This post has been sitting in my drafts for years.
But I had these plans to start blogging regularly in the future and I wanted to stockpile my content so that I didn’t post something depressing and then disappear for four years.

The blog isn’t back, I don’t have the energy to maintain it.
But it’s time to share this poem, even if I don’t post again for another four years.

I’ve suffered from depression since I was 11 years old.
In August 2015 I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder (2), Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder.
A few days after my diagnosis I experienced one of my most extreme emotional spirals to date.
I went from depression, to uncontrollable rage, and eventually plummeted into intense suicidal ideation.
I committed myself to the psych ward of the hospital that night.

Since then I’ve made enormous progress in my mental and emotional health.
My episodes are fewer, but I still struggle daily to maintain some semblance of normalcy.
Last night I felt myself spiraling.
I am well enough that I can control my negative impulses, and I’m experiencing fewer negative impulses than I used to.
But I still feel unwell.
Uncomfortable inside of myself.
And…tired.

I feel like I should talk about it, but I lack the energy.
Instead, I offer you this poem that I wrote nearly 4 years ago while I try to muster up the energy to take a shower.

Locksmith: A poem about depression by Jenn Rian

DESCRIPTION OF THE Ni COGNITIVE PROCESS

Perceiving functions are how we take in new information and form perceptions of people, circumstances, and experiences.

• Se: “This is what’s happening now.”
• Si: “This is how it always happened before.”
• Ne: “Anything could happen.”
• Ni: “This is what might happen.”

iNtuition detects patterns and trends, and derives possibilities from them. The foundation of both Ne and Ni is possibility.

iNtuitive functions, both Ne and Ni, are future-focused. They see what could be or what might be rather than what is (or in addition to what is). iNtuition detects patterns and trends, and derives possibilities from them. The foundation of both Ne and Ni is possibility. We can differentiate between extroverted and introverted iNtuition by what it chooses to do with those possibilities. As an extroverted function Ne is objective and seeks to expand possibility. The nature of Ne is improvisation. As an introverted function Ni is subjective and seeks to refine possibility. The nature of Ni is prediction. The cognitive function of iNtuition is often viewed in a mystical light because of its ability to see things and make connections outside of readily available information. Ni, in particular, due to its propensity towards prediction is often associated with psychic ability or a sixth sense. Ni is not supernatural, it’s just difficult to explain.

For example, let’s say both an Ne and Ni user see 10 possibilities in regards to a specific situation. An Ne user may rank all 10 in order of what’s most likely, but not eliminate any, and the order may shift around at any moment. An Ni user may make 1 base prediction and keep a few alternate possibilities, discarding the rest.

Ne is fluid and flexible.
Ni wants closure.

Ne is fluid and flexible constantly welcoming new perspectives and possibilities and reevaluating its base perception. Ne is improvisation, it makes it up as it goes along and is reluctant to settle on one concrete idea.  Ne thrives on options.

For natural health all mens should to use testosterone it may help with strong mass https://wemailmed.com/generic-androgel-testosterone/ it also recommended with youga courses, androgel not has much side effects as other medications.

Ni wants closure and therefore will analyze each possibility individually in order to filter out less likely options and form a prediction. Too many open possibilities can make high Ni users anxious and even paranoid. Ni takes in information, considers all of it, and then says “This is the most likely outcome“.

Once a high Ni user has formed their base perception, it can be extremely difficult to change their mind. This is not because they are so closed-minded that they don’t welcome various perspectives. Rather, it’s because they’ve already weighed the possibilities and predicted “THIS is (most likely) it“.

If Ni is presented with a possibility it’s already analyzed and discarded, it’s unlikely to reconsider it without it accompanying entirely new/fresh information/perspectives. Presenting an Ni user with a previously analyzed possibility is as if the Ni user had already cleaned out a closet, deciding what to keep, and someone keeps trying to put discarded items back inside the closet. That information is no longer of use to them and it’s only taking up valuable space. Ni will only reconsider its base perception if outside information is actually new, something it hasn’t yet considered. With completely fresh information it will reevaluate and consider how it might fit with the current base perception. Sometimes this will lead Ni to reconsider previously discarded information. Then a revamped perception is formed. (Present Ni with a new shirt, it may choose to work the shirt into the closet. It might even consider keeping those shoes it discarded earlier if those shoes complement the new shirt.)

