My house is never spotless. It wasn’t before R either.

A friend of mine posted some pictures of her kids playing. In the living room, on their white carpet. Spotless. You could see the wood kitchen floor in the background. Spotless. I took a look at my kitchen floor. Crumbs. Mystery stains.

I don’t pick R’s toys up everyday. Right now, they’re littered over the living room carpet. I do vacuum, and try to keep the living room as clean as possible, since he’s in there the most. But everything else is a mess. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned the bathrooms.

I need to just do it. Every time I think about doing it, I feel overwhelmed and I have to focus on something else. I know I’ll never be the woman with the spotless home, but I’d like it to be cleaner at least.



I need to write about my amazing little boy.

He had surgery yesterday, to remove an extra digit on his hand. He did so well, and was so brave.

It ran 2 hours late, he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Did he whine or cry? Nope. He played with toys, sat on my lap, made his own fun.

When it was time to hand him off to the surgeon, I gave him a squeeze, told him I’d see him in a little while. He smiled at me, and didn’t fuss at all when they took him away.

I bit my nails and freaked out inside my head during. Lucky for me, and him, it was an easy surgery, much easier than anticipated, and only took half an hour. There was another half hour of waiting while he woke up til we could see him.

I walked as fast as I possibly could down the hallway, and what do I find? My beautiful boy sitting in a hospital bed, smiling, and trying to devise a way to escape the bed. I picked him up, gave him 2 cups of juice, he was so thirsty. Once the anesthesia wore off completely, he started crying, latched onto me, and barely let go so I could get him dressed. But, once we were outside the hospital, he was fine.

We took him for a cheeseburger, and he was his normal self. He napped a bit on the long drive home, had a pizza dinner, and went to bed. I’m leaving out where he woke up at 1am and didn’t go back to bed til 330am. Just normal anesthesia stuff. We are both tired today.

I’m so proud of him. My fearless wonderful boy.

Can’t Help It.

You know that feeling where you can’t wait to get out of bed and greet every day with a Disney song? Yeah, me neither.

I have not wanted to move for over a week. I lay on the floor and play with Rogue all day. He loves it, and I don’t have to do a thing. He’s trying to nap right now, but is singing me the song of his people over the baby monitor instead. He has surgery on Monday. Nothing major, but I am stressed and eating my feelings. As usual.

I’m in a mood today. If it were socially acceptable, I’d never shower, get out of my pj’s, or eat anything healthy. Ah, dreams.

Sorry for the attitude.

Slow Down, You Crazy Child.

I’ve been bagging up R’s clothes that he’s outgrown. 2 full bags. I buy too much clothes.

He’s growing so fast. He’s so brave, so fearless. I feel like I’m missing it. I just blinked and he was scooting. Now he runs.

He’s my only child and he’s growing too fast. He’s so funny, so mischievous. I try to remember when he was first born, so little. Barely any hair. He now needs another haircut.

Oh, my baby. You’re a little boy already.


September the 10th.

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day.

According to the WHO, 3,000 people commit suicide every year on average. For every person that ends their own life, 20 attempt to.

I don’t know many people who have not been affected by suicide. A few years ago, a family member of mine took his own life. He was several years younger than me and left behind a fiancee. I often wonder what was going on in his life that was so terrible that he felt he had no other choice. I wish I had reached out to him. I wish he had gotten help.

For those who suffer from depression in its many forms, suicide is no stranger to us. Many of us have those thoughts.

I have things that keep me going every day. My son. Courageous people who aren’t afraid to share their experiences. Like Jenny aka The Bloggess, Kim from Mommy Go Something Something, Nicole from Healing Mutti.

It gets better. It does. That darkness that seems to swallow you won’t be there forever. ASK for help. Call 1-800-273-TALK, or go here: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Your life is too precious.


Something I noticed about flying, was how kind people were to me. The TSA agents in security, my seat mates on planes, etc. They went out of their way to help me, to make faces at R to calm him down. I was touched.

It’s so easy to be cynical and distant. I certainly never expect any kindness or help when I’m out with R. The people I ran into during my trip reminded me that there are still good ones out there. So, thank you all. I appreciated it more than you know.

Up in the Air.

I survived.

R and I headed to my parents last week. I was panicked, it was raining, nothing was seeming to go right. R was awful on the plane. Screaming, screeching, crying, wouldn’t sit still. We got to our destination, and I could breathe again. We had a wonderful visit. Even the plane ride back wasn’t as bad. R napped and didn’t scream.

