Turkey and stuffing

Well, I'm about to take off for my fabulous road trip. I will miss you all so much. I promise to update more when I get back.

Thanksgiving is going to be very special for me this year. Not only is it my child's first, but we'll be celebrating with my mother, step-dad, and all three of my sisters. This hasn't taken place in 10 years. Long story behind that, I'll tell it later.

So, to all my readers...Or is it my reader? Happy Turkey Day.

Grrrr

Dearest Blogger,

Why must you persecute me so? Have I done something to offend thee? Is is because I haven't been on in almost a week? Trust me, it's not my fault.

Why do you feel the need to take so long in considering publishing my posts, that time runs out and I am forced to start all over again. I keep trying to explain to you why I have been absent (bone-tired, sick hubby, fast-crawling baby), yet you seem uninterested. It's like you don't even care anymore.

And why is it I can't comment on any of the other blogs? I think you want them to hate me, as you do, and make them think I don't care anymore, that I'm not reading. But, I am! I am! Believe me, my life still consists only of reading blogs and watching reruns of Golden Girls. Nothing has changed here. Please, let my sign on, or at least post anonymously.

I'm done pleading. I'm done begging. I just pray you let these words get through. And, I will be back in 3 weeks time after a looong road trip (as long as I don't kill myself of my hubby during said trip). Don't abandon me now!

Sincerely,
Your loyal poster.

Like a chicken with no head

I've been running around this past week, trying to get everything squared away for the big road trip.

That's right. My morning sick ass, husband recently diagnosed with depression, and whinny 8 month old baby are venturing on a road trip. Starting in Northern California, stopping in Montana, Idaho, Washington and finally Oregon. I'm nuts. We're nuts. God be with us.

It all started with me wanting to go to my mom's for Thanksgiving. She's the stop in Idaho. My husband figured since Montana is kinda on the way, we should stop and see his grandparents, he hasn't seen them since he was 16. So how could I say no? Then we decided to cut over to Western Washington to see my best friend from high school and just follow I-5 down, stopping at whoever's houses we know on the way. All of this in 11 days. Whoohoo.

Normally, I love traveling, especially by car. But, when I'm pregnant, I become very motion sick if I don't drive. And my husband is newly on anti-depressants and they dosage is still up the air. Which means, he's as moody as a PMS'ing me. If you know me at all, you know this is bad. I'm not worried about the little one so much, since she did so well during the road trip to Hell. I'm just worried about her whining getting on me and hubbies last nerve. I can't promise not to drive over a cliff, Thelma and Louise style. I guess we can be happy that Montana is mostly flat land. Mostly.

So, I won't be updating much, kinda like how I haven't been these last weeks. Bear with me, I'll get back to finding humor in puke and poop soon.

Sick husbands suck

Husbands suck sometimes. Especially sick ones. I've never heard so much moaning and groaning in my life. You'd think he was dying, for heaven's sakes (with sayings like that, I morph into my grandmother a little more each day...frightening thought).

With all this commotion, you'd think he'd at least go to the doctors. I mean 4 missed days of work equal a visit to a trained professional in my book. But, no! He doesn't need a "stupid" doctor telling him what's wrong with his body. Okay then, just don't bitch to me when you die.

What I hate most about him being sick is him being home with me. All the damn day. I can't get anything done because he's lying on the couch, sighing loud enough to be heard three towns over. I ask him, "what do you want?" His answer is always long and drawn out and usually ends with a request for me to go to the store. Because we can never have what he wants here at the house, no that would be too easy.

So, if you're the praying type, pray he gets better before I kill him.

Word of the day: NO

I feel like a broken record. All day, what you hear from me most is: NO.

She is into everything. The girl has more toys than a Toys R Us store, and yet all she wants to play with is the remote control, the telephone, and the electrical outlets. I'm thinking of letting her stick her tongue in the latter, just to see if it teaches her a lesson.

This is the best excerise plan I can think of. Who knew a 20 lb, 7 month old could move so fast. The poor dog lives in terror of her. But, I do see the draw to that wagging tail. I've had to restrain myself from grabbing it and shoving it into my mouth too.

How do babies know what to go after to cause your heart to leap into your mouth?

Better

Thanks for the kind words and offers to babysit. If only you all lived closer. I'm feeling much better today, partly because I got a great night's (only woke up twice to pee!) sleep and my honey stayed home from work (playing hookey). So, I get to go grocery shopping. All. By. Myself.

It may not sound like much, but I heart grocery shopping. It relaxes me. I love budgeting and picking the best deals. I'm a little apprehensive of the meat aisle though. Chicken in any form makes me want to puke. Agh, just typing that sentence got me queazy. Must get chicken thoughts out of head. La la la la. Okay, better. So, I must be a nerd to live the grocery store so damn much. God bless me, it's true.

The one where I lose my shit

I'm having a bad day. A very bad day.

I want my baby back. Please. You can take this clingy, teary, whiney thing that looks like my sweet angel. I can't handle much more of this.

She has been crying all morning. She won't nap, won't eat much and just wants to cry. I, being the emotional pregnant woman that I am, am crying right along with her. I actually had to walk away from her to fling myself atop the bed and wail. Very dramatic. But, then again, very me.

I know this will pass and is probably some sign of teething or growing or something, but I feel like my life is over a little bit right now. I feel like shit and like a shitty mother because I can't fix what is wrong. I don't even know what is wrong and that makes me mad.

I find myself really resenting (hating) my husband right now. Like a child, I want to scream how unfair it is that I have to stay home every day and how I have to take care of this screaming mini-me every day. And, those days when he comes home and has the nerve to say "boy, what a day I had, I'm soooo tired" it's all I can do not to pack my bags and run away to...to...somewhere with no husbands and no children.

The day is half over and I'm counting the minutes to bedtime. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

Random Ants

We have a problem with what I call random ants in our kitchen. Actually, they should be called random dead ants because that's what they are. Dead.

I don't know where they come from or why they are dead. Every night I wipe our counters and window sill clean, and every morning there they are. A trail of dead ants. If it had only happened once, I would find it rather amusing. Now, it's starting to piss me off.

I know we have plenty of live ants outside. Just lean against one of the posts in the backyard and you have yourself a lovely ant sweater. Stand too long in our driveway, by the huge crack in the cement, and you've got yourself some matching ant socks. I can't stand it, but what makes me happy is that I can kill these ants. I have the control of where and when they die. The ants in my kitchen are already gone. It's like ant heaven or something.

Sometimes, like this morning, I will find one lone ant stumbling among his fallen brethren.

I lean down to his level and beg him to tell me what went down in my kitchen the night before. He won't tell me, just picks up a fallen buddy and carries him about 2 inches before I squish him into oblivion.

Maybe they are southern ants, re-enacting Gettysburg nightly on my kitchen counter. Yes, that must be it. I wonder if I awoke at the right moment, would I could hear their tiny muskets sounding off and their tiny general's yelling for more fire? Then, maybe a moment of silence before their little ant voices rise up chanting about how they come marching one by one? Hurrah, hurrah.

Winnie the Pooh: the grumpiest bear this Halloween

We should have taken her as Eeyore. What a grumpy-butt she was.