Ni is an introverted, internal process involving unconscious analysis.

It’s a process and will rarely happen on the spot. If you share something new with an Ni user, don’t expect them to get on board right away unless it effortlessly harmonizes with their current base perception. Ni is an introverted, internal process involving unconscious analysis…it doesn’t like to be put on the spot.

In addition to the need for closure, Ni also likes to plan. Once a perception is formed Ni will work together with the judging functions to determine the pattern that’s likely to follow and what actions need to be taken to prevent or minimize the negative and support or optimize the positive. Only then will the Ni predictions be revealed to the outside world.

This process of perceiving is an unconscious act, happening continuously, and most often without the user’s knowledge or active engagement. While the perceiving itself happens instantly, it’s the refining process that takes more time. Too much input at once can easily overwhelm certain Ni users.

Throughout this description I referred to Ni as though it were a person using verbs like “analyze” and “reconsider”. I am actually referring to the Ni function itself and not the Ni user, since the process is largely unconscious. However, without any source material to refer to, I believe there is perhaps at least some degree of conscious engagement of the function, perhaps in direct cooperation with the judging functions.

I have depression. I have had it since I was 11 years old. I’ve never told you (the internet) that before. I wasn’t trying to hide it, it just never came up. You’re kind of a jerk that way never asking me how I feel. You’re just like, “Hey look at all of these stupid cat videos on YouTube”. You’re kind of self-absorbed, internet, just sayin’.

But here I am now, telling you anyway, whether you asked or not. And I hope that you can understand. Which is a lot to ask, because I don’t understand it myself half the time.

Depression is not just a feeling of worthlessness or hopelessness. It’s about completely losing your identity to an illness that wants to destroy every last piece of you. It overtakes you. It is enveloping, engulfing, smothering, suffocating, and destructive. I can physically feel a thick gloomy feeling that washes over me from head to toe. Almost as if something invisible attaches itself to me. It eats away every positive thought, every happy feeling. Then it wraps itself around my lungs and begins to squeeze. I begin to feel stressed, anxious, and claustrophobic. I feel as though someone is holding a heavy wet blanket over my face so that I can’t breathe. And sometimes I don’t even want to breathe.

I was 11 years old when the depression started. I felt an inexplicable sadness, a hollowness, and a longing for something that I couldn’t put my finger on. I didn’t know what it was and I never talked to anyone about it. In high school the internal stuff got heavier. I was either paralyzed by an overwhelming sadness or entirely ramped up with uncontrollable vigor. I was constantly fighting some great internal battle. In my inner world I felt too emotional to handle: unpredictable, wild, untamable, and out of control. When I looked in the mirror it’s almost as if I could visibly see my reflection split. I felt like there was another person living in my body, as if I had some sort of dark side that was trying to surface. I felt like if I opened my mouth wide enough and screamed loud enough that I’d cough her right up and she’d be standing right next to me physical and tangible and dark and twisted. I felt like no one could possibly understand me. I started having panic attacks. Part of me thought that I was just making it up to get attention, so I never told anyone. I suppose I should’ve asked for help way back then. Now I regret that I didn’t.

