Switcheroo

I've moved to another site. One where I don't actually use our real names. Genius. If you're curious email me at sensibleabsurdity@hotmail.com.

Living two lives at the same time

It’s like an addiction that keeps drawing me back for more. I’d say that I’m an infrequent user, only taking a hit when I feel that I have nowhere else to go. And so I’m back to feed from my blogging addiction.

So I just finished this vampire book. And since I don’t know you and you don’t know me I feel like I can tell you this without shame. I love vampire books. But can only read YA. The adult stuff scares the ever-living shit out of me. And so I stick to the softer genre. It’s my other addiction (blogs first. vampire books second.) Anyway I read them because my religion dictates that I don’t drink, and this is obviously the next best thing in my mind. Whatever we all have our coping mechanisms.

And in this book there was a paragraph that really hit home. Our heroine was explaining how once inside her best friend’s head (not one word! my addiction. no explanations necessary.) she experienced life through her perspective and got her first real feel for severe depression, and that at times it felt as though she was teetering on the edge of madness. And somewhere in my serotonin deprived head someone was screaming YES!!!

And I figured that the author must struggle with my same issues, because no one else could know exactly how to phrase it. (hers was much more eloquently put, for a vamp book anyway)

Teetering on the edge of madness. That’s how it feels some days. It’s interesting viewing the world in a reasonably normal fashion, and smiling and laughing and responding accordingly when everything inside is so fucked up. It’s like I live two lives. And the one inside my head blows. (You: I’m surprised that you swear the way you do considering the fact that you can’t drink. Me: Raised eyebrows. Husband reading my thoughts: see! this has got to stop. Me to husband reading my mind: Raised eyebrows, tilted head, and widened eyes.)

I wonder sometimes if it will always be this way. That the life I had before having children and PPD will forever be only a memory. I hope not. For all our sakes.

My sweetest day.

Claire told me "I love u" for the first time today. (or for the first time to any human for that matter. oh yes, she already said it to my father's dog who she knew for a whole ten minutes before the coveted words came forth.)

And I cried. Being a mom is hella hard, but man...

Blogging DilHemma

I've considered shutting down this blog. (My four readers: NO!!! Oh wait. Do you still post here?) I have a couple of reasons for this. One: PARANOIA. Paranoia governs the way I view many things in my life. I meant for this to be my secret blog, a place where only I know my true identity (superhero complex anyone?). I could vent and be real with my feelings without feeling judged, and I could connect with other women going through the same things. Problem one: didn't change names of my children or myself. SMART. Way to cover your tracks mastermind. Problem two (and this one's really just become a new one that I've been mulling over for the past couple days): someday I think my husband would like to run for office. Blah. And I've wondered if my little bloggyblog-that I never post on- might become a problem 20 years down the road. (At this point your asking yourselves if I'm one of those conspiracy theory wackos. Hell yes people! Hell yes! Not to worry however, I am very selective in my conspiracy theory convictions.) Problem three: I've never talked about my faith here but it's a HUGE part of my life. HUGE. And I don't exactly fit the mold. Which is honestly part of the reason I started writing here in the first place. So do I talk about it? Or keep it close to my pretty little heart where it is safe and I am not judged because of it. (from all sides.) I mean, I read all of my commenter's blogs and man you are some freaking awesome women. And I'm not worried about you. But I know I've got a few lurkers too and them be what scares me. Because my hell, have you read ParentDish? I feel disgruntled and rabid just thinking about some of those twit commenters (and posts, let's be honest). So, how honest is too honest? And what are your limits for putting it out there on the Internet? Do you regret some decisions? Dilhemma.

AND do I have cute children? Yes. Yes I do.

Plane rides and Jack Daniels-- Part Deux

With my daughter Lily screaming in the background I truly feel as though I'm writing in the necessary atmosphere to re-create part two of our story. (She's in her crib. Trying to fall asleep. I don't just let them scream for my writing purposes. Usually.)

4 pm-- At the gate and waiting for permission to board. Other passengers are eyeing us suspiciously.

425 pm-- I approach the check-in counter to see if there are any open seats on the plane so that we might bring aboard one or two carseats for the little littles. There is one. But it's because the stewardess who shall not be named moved my husband from his original seat next to me to across the aisle. Something about oxygen masks and two lap kids in the same row. I don't know. What I do know is that they moved my husband across the aisle from us and plunked him down in a MIDDLE seat with an almost two year old. And then the passengers next to him started eyeing him suspiciously. (Rightfully so good friends, rightfully so!)

430 pm-- Our seating arrangement is as follows

Window (Claudia) Middle (Baby seat and Lily) Aisle (Me) -------- Aisle (Poor man who got what he had coming) Middle (Joseph and Claire) Window (Man who is still in therapy)

Joseph and I kept looking at the man who got what he had coming with doe eyes in effort to get him to switch seats, but to no avail. And so... he got what he had coming. He has no one to blame for what transpired but himself. And my child. And maybe the stewardess who shall not be named.

432 pm-- We have already pulled out most of the toys from the bag and Claire is bored with all of them. She wants to run up and down the aisles.

445 pm-- We pull out the dvd player and put on one of her favorite Sesame Street episodes.

446 pm-- Claire apparently hates earphones. Man who got what he had coming hates Claire.

450 pm-- Man who got what he had coming starts ordering JACK DANIEL shots each time the drink cart passes by.

5 pm-- Claire throws a full on fit because Joseph won't let her close the book of the man who is still in therapy.

