Momma Says the F Word

Profanity, parenting, and ridiculously verbose descriptions of absolutely nothing.

Monday, March 03, 2014

Blinded by frozen eyeballs, I send you this message

Man. Still winter. The last time I trekked through my backyard, the snow was up to my knees. My knees are tall. So that's, um, a lot of snow to have sitting on the ground in March. We have a fire hydrant in our front yard that the public works homies occasionally come and plow out. This plowing has created a mountain of snow so high in my yard that my kids sled down it on a regular basis. I don't know when the last time was my kids went outside for recess at their school. It has to be 9 degrees for them to go out. That doesn't seem like a very high bar, but Wisconsin just can't seem to meet it.

My husband, who occasionally likes to fancy himself a person who goes outside but who is actually not a person who goes outside (unless forced), is actually experiencing winter rage. I have never known him to give two hoots about the weather, unless we're camping and it's hot/humid, in which case he is incurably pissed. So him caring is like a thing. He states that the day he started his new job in July 2012, it was 110 degrees out or some such thing. This winter, it has gotten to -25 degrees here (not counting wind chill). He says humans shouldn't inhabit places with 135 degree temperature swings. It's kind of hard to argue that they should, when you think about it. He wants to move to Pensacola or Tallahassee, Florida. He's researched the job and housing markets, and thinks we could probably trade even-up. I don't know anything about either of these places, but in my mind they sound like bug-infested hovels. I mean, no offense to Pensacola or Tallahassee. I've never spent appreciable time in either place. But if you randomly mentioned either of those cities, my first thought would be a buggy shithole. Hey, the city I live in is pretty much a dump, so it's not like I have any standards on the subject. But I don't think I can move to Bug, Florida. My husband, however, might already be packing.

I don't know.

I am 14% less insane than I was the last time I wrote. I think it's just resignation at this point. Spring is not coming. Summer is not coming. And this is quite unfortunate. But I'm just sort of over it. Not because I got happy, but because hope has been beaten out of me and I can no longer make much of a psychological fuss. That's really depressing, if you think about it.

I am marginally cheered by the fact that I'm leaving for my annual Florida vacay this coming weekend. I am nervous that my children will catch some plague this week or we'll encounter horrific weather-induced travel bullshit. I'm trying to not have actual panic attacks on these subjects. I'm not good at being calm once I get myself worked up about something though, so I'll probably sleep about 45 minutes between now and the time we get to our destination.

God, what a shithead. Complaining about vacation. That's the sort of thing that makes you hate a person.

So, I guess what I am saying is that something positive is going to happen in the relatively near future but I'm a big dick and too much in anxiety-mode to be pumped. My husband has rubbed off on me. I used to be a huge anticipator of awesomeness (Christmas, vacations, human beings...) and half the fun of anything for me was the pre-excitement, but my spouse does not believe in counting chickens before they are hatched. He experiences no joy until the positive thing is actually occurring. Spares him the pain of disappointment. Somehow over the past couple years of watching him be non-pumped, this has rubbed off on me. Which is kind of a bummer, but is probably a better way of handling oneself in adult life. But in all likelihood, I'll probably be experiencing extreme joy in a week. It seems so absurd that it's hard to type.

This year, the family is going down and staying in a rental house, the same one we stayed in last year, with my bestie and her family. Then Big K and Phook and Bigs are coming home a week later. But me and Parkie are staying for another week with my bestie and her shorties, and going camping in a Florida State Park that happens to be on an island. It's decidedly rustic...no hot water, no food of any kind to purchase, no humans really except a few other campers and the occasional ranger. Some wild pigs might be hanging out. Me and 20 of my closest friends used to go there camping for Spring Break when we were in college four eons ago, and some of my most bombtastic memories of my youth are from those trips. I've been back for day trips a few times since I became a shameless breeder, but I haven't camped there since I was preggers with Phook. I am, if I let myself think about it, really excited to do that again. I wish our whole family could make it for this part of the trip, but my spouse has a pretty lean time-off policy and my big kids have to go back to school at some point, so it's me and Parkie for this year. We're going to sun ourselves like cats and hike a lot. I think it will be neat. It just doesn't seem real right now.

What I really hope, is that if spring/summer ever does bless us fools in Wisconsin, that I remember how this winter felt. That I don't, on the 4th decent day of the year, start to take it for granted. I want to have a great summer with my kids. I want to be outside a ton, garden a ton, swim a ton, eat our meals on the deck a ton. These are my standard operating procedures, but I just hope I remember to relish them once they're here again. I don't want to be too busy. I don't want to become complacent. I sure as shit don't want to complain that it's too hot out.

Oh, the feel of warm outdoor air on my skin. I can only imagine.

Tuesday, February 04, 2014

Desperate, she turns to her old friend Blog

People.

Where do you live?

Is it the one corner of the earth that is not full of puffy, pallid, freakishly depressed over-wintered individuals?

For your sake, I hope so.

I do not live in that corner. No. I live in Wisconsin. My kids have missed 4 days of school for extreme cold (which my district defines as wind chills greater than -35 degrees). And some snow days too. My dog has been toileting on the first 2 feet of our deck since November...he won't go out any further. I will probably have to sand/stain that thing if we ever thaw out here.

I know, most of you live in a shithole that is experiencing a terrible winter too. So I probably don't have to say much more about that.

Just know that we have feet upon feet of snow cover, it's negative something degrees out every day, and I almost don't believe that this season will ever end.

I am unwell. Oh, shit, I'm healthy as a horse, physically speaking. I can't remember the last time that I was so freakishly well for such an extended period of winter. (Knocking on wood. Big wood. God, why did I even type that? I'm sure to be hospitalized within the next two days.)