I was 15 the first time I felt a strong urge to end my life. I had been privately ridiculed by a “well-meaning” classmate in a very public place. Later that day I was peering over a railing and staring down into a deep manmade pond. I couldn’t quite see my reflection in the water. I could see everything surrounding me, but not myself. It seemed almost metaphorical. I was often the center of attention in a group due to my love affair with making people laugh, yet no one could see my internal struggle and my pain and my sadness. Even when all eyes were on me I felt completely invisible. Now I was staring into a pond that was reflecting all of the things around me…but not me. I was removed from the world. I thought about what my classmate had said about me not even an hour earlier. In that moment I had felt so small and disgusting and humiliated and ashamed. Combined with the persistent feelings of loneliness, sadness, unhappiness, and discontentment that I’d been experiencing for years it was overwhelming and unbearable. I began to push up on my toes to get a better look at the pond and I thought, “What if I keep pushing? What if I push myself right over the edge? What if I put my physical body where it’s missing in that reflection? What if…I drown myself?” Something in my peripheral caught my eye. It was a dear friend who had come to stand silently next to me. I wasn’t invisible anymore. At least not in that moment. I guess I won’t drown myself today.

After graduating high school I consumed myself with work in an attempt to avoid connecting with my depressive feelings. It kind of worked for awhile. Working nearly 50 hours a week, I was constantly tired and lacking energy. I could barely notice the sadness amidst the exhaustion. Two years post-graduation an unexpected life change sent me into an emotional breakdown. I was pacing between the bedroom and bathroom while screaming and crying so much that I couldn’t breathe. During one of those trips through the bathroom a little voice said, “See what’s in the medicine cabinet and take it all. Whatever’s in there swallow it all.” I went to the medicine cabinet and I saw my reflection in the mirror. I saw my face covered in tears. I didn’t look like myself. My face was swollen and distorted in anguish, my eyes were red and puffy and devoid of light. I thought about opening up that cabinet. I thought about swallowing it all. I thought about how unhappy and discontent I was even though I was so blessed. I felt exhausted by the very thought of having to live another day. I felt incredible guilt and shame over my sadness. Suddenly I started screaming, “NO! NONONONONONONONONO! I WON’T! I WON’T!” And I sat down in a ball and I wailed. The most horrible sound I’ve ever heard in my life came ripping out of me, stinging my throat. It was terrifying. And still I told no one.

After getting married my depression was focused 100% on my struggle with unexplained infertility. I was certain once I had a baby I would be happy…even joyful. When I finally did get pregnant 5 years later it looked as though I might be right. I was the happiest I had ever been. I smiled as I vomited through the first half of the pregnancy. I was thrilled with every full, round curve of my new body. I delighted in every tiny baby wiggle. I indeed, glowed. When my daughter was born two months before my 30th birthday and they placed her in my arms I felt…nothing. No joy. No elation. No bond. In fact I felt incredibly sad. And tired. And burdened. And inadequate. By the third week the post partum depression was full force and I would swing from staring blankly at the wall to screaming at the top of my lungs and throwing things. Two and half years later I would experience the same thing after giving birth to my son. Though I bonded to him instantly the post-partum depression came anyway and I found myself often having to lay him in his crib screaming while I hid at the other side of the house and cried for fear I may harm him. I never tried to get professional help.

I’m now 35 and the depression persists. It’s worse now than ever. Every single day of parenting has been a challenge and a struggle. Navigating my emotions is overwhelming. I’m often in no condition to take care of myself. I have to rely heavily on others which makes me feel guilty and ashamed. I struggle with anxiety. I struggle with anger. I struggle with fear. I struggle with regret. I struggle with guilt. I constantly feel like I’m failing my children, or worse yet, completely screwing them up. Every day suicide weighs heavily on my mind. Every day. And it’s time. It’s time to tell someone. It’s time to get help.

This post was originally published on Stigma Fighers 12/19/14.

Read my family blog coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.

With Kim K’s shiny, nekkid booty keeping the internet abuzz whilst my own completely clothed breasts where creating Facebook controversy I wondered what the internet would come up with if they started a “#ThingsThatLookLikeMyPostBabyBoobs” hashtag about my tatas…

Many years ago while still full of life my boobs raised eyebrows. Now they are flat like pancakes. (Keep a careful eye out for the puns. They’re so subtle you might miss them. Kinda like my boobs. Ba-dum-ching!)

