I am no different.

I have a tendency to go off half-cocked sometimes. I get frustrated and angry and I voice that anger.

Case in point: That Post Which I Will Not Link To In Hopes That It Will Die a Fast and Miserable Death.

It’s not one of my finer moments. I know that.

I do not take back what I wrote.

They are my words.

I said them and at the time I meant exactly what I said. Going back and reading That Post Which I Will Not Link To In Hopes That It Will Die a Fast and Miserable Death makes me cringe. I said some pretty shitty stuff.

Them are the breaks.

I can live with that.

They are my words whether I like it or not.

And maybe one day, if I’m lucky enough I’ll be eating them as I ‘work’ from my kitchen table.

Oh, the work quoting was a joke. No actually – a fucking joke. Now no hate in the comments please.

That shitty verbal diarrhea came from a cloud of anger and a feeling of being completely disregarded one of my most vulnerable times. Returning to work in order to buy our a home of our own has been a necessity which we’ve been working towards for many years. We live well within our means and have scrimped and saved to buy our family a home.

The shitty end of the deal? The people that know nothing of me except a link to a shitty post I wrote at a time of great displeasure and hurt. A time when I hadn’t come to terms with the fact that I am was miserable with my lot in life. A time when I hadn’t done anything about it but lash out at those around me. They have assumed (based on comments I’ve read here and elsewhere) that I am a money driven bitch coveting overpriced Electrolux appliances to go along with my lavish lifestyle which I’ve chosen over my children. That hurt more than I can even put into words.

My boys are my world.

Everything I do is for them. Everything.

Aside from that, I had put myself in a position where I’ve hurt a few people dear to me. Some have voiced their dislike, some have pretended not to be upset – though it’s quite obvious they are, and some have just walked away.

I haven’t figured out how I feel about that.

Maybe I deserve to lose some I thought were friends – after-all, they likely thought the same of me until I wrote That Post Which I Will Not Link To In Hopes That It Will Die a Fast and Miserable Death.

Then I think: well, what kind of friends are they really if they can just throw their hands up and walk away because of one shitty thing? Had it been a personal attack then sure I could see where they would be coming from, but – I just don’t know. I’m okay with their decisions because I’ve had enough bad friends in my life; someone who can just walk away like that is free to go.

But then: I don’t want them to go. I don’t do well with people thinking ill of me. I’d hate to think that in a moment of weakness I pushed away all those readers that vowed to never come back those people I considered friends.

*sigh*

I’m still obviously dealing with the aftermath of my verbal diarrhea.

Do they make Imodium for that?

________

* hierarchy of suffering is a post by Megan which I pimp out as much as I can. A post which I should read more often too. Obviously.

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We went from just looking to owning a new home so fast that I think I’ve now began having cold feet. I’ve started panicking, thinking we can’t afford it, we didn’t think it through, we jumped in too fast. But when everything is said and done, I remember that I LOVE the house and the possibilities are endless once we save a little more for the renovations we have in mind.

With our enormous childcare bill each month, we’re now going to be in a tight financial bind for the next 12 months, but we knew that going in. It’s just a little daunting thinking that we’re putting out a HUGE portion of our income in childcare and mortgage costs alone.

Welcome to big city living.

I’m managing my house, my children, my job, the packing, the purging, the lawyers, the realtor, our bank, my business and I can’t seem to find enough time to do everything. I’m staying up later, getting up later (meaning narrowly being late for work each day) and lacking any semblance of normalcy at the moment.

Though I find it extremely nerve-racking, I am better at organizing, prioritizing and more productive. (Not that you could tell from the state of my house at the moment because HOLY. SHIT. it’s a mess.)

I’m stressed.

So stressed.

I worry, I over think, I compare, I am pessimistic and I can’t stand when Someone* is not doing as much as I think they should. I get upset and angry; I lash out at Someone when Someone comes home late from work even though I know Someones hands are tied. I know what the construction industry is like, yet I feel this resentment and anger that I am on the short end of the stick all the time.

