Organized Chaos for the Already Busy Mom

I've officially convinced myself that I am completely bonkers. I am a mother of three with two under two, I am working part-time for an accountant during tax season (which is really starting to drift into full-time work), I'm a full-time student and we are moving to our new house a week from tomorrow--whoa! As if I really needed any more of a reason to pull out my hair, I decided to go on ahead and try to train for the Color Me Rad 5K as well. There is a valid reason for piling that on top of it as well. For starters, it's never not a noble goal to try to get control over your weight and health. Second and most importantly, those of you who are parents (or also insanely busy) understand what I mean when I say that when inspiration strikes, you have to grab hold of it and run. (Ha, literally, in this case.)

I don't feel that I've overextended myself at all it's just that all of these projects are either starting or raising velocity at the same time which can occasionally make it feel a bit overwhelming.

For starters, the three children have lost their ever-loving minds. It's cold outside, which is not conducive to burning extra energy. It's not that I wouldn't let the older two go outside to do it, it's that we are still (for the next week) living in an apartment complex and I'm not 100% comfortable letting them go outside alone and the baby is far too young to be out in this. Well, too young? Maybe not. But too small? Definitely. This little pumpkin is still in newborn clothes at four and a half months old. She's still developing normally so she must just be born to be petite. (Lucky girl if that the case. Morbid obesity runs rampant in both of our families so we will still have to watch our children's food intake and activity levels as they age.) 

As for the working from home, that is something a lot of parents do and I feel wrong complaining about it... especially because I feel very lucky to have snagged this job. My boss is amazing for so many reasons. For paying me fairly and also for allowing me to learn an entirely new skill through her. Yes, maybe it's getting busy but I would do anything to help her out at this point. She's given me the opportunity to earn experience without ever having to pay a dime in daycare. Quite the achievement. 

As for school, it's become pretty clear that I have a dweebette hiding deep inside of me. It's been a while since I've been this anxious and excited to go to school. A friend of mine and I discussed the differences we've seen in the education system as time went on. It feels like each level of school keeps going further and further down the tubes in quality. My son has been learning the exact same skills for two years. In my college level courses (not entry level, there are prerequisites for each of these classes) a majority of the students can't write a complete sentence to save their life. Now don't get me wrong, I'm a bit rusty at getting rid of the fluff and focusing on formal writing but I know how to. These kids on our first assignment of the class (write an introduction to the class about why you are choosing to join the medical field in eight complete sentences or more) were writing in text speak (thankfully, the posts in question have been taken down since I first saw them) and/or "I'm just saying 'hi' on Facebook and don't require capitalization or punctuation. I'd rather have my run-on sentences any day of the week compared to that. Besides that, I think I've officially discovered my favorite professor of all time who happens to be my professor for two courses. How lucky am I? She is very into punctuality, proper grammar and also spelling which to me are all very important things as well. Hopefully, she'll give these babied children a run for their money. Or their parent's money, as it were.

Tomorrow, we should be given the exact time of our closing date. Zach has already spent some time packing up some of the things we don't exactly need but we have such a long ways to go. I'm a bit terrified of the prospect of moving all of my school work, my computer and the work documents without losing anything. Thankfully, we are using baby girl's room as a study for a few years so that I can finish my degree and keep organized. 

Lord help us.

Clear and Present Danger...of Keeling Over from Cravings

I decided that I was sick and tired of being fat. A friend of mine had the same epiphany earlier than I did and she is starting tomorrow, so I thought I'd go ahead and try along with her. I've got a nutrition tracker and seem to be about on par with carbohydrates vs. fat vs protein ratio but I have a long ways to go with portions. I'm currently eating what a man the size of Andre the Giant should eat. (No, not really.) After I added the fact that I am breastfeeding, I am currently 777 over on calories. Surely, the lucky numbers are a good sign that I will be successful in this new endeavor.

If only I can kick the damn tea habit.

Now off to prepare for my first college class tomorrow. (Holy scary, Batman!)