If only they were still round like pancakes. I once was a tart with an ample rack of cupcakes but carrying two babies past their due dates and nursing for 3 years was a recipe for boobs that resemble rolled out bread dough.

Formerly busting out of sweaters my boobs have now burst like overfilled water balloons. Well, it was more like a slow leak and I was left with drained, deflated balloon boobs.

I’ve considered filling them with helium but I’m afraid they’ll just sound funny.

Tube socks. They look like flat tube socks. Ironically, they sag so low that soon enough I’ll literally be able to use them to cover my feet.

The Many Personalities of Tube Sock Boobs: The “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”, The “Curtsy”, The “Please, Sir, I Want Some More”, The “Over Your Shoulder Like a Continental Solider”, and The “Fruit Roll Up”.

Between their flattened state and the stretchmarks it looks as though my boobs were run over by a tractor leaving behind huge tracts of land.

I should be stocking up on Wonderbras now that my knee-highs are knee-lows. My poor old boobs look like a stretched out pair of nylons stuffed with super balls. Also, insert a joke here about “tights“…I’m running low on puns.

*This space reserved for a joke about control top or sheer-to-waist.*

This is where I attempt to parody Kim K’s infamous Papermag images. If you’ve never seen her 4 photos these likely will make no sense. They likely make no sense even if you have seen her photos, but I aim to confuse (and amuse).

A brave comparison of the girls in 1998 and present-day.

Maybe my boobs look like tube socks. Maybe my butt doesn’t look like two hams that have been rolled around in a butter-filled kiddie pool (…and I don’t think I would want it to. *shudder*). But I’m okay with that.
I don’t hate my post-baby body. I actually LOVE my body, saggy boobs, muffin top, and ALL. You can call your stretchmarks Tiger Stripes if that makes you feel better…and I’ll call mine Tire Tracks. I gotta be able to laugh at myself…a lot…because sometimes the truth is just FUNNY! I hope that you’re comfortable in your post-partum skin because it really IS a beautiful thing. It’s different, but it’s beautiful. And if you’re not quite ready to laugh at yourself yet…then laugh at me! I really don’t mind.

SERIOUS NOTE: Breastfeeding isn’t what causing your breasts to sag. Pregnancy does. Well, pregnancy, heredity, and aging. So blame your great-grandma and Father Time, but not the mommy milk. Feel free to nurse those bubs without worry. Check out the articles below for more info on what causes post-partum post-nursing breasts to sag.
*Breastfeeding Does Not Make Breasts Sag, Study Suggests
*Breastfeeding Does Not Cause Breasts to Sag
*Does Breastfeeding Cause Saggy Breasts?
*Will My Breast Sag After Breastfeeding?
*What? Breastfeeding actually prevents sagging?
*Twin Study Shows Moisturizing, Breast Feeding Stall Breast Aging
*Breast Problems After Breastfeeding
*Myths and Facts About Breastfeeding
*Breast-Feeding After Implants Won’t Cause Sagging, Study Finds

I hope you found this post uplifting and that it raised your spirits!
I’m here if you need any support!

What things look like your post-baby boobs?
Let me know in the comments!
OR tweet using hashtag #ThingsThatLookLikeMyPostBabyBoobs!

Read my family blog coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.

You’re welcome.

I wrote 4 Haikus
Because I was in the mood
The count is now 5

Haikus. ‘Cause, why not?
Nothing better to do but
Ride bike and Haiku

I don’t remember
Thighs burning at 10 years old
Um, WTF, bike?

Yes, that really is
Pepperspray in cupholder
Do not mess with me

My work here is done.
‘Cause this counts as a blog post.
Shut up, it does so.

Read my family blog coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.

I overheard my 5 year old discussing Skittles the other day…

I really have no idea what’s appropriate anymore…
I feel like there is a lot of potential for Candy Crush related puns here, but I’ve never played, so imma let that illustration (that I already regret making) do all of the work.

What “adult” phrases have your kids used innocently?
Let me know in the comments!

Read my family blog coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.