The next couple of hours are still a bit hazy as I have blocked them from my memory until my mind is in a safe enough place to handle it. Which roughly translated means I probably never will. I do know that Claudia got some type of food poisoning from the chicken/spongy thing she ordered off the "gourmet" menu and that I kept running back to the forbidden land of stewardesses to get more ginger ale, ice, and lemons. (their suggestion. apparently this has happened before.) The people behind me watched bouncing baby head for about two hours and Joseph and Claire well... let's just say the man formerly known as he who got what he had coming changed his name to drunk as a skunk and after four hours we all exited the plane glassy eyed and ten years closer to meeting our maker.

On the way home there were TWO empty seats by us and the girls both rode in their carseats happily for the majority of the ride. Aaaaaah. How about you? Do your littles (or bigs. whatever.) travel better when strapped down? Or do you rely on some other magic ploy?

Planes rides and Jack Daniels--Part I

Just got back from "vacation" ala "the baby tour" and have 234 posts in my google reader. In part this is because I've been gone but mostly it's because my computer has had a VIRUS for two weeks. It's on antibiotics now and is doing much better thank you.

ANYWAY, so I could really talk about fourteen bajillion things for this post. Fun with pack 'n plays, so your toddler's in love with a dog, sleep training--get some!, another anniversary comes and goes, funnest (yes a word. back off) friend in the world--a. this one's for you, or journey into the seventh dimension of hell--four hours on a plane with a toddler and a baby, two seats. DAMN! AND I THINK WE HAVE A WINNER!

Son of a bitch! Now I'd heard from friends (ala read on other blogs) that though you need not buy a seat for humans under two it's recommended that you do so for your sanity and for the sake of the other 459 passengers on the plane. BAH! I said. We'll save $900 dollars if we just hold em on our laps! And so our descent begins. Good Lord.

3 pm-- Arrive at airport with babies and 965 pieces of luggage in tow. Back off Delta man eyeing me suspiciously, we're only checking one per person, the rest are carry-ons.

315 pm-- Approach nuclear x-ray machine with 963 remaining pieces of luggage. Security man eyes me suspiciously.

317 pm-- And so the undressing/disassembling begins. For EVERYONE. Really? Really?! My toddler looks to the be the type hiding bombs in her keds? My ten month old too? Bet that's been a real problem for you in the past. And IT'S FORMULA. You can swipe your bomb swabs over it again and again but it's not going to change the fact that it's not going to explode! Nevermind though, you just keep trying.

345 pm the next day-- Complete metal detector fun.

346 pm-- Notice husband has been detained and guards are searching one of his carry-ons.

346.5 pm-- I approach and explain that I packed all the bags. His included. If there's anything suspicious involved it's my fault. (How dumb am I? When in doubt blame the au pair! Just kidding Claudia. We love you. We'd never let them haul you away for packing those fingernail clippers.)

347 pm-- Man asks me if there's anything sharp in the bag.

347.5 pm-- I'm peeved that we've been here for twenty minutes already and sarcastically joke about the Dr. Seuss books inside and how they could be considered a hazard.

348 pm-- Man pulls out GIGANTIC SHARPENED SHANK from bag. WHAT THE HOLY HELL?

348.2 PM-- I pee myself.

348.7 pm-- Man is embarrassed for me and thinking what detaining room would best suit me and my "carry-ons".

348 pm-- Seriously. This thing was a foot and a half long, looked to be some kind of letter opener slash machete and had ornate carvings all over it. AND I'D NEVER SEEN IT BEFORE IN MY LIFE. Someone slipped a freaking WEAPON (letter opener/machete) into one of our carry-on bags.

349 pm- Frantic non-sensical explanations and profuse sweating ensue.

350 pm-- Security guard eyes me suspiciously AGAIN and then HANDS ME BACK THE WEAPON. Because he didn't think that it could do any "serious damage."

351 pm-- Mouth agape and shoeless I am left speechless at this turn of events. Does guard want me to hijack a plane? Is this some kind of test? Am I being punked?

352 pm-- I Bewilderingly look around for hidden cameras and/or swat team.

353pm-- Take shank and put back into carry-on.

354 pm-- My hand sanitizer was confiscated.

To be continued . . .

I'll take "Are you Insane?!" for 800 Alex

She's crazy. Oh she's still sweet, and fun, and lovable in a million different ways. But crazy. We've entered full blown tantrum mode this past week, which I know is perfectly normal for things her age. But MY WORD. I don't even think SHE knows what she wants but hooboy is she ever willing to hurt herself over it.

When we have "hurts" with the littles they're called "bonks." So if Claire trips and bumps her knee she cries over the "bonk" gets hugged and kissed and we move on. Lately, it seems she's become a little too attached to this process though because there's been a suspicious rise of bonks around the house. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all about luvs and attention whenever I can get it (except at night when I'm tired please don't touch me) but even I realize that there are rules.

Before when Claire went Hiroshima she’d fling her body back full force and bang her head into the ground. Carpet, tile, wood floor, whatever. Now I know that these things aren't the smartest at this age but damn. Time and time again she'd knowingly bash herself about in mad attempt to demonstrate just how deep the rage lied. And then despairingly cry, "BONK!" Right... But you still can't play with the toilet plunger or have the cookies for breakfast. They're mine.

Then she upped the ante. Now when facing dejection she looks me straight in the eye with her tear filled blues and accusingly yells "BONK!" before launching her cranium into the floor. All with the face of "THIS IS GOING TO HURT ME A LOT MORE THAN IT HURTS YOU!" Yes indeedy and WTF?

Now I can't judge her too harshly for this crazy ass behavior because I did much the same thing during my single years in college. In fact head banging might have even been the better solution. But alas. Why?! And how do I make it stop?!