I have admitted that I have been lonely. I have delved into the depths of my mind to elucidate the minutiae of every lonely thought. And I have saved those details and sent them out to the abyss of the internet where they will live in infamy forever.
In less than 1000 words, I have left much out. While I could have gone on for days about the self-doubt and pity that tries to make up my daily existence, that’s not what is important. It doesn’t take more than 1000 words for you to get that. What’s important is that I’m not lonely. What’s important is that I have an amazing support network that has kept me afloat. Beyond afloat, they have pulled me on their shoulders out of the lake of my own tears and carried me completely dry to the shore. And while I look now at the vast lake we crossed and the distant shore I can never return to and feel that loss, I’m not in that lake. I am not drowning.
There are multitudes who shared the burden of my unfortunate mess of a life while I was unable to carry it myself, some for mere seconds or minutes, some for endless days and weeks, some I know intimately, some I don’t know at all. I owe to all of you a debt of gratitude. But to none do I owe more than to the “wonderful man I have to date.”
In the time before we dated, you were a distant star in the complete darkness that had enclosed me. You were the first little light that allowed me to realize there was still light left in my world; that I only had to reach out to turn them on. Your light gave me the hope I had lost. Your light gave me the power to find happiness where I’d begun to doubt it ever would be again.
As we began to date, your glow lit up my world and a path I would have taken much longer to find had you not been there for me. You made me smile and laugh as I forgotten how to smile or laugh. Perhaps more importantly, you let me cry and break in front of you and you were there to re-adhere the broken pieces, without judgment, without complaint. And you could have judged, you could have complained. You could have left me alone in my pooling tears. You owed me nothing, you knew me little. But you never left my side.
The more microbe-infested my growing lake of issues and drama became, the stronger you were for me, the more strength you gave to me. And you gave me the credit for that strength. Nothing made you turn your back on me and wade your way right back out, you just kept carrying me. And I think sometimes I forgot to realize that it was you trudging through my mess and me sitting blissfully on your shoulders. Sometimes I forgot to realize there was such a big mess at all. I needed to forget it, and you gave that chance to me the way no one else could.
And now I sit here safely on the edge of my lake of tears with you still standing by my side, holding me up, and I glance back at the distant shore where my former life lives, and whine to the world that I’m lonely, that my life is not perfect.
I can be lonely. Even with you next to me. My life is not perfect. It never will be. But I have you.
You made my imperfect life happy. You made my darkest days livable. You pulled me through it all. You are my Prince Charming. You are my White Knight.
Without you, I may not have drowned, I may not have drowned all my friends, I may even someday have made it as far as I have now. But it would have been excruciatingly painful. Without you, it would have been hell.
No matter where we go from here, no matter where our paths take us, I will owe you a debt I can never repay. I will always remember; I will always cherish what you have done for me. I will always cherish you.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
If We Weren't the Absolutely Perfect Couple...
The Unsupportive Louse and I were having an argument the other day…we never actually fight in real life of course, this is just a totally and completely made up story for the sake of a good blog post. Obviously.
During this completely fictional argument, our offspring were present. (Obviously also fictional as if the Unsupportive Louse and I were to fight, we would never, EVER do so in front of our children.)
But, pretending for the moment that this DID in fact happen, and realizing that if we were to argue, it would never be over something ridiculously unimportant or include and miscommunications or become blown out of proportion in 3.5 seconds at all. Ever. Because we (especially me) are very intelligent, rational grown-ups and are capable of having calm, rational discussions. Of course. But if we weren’t so wonderfully mature and expansive and DIDN’T wait until our kids were tucked snuggly in bed to peacefully ruminate over our minor disagreements, it would have gone something like this:
“I swear sometimes you don’t even know me at all!”
“Yes, he does Mommy, don’t you, Daddy? He just sometimes forgets, huh?”
“Yes, cutie, he does, you’re right.”
“What the hell does me knowing you have anything to do with it?” (We also never, ever, ever swear in front of the kids.)
“You shouldn’t say hell Daddy. I might say it at daycare.”
“Well, it’s either that or you’re just totally inconsiderate and don’t give a rat’s ass about us at all. And you’re right, sweetie, we shouldn’t say hell. And I shouldn’t say ass either.”
“How can you even say that? You know you guys mean everything to me.”
“Yeah, Mommy, Daddy loves us.”
“Of course he does baby. But you have a shitty way of showing it!”