Super-Everything

For starters, my husband is amazing. I think that maybe in the past three years of our time together he has only taken two days off of work for an actual illness.

Nightmares, Busy Work and Overall Chaos

(Thank you to Grace Biskie for this image I found on Google.)

I have always been prone to pretty terrifying nightmares. (I've also had hypnogogic hallucinations, although those seem to have subsided some since the last two babies were born for whatever reason. Not that I'm complaining.) In the link underneath the image, this person describes nightmares in ways that I couldn't put into words for myself, although there ends up being a religious spin on it which is something I won't do. They still have a very firm grasp on the pain and frustration involved with poor dream habits.

 Many times, my dreams are so realistic (the rabbit hole is my own personal hell, it seems) that I wake up crying, shaking or thrashing at an invisible intruder. It isn't always the case, as sometimes the occurrence is so unbelievable that I wake up laughing. It's the other kinds that are doozies!  I've often had a good friend of mine put his own interpretation on the nightmare, which has proven to be therapeutic. When you look at a nightmare and break it down into how your real-life stressors can be influencing it, it is easier to let go. Although often, it leaves me hesitant to go back to sleep thus repeating the cycle.

The reason I bring this up is because I figured that perhaps blogging the dreams would be another helpful layer of therapy that would allow me to work through my problems. 

Two nights ago, I had two nightmares in a row. Korben also had a nightmare and had come crying into our room, where I told him to come cuddle up with me and I'd help him to feel better.


My first bad dream was about Korben getting kidnapped. We were at my old house in Mustang and he went to get the mail. For some odd reason, Zach and I fell asleep (in my brother's old room with my dad's old waterbed, ick) and when we woke up he was gone. (First off, this is never something I would do so that added a big heaping pile of guilt on top.) I panicked, searching for him but days went by. When I finally saw him, he was in the backseat of a blue 16 passenger van. I ran to the driver's seat, whose driver immediately jumped out and ran. I got Korben, who was curled up in a ball and crying, I asked him, "Did they hurt you?" He had been sexually assaulted. I remember the ball of rage that bubbled up out of my throat into a screech and I turned on the attacker. Before I could hurt him, the dream dissipated, leaving me without the closure I needed. Again, I was shaking and scared and snuggled as close as possible to my little man. It took me another hour of tears before I could fall sleep again.

This dream started out less realistically. My ten year high school reunion is looming ahead so it started out with Zach and I arriving at the "pre-reunion" party. A few bullies from my past were actually very kind and mature and were trying to gather funds for the actual party. I started to put down all of my small bills but then two one-hundred dollar bills and at least six twenties were knocked into the mix. (Intermission: I would imagine this is due to my fear of the massive investment we are making to buy a house. Who doesn't worry about money?) Anyways, I tried to follow Zach up to a set of giant concrete bleachers but the steps were too steep and my legs were like Jell-o. I hear a loud scream and everyone gasps but as I turn, I'm transported from the bleachers to my car and am trying to drive.

 It's slick and icy but also flooded as I'm trying to drive home. So instead of making the trip to the apartment, I stop at my grandmother's house. (Which makes no sense seeing as how the apartment is merely two miles away from my grandmother's house.) When I walk in, my grandfather is standing by the fireplace, tending the fire. (He passed away in 2009.) For what should be a glorious reunion, I immediately note that something isn't right. He twitches awkwardly as he moves, he has a greenish-grey pallor and his legs don't seem to be functioning properly as if they are too weak to hold him. 

