think it might be you, trust me, it's not.


4. My sidebar. Those archives are just out of control. I know that I've whined about this before, but does anybody know how to put them into some sort of drop-down thing with out ruining my very old template?


5. The way Stacy and Clint (on What Not to Wear) say "pant" and "shoes." Like "Now this is a really great pant." or "You need a better shoe." They are PANTS and SHOES. Sheesh. (Okay, it doesn't trouble me enough to stop watching. I'm addicted. I even TiVo the reruns! Pa.the.tic.)


6. Speaking of silly "reality" television....That prissy Christian guy on Project Runway. He makes me crazy. And his designs are all boxy and FUGLY. I'm quite over him and I'm ready for him to be Auf'd.


7. My dogs. Their barking is going to push me right over the edge. I know. They are DOGS. And dogs bark. But it's the bossy bark at the door as if I am OBLIGATED to let her in or out whenever she chooses. It's like the Gospel According to Snazzy: "Behold, I stand at the door, and bark: if any man (or woman. or child. well, anyone who can work a doorknob) hear my voice - open the door already! I will come in to him, and will sup with him, (sleep with him, chew up his new shoes, shed all over his furniture and clothes)...and he with me." 1 Labradorians 7:14


8. The end of NaBloPoMo. I really didn't think I'd make it a whole month posting DAILY. But it has been pretty cool. Hopefully, I can keep this up. Maybe not every day, but several times a week. We'll see.

Things I don't understand

• Why my son (Bear) cannot stop breaking his pencils at school. No, I don't mean that the lead frequently breaks. I mean that he breaks his pencils in half. Not one or two. But many, many pencils.
• Why my daughter insists on doing just enough to piss ME off - thoroughly -, but not enough for anyone else to understand why I am so angry. It's a fine line and she consistently finds it. GIFTED. Yes.
• Why, no matter how tired I am, I cannot manage to go to bed before midnight at least four nights a week.
• Where are of this damn laundry comes from.
• How I am going to pay for Christmas presents this year.
• What the hell is wrong with Britney. (I'm so ashamed of my fascination with her train wreck of a life, but I just can't stop looking!)
• What is up with that Yo Gabba Gabba show on Nick Jr. It's like Sesame Street on acid.
• Why Bug is absolutely averse to doing anything any person in authority asks of him.
• Also, how he has figured out the whole "reverse psychology" angle.
• If my house will ever truly be clean and organized.
• Why my husband is still around. Being married to a crazy person cannot be easy. (Entertaining at times, though!)
• Why some people can't escape the roles they assumed in High School, no matter how many years it has been.
• Heroes. This show baffles me.
• How SD knew, without me having to even hint, that I needed ice cream. And not just ice cream, but Cappuccino Chocolate Chunk. How does he do that?
• What on earth possessed me to pledge to post every single day this month? I've been successful so far! Can I make it for ten more days?

Pay no attention to the obviously deranged Astronaut Cowboy

I have no explanation for the appearance of my son here. Other than perhaps, he's four and he has a HUGE sense of humor. This isn't even the funniest outfit he has come up with. Astronaut suit, teeny tiny cowboy hat, two different socks and underwear on the outside. It's just the funniest one I have happened to get a picture of. So you can only IMAGINE what he walks out here in some days.


But this post isn't even about Bug and his all too apparent need for a psychological evaluation -sooner rather than later.

This post is about furniture. Specifically, about the furniture in this picture. The sofas. Do you see them? Well, do you see the loveseat anyway? It is a good representation of the other three pieces that came with it. (Sofa, loveseat, chair and ottoman) Being exactly the same and all.

SD and I shopped our asses off last Christmas trying to find just the right living room furniture. (Sadly, my ass grew right back. Big as ever.) We narrowed it down to two. (sets of furniture. not asses.) One set at a chain store named after one of the Olsen twins. One at a chain that has several FURNITURE stores in a ROW. Ultimately, we went with the second store. We thought the sofa set we bought there would last us a long time and would be rugged enough to withstand our boys.