(The next three paragraphs had turned into a woe is me rant about how hard done by I am so I erased them…everyone’s problems are significant to them and really? I have nothing to complain about at the moment. Things are on the up swing and we’re moving to a new house with a POOL!! I can’t complain. I’m just stressed and closing in on my capacity of handling things somewhat efficiently before I start dropping balls.)

((Moving day hasn’t even arrived yet.))

(((Or BlogHer.)))

((((When I asked Mike what he would take care of the weekend I was away at BlogHer he said “Well, I’m not packing or anything. I have two kids! How do you expect me to get anything done?”))))

(((((I replied with manic laughter.)))))

((((((He got mad at me.))))))

((((((Someone bring me some Xannax at BlogHer please?))))))

__________________________

*Someone who shall remain nameless because apparently I’ve been nagging and harping a lot. It doesn’t feel like nagging or harping when that person’s name is not associated with the nagging words so it’s better this way. Says I.

• Scars
• Waiting For The Bell
• Relocating! ZOMG!!1! Now with Updates!

Carter, I am finding, is far more high strung, dramatic, and very sensitive to change. He’s active, curious, and loving. Even since he was very young, he’s been a challenge trying to get him to stay in one place. He’s the kid that once perched himself atop the glass coffee table, yelling at the top of his lungs (only happened once then the table was removed from the living room). He’s the kid who just wants to be a little older, a little stronger and a lot more independent. Surprisingly though, he’s quite shy and not all that outgoing until he’s familiar with his surroundings.

Hudson is far more laid back and more apt to watch the show than participate in it. He’s very mellow, relaxed and comfortable with his surroundings. His transition to daycare has been far more simple than Carter’s ever was. (Even Carter’s transitions from room to room have been quite trying. )

Hudson has been increasingly more cautious while he learns to maneuver stairs, chairs and toys. He approaches the the edge cautiously and with much more preparedness than I’ve seen in a small child before. Almost like he’s been here before. Very much like an old soul: which is funny because we were very sure that Carter had the characteristics of an old soul but they have vanished almost completely.

The way they interact with each other, it’s very evident that they have a strong bond already. The way Hudson lights up when he sees Carter. The kisses Carter showers on his brother. They are going to be a couple of trouble makers, I can see it already.

This weekend we attended a family reunion: the first for us. It was really nice getting to meet my dad’s cousins and see my great aunt again. As I watched my kids interact with others, their differences were much more apparent.

Hudson was quite and laid back the entire time allowing just about everyone to hold him at some point or another. He cooed and smiled at all the kids playing while he sat comfortable perched on someones lap.

Carter was constantly trying to stay caught up to the older children. He was loud and boistrious; a true boy. Jumping carelessly from the top of the jungle gym while we had turned our backs for a moment – he’s definitely the one we have to watch out for. With each tumble there would be a dramatic outcry as he claimed to have hurt something. But with one little peck on his knee/ toe / elbow he’d be right back at it in a flash as though nothing even happened.

Much of Sunday Carter spent limping from an ache in his foot which he acquired somewhere along the line of numerous jumps, leaps and bounds of Saturday’s play. He was moody and tired, while he begged to be carried because of his foot (which we’ve inspected a few times for any swelling or bruising). He was so tired, yet refused sleep until he completely crashed after lunch time and then again a few short hours later for the night.

Hudson chilled out in the grocery cart then passed out peacefully in his car seat on the way home. He slept in his crib for a few hours before he was up again to play.

My boys.

So different. So amazingly different.

And all mine.

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We’re technically not there yet, so I hate age 3.8333333333…

We’ve reached the crossroads between independence and needing mommy for everything and it ain’t pretty people.

As of late, everything has been a fight. Questions and defiance all the time. It’s almost as if he’s mocking my authority, because seriously? Killing me.

This morning for instance: Carter kept insisting that today was Thursday not Wednesday. As much as I’d like him to be correct, he wasn’t. I attempted to tell him that today was in fact Wednesday, not Thursday to which he continued to insist that today was THURSDAY as if that would make it THURSDAY. I tried valiantly to ignore the constant But today’s Thursday Mommy. It’s Thursday, not Wednesday. Mommy, it’s Thursday right? Today’s Thursday.