My dad and grandmother poke their heads out of the dining area and inform me that they are going to brunch and since grandpa "can't be outside in his condition" I am to watch him and make sure he doesn't fall apart. My grandpa turns around and he looks like the slightest wind would make his skin slide off and appendages fall apart. He is still "in tact" but is so obviously fragile. I beg for them to stay. My brother comes out and says, "No, if I have to stay then so do you!" Grandpa hasn't said a word this whole time. When I sneak another glance at him, his eyes don't have the light that most of us would have if we were a true part of this world. Crying, I sneak off into my old room in this house. I'm sitting on my bed, curled up a giant blanket and trying to shake the feeling I have. It is so horribly dull and grey outside, like it gets when a bad storm is coming in. I hear my dad and grandmother leave. Shortly afterwards, the electricity goes out. I hold tightly to the blanket but I hear my grandfather walking towards the door. He opens the door but just stands there ominously, looking at me. I'm beyond terrified that if I move, the light will switch on in his head but not as my grandfather, more like a bumbling zombie that would attack me. I'm shaking and I need to move my leg because it is cramping but I can't. I'm frozen. Finally, after a long time, the dream dissipates and I wake up frozen and terrified. After several minutes, I am finally able to move again and wake up Zach to have him hold me. 

To most people these seem silly and ridiculous and "how could that scare you, that couldn't possibly happen!" but the thing about my dreams is that even the most spectacularly impossible are portrayed as realistic. It can and does take me hours or days to shake the dream, as even now while I'm typing it, I continue to look over my shoulder as if I'll see my grandfather standing there looking at me through soulless eyes. 

Moral of the story: Don't tease someone who regularly has nightmares. They aren't funny or stupid to the person that is facing them. It is like reliving old trauma or even experiencing trauma that you fear you will encounter. Your subconscious absolutely plays a part in how you operate. It affects your mood, energy level and so many things that can make it difficult to play the part of human being. So, if you aren't a dreamer (sleep dreamer, not life goal dreamer) try to relate to how a person that does feels. And if you are, here are some things that I have done to help shake it when it does occur:

1) Watch a funny movie.
2) Read a book. (This tends to work better than movie for me, since I am actively forcing my brain to think about something else.)
3) Try to interpret your dream. Could it have been something you watched? Was it a book? Somebody you randomly bumped into on the street? What are you stressing about? There are endless online sites to help you with your endeavor.
4) Sleep with a light on or if you don't usually, turn a fan on for background noise. The white noise tends to help you drift back to sleep instead of jumping at every noise that is made.
5) Try not to eat or drink anything too heavy close to bedtime. It's not 100% sure that food directly causes nightmares but sometimes certain foods can disrupt sleep which can then trigger nightmares. (Read more about that here.)

And as an aside, I'm more than happy to take suggestions or listen to the woes of anyone who bothers to read me. This may be an issue someday but if you'd like to send me an e-mail do that here: randombyrachel@yahoo.com. 

As always, thanks for reading.

Bad Dreams, Again

Being a White Female Liberal Democrat in Oklahoma is Not All It's Cracked Up to Be

But neither is being anything other than an old, male, straight Christian Republican.

An Oklahoma judge just did the right thing.

And is getting blasted for it.

It is no picnic being a Democrat in Bible Belt Oklahoma. Constant confrontation with assholes who preach hatred in the name of "Lord Jesus Christ." The truth though, is that they are all misogynistic assholes who want to blame their total lack of a moral compass on a book written by man. Depressing, isn't it? 

Well, here is another depressing story. A lesbian friend of mine (and get this, she hasn't even tried to hit on me, very wow--sarcasm for all of you dimwits) is having her children taken away from her just because the state of Oklahoma is so stuck in the prehistoric age that they'd rather two children be ripped from her custody and traumatized for life with abandonment issues than be raised by "the gays." How is it that grandparents can get grandparent rights but a woman who has been involved in these children's lives since Day One can't even get visitation rights? How fucked do you have to be in the head to recognize that this isn't in the best interests of anyone. It makes my skin crawl and my stomach turn to realize that this is what some "love the sinner, hate the sin" fuckheads want.

What exactly does gay marriage do to you directly? Not a damn thing. It's a religiously-fueled hatred that doesn't make a lick of sense and even if it did wouldn't fucking matter because the Constitution preaches the separation of church and state. Now because my blood is boiling from all the rage I'm trying to keep from spilling out into the masses, I'm going to share my friend's interpretation of Governor Mary Stallin's---er, Fallin's---response to the same sex marriage ruling.