WRONGO.

I am so very, very unhappy with this furniture right now. Not a month after we got it, the fabric started getting "pulls" in it. Sort of coming unravelled. And not from some blatant abuse by the boys, but just getting caught on something as one of us passed by the ottoman. Now, there are pulls somewhere on each piece.


PLUS - and this is what is most aggravating - the fabric is "pilled" up ALL OVER the blasted furniture. It looks like it is about ten years old. And it is not even a year old. I am of the opinion that when you spend several thousand dollars on furniture, it should stay looking, if not new, then not OLD for...well, at least until you have paid it off! (The store offered no interest/no payments for two years or something like that)

In addition, it has gotten mushy and uncomfortable. I'm whiny, I know. But I am just so disappointed. SD talked to the manager about this a few weeks ago and he said that they would fix the fabric where it is pulled and that they could add more stuffing to make it firmer. But how do they fix the pilling? (It's a word NOW) I can only see that being remedied by totally reupholstering ALL OF IT. And that just seems crazy. PLUS what are we supposed to do for living room furniture while it's being fixed?

Do you think that they will just replace it? Do you think that we an pick something else or at least a different fabric? Do you think that I will stop whining any time soon?


Nah. Me neither.

**I do realize that if this is the biggest problem in my life, that I have so much to be thankful for. And I am, truly. But I must whine. It's my job.

Conversations that make my mom laugh her ass off (which is really starting to sound like me nagging)

Me: SugarPlum. Throwing all of your clothes into the laundry basket is not "putting your clothes away." There are clothes in here that are folded! And LOOK! These have TAGS on them! How could they possibly be dirty if you have never EVER worn them? There should only be actual dirty clothes coming in here in the hamper. You'd better cut this crap out or you'll end up doing your OWN LAUNDRY from now on. Capisce?


SugarPlum: :::stomping::: followed by :::slamming door:::


Are you sensing a theme here?

Meanest Mommy In. The. World.

Did you hear that last night? Did you? The wailing and crying and shouts of protest and the gnashing of teeth. Did you hear it? I swear that they had to be able to hear it at least down to Austin and up to Oklahoma City (Holli?).

That horrible noise was the sound of my boys protesting and wailing about the removal of all toys from their bedroom and into big, black garbage bags. Was it some sort of "ambush" where I snuck up on them playing peacefully in their tidy, organized room?

No.

This was the exact consequence that I explained to them two hours earlier when I sent them into their room to pick up the disaster that they had created over the past 48 hours. I gave them several time warnings. "You only have one hour left!" "Thirty minutes until I come and finish cleaning up!" "Fifteen minutes!" "FIVE MINUTES to clean up, you guys!" "Okay! I'll be in there in one minute!"

And yet, those ungrateful little urchins had the nerve to act surprised when I came in with the Hefty Bag and began depositing toys into it. "No Mommy!! We're picking up! See??!" Yes, I saw that they were picking up right then, but when I walked in they had a good game of Garbage Man going (a game strictly forbidden in this house for several months now) and were, quite honestly doing exactly the opposite of "picking up."

No Mommy! Not my garbage truck! PLEASE not my garbage truck!

MOOOOMMMMEEE!! Don't take my fire engine! I looooooovvveeee it!

But Mommy! I am soooo tired!

Oh! not my dolphin!

That's my astronaut helmet! I Lob it!

Nooooo! Not Superman! (Mommies are like kryptonite!)

That helmet is Daddy's! He's going to be angwy with you!

What are you going to do with them? Throw them in the garbage can? (Answer: No, I am giving them to children who don't have any toys and will appreciate them and take care of them.)

Is this something new? No. Is this the first time I have confiscated toys in big black hefty bags? No. The second? Third? No and no. This is the FIFTH time I have done this over the past few months. SO they know that when I say that I'm going to, I mean it. Just like with almost everything else I say. I DO (usually) manage to follow through with the consequences I announce.

