Archive | my brain is melting RSS feed for this section

Go To Bed. Go To Bed. Go To Bed.

By the time my kid was seven years-old, I didn’t think sleep would be an issue for her.

It is.

Fucking fuck.

There’s always some ailment that needs tending to and is causing her to stay awake. Like that invisible scratch on her ankle, or she needs a hangnail cut off, or another good night kiss.

Well, a new bedtime hell has taken over the house and it’s all Bloody Mary’s fault. A classmate of her’s told the hummingbird how if she says Bloody Mary in the mirror three times, she appears.

Now, it’s all about Bloody Mary coming to get her and she’ll get up out of bed three or four times before she falls asleep.

Also, a few weeks ago, we had two power outages a few minutes apart. It was early in the morning and it woke her up.

So, besides Bloody Mary, we have to assure her that if it rains or snows, there’s most likely not going to be a power outage.

It doesn’t matter though. It’s just one more excuse for her to use to try and get out of going to bed. If only she knew that I know ALL of the tricks. But, she seems so sure that she’s pulling one over on me.

Sleep, how I miss you.

Comments { 2 }

Last Night, I Woke Up From A Nightmare About Donald Trump Being Elected President. Oh, Wait…

A few posts ago when I posted about being in disbelief over Trump becoming the president-elect, I received some Pro-Trump comments. I didn’t publish them because I want to piss off any fucking idiot who supports him.

It doesn’t matter who you voted for. The fact is, he’s full of hate. He spews hate and it’s disgusting.

I feel like we are turning into that movie, Idiocracy. I blame the idolization of the Kartrashians. And, my in-laws. I enjoy blaming my in-laws for everything just because.

Comments { 0 }

Finding Lost Soccer Socks And Shin Guards Twice A Week Will Be The Death Of Me

Every soccer season is dreadful because it ends up being so time-consuming. I love that the hummingbird enjoys playing but her weekly practices are late and by the time the season is over with, I freeze my ass off and it’s dark when practice is done.

Then, there’s the games. We got lucky because most of her games are at 8:15 in the morning. 8 fucking 15 on a Saturday morning. That’s crazy for me. The most annoying part of her playing soccer is that two days a week I tell her the same thing over and over and over again.

Put the soccer gear in the same place every time so we know where it is.

I don’t know if it’s little mischievous soccer fairies that move these things around but by the time we’re in a rush to go to practice or a game, we can’t find her stuff.

It will be by the door one day and the next, it’ll be gone. She’ll have no idea where it is and I’ll rip the house apart while yelling in my head that soccer sucks and it’s not worth the frustration week after week and year after year.

I hate the fucking soccer season.

Comments { 5 }

My Ongoing In Law Cycle Of Thoughts

c94c64a74e1f0a102baa2f0dd7115055

My in-laws will be visiting in a little over two weeks and I’ve been trying to mentally prepare for them, especially now with our new house, they’ll be staying with us for four fucking days since there’s plenty of space and we can’t use that as an excuse.

I suggested to my husband that they should stay in a hotel anyway for a much-needed break in between the days but he thinks that’s impolite. Well, fuck. I personally don’t think so and would make it more about them needing their privacy but I didn’t win that one.

With the weeks and months that follow after one of their visits, I start softening up to them and after four or so months, I’ll convince myself that they really aren’t that bad. Then, I start feeling like shit about how much I rant about them and think this time when the in-laws come to stay with us, we’ll actually have a pleasant time. Hey, I never said I wasn’t delusional.

I’ll become so worked up with guilt and feel like a horrible person for the things I say about them. I start convincing myself that I just need to suck it up and stop overreacting. The hummingbird adores them and I keep my feelings to myself and it makes me happy that she’s so happy when they visit.

But then, they arrive. When we greet them, I’m kind of like a deer in headlights with thoughts of all the past bullshit I’ve dealt with when it comes to them and also the simple fact that oh shit, they’re actually here and this visit is really happening.

Within ten minutes, my father in law is talking about every single little detail that happened on their trip here and none of it relates to them. He’ll be saying what he overheard someone else on the plane talk about, go into a thorough overview of a person on his flight that he was nearby and without any knowledge of the person, form all of his own ideas and opinions about who this person might be, what kind of job they have, why they were traveling, etc, etc.