So there’s this little thing going on around social media call the ALS #IceBucketChallenge.
If you haven’t heard of it yet, first let me say:
“Hi, welcome to the internet. You must be new here.”
Second, let me hit you with some info:

You can donate to ALS by going here: alsa.org/donate/

And if the ice bucket challenge is getting on your nerves then maybe you should give this article by fellow Pittsburgh blogger, Jennifer Hicks, a read: How Is the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge Hurting YOU?? (Hint: It’s Not, So Stop Complaining)

Have you taken the Ice Bucket Challenge? Will you?
Let me know in the comments!

Read my family blog coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.

Like every lazy hard-working blogger who blogs once a month regularly I’m getting my BlogU14 wrap-up post up a month after it happened right on time. Let’s get right to it…

I started blogging (at Coolest Family on the Block) 4 years ago and I decided that this was the year I was finally going to go to a blogging conference. There were so many great conferences to choose from: BlogU14 (Baltimore), SITS BBC/WGS (Philly), and BloggyCon (Sandusky, OH) were all here on the east coast, but BlogHer14 (San Jose) was where I could be completely awkward with Mama Kat in person instead of cyber stalking her like I usually do. So naturally I threw myself so far down the rabbit hole of indecision and overly-analytical-thinking that I wound up in the fetal position crying and rocking myself in the corner. I even asked Facebook to help me.

Long story already long, I decided on BlogU14 and SITS Philly. I was lucky enough to snag a ride with Stephanie from When Crazy Meets Exhaustion and Jennifer from Real Life Parenting in the Silver Bullet. It was a 5ish hour trip and we didn’t stop talking the entire ride there. Stephanie had to pump in the back seat because she left her sweet 2 month old at home with her hubby (…which disappointed me because my youngest is almost 2.5 years old and I was really in the mood to sniff a baby’s head. Shut up, that’s not weird.)

When we got to Baltimore we headed for a Mexican restaurant where a ton of other BlogU-ers were meeting up before check-in. After 5-or-so hours of amazing non-stop adult conversation (something I’m not used to) walking into a room packed full of bloggers squeeing at each other was more than a little overwhelming.

Before I had a chance to slip into awkward mode and start seeking out a lamp to canoodle Amy came up to me and made me feel welcome. Stephanie, Jennifer, and I sat down at a table with some ladies that had already finished their food and the waitress kept passive-aggressively suggesting we sit at the other table where the ladies hadn’t ordered yet. She also served everyone water and then inexplicably set 4 glasses of water down between me and Jenny from the Blog.
(I would’ve actually drunk all of them fo realz, but Jenny claimed them all and started licking the glasses.)
(Also, when I tried to use “drank” in that last sentence spellcheck told me that was wrong and that “drunk” was correct. Me write good.)

BlogU14 was held at an actual college campus…and we got to stay in the dorms! I didn’t go to college. Probably because of my aforementioned subpar grammar (< and sentence fragments, apparently). The bed in my room was ridiculously high up in the air. I am 5 feet tall and I had to jump-climb-crawl into the bed like a toddler.

I told Stephanie and Amanda that I would get dressed for the cocktail party and meet them in the lobby so that we could walk over together. But then I met my amazing roommate Michelle and we chatted so much that I was sure that I was making Steph wait even though she had told me “I need to be down there early for a book signing because I’m kind of a big deal, so don’t make me wait around, loser…” (or maybe she didn’t actually say it like that). When I got to the lobby they weren’t there, so I assumed that they left without me and I went to the party anyway. Then when I got there they weren’t there yet. And I suck. Oops.

(I want to take a moment to apologize to Amanda for drawing her hair like a package of Ramen noodles. Chicken not beef.)

That night I purposefully went to bed early at 1am so that I would be up in time for classes in the morning. I woke up and checked my phone because I was certain that it was nearly time to get up…but it was only 3am. I probably checked my phone 10 more times between then and 6am. I couldn’t wait to get up. And not because I was excited about BlogU, but because it was the most uncomfortable bed I had ever “slept” in and the worst night’s “sleep” I’ve ever had. I’ve never been so glad to see 6am before in my life.