They kept telling me that they want Daddy. I had to inform then that Daddy was behind this plan 100% and that he would be doing the same thing were he here. He'll be here in twelve days. Won't they be disappointed when I'm not reprimanded for my meanness! (You'd better back me up on this, mister.)

Have I actually gotten rid of any of those millions of toys that I have taken? No. Not yet. Do I have about eleventy thousand bags and boxes of confiscated toys in my garage and dining room? Yes. Yes I do. And I AM going to give the lion's share of them away to the local women's shelter. I plan to sort through and keep out the ones I know that they actually play with and give the rest away. Thing is? After a day or two, they don't even mention those toys any more. Which tells me that these children have entirely too many toys. They may just get cardboard boxes for Christmas this year. They enjoy those more than anything else.

So, if you live near Candyland and you need toys, come on over. I'll be sorting out the baby stuff for Buttercup, but the rest is up for grabs. Lots of Tonka trucks, stuffed animals, and firefighter stuff. In the words of Bill Cosby's wife "I! Have had! ENOUGH! OF! THIS!" On the upside, if they keep this up long enough, it won't take much at all to clean up their toys. Because you can't clean up something that you don't even possess!

PS If anyone gets the bright idea to come toward MY bedroom, hefty bag in hand? Just save yourself the energy. I'm all fired up for a good fight and probably won't hold back. I've got a good three weeks of pent up anger at many, many different people and events and if you shake that bottle, it's gonna blow. Besides I'm sooooo tiiiirrred!

How many times...

....does this have to happen before I learn????


For crying out loud.

Must fold now.

Lucky to be alive, that child

Sometimes there are days that I love and adore my children. Okay, I always love my children, but I do not always adore them. Sometimes I am amazed at how well behaved, considerate and thoughtful they can be. Then there are the other times. We have had many "what the fuck?!" moments around here lately. But Sunday night. *sigh* Sunday night....well it was the crowning "what the fuck" moment of the year thus far.

Bug had been quite the little shit all weekend. He had been pushing the limits. Seriously. Dumping the clothes out of the dresser, refusing to go potty (that's a whole other entry), defiance. But then he would be all sweet and cuddly and make me love him again. Those toddlers, they're crafty.

After Gray Gray & Gram left Sunday afternoon, he was really on a tear, though. When I called him for supper I noticed that he had little bits of styrofoam all over him. And I do mean all. over. him. WTF? I chastised him appropriately, told him that that styrofoam is NOT a toy, and we had supper. After supper, I was cleaning up the kitchen and Bear came and got me to tell me that Bug had torn up more styrofoam and , oh yeah, "I was fanning it. With my pants." WTF?

I go in the boys' bedroom to see...the blizzard. Seriously. It looked like, well, Denver in there. (sorry, Hula) Bug was naked - except for the nine pairs of underwear he was wearing. WTF???And, the pièce de résistance, he had pulled about half of the freshly folded laundry out of his drawers. Huge pile of pjs, underwear, socks and shirts. Hadn't we just gone over that two days ago? Arrrrggghhhh! I was FURIOUS. (I suppose I could say that I was pissed off, but that would be a terrible pun and so I won't subject you to that.) (heh)

I told them that they had to pick up the chunks of the styrofoam while I refolded the clothes to put back in the drawers. A moment later, Bear tells me, "Uh, Mommy? Bug tee-teed on those clothes. All over them." And yes, they were soaked. What. the. fuck?!? Was it an accident? No. As Bug explains it, the clothes "were on fire" and he was the firefighter putting it out. My hero. This is when I lost it.

WHAT, in the name of Elmo, is wrong with this child?