Then, we hear about the people who have died, for example a church member’s sister’s uncle’s grandmother who they have no idea about or never met and that will give me a bang my head against a spike moment. We also hear about how much my mother in law misses her over 100 turtles even though it’s been like five hours since she’s seen them.

By the two-hour mark, not only am I ready for them to go to their hotel room that they don’t have, I’m ready for the entire visit to be over with. But, what’s that? They brought a few gifts for the hummingbird. Hmmm, I can’t imagine what the theme of these gifts will be. Oh, look at that! A shirt with a turtle on it and lookie at the other one, a turtle purse.

At this point, I’ve gone into the kitchen at least once but more like twice to get a few shots of vodka. I can’t forget how the father in law will also discuss ALL the fucking construction in detail that he saw while driving up from Boston. Oh. my. god. A text usually goes out to my mom around this time with something usually along the lines of “help!”.

It will be about time for the bird to get into bed and once she’s tucked into her room, the four of us sit there while my FIL goes back to talking about the construction he saw on the way up here. He wonders what they’re doing if it’s road construction and make assumptions. If it’s something he saw being built like a new construction site, oh lawdy, he goes through the details of how it’s going to be built, with lots of detail and with a fine tooth comb even though he doesn’t know what the hell it’s actually going to be.

And again, this is all assumptions but since he loves to hear himself talk and lecture he seems pretty sure of himself that what he’s saying is fact. Oh. my. god. By now it’s been a good four hours since they’ve arrived and while it may be a little rude, I’ll turn on the television and put it on closed captioning and turn down the volume so he can continue with his lecturing and so I won’t fall asleep because the man is like human ambien.

What has become a little escape for me turns into a nightmare because the FIL starts reading the closed captioning out loud. And, he has 20,000 questions about what’s on when I haven’t yet seen it myself. He’s like my 7 year-old when watching things. Is it really that difficult for a 60 something grown man to not be able to draw conclusions for himself??! I mean, he seemed pretty capable with talking about construction bullshit and the people on the plane and in the airport and AGGHHH!

During this time, my MIL will take some passive aggressive starter strikes at me about how the house looks or how the hummingbird is being raised and how that’s not the way they did it when her kids were growing up.

I’m finally done and head off to bed completely wiped out. But the thing is they get me so wound up and are so fucking exhausting to be around that I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ll end up being too tired and mindfucked to sleep.

The next morning, I absolutely dread opening the bedroom door while hearing them out in the kitchen while the hubby gets breakfast together.

My FIL will always ask how I slept and if I’m doing okay. I’ll tell him no, no I’m not okay and I slept like shit because you two stress the fuck out of me so I’m sleep deprived and pissy from the lack of sleep I had that may have been resolved if you would have just stayed at a damn hotel.

Okay, that’s what I’d like to say but just say a simple fine. There’s of course not much breakfast table chatter since my FIL won’t shut the fuck up. He’s like one of those talking dolls that has a string in the back and once you pull it, it talks for a few seconds. Except, his string doesn’t have a stopping place.

There’ll be plans to go out and see the sites but oh darn, I’ve come down with some mysterious ailment and would be better off staying at the house while they go out with the family.

The non stop talking from my FIL and the passive aggressive bullshit from my MIL continues for the rest of the visit and finally the moment arrives.

They’re LEAVING!! HALLEFUCKINGLUJAH!

I put on my fake sad face and it’s all I can do to stop myself from shoving them out of the door. Finally, they’re gone and the bird will feel sad so I’ll console her while in my head a mariachi band plays to celebrate there departure. A few weeks after they’ve left, I’ll start to recover and get some of my sanity back.

After a month or two, the husband will mention that his parents are looking forward to come up and visit us again soon. My eyes meet his and I give him the death stare followed by a ‘they were just here!” A few months later, my daughter will start asking when she’ll see her grandma and grandpa again and I start to feel myself weaken.

The hubby and I go back and forth about what’s a good time for them to come and visit. I weaken some more and think this visit won’t be as bad as all the other ones, despite my 21 years of knowing otherwise.

Because damn it, maybe it’s all me and not just them and I’m sure I was just being on edge when they came for a visit last time.

This visit, I’ll make sure to do all that I can to have more patience.

They arrive and I will make this visit work in my favor.

Two hours later and two shots of vodka down the hatch and I’m ready for them to leave.

And the cycle repeats.

Oy!