"In 2004, the people of Oklahoma decided they weren't interested in equality or being decent human beings, so they blighted their state constitution by defining marriage as the union of one man and one woman. Sadly, 75% of Oklahoman voters supported this. Clearly, they cannot be trusted to vote in a sane manner that respects the rights and identities of all people. Henceforth, those who voted to amend the constitution to forbid same-sex marriage will have to prove they are in healthy, happy marriages in order to vote in the future. Single people and divorcees will not be permitted to vote. Those who voted for marriage equality will face no such restrictions.

Also, your governor sucks." 

Random Entry of Nonsense

Just so everyone knows, Kaboom! the stuff you see on T.V. that turns from purple to "white when it's clean?" It doesn't work much better than Scrubbing Bubbles brand so far. 

Magic Erasers? They're pretty awesome although I haven't had one work on Sharpie markers on the walls yet. 

Lysol Toilet Bowl cleaner? Life send and makes the bathroom smell kind of like mint chewing gum. (Which is weird but it's better than what MY bathroom smells like after icky boys use it.) 

We also finally got one of those Clorox toilet bowl brush thingies... is actually pretty awesome. But only because when you have IBS sufferers in your house, you don't want a toilet brush that can't just be tossed away. (Icky!) 

Also, I've discovered that Oxyclean really DOES work wonders on certain things. My husband's work clothes, for example, which are often covered in hydraulic fluid and oil. It can be really helpful to soak them in an Oxyclean soak and then wash them. It makes it a little less likely for the oil to seep into the washer and infect all of the baby's WHITE clothes with it. 

Anyways, just a random, I love cleaning supplies post from the weird-o cleaning supplies snob. Well, brand name cleaning supplies. I'm not a Suzie Homemaker of the Pinterest yet.

Rach, BPD, Mama of Three, and also -sometimes- a Wifey

Total Mom Brag

I'm not going to post the picture or anything but I just wanted to tell the entire world that my six year old is one handsome little man. He wore a white T-shirt under a big grey sweater with some nice jeans and shoes today and I thought to myself, "Aw, he looks like the kind of little boy I would have giggled over as a young girl." Don't take this as a creepster-fest, I'm just a Mama proud of her sweet boy. 

Also! Last night, we did his "homework" (nonsense words, sight words and sentence reading practice) and each time he read them he cut his time down significantly. He read from his book with me and I'm just overall proud of him.

Also, the toddler started saying, "yeah" and "oh, wow" lately which is adorable in and of itself. 

Nothing special to report just yet. Just wanted to share my admiration for the little men in my life. (Also for my little girl but she's still kind of a lump, so her smiles are all I have to brag on.)

Bam! Pow! Shock!

Thanks to KOCO News 5 for this image.

I don't know if anyone knows about this but there is a bit of a controversy here in the great state of Oklahoma. The image above is the current renderings of the Satanic statue that is to be built. Why? Because when people think of freedom of religion in Oklahoma, they really just mean their religion. 

So how do I feel about it? 

Well, I'm 27 years old and I've spent a good portion of that 27 years being led by other people on what to believe. I wasn't scared by the proposition that Santa was watching. No, Christmas was Jesus's birthday (except it's not) and I should be terrified that God is watching. It's taken me the better portion of my life to finally stop caring about whether or not I disappoint my parents and direct myself in what I believe in and why.

I think there is a very good chance that there is, in fact, a higher power. But I refuse to believe that he is the hate-breeding, soul-crushing entity that so many modern Christians believe in. Why would a divine being create such a diverse population of people, faiths, etc. and not actually "accept" all of them? Many Christians believe that God knows the day of your birth, your death and the road you take in between all of it. If that is true, then why would this thing create something that didn't "belong" within a certain guideline of behavior? The Bible is flawed. It was written by man and if that story up the page a bit is to tell us anything it is that man is absolutely flawed.