Trying to shower in the dorm bathroom proved to be interesting. There were no hooks anywhere to hang your clothes or towel and no ledge to put your soap. There was a tiny bench that was way too small for both my clothes and my towel. I ended up having to sit my toiletry bag on the floor because there just wasn’t any other option.

When it was time to shave my armpits I nearly burst into tears because I didn’t know what to do. I was already holding my washcloth and soap so I had no available hands with which to hold a razor. Again there was no ledge to set these things on and I was certainly not going to put them on the floor. The washcloth they supplied me was actually a hand towel, so in a stroke of genius I balled the towel up between my legs and then set the bar of soap on top of it while I shaved my pits.

Then this happened…
(Remember that important details like this are why you read my blog.)

After breakfast there was a great keynote panel of awesome bloggers:
Jen Mann, Ilana Wiles, Karen Alpert, and Susan McLean.
Then it was off to class!
For the first two sessions I tried and failed to keep up with note taking.
I was too slow on my tablet.
I was too slow writing on paper like ye olde days of yore.
By the time session 3 rolled around I had the brilliant idea to just snap photos of the slides instead of trying to take notes. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.

Saturday night was the moment that many of us had been waiting for:
The NickMom Retro Prom (#NickMomProm)!
Unfortunately, I didn’t have any luck finding a hideous puffy sleeved retro dress at the thrift store But at Wal-Mart I found a ton of neon gems that harkened back to my middle school days in the early 90s. Sadly I couldn’t find any slouch socks to complete my ensemble.
(Please read “ensemble” with a French accent. Thank you.)

I pulled out my entire repertoire of classic early 90s dance moves: the cabbage patch, the humpty dance, the running man, and of course my signature move…the Roger Rabbit. Unfortunately the gods of retro hip-hop rejected the dance offering I so willingly gave to them.
I started getting cramps in my feet.
My thighs started burning.
I had hip spasms.
Clearly I was being punished and my body was rejecting my dance moves.
Shame on you, Jenn, for publically humiliating the name of classic hip-hop dance.

After prom we all got in our pjs and headed to the 2nd floor for an impromptu open mic. (They actually did this the night before as well, but I didn’t know about it so instead I lay clueless in that horrible bed not sleeping while missing awesome bloggers reading their work. Woah is me. No seriously…woah. I’m still upset that I missed it :/) We headed back to our room sometime after 2am and passed a table of cupcakes along the way. So I took one. And I ate it. In my bed. In the dark. At 2.30am. #yolo

After another restful night’s sleep I awoke bright and early Sunday morning ready to have breakfast with some awesome bloggers before heading home. My roomie was still sleeping, the bathrooms were empty, the lobby was abandoned…I figured either everyone was sleeping in late, already at breakfast, or skipping breakfast because they had a plane to catch. Nope. Breakfast was at 8am, not 7am, and I was an hour early.
There was no one there. #karma

And here’s a vlog…pretend you care.
(Video here)

During breakfast (…an hour later) I had a chance to meet and gab with Meagan from The Charming Farmer. While she and I were chatting a blogger came up and asked me if I was Jenn Rian. It was Jen-freaking-Mann of People I Want to Punch in the Throat and I Just Want to Pee Alone fame.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t exactly like that. BUT, Jen Mann approached me because she said that she wanted to meet me and she thinks I’m funny. And I acted like a dork, because that’s what I do.

At the conference closing they had an awards ceremony and I won “Best Retro Dance Moves” despite my ridiculous display of uncoordination (< not a real word?) at the prom.
That award I’m holding is actually a white board / mirror / something else called Trim-a-Rim. You can personalize them yourself and they’re great for lockers or refrigerators or other things that you can stick magnets to like those big anvils from Acme that Wiley Coyote is so fond of.