“It’s not because I don’t love you, I just need some time alone sometimes to reboot.” (The Unsupportive Louse does in fact say things like reboot in regular conversation, even if this dialogue is all fake…)
“Mommy should we make an ID card for me now?” He wants an ID card. Don’t ask me.
“We need to get the picture from the store first, remember kiddo? And I GIVE you time off, I give you time off ALL the time, besides, when do I get any time off?”
“You don’t need time off from people, you’re an extrovert!”
“What’s an eggs-a-vert? NO!! That’s my ID card!!”
“Baby, give the card back to your brother, no no, don’t eat it, no sweetie, don’t cry.” The tiny drama queen proceeds to have a melt-down in which no other small piece of cut out cereal box will substitute for THE piece of cut-out cereal box. I would like to say this minor temper tantrum interrupted the argument. But as only veteran parents can, we soldiered on. Or, er, I mean, we would have…it’s just a story, not real, all that…
“What does being an extrovert have to do with needing a break? Just because I actually LIKE people doesn’t mean I don’t need a break sometimes.”
“Maybe, but not as much as I do.”
“Can I have a break?”
”What? You think you do more work then me? You seriously think you need a break more than me? Of course you can have a break, kiddo, just lay down on the couch with me, we can cuddle, do you want to cuddle?”
"Why does Daddy not like people Mommy?”
“Great, thanks, see, you made him think I don’t like people.”
“Of course Daddy likes people kiddo, he just likes to be alone sometimes to think. Some people like to be alone more than other people, and some people like more time alone than other people. YOU just happen to want WAY too much time alone. Am I supposed to be a single parent here? Oh, our sweet tiny drama queen wants to cuddle too, come cuddle baby.”
“No, you’re not supposed to be a single parent! Damn it! You know what I mean! I just don’t know why you get so frustrated with me!”
The Energizer Bunny looks up at me from our cuddle session on the couch, “Mommy, why are you mad at Daddy?”
And can I tell you that for at least 30 seconds I had no idea. I would like to tell you that that realization ended the argument…but such a realization so deep into the land of pissed off can only cause further irritation. Besides, I'm sure I would have remembered right away if it weren't for the kids.
In other news, we’ve begun a savings fund for the kids’ future therapy sessions. You know, just in case.
During this completely fictional argument, our offspring were present. (Obviously also fictional as if the Unsupportive Louse and I were to fight, we would never, EVER do so in front of our children.)
But, pretending for the moment that this DID in fact happen, and realizing that if we were to argue, it would never be over something ridiculously unimportant or include and miscommunications or become blown out of proportion in 3.5 seconds at all. Ever. Because we (especially me) are very intelligent, rational grown-ups and are capable of having calm, rational discussions. Of course. But if we weren’t so wonderfully mature and expansive and DIDN’T wait until our kids were tucked snuggly in bed to peacefully ruminate over our minor disagreements, it would have gone something like this:
“I swear sometimes you don’t even know me at all!”
“Yes, he does Mommy, don’t you, Daddy? He just sometimes forgets, huh?”
“Yes, cutie, he does, you’re right.”
“What the hell does me knowing you have anything to do with it?” (We also never, ever, ever swear in front of the kids.)
“You shouldn’t say hell Daddy. I might say it at daycare.”
“Well, it’s either that or you’re just totally inconsiderate and don’t give a rat’s ass about us at all. And you’re right, sweetie, we shouldn’t say hell. And I shouldn’t say ass either.”
“How can you even say that? You know you guys mean everything to me.”
“Yeah, Mommy, Daddy loves us.”
“Of course he does baby. But you have a shitty way of showing it!”
“It’s not because I don’t love you, I just need some time alone sometimes to reboot.” (The Unsupportive Louse does in fact say things like reboot in regular conversation, even if this dialogue is all fake…)
“Mommy should we make an ID card for me now?” He wants an ID card. Don’t ask me.
“We need to get the picture from the store first, remember kiddo? And I GIVE you time off, I give you time off ALL the time, besides, when do I get any time off?”
“You don’t need time off from people, you’re an extrovert!”
“What’s an eggs-a-vert? NO!! That’s my ID card!!”
“Baby, give the card back to your brother, no no, don’t eat it, no sweetie, don’t cry.” The tiny drama queen proceeds to have a melt-down in which no other small piece of cut out cereal box will substitute for THE piece of cut-out cereal box. I would like to say this minor temper tantrum interrupted the argument. But as only veteran parents can, we soldiered on. Or, er, I mean, we would have…it’s just a story, not real, all that…
“What does being an extrovert have to do with needing a break? Just because I actually LIKE people doesn’t mean I don’t need a break sometimes.”