It was all I could do not to scream at him. (Well, yes, I will admit, I did scream a little.) (Little is a relative term, right?) I then gathered up all of the soiled clothes and took them to the laundry room to rewash them. Because that is my favorite thing EVER to do. I continued to supervise the cleaning up of the styrofoam and berate any boy who stopped to complain. That shit was everywhere, all over their room. And it's a big room. Once the big chunks were picked up, I made them sit on their beds (Bug was n*ked, since I had taken all nine pairs of underwear off in preparation for bedtime) while I vacuumed the teensy tiny static-filled bits up. That took forever, it seemed. And for a child who hates loud noises, that was the most heinous punishment I could come up with.

With the clean up complete, I got both boys ready for bed. Bug wasn't allowed to sit with us for the bedtime story but I did snuggle and rock him while I sang our bedtime songs. I'm not a monster. And they both went to sleep without any protest. I think that they could sense they had pushed me to the very edge.

Not surprisingly, this week has been better. Actually, Bug has been in underwear *dry* all week. The impression of Mommy-on-the-brink seems to have tempered the rebellion somewhat. Don't know how long that will last. For their sake and mine, I hope it will be a while.

Thoughts and questions and stuff nobody cares about but me...

• My DSL has been spotty and, finally, non-existent for several days.
• The guy finally came to fix it today.
• He was here for five hours.
• I kid you not.
• I missed my nap.
• *yawn*
• So, did you miss me?
• Bear had gone all this fall & winter with out getting sick.
• I actually allowed myself to think that maybe he had outgrown the croup thing.
• Stupid.
• He is now coughing, wheezy and running a fever.
• So, he is laying in my bed watching Noggin.
• I think that someone needs to teach Diego to use his "inside voice."
• I have a feeling that we will be going to the Urgent Care Clinic later.
• I hate the Urgent Care Clinic.
• Even more than Diego.
• If that's possible.
• The only up side is that this keeps him away from Mrs Kindergarten for a day or two.
• She is totally on my shit list right now.
• But that deserves an entire post that I can't seem to compose right now.
• Tomorrow maybe.
• *snort*
• I recently discovered that in addition to the other wonderful things they can do, Mr Clean Magic Erasers can take Sharpie off of hardwood floors.
• I don't recommend them for taking Sharpie off of the face of a three year old, however.
• I mean, it DOES take the Sharpie off.
• Along with a layer or two of skin.
• Leaving what looks somewhat like a carpet burn.
• Please don't call CPS on me.
• We were supposed to get snow and sleet, etc. this weekend.
• But all we got was two inches of rain.
• Gray Gray and Gram didn't get to come again.
• That sucked.
• But, Bear & SP got to play their basketball games.
• They both lost.
• Bear told my dad, "Well, my team scored 14 points and the other team scored.........a lot more than 14 points."
• Heh.
• Better wrap this up so that I can go pick SP up from school.
• And take Bear to Urgent Care.
• Bah.

Like a cheap sweater

I know that you are probably so sick of my whining that you can barely stand it. Hardly anybody is even commenting anymore. I have a feeling that most everyone is adhering to that childhood rule "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." And quite honestly, I appreciate that. Harsh words might just send me over the edge at this point. And I am just barely hanging on by my fingernails right now.

I was looking at my posts from this time last year and realize that I have almost completely lost my funny. I even blogged some about my depression last fall, but at least I had some perspective. Or from my writing, I seemed to, anyway. It's like a whole lifetime ago, reading that. I suppose a lot has happened and my whole life and reality changed in the space of a few weeks there. But golly. I just am not holding up well under the pressure. Last year, I spoke of how I felt like I was being dragged under and needed help coming back up. I really thought that I had overcome most of that. I thought that with my thyroid being treated, that I was doing so much better. But over the past couple of months, my crazy has returned with a vengeance.