Then tears started (his not mine -yet) and I gave up. I just let him go on believing that today is Thursday.

Choose your battles people, and choose them WISELY.

I never thought I would be a spanker, a yell-er or so frustrated with a child. I think I’m a relatively patient person, but this kid? Carter’s trying every ounce of control I have. Time outs are futile. He’ll sit there talking and fidgeting; I start the clock over each time until he sits there quietly and waits out his punishment but he’s sometimes so disobedient and difficult to the point where I end up yelling. He cries, I yell and everyone’s just pissed off at the world.

I’ve become That Yelly Mom.

You know That Yelly Mom. The one that can be heard from the road screaming at her kids while all the windows are open? The one that you wrinkle your nose at and think “She doesn’t need to talk to her kids like that,” or “Holy shit lady. Calm down.” Okay, so maybe not to that extent, but yes. That’s me.

I hate it.

I despise it.

Before I realize that I’ve done it, it’s too late.

I ask and ask  and then yell when he doesn’t listen; and before I realize that I’ve turned into That Parent I never wanted to be.

There has been no spanking to-date; I’ve resisted the urge so many times resorting to taking away privileges, time outs or early bed. Sometimes they work and sometimes it all just seems like a wasted effort.

So then I yell.

I know it’s a normal stage of development for a child to find and exert their independence, but it’s a stage that I am finding I don’t handle very well. With the combined whining from Hudson, who is also at a stage where he’s developing some semblance of independence, my patience are at an all time low. The stock I once had in my ability to parent effectively is about as deflated as the US housing market.

I just don’t know how to get through the next 12 months without having a constant and unforgiving battle of wills with a four year old child and not be admitted into a 12-step program in the end.

• Hierarchy of Suckage*
• Sometimes I Forget I’m In Public
• Restaurant’s Closed

I couldn’t tell you how I found her, but Casey and I hit it off almost immediately. I can recall one of our first lengthy conversations being into the wee hours of the morning as I tried valiantly to save Teh Internets after Casey had been poking around in her design files. Her amazing wit and humour made me cry tears of laughter as we worked our way through. That lady, she’s quite funny under pressure, yanno?

Over time, we would talk here and there… but our relationship really never blossomed past she talks to me when she breaks her blog a few chats and email conversations until this past spring when she opened her home to me. Casey -  not really knowing me past a computer screen – offered a place for me to stay (which snowballed into half of Canada but whatever) so I we could be at her side to walk for our friends’ little girl. She let us into her home without batting an eye; she let us sleep in her daughter’s room without second thought.

She’s been my friend with no expectations except for saving her blog on a few occasions.

I don’t know her middle name (or if she even has one) or her favourite treat. I don’t know her worst fear or best memories; but I do know that she’s genuine, loving, compassionate and super friendly.

I know that Casey would do anything she possibly could to help a friend in need.

That’s more than enough for me.  I am proud and honoured to have her as my friend.

Casey and Moosh

She’s introduced me to Chick-Fil-A (LOVE!) and deep fried cornballs sweet corn fritters; she’s made me laugh until I cry. She’s been supportive, loving and a wonderful to so many people, including me.

I can truly say that she’s one of the most important people in my life.

Today Casey starts another chapter in her quest for Moosh 2.0.

Please take a moment to stop by and send her some words of encouragement as she dopes up her vagina(s) and prepares for some uterine housekeeping.

I love you Casey! You’re in my thoughts and I’m (virtually) holding your hand.

And one more request: Britt had a request to see #caseysuterus as a trending topic on twitter today. If that really could happen? It would probably be the most awesome thing ever. (You know, next to shiny clean ovaries and what not.) ~ says Casey.

*pictures were shamelessly lifted from Casey’s Flickr.

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Including my Electrolux appliances. *ahem* Hear that Electrolux? I did my part. I got the house. Now pony up. Please. (Pretty please.)

Mike and I already disagree on just about everything. He hates hardwood, I LOVE hardwood. He thinks a stand alone bathtub – reclaimed claw foot tub – is a waste of money and would decrease the value of the home. I think it’s beautiful and perfect.