Now down to the nitty gritty of the whole thing. You can't say that you want "freedom of religion" and not actually bestow that freedom of religion to all practicing faiths. So when the government decided that putting up the Ten Commandments on the capitol lawn was acceptable, they invited everyone else to recognize their faith on the same damn lawn. 

Bottom line: If you don't want to "tolerate" the other religions and people that surround you then you damn sure don't want to give yourself preferential treatment. I've seen many an open-minded Christian (hell, I used to be one until I decided that I don't want to live my life with the fear that I'm going to be tortured upon death) but they've got a long ways to go.

Good Morning, OKC!

Thank you to linkerbell at deviantart for this image.

My six year old started school again yesterday after the long winter break. The first day wasn't so bad considering I failed as a parent and didn't keep us on schedule even remotely. Today, has been a different can of worms. Why is it called a can of worms, I wonder? (Just in case anyone was wondering, here's a good guess on the origin of "can of worms.") 

I am bad at sleeping. I seriously can't do it without being drugged to the max. Which I can't do because I'm feeding an infant (with my boobsicles) and because I don't particularly want to be a zombie for half of the next day. Well, anymore than I already am. 

It's cold outside. I have three kids that I have to drag out in it. I don't want to. You know what they need to do? Get a giant. Manufacture those little "cozy cubby's" (these) for adults and have the giant transfer us from point A to point B. 

Clearly, I need more sleep. I'll have to settle for getting the kids out in this frigid cold and taking the monkey to school. 

I Think I Broke Myself

 
Thanks to Szitakoto at Deviantart for this picture. 

 I've had quite the day. I'm not entirely sure I know what has been going on today. Suddenly, it's 4:30 in the afternoon and I'm sitting here realizing that an entire day slipped by without me really acknowledging most of it. With as busy as I was, I really didn't get anything worthwhile done. At least, not anything that is tangible. I guess it's that instant gratification thing I was talking about earlier.

I had such promising thoughts to dictate earlier but, of course, I didn't get to the computer fast enough for me to jot them down. I can only remember a little bit about what I wanted to say.

So, the thing with the BPD is that it's been incredibly hard on everyone in my family. I wish it was something that could just be medicated away but it can't. Sure, antidepressants can help and I've noticed that other ones can as well but the most productive treatment is dialectical behavior therapy. Here's the thing about that: It's hard to find it. I'm already having a difficult time finding someone who is willing to take me on as a patient. In fact, it's kind of depressing that these "mental health professionals" not only won't help me, they won't even return my voice-mails to tell me who to turn to. Talk about kicking me when I'm down.

I was also thinking about the similarities between my brother and my quirks. There are several things that we have in common, things that trigger the "crazy." 

Examples: Neither of us are fans of leaving doors open when we're working or watching T.V. 
Why?: The best we can come up with is that when people sneak up on us unannounced as children, it was always to cause trouble and strife.

It is absolutely an environmental factor for me. Or at least that helped these symptoms to manifest as they have. After all, my brother and I were not only not the biological children of either of our parents but we weren't even adopted from the same family. Here's to hoping that sometime soon, this crazy, long-winded journey will include some kind of closure for all the crap that I was too young to remember and also the crap that was too painful to forget. 

Rachel, BPD, Mama of Three, and also a Wifey

Wishing Upon a Star is Useless

Something everyone really needs to understand is that the majority of those with Borderline Personality Disorder, desperately want to get better. I know I do.

Every now and then, my emotional disturbances sneak up on me. I can normally tell when I'm having an "edgy" day where everyone needs to kind of watch what they say and even then, it's pretty obvious that I'm going to be combative and shitty regardless. But once in a great while, I'll be tip-toeing through the tulips, smelling the roses, enjoying everything going on and then BAM  angry city. Nothing provoked me. No one has done anything wrong or said anything wrong. My brain has just dealt an emotional seppuku because it was bored or I-don't-fucking-know but the aftermath of that random explosion can be quite brutal. 