“Maybe, but not as much as I do.”
“Can I have a break?”
”What? You think you do more work then me? You seriously think you need a break more than me? Of course you can have a break, kiddo, just lay down on the couch with me, we can cuddle, do you want to cuddle?”
"Why does Daddy not like people Mommy?”
“Great, thanks, see, you made him think I don’t like people.”
“Of course Daddy likes people kiddo, he just likes to be alone sometimes to think. Some people like to be alone more than other people, and some people like more time alone than other people. YOU just happen to want WAY too much time alone. Am I supposed to be a single parent here? Oh, our sweet tiny drama queen wants to cuddle too, come cuddle baby.”
“No, you’re not supposed to be a single parent! Damn it! You know what I mean! I just don’t know why you get so frustrated with me!”
The Energizer Bunny looks up at me from our cuddle session on the couch, “Mommy, why are you mad at Daddy?”
And can I tell you that for at least 30 seconds I had no idea. I would like to tell you that that realization ended the argument…but such a realization so deep into the land of pissed off can only cause further irritation. Besides, I'm sure I would have remembered right away if it weren't for the kids.
In other news, we’ve begun a savings fund for the kids’ future therapy sessions. You know, just in case.
Monday, December 5, 2011
I Hit Because I Care
I only do it because I care.
I know, I know, that’s what they all say, but in my case, it’s true! Besides, if the Unsupportive Louse just listened occasionally, I would HAVE to hit him anymore.
You don’t believe me, I see it in your eyes. You’re horrified. But listen, you have to hear my side of the story. By the end, you’ll side with me just like you sided with Lorena Bobbit* after she cut off that cheating bastard’s faithless piece of anatomy. Taught him! (Quick advice interjection here – you can use Ms Bobbit’s knife to teach your own Mr. Bobbit a lesson. Go public with your opinion on her (whether it’s your real opinion or not.) Your willie is MINE, buddy.)
But to get back to the very deserving Unsupportive Louse…at first, as is true with all relationships, he was perfect. Or rather, we didn’t have kids to wake us up in the middle of the nigh to make me realize just how imperfect he was.
But then, post Energizer Bunny, in the middle of the night, it started to keep me up. Constantly. His major imperfection.
At first, I just flicked him a bit. Nothing big, not even noticeable really.
But then, it started to annoy me that he didn’t notice. So I’d flick him a bit harder. Or maybe whack him a bit on the shoulder. Or the back. Or his head. Just a bit. Then a bit more. Just until he rolled over. Because at first, rolling over helped.
But then it stopped helping. Instead of stopping, he’d just start snoring louder. And he doesn’t just snore loud, you see, he snores imperfectly. Every snore is different from the last. Like snowflakes, except without the pretty part.
So then, I had to hit him harder. Just hard enough so he’d almost wake up. Because if he didn’t almost wake up, he wouldn’t stop anymore. And if he didn’t stop, I couldn’t sleep. And if I don’t sleep, I might not be hitting him in bed where no one can see and only in places where the bruises don’t show…I might just start beating him for real for real. And that would be his fault too.
For years I’ve been telling him that if he’d just get some help, I could stop hitting him. And he never listens. Some mornings he wakes up complaining of a headache or a sore shoulder. I assure him if he’d see a sleep specialist, he wouldn’t get the oxygen headaches anymore. And I’m sure the shoulder is sore from all that nerdy computer gaming he does late into the night.
See, like most of the abused, he doesn’t think there’s a problem. Like most of the abused, he doesn’t realize the problem is his. If only he’d listen once in awhile.
I make sure he doesn’t quite wake up so he doesn’t have to live with the shame of knowing how terrible he is to me. Like most abusers, I only do it because I love him so much.
You’re welcome, Unsupportive Louse, you’re welcome.
*Lorena Bobbit is another antiquated “current” event that I have faith all my readers will remember anyway, or google to get the joke. Pretty much the entire story is here though, so you don’t really need to.
I know, I know, that’s what they all say, but in my case, it’s true! Besides, if the Unsupportive Louse just listened occasionally, I would HAVE to hit him anymore.
You don’t believe me, I see it in your eyes. You’re horrified. But listen, you have to hear my side of the story. By the end, you’ll side with me just like you sided with Lorena Bobbit* after she cut off that cheating bastard’s faithless piece of anatomy. Taught him! (Quick advice interjection here – you can use Ms Bobbit’s knife to teach your own Mr. Bobbit a lesson. Go public with your opinion on her (whether it’s your real opinion or not.) Your willie is MINE, buddy.)