I went to the doctor a few weeks ago and asked to have my antidepressant dosage upped because I was feeling like I was going under again. For a week or two I was feeling so much better. I was cleaning the house, enjoying my kids, being a Mommy. But as Thanksgiving approached, I found myself sinking faster than I ever had. I get home from picking the kids up from school some days and go get in my bed. SugarPlum, bless her heart, entertains the boys for me and come to tell me when it's time for me to make dinner. This isn't every day, but FAR more often than it should be. No nine year old should have to take that much responsibility for her family.

I have days where I get stuff done. I will get the whole entire kitchen clean. Or I'll sort through two rooms worth of clutter. But it's never enough to get caught up. Which is why I was so relieved that the whole family wasn't coming here for Thanksgiving. I had decided that it was better to make the drive to Gram & Gray's than to try to get this place up to snuff. But by Wednesday morning (when I had told my parents I would be leaving) I had nothing packed, the house was still a disaster & needed to be at least tidied up as we were having a kid come and stay here to dog-sit. I needed to clean out my van and fold the laundry. And I was paralyzed. I hid in the guest room and cried for a good half hour. I had no idea why I was crying other than I felt like I was losing my mind & didn't know how to rein it in. I seriously contemplated staying here and having turkey sandwiches for Thanksgiving. Eventually, I could hear the kids screaming at each other on the other side of the house and went in there to keep them from killing each other. They saw my red eyes and puffy face and got very somber. I started crying again and told them that i couldn't get this done on my own and that I needed their help if they wanted to go.

We finally hit the road at about 2:00, which was when my parents expected us to be arriving not leaving. My mom started to give me shit about it, but I just got off the phone with her quickly. I didn't need her help. I was still such a mess that when I got behind a truck that I couldn't pass (crappy two-lane roads), I was on the verge of tears over it. It was one of the longest three-hour drives of my life.

Unraveling. That is what I feel like I am doing. Like somebody has hold of the yarn that makes up the sweater that is my sanity and is pulling every so often so that when I turn around to look, there is less and less of it.


That is what I wrote the week after Thanksgiving. And things just kept looking more and more bleak. I finally went back to the doctor this past Friday and told him everything that had been going on. I was desperate. He doubled my antidepressant dosage (from what the other dr. had increased it to in November), and had me get another thyroid check as well as testing for some auto-immune and auto-inflammatory diseases. He asked me if I had been getting much exercise and I told him no. When he asked why, I responded, "Because I don't want to." I didn't feel the need to make excuses. HELLO? Did you hear the part about the depression? Yes, I know that exercising will prompt a change in my brain chemistry resulting in me feeling better. I am a well educated woman. Who is suffering from depression. And when my Crazy and my Lazy get together? There will be minimal physical activity, I can assure you.

Sitting there, talking to the Dr, I ticked off all of my symptoms: weight gain (seven lbs in about two weeks - this is what prompted the exercise question), irritable, withdrawing from activities (I quit working at the church on Thursdays and stopped helping at GA's), not getting much of anything done in my house and in the past few weeks have only managed to shower once or maybe twice a week (I know, EWWWW!). I felt like one of those freaking commercials for depression. Ridiculous.

So, he wants me to try this increased dosage and come back in about three weeks. But already I can tell a HUGE difference. Which is good, because I didn't want to be this way when SD gets home (IN TWO DAYS!! YAAAAAY!!!!). And I really feel like I need to be on my game because my SD's dad (aka PopPop) - always a joy to have about - comes for a visit next Sunday. But, mostly, I couldn't do this to my kids any more. They need a Mommy who is present. Who wants to spend time with them. Who doesn't hide in the guest room and cry.

Time to get out the knitting needles and put the sleeves back on that sanity sweater. Okay, is it just me or is it time to give that metaphor a well deserved break? Or burial.

Hopefully my funny will be back soon. I enjoyed having a sense of humor. I suspect that SD packed it in his suitcase and took it to Turkey with him. Please bring it back honey, okay?

(Heh, did you know that if your finger slips just a little bit, you can end up typing hiney instead of honey?)