I got to do actual thinking while I was there. I’ve decided to finish the course I’m currently in, and get a part-time job. R can go to daycare 3 days a week. He’ll see other kids, it’ll be good for him. For both of us.

It’s hard to admit. I’m not cut out for this stay at home mom business. I feel guilty and awful about it. I know, logically, that doing this will make me not so frazzled, I’ll appreciate my time with R more, and he will be okay. That doesn’t make it any easier.

Zumba Douche.

As I’ve said semi-vaguely on here, I’m trying to lose weight. I only gained 28 while pregnant, and lost it all right after. Then, I went on a carb binge and gained it all back. So, I’ve been counting carbs, and exercising. Which brings me to my point.

Zumba. I assume everyone’s heard of it, unless you live under a rock. I stumbled across a video online and decided to try it. I love it. It doesn’t feel like exercise, I burn a ton of calories. Awesome, right?

Almost. Meet Beto.

I had no idea who he was, just thought he was a random host. That he was a ginormous douche, as you can see from the hat in the picture above. I try to exercise, and I hear his voice. Ugh. He dances with, well air humps is more precise, random exercisers in the videos. It’s very creepy. In one video, the woman who is co-hosting doesn’t speak THE WHOLE TIME. She shakes and shimmies around, and he, with his accent reminiscent of Hank Azaria in The Birdcage, prances around, yapping along. Sometimes, even singing along. Dear god.

Then, I stumble across an article online in Men’s Health. This guy CREATED Zumba. He’s not just some random douchebag, he’s THE douchebag. The only way I can get through working out to Zumba anymore is to think mean, ugly, thoughts about Beto.

I used to workout to Denise Austin tapes, and as annoying as she was, she never came close to bugging me as much as this guy.

So, Zumba, please make more videos without him. I get that he’s the creator, but Bill Gates didn’t slap his face on everyone’s computer, so this guy doesn’t have to be in all these videos. My blood pressure thanks you.


I have one tattoo, on my back, of a rose with vines. I thought I was done, til I visited the tattoo board on Pinterest.

I have no idea why it never occurred to me to get a quote from my favorite book tattooed on me. I had been tossing around the idea of getting an infinity symbol on my wrist, but I can’t find a symbol I like. I want something dainty and simple, which is surprisingly hard to find.

Back on subject, I’m getting a quote from Romeo and Juliet on my left shoulder, or the middle of my back. Probably my left shoulder. The quote is ‘here’s much to do with hate, but more with love.’

Why Romeo and Juliet? I love it. I read it when I was 12, then the movie came out. Leonardo DiCaprio was in it, needless to say, I’ve seen it. A lot. I have it memorized. I can recite the entire play. Not kidding. I think my dad was worried I was obsessed with suicide. He used to make sure I knew that suicide was bad and selfish. Not an issue with me, but there’s not a good way to tell your dad that you’re just watching the movie for the millionth time because you think Leo is smoking hot.

I think I will get it when I hit my 10 pound weight loss mark. Which I am 4 pounds away from.

I Need To Get Out More.

So does my kid. I’m looking for a playgroup around here. It’s hard to find one that doesn’t have a gagtastic description. Still, I shall press on.

R had a wonderful 1st birthday. He had  his cake, that I fixed the spelling on, and Pizza Hut for lunch. He loves ‘real’ pizza. He also loves ice cream cake. He got a stuffed Perry the Platypus, he currently sleeps with it, a stuffed Minion, a play remote control, and a dinosaur ball popper. The ball popper is perhaps the most obnoxious toy I’ve encountered. It’s terrible. Of course he loves it.

He also had his 12 month checkup. His normal doctor wasn’t there, so he saw the nurse practitioner, who he hated. He had to get blood drawn for an iron test, and that was awful. He screamed through it, and kept screaming til we were in the car on the way home. I’m taking him back for shots on Friday, I didn’t think he’d handle it well after all that. He had a rough day, which meant he was super-glued to my lap the whole day.

Our trip to visit my parents is in less than a month! I can’t wait. I need a break. My husband has to work, so he’s staying home. He promises to clean the house and get rid of his clutter. Ha. If it happens, I’ll be shocked. I predict him eating various frozen foods, and playing Call of Duty. Naked. On the couch. I’m sanitizing everything the second I get back.