*pffft*

Who here is the HGTV design maven? Not him. Me. Yet he wants to fight upgrades and prettiness? I guarantee I will win the brawl. Who’s taken bets?

He’s upset that I’ve already talked to contractors (we know) – professionals – about coming in and changing some of the immediate things. Like this room:

(It’s an image from the listing. That is not my furniture.)

(Totally unrelated, I can’t play anything on a piano except for Chopsticks.)

(I’d like to learn, but I didn’t ask the seller to include the piano.)

(Mike would have said it was a waste of money.)

(He’d be right.)

This room and a ceiling to floor (well, the carpet is staying actually) gut. The walls are original barn board which leaves a smell of, um… wood and lots of wood.

(Ha! Wood.)

Mike wants to be the one to complete this room, but he is a “shoot first think later” type of guy (thank the Lord he’s not a cop) and well, I’m a planner.

The last project we did together he didn’t measure a damn thing, just eyeballed the whole thing. He came back from the Home Depot when two rolls of sod, ten small interlocking stones and a bag of sand.

He was building a walkway.

I shit you not.

In reality he needed three times that and only went back because I nagged the shit out of him asked him to.

So ya. Husband? House? NO TOUCHING.

Maybe he can be my pool boy.

Hello pool!!!

Um. Ya. Wallpaper will be done before I even try and eat a meal in this house.

My plan is to open this up so that the counter goes all the way around to the far wall and the sitting area will be where the dining room is (behind the stove) because we are not dining room people at all.

Mike thinks it’s fine just like this.

[blank stare]

Oh look! A pool!!

I am now accepting applications for my pool boy.

Please send a long a CHEST shot and a photo of you holding your pole.

The telescopic cleaning pool.

Geez.

________________

Hizzy: One’s place of residence. Hizzy.

As in:  We goin to mah hizzy.

(Sounds a little like LOLSpeak to me. *shrugs*)

________________

Editor’s Note: Gosh! (say it like Napoleon Dynamite) I sound like I think my husband is worthless, but I assure you he’s not. He can whip up a mean bacon and eggs. Also? Good daddy. But! Design maven he is not. This is my territory people. I want it.

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My heart is with two fathers.

NYCWD lost his Puppy Monster 2 years ago today.

Mike at Newborn Identity lost his Maddie Moo just over 2 months ago.

Go send them some love.

• Madeline, Remembered
• Part One: The Boy
• Scars

No matter how many times I remind myself to try and be a little more guarded, I fail.

I am fiercely loyal to those I feel comfortable with and have shown some loyalty in return.

I sometimes misconstrue politeness and friendliness to mean more than they do. I believe people to be genuine more often than not. I am time and again faulted for giving others the benefit of the doubt too often.

I have been hurt many, many times and still haven’t learned a lesson.

The more I think about the correlation between loyalty and genuineness the more I realize how wrong I’ve been; because people can be loyal – and genuinely mean-spirited.

In grade three I moved to a new school. I made some wonderful friends there but ended up moving because of my mom’s work. That’s when I started grade four at a new school. After that torturous fourth grade school year we moved back to our previous neighbourhood where I returned to the friends I had made. They welcomed me back with open arms and for the most part, we’ve remained friends to this day.

But there was a time where we clashed.

There was a time when a group of us pitted each other against another friend.

There were times we would tell stories which were sworn to secrecy.

We would rag on each other behind closed doors, only to be friendly and polite to their faces.

Then, it was my turn to be the one they turned on.

I knew first hand the pain that it had caused from my experience in grade four, but conveniently forgot because that’s what kids do.

I knew the pain and when it reared its ugly head again I wasn’t prepared.

Grade eight was absolutely the most painful time in my life to-date. I vowed to myself to never, ever make someone feel as I had then. Not ever.

The scars I bear from those days are strikingly evident when I feel as though I’ve been wronged. When I feel as though I’ve being dragged back into those circles of viciousness and callous hate I completely shut down. I cry easily, and I take everything to heart.

I become my thirteen-year-old self all over again.

I feel bad for her.

I want to hold her and tell her that it’s not her doing.