Here I am, I've yelled at my spouse. I get panicky, thinking "why am I saying this? He didn't do anything, just shut your fucking mouth!" but the other part of my brain (the irrational part) says, "No, he totally deserves these verbal barbs!" <enter evil villain laugh here> Then once I've finally quelled the beast, I am forced into a shame spiral that inevitably leads to thoughts of, "God, I just want to end this. End me." 

My husband is the most amazing person I know. He is holding my hand and helping lead me through this unfamiliar and soul-crushing territory like he owns the place. I often feel like a small child, whether through action or fear, because I am completely unable to regulate myself. Those kids that I saw in the classroom as a child, that would scream and dart through the room, disrupting the class? I feel like that is my identity now but only a sliver of it through the other endless identities that I am still sorting through. I want to hug myself in a padded room and sway back in forth saying crazy people things sometimes because I have NO CLUE how to fix this. Fix me. And often, I feel like it is impossible to fix it. I mean, so many mental health physicians refuse to take on a space case like this because we, BP's, are so manipulative and "high needs." So, if a professional can't even take on my psychoses than who am I to believe that I could do any better?

All the books in the world and I feel like not even the biggest library in the world would have the literature to fix this.

Edited to add the following: according to a friend of mine (thank you, Jimmy!) NIMH says that only about 42% of those diagnosed with BPD actually seek treatment. So, perhaps I am somewhat of an anomaly in that regard. I know that it is painful to seek treatment for something that you are sure is everyone else's fault but if you would like to end the pain of losing friendship/relationship/breaking up family's, then you should absolutely look for help. 

Rachel, BPD, Mama of Three, and also a Wifey 

Criss-Cross Applesauce and Portrait Hijinx

I can't even begin to express how ridiculously excited I am that we have officially hit a point where we are not busy every single day of the weekend. Tomorrow, I have exactly zero to do. I mean, I'm sure I probably should do a bunch of crap but I am required to do none of it. Well, nothing that requires leaving the confines of this apartment. That right there is enough to make my entire year and it's not even a full week in yet.
However...


Today was pure torture. For starters, I am not a huge fan of photography. Let's just say that I harbor a lot of insecurity. I used to be a smaller, more petite girl and now I've had three children and could absolutely use some exercise and diet control. However, I'll be honest when I say that I am not one to limit myself with portion control or the types of food that I eat and my physical limitations have kept me from doing the activity necessary to maintain my intake of food. So, that leave me at a "bit" of a disadvantage proportion wise. 


Anywho, today we were doing portraits with my man's family. We're all a dysfunctional sort (my family has always been this way so it's nothing new to me) and sometimes, we all just clash with our plethora of personalities. We chalk it up to, "We love big and fight big" but if we're honest with ourselves, it's usually us just being a bunch of assholes. I asked what the theme of the portraits would be (such as color coordination and whatnot) and was not given any input other than, "I don't do gimmicks." Fair enough. I decide that my family will be dressed in black and white with jeans and nice shoes. For those of you with the extra junk in the trunk (and everywhere else, for that matter) you probably are familiar with the fact that black is a little more slimming than say, oh, I don't know--white. Ick. White. Well, the clothes that I picked out for my little brood weren't good enough for the family portraits so the man and I were hijacked into some other clothes. I'm not going to lie that I am not only annoyed at this point but genuinely hurt. It's not like we looked like a bunch of bums (although I know for a fact that that word exactly was used). Our children were going to be dressed in brand new stark white shirts with nice new jeans and shoes and the hubster and I were in nice black T-shirts (form-fitting) so maybe it's not a pressed button-up but what the hell am I supposed to go on when given no direction? I was told more "casual" so... I went with casual. So now, I'm grouchy because there was no reason I should have spent the past few days stressing over (and purchasing) the clothes we got because we weren't allowed to wear them anyways. *grumble* 