Comments { 2 }

Being Four: The F*ck You Fours

If you’re still standing after four years of parenthood, or tilting over a little, congratulations. Break out the champagne! This is the fuck you fours. You should check your child’s head for 666.

This age made me feel like a ball in a pinball machine. One second, my daughter would be playing peacefully and 30 seconds later, she would throw whatever she was playing with in anger or frustration. Kind of like a mic drop.

So, here I am, the little pinball being whacked here, there, everywhere when it came to dealing with my 4 year-old’s emotions and attitude.

This was also when the door slamming started, like the hummingbird was 4 going on 14. The fuck you fours isn’t as what the fuckish as the toddler pms stage but it did seem to be more emotionally draining.

The sweet side to this age is that although they act like they want you to fuck off, they love hard. The hummingbird also started writing more at this age and seeing her write “I love you” on a card turned me into a puddle. I also love all the talking she did. It was cute.

Sure, I didn’t know most of what she was talking about and even though she’s now seven, I still don’t. It’s like this:

Mom, do you see me in the back seat? Mom? Mom?? Mom, I like this song. Do you like it? Mom, do you like it too? Why did you wave to that car? Do you know them? Mom, why did you wave? At school today, Tess and I played this game where we threw a ball and then hopped on one foot but if you don’t hop high enough, you have to take 10 steps back and then Spencer and that crazy boy came over and we decided to play chase and whoever won actually loses and then you have to take 5 jumps to the right and lose a turn while the rest of us hit a baseball and the other person has to shout woohoo each time we take a step….

I don’t know what it is about kids and games but they have 10,000 instructions.

Anyway, while the fuck you fours can be trying and I occasionally thought during this age how much longer until she’s 18 and out of the house, they are also at a very lovable age. Because they know if they weren’t, we would eat them.

*One Week

Comments { 2 }

When My Daughter Gets Older, I’m Going To Her House And Turning All Of Her Clothes Inside Out

Laundry sucks. Obviously. There’s always at least one basket of clothes that is always sitting outside the laundry room for at least a week before we end up washing it again, usually because by that time, we can’t remember if that was a clean basket of laundry or not.

Then there’s the folding of the laundry. A whole shit ton of it. Especially since my 7 year-old changes about three times a day. Every time I fold her laundry I always find that every. single. flipping. piece of clothing is inside out. Yes, I know. First world problems over here. Her socks in particular drive me bat shit since I have to turn those around one by one.

Maybe it’s just my anal retentive ways or my OCD but I always make sure to leave my clothes ride side out. Kids… not so much, or I’m sure some adults as well.

I’ve asked her to help me by turning the clothes the right way but I may as well be talking to a 7 year-old. It goes in one ear and immediately dissipates into oblivion so whatever I just told her has been forgotten in 1.3 seconds. Just like when I ask her to put the clothes back on the hanger if she decides not to wear something after she’s gotten it off the hanger.

Oh my god, how many more times do I have to keep telling her to do these things? When the bird was about 2 or 3, I thought that was a messy phase but holy hell, the bigger they get, the bigger the mess they make.

So, not only am I going to her house to turn her clothes inside out, I’ll take most of the clothes from their hangers and leave them half way off from hangers in the closest. When I’m done with that, I’ll whine that I didn’t want tacos for dinner, I wanted spaghetti and was really looking forward to it and why, oh, why did you not make spaghetti?

Good plan!

Comments { 0 }

I Feel Like Mr. Hand In Fast Times At Ridgemont High. Everyone Must Be Stoned.

Except if you were stoned, you wouldn’t be making such dumb decisions. Well, except for in the food category but those were some pretty yummy dumb decisions.

Does anyone else feel like they’re being Punk’d with this whole Trump business. Is he really winning the votes? Who would want to vote for him? Did I slip into a Twilight Zone episode and got stuck in an alternate universe? Why is he so orange? Does he dive into a bag of Cheetos’ to get that color? Is everyone in on this joke but me?

Seriously? Donald Trump. It just doesn’t compute. I’ve said it before but it’s like we’re in the movie Idiocracy. If you haven’t ever seen it, you will be terrified of the similarities.

And TLC… really? You pieces of shit brought back the Duggar girls. What a bunch of assholes all around. I still see defenders out there for them and my mind is baffled.

I guess the hypocritical defenders of the Duggars are the same people voting for Trump.

I really, really hope I’m being Punk’d.

*Glitter In The Air

Comments { 6 }