Before heading home I scrambled around trying to get selfies with a bunch of people. I never take selfies so the photos are all blurry. I’ll need to practice before SITS Philly.
(In order from left to right: Lisa, Stacia, Michelle, Teri, Melanie, Jeannette, Audrey, Christine, Christi, Norine, Lynn, Meagan, Jen, Elena, Leigh-Mary, and Ashley)

Quite a few times someone told me they weren’t getting the whole “introvert” vibe from me, but I was there to make connections so I pushed myself faaaar outside of my comfort zone. It was a lot of human interaction for me. A lot. But I’m very glad that I went.
I got to meet so many amazing bloggers some of whom, like Audrey, were from exotic places I’ve never heard of before.

And before I lost all hope in humanity, Teri from Snarkfest, asked to see my onesie up close and personal.
(Does anyone else feel like “onesie” should be capitalized? I don’t just mean any old random onesie, I mean mine…thee onesie. Mine. It deserves respect. Onesie.)

After I was all packed and ready to go I headed to the bathroom one last time before our long car trip. I found an inspirational note inside the stall. Thank you.

As the first blog conference I’ve ever attended BlogU definitely set the bar high. I had a lot of fun, learned a lot of stuff and things, and met a lot of awesome bloggers.

And this is where the post end, my friends.

Have you ever been to a blog conference?
Which conferences are you attending this year?
Let me know in the comments!

JennRian.com is an itty-bitty newborn blog. Please be gentle with it, wash your hands before touching it, and be sure to come back often to tell it how cute it is!


Read my family blog www.coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.

My 4.5 year old got a little scratch on her leg this morning.

(*Cue music from Psycho here*)

So I probably won’t be sleeping much tonight…

I Make Myself the Queen is an itty-bitty newborn blog. Please be gentle with it, wash your hands before touching it, and be sure to come back often to tell it how cute it is!


Read my family blog www.coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.

The time I scrubbed the kitchen floor is one of my grandma’s favorite stories to tell about me. I was about four years old. I was visiting at my grandma’s house and I told her to lie on the sofa so that I could take care of her and clean the house. I even made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. By the way, my cooking skills have not improved much.

The photoshop skills are strong in this one. Ahem.

Then I pulled a stool up to the sink and washed all of the dishes. For my grand finale, I decided to scrub the kitchen floor.

Be impressed by this fancy “time lapse” drawing.

This was the early 1980s: there were no child safety locks on the cabinets, and despite his popularity back then, there was no Mr. Yuk sticker in sight as I looked under the sink to choose which cleaning products to use. My grandmother’s kitchen was enormous and I probably spent an hour in there on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor while my grandma rested. When I was finished I was so proud of myself and I called my grandma into the room to see the sparkly clean kitchen.

My grandma’s reaction in her own words:

“I will never forget the sight. You had scrubbed the whole floor with Comet and it was so thick on the floor that’s all you could see. When grandpa came home from work he had to really scrub the floor. But you tried and really did a good job with Comet.”

Yes, I had used Comet to scrub the kitchen floor, probably because that’s what we used at home to clean out our cast iron bathtub and it was the only household cleanser that I had prior experience with. The entire kitchen floor was covered in a thick layer of beautiful blue, gritty Comet. My grandma was shocked, but she only praised my hard work. My grandpa, who had to clean up my mess and rewash the dishes, was far less enthusiastic about my “job well done”.

Scrubbing the kitchen floor with Comet? Epic fail! And I can’t really say that my cleaning skills have improved much since then…

Do you have an epic cleaning fail? Did you ever scrub something with Comet that you should’nt have? Let me know in the comments!

Today, April 07, is No Housework Day! Celebrate with me and my pal Rachael from Non-Domestic Mama by linking up your housework and anti-housework related posts here. You can also “like” the No Housework Party Facebook Page and party on Twitter using the hashtag #nohousework!

I Make Myself the Queen is an itty-bitty newborn blog. Please be gentle with it, wash your hands before touching it, and be sure to come back often to tell it how cute it is!


Read my family blog www.coolestfamilyontheblock.com where I pretend to be a good mom.