No problem, I'm going to play along because his sister went through the trouble of setting this up. I figure we'll have time to change if we don't like how we look in the clothes. So, we all leave and we start to follow his sister. We figure she knows where she is going since she set up the appointment. Apparently, she was going to slow for him so he asked me to look up the place on Google Maps and follow the directions. He passes her and we travel a ways and he passes someone on the right---on the right?---yes, on the right. I tell him that we were almost at our exit (one of the few that is on the left hand side of the interstate) and he should have passed on the left. Suddenly, there is our exit. POOF! He careens like a crazy person into the far left lane and exits. Next thing he knows, his phone is ringing. He answers it and it is his sister, screaming at him because she missed the exit because he was driving like a maniac. I grant her that he was maneuvering like a stunt driver but I'm totally baffled as to how someone can set up an appointment at a studio and have no knowledge of it's location. Also, if you are planning on following someone, you need to let them know or else they won't drive like someone is following them.
Needless to say, after much grouching from the hubster and I (his dad was in the van with us) we make it to the studio and so does his sister. He's still getting the cold shoulder from his mom and sister and my temper is starting to boil over. I take the toddler and go hang out in the van while the photographer sets up, trying to get my blood pressure down. 


Look, I know this is insanely hypocritical coming from someone who yells at the slightest provocation but you really can't treat people like that. At the very least, you should fucking try to regulate your emotions and you should try to treat people that do you a lot of favors (such as siphoning out a poop hole) with respect. And as much as I care about his family it seems like my guy is shit on more than he is respected. And it saddens me that he gets it from everywhere he goes. The exception is that I am actively trying to become a better person and maintain my disorder. Most of his relatives do no such thing. (Granted, neither do mine, so that is something we both have in common.) 


I will say that I was blessed with some lunch at Ted's (delicioso!), got a new couch that will fit in swimmingly with our living room at the house and also got to have coffee with my pregnant friend--well, I had coffee, she had water and several trips to the bathroom. But now, I am at home with all three of my handsome men and my beautiful little girlie girl and am going to snuggle up to watch some Supernatural. I am such a Castiel fangirl, it's ridic. It's so ridic it makes me type things like "ridic." Okay, now I'm going to go let my brain turn to sludge for the next hour or two and then crash like Enron.

Susie Homemaker... Or Something?

So, in just less than a month, we are going to be moving into our very first house. Neither of us has ever bought a house before and I'm here to tell you that it is terrifying. Not only that but it tends to be stressful and for those of you who are emotionally differently-abled, it's a wild ride for not only you but for anyone around you. I can tell you that I have already cried on three separate occasions today alone. Each cry was fueled by a different emotion. 

First, a cry because I was sad that we were leaving our very first "home" together. It's nothing special. It's just a dinky little two-bedroom apartment. Number 1707. A number that will be burned into my memory for all eternity. For no other reason then that this was my first home with my real family. This was where we brought Tobe home two months after we moved in. Then Skyler a year and some change after that. We had two Christmases, two Thanksgivings, two New Years and two birthdays here. To the normal person, it's nothing special but it is special. 

My second cry was due to frustration. A lot of paperwork (and legwork, if you will) goes into house-hunting/buying. It's exhausting. It's scary. And the realization that we're moving in less than a month and have so much to do and I'm going to put myself in the position to need to work AND go to school AND move, just seemed a little overwhelming at the time. Plus again, emotionally stunted. <See Loon.>

Finally, I cried because I was happy. We went to go visit our house today (the sellers are very nice folks) and I finally pictured it. Our house. Where everything would go, our children running up and down the stairs like the noisy little hellions they are. I pictured the kids playing with a dog out back, although I'm not entirely sure why considering I have no desire to purchase or train a dog anytime in the near future. I pictured Zach working in the workshop with the boys (and Skyler because she can do whatever the hell she wants) and the doctor's bills that might incur. I realized that we finally did it. We are where we both wanted to be at this age-- or potentially five years ago. Maybe we got there in an insanely roundabout way but since when have either of us played by the rules? 

The moral of the story is that you don't always go down the beaten path but one way or another you will either a) make it where you wanted to be or b) make it to the destination that that path was meant to take you to or c) the beaten path will drop you off in front of a mansion that is filled with transvestites and you will sing silly songs with Meatloaf.

Congratulations, me. You finally grew up.