But, yeah, I'm crazy as a loon up in here. Crazy.

This despite hitting the fitness hard. Fitness of course trumps anti-depressants, and even with DAILY, I tell you DAILY workouts of the asskicker variety, the dark bleak nasties are all up in my grill. I have quads the size of oak trees but the only thing I want to do with them is roundhouse kick customer service personnel in the mug. My upper back and shoulders are like the concrete mold of a human's upper back and shoulders but all I want to do with those is drive myself shoulder-first into the person who stole my parking spot.

Yes, I want to use my powers for evil.

This is not good.

Oh, Lord. How did I ever survive those bleak winters in The Woods with THREE BABIES? I now live in a place with things to do, one of my kids is in school all day and the other for half days, and I feel like I may have never been crazier. How is this possible? I have free time. Free time. Like sometimes, I actually even WASTE TIME. (I am so sorry to admit that to those of you who have not wasted even a morsel in years.) But yeah. Crazy. I should probably re-read blog archives to remind myself how crazy I was in winters' past. No I shouldn't. But anyhow, yeah. I'm not a person who feels delighted right now.

I have no patience with my small people. It feels like they are fighting with each other 24 hours a day, which I know cannot be possible, because they sleep like 11 and they're separated by school for a minimum of 4 hours. But I tell you it feels like 24 hours a day of battles over such hot button topics as, "I WAS GOING TO SIT ON THAT COUCH!" and "I DO NOT WANT TO SHARE MY 400 PIECES OF GUM!" and "HE WILL NOT PLAY THE GAME THE WAY I WANT HIM TO PLAY IT."

Seriously, kiddos, you are making me look so old.

I am weary with these small people. They theoretically have a father, and that's a nice thing, but he only appears in mirages. Yes, the man is at work. When, you ask? Always, I say. If I had a dollar for every time I sat down to dinner with 3 screeching harpies and myself this winter, well, I guess I'd have enough money to buy myself some nice snacks. But, man, I miss the spouse. That guy I once knew.

Oh, hell, I'm a whiner.

My life is so TOTALLY NORMAL and my kids are so TOTALLY NORMAL and the winter blues are so TOTALLY NORMAL and having a functioning furnace is something I TOTALLY TAKE FOR GRANTED.

Yeah, so I'm a dick. I know.

Maybe I should blog more.

How's your winter going?

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Thankful


Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Hey Grammy!

The furniture at your house is SO comfy!

XO,

Your Favorite Hound

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Evidence that someone is growing up

So I went to Mexico in early October. When the dates were settled upon, I instantly developed 43 phobias related to my absence. I'll not bore you with the entire list. I'll just say that school pictures occurring during my absence was a big one. A big one that was fully rooted in reality.

So, yes, Big K had to handle picture day. I chose the outfits, laid them out, and gave the man eleventeen tutorials on Phook's hair. I suggested he put in a little squirt of hairspray to tame flyaways. Since we have this problem.

So the day arrived. Big K put them in their outfits. He styled the hair. And then he ran into trouble. He couldn't find the hairspray. Now all good fans of The Great Outdoors know that when you get into trouble, you let go of the rope.

Big K did not let go of the rope.

Big K grabbed the mousse.

And put it on both our kids' heads.



Additionally, my son got to school and apparently busted out a contraband man necklace he had squirreled away in his bag and decided he needed to add a piece of flair to his super-slick jam. I can only assume the teacher and the photographer were off getting high together when this went down. There is no other explanation for them thinking a mother would abide this sort of thing in the single instant during which you commemorate an entire school year.

When I got the proofs, I totally fucking hyperventilated.

And then, somehow, some way, I calmed my happy ass down and decided to order these pictures. Retakes be damned.

The hood rats are smiling like gems. They look happy as clams. Bigs is obviously delighted with his man necklace. So what if they both look greasier than Joe Pesci?

I don't know. I just decided to decide that this would be the moment that I admitted I do not control the entire universe.

And I will always have the pictures to prove it.

So there. Big W is finally growing up.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Cranky

I missed a post yesterday. Way to go and shoot my NaBloPoMo greatness in the foot.

What's that? No one is reading this and I haven't even aspired to mediocre?

I guess it's OK then.

Dudes, I am cranky. It's possible this is the beginning of a seasonal funk. Sometimes I go through the motions and every seasonal task feels like a root canal. Sometimes I am the world's biggest elf. Christmas tasks loom, and they feel a little root canal-y right now. I hope I can turn the tide.

Either way, what I need to do is make a list. The only way for me to get through such a labor-intensive time is via list. I find lists motivating, because I'm just OCD enough to be possessed with a need to cross things off.

Right now I'm in a mood to dump rotten produce in the yards of people with Christmas lights up already. I feel like their sole purpose is to mock me.

Ugh. It's not even Thanksgiving yet. How can I already be wearing the cone of shame about this?

Whatevs. We're going to my 'rents for a long weekend and it will be nice to have some time with Hodie and such. My Dad will pop me some killer popcorn and my Mom will lay down an outrageous Thanksgiving meal. I just have to have the most productive day of my life tomorrow to get all my ducks in a row.

Unfortunately, I am motivated to go to the gym and squat the planet. No more. No less.

I don't know. I want to keep whining but this can't go anywhere productive.

I'm just bringin' the funk. Worse than a wet dog.

I want to get unexpectedly drunk and throw softballs at moving cars. That's what I want to do right this minute.

Instead, I'm going to tuck into a respectable Pulitzer winning novel and hopefully go tats up ASAP.

Tomorrow will bring a new outlook?

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Gobble Gobble

I made Thanksgiving dinner for some of my best peeps today.



It was worth eating.

And, yes, my kid did manage a hand photobomb.