I want to sweep her bangs from her eyes while I tell her that not everyone is your friend – and that’s okay.

But – whether they are your friend or not, no one has the right to make you question your self-worth.

No one.

“Self-worth comes from one thing — thinking that you are worthy.” – Wayne Dyer

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My brother, stood before me, tears streaked down his face, clutching my mom’s waist he begged her to let us stay home. She sternly refused and told us that it wasn’t really that bad. School would be over shortly and we would be home for the summer.

I finally conceded and dressed myself while I wiped the hot tears with the back of my hand. We had missed the bus, mom had to drop us and as she hurriedly pushed us through the front doors she pecked us lightly and turned her back.

I couldn’t stop crying as I was escorted to my fourth grade class, to face those girls; and just as I suspected, they were sitting at their desks whispering as I walked in. The secretary, who ushered me along with a forceful hand, quietly mentioned something to my teacher as he motioned for me to take my seat.

I reluctantly sat with my back to those girls. Those girls who proceeded to giggle and whisper loudly. I did everything I could to try and block them out. To not let them get under my skin. I tried so hard.

The harder I tried, the harder the tears fell. Hot, stinging, tears.

The recess bell rang. I flinched. I dreaded the end of that shrill, cold bell because it meant those girls would be unleashed and as everyone filed from the room, making their way outside, I went to the washroom.

I picked the stall at the very end and closed the door behind me. I sat on the tank with my feet resting on the seat and waited.

I waited for self-esteem.

I waited for perseverance.

I waited for strength.

Nothing came but that cold, shrill bell this time signaling that it was time to return to class.

• Managing
• Scars
• Laundry Porn Will Have To Wait

WE GOT THE HOUSE!!

The house is OURS!

OMGOMGOMG!!!1!!

(if you know a pool boy looking for summer work please forward me is resume (HA HA HA!) and a chest shot – not a head shot, a CHEST shot.)

:::

Updated June 18: So we had made an offer which was countered by the seller (that’s the part I mentioned in the first update below) then the original buyer had 24 hours to make their decision whether or not to back out of the deal or firm up their offer.

They firmed up so we lost the house.

But!!

My agent called this morning to tell me that the first buyer’s financing fell through and that the house is still available should we want it.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

Mike is so excited – in his calm, cool, and collected manner. I am too, but now I want to test out the market a little more since I had resigned to the fact that the house was gone! *sigh*

So we’re going to see a couple homes tonight and then make our decision from there.

I can’t freaking believe it!! OMG.

:::

UPDATE!!

We called our agent last night for another walk-through and I was surprised about how old and Granny-ish I thought it was because it’s really not! There’s cosmetic changes definitely, but nothing that has to be immediate except for a new furnace since the existing one is the original.

We made an offer last night and after one counter offer it was executed! Now we wait to see if the original buyer will waive their conditions to get the house. If they waive then we’ve lost the property, but if they decide to back out or take to long to reply (they have until 9am tomorrow) then it’s ours!!!

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

_______________________________

So now that I’ve alienated a good portion of you and lost sleep over being such an opinionated douchebag,*ahem*  let’s move on, shall we?

Because ZOMG!!!1! I think we’re buying a house. At least, we’re trying damn hard to buy a house.

I’m freaking out, in a good way and really hoping that everything falls in line and we’re successful at SOMETHING. Because I. want. this. house.

It’s big but completely out-dated. It’s currently a granny house (flower wallpaper), stucco walls with barn board in the basement and navy blue carpet throughout.

Ya, hot right?

(Don’t worry, if we’re successful you’ll see pictures!!)

But I have so many plans and so many ideas to make it all mine. Everything just screams I-will-be-perfection once I get everything painted and updated in 2020.

It’s a huge 5 bedroom house with a pool and in our selling range only because it’s in need of a new furnace, windows and a new kitchen.

Simple, right?

I’ve watched enough HGTV; I can handle a home renovation. Pffft. Easy peasy. I seen it all done on TV!

/sarcasm

OMG! Home renovations! Buying a house!

I don’t even think I was this nervous when I squished a 9lb 6oz baby from my lady bits.

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