But to get back to the very deserving Unsupportive Louse…at first, as is true with all relationships, he was perfect. Or rather, we didn’t have kids to wake us up in the middle of the nigh to make me realize just how imperfect he was.
But then, post Energizer Bunny, in the middle of the night, it started to keep me up. Constantly. His major imperfection.
At first, I just flicked him a bit. Nothing big, not even noticeable really.
But then, it started to annoy me that he didn’t notice. So I’d flick him a bit harder. Or maybe whack him a bit on the shoulder. Or the back. Or his head. Just a bit. Then a bit more. Just until he rolled over. Because at first, rolling over helped.
But then it stopped helping. Instead of stopping, he’d just start snoring louder. And he doesn’t just snore loud, you see, he snores imperfectly. Every snore is different from the last. Like snowflakes, except without the pretty part.
So then, I had to hit him harder. Just hard enough so he’d almost wake up. Because if he didn’t almost wake up, he wouldn’t stop anymore. And if he didn’t stop, I couldn’t sleep. And if I don’t sleep, I might not be hitting him in bed where no one can see and only in places where the bruises don’t show…I might just start beating him for real for real. And that would be his fault too.
For years I’ve been telling him that if he’d just get some help, I could stop hitting him. And he never listens. Some mornings he wakes up complaining of a headache or a sore shoulder. I assure him if he’d see a sleep specialist, he wouldn’t get the oxygen headaches anymore. And I’m sure the shoulder is sore from all that nerdy computer gaming he does late into the night.
See, like most of the abused, he doesn’t think there’s a problem. Like most of the abused, he doesn’t realize the problem is his. If only he’d listen once in awhile.
I make sure he doesn’t quite wake up so he doesn’t have to live with the shame of knowing how terrible he is to me. Like most abusers, I only do it because I love him so much.
You’re welcome, Unsupportive Louse, you’re welcome.
*Lorena Bobbit is another antiquated “current” event that I have faith all my readers will remember anyway, or google to get the joke. Pretty much the entire story is here though, so you don’t really need to.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Dimpled Balls and the Number Two Reason I'm Too Tired to Post a Blog
The Unsupportive Louse has dimpled balls.
He hasn't always had dimpled balls, but now he does. When one looks at a pair of hairy, wrinkly balls, one does not instantly think "cute," but I'd say the dimples are pretty cute. Not cute like Baby, another category of cute altogether, but cute none-the-less.
And apparently when one has cute, newly dimpled balls, one wants one's wife to look at said cute dimpled balls and really...do Mother's of tiny babies have TIME to look at cute dimpled ball sacs? The answer, my friends, is no.
You see, having a baby will not ruin your social life, it will not ruin your body, it will not ruin your sex life. Having a SECOND baby...will. Everything you thought was a myth about the first baby after you had him or her; all those things that you thought you could throw back into under-educated and ill-informed parents faces; all that inner boasting you'd done...it's all come back to haunt you.
Because there's TWO of them now. There's no nap time phone calls to catch up with long lost friends, no easy runs with the immobile baby strapped into a jogging stroller, no afternoon quickie while the baby sleeps. Long lost friends? Forget you ever knew them. Jogging? A waste of time anyway. Quickie? Quickie what? No, really...what?
And even if, by some crazy chance, both of the product of your loins ARE sleeping at the same time, the LAST thing you're going to want to do is check out a couple scars between your husbands legs. Sleep would probably be the first choice.
Facebook the second, of course.
He hasn't always had dimpled balls, but now he does. When one looks at a pair of hairy, wrinkly balls, one does not instantly think "cute," but I'd say the dimples are pretty cute. Not cute like Baby, another category of cute altogether, but cute none-the-less.
And apparently when one has cute, newly dimpled balls, one wants one's wife to look at said cute dimpled balls and really...do Mother's of tiny babies have TIME to look at cute dimpled ball sacs? The answer, my friends, is no.
You see, having a baby will not ruin your social life, it will not ruin your body, it will not ruin your sex life. Having a SECOND baby...will. Everything you thought was a myth about the first baby after you had him or her; all those things that you thought you could throw back into under-educated and ill-informed parents faces; all that inner boasting you'd done...it's all come back to haunt you.
Because there's TWO of them now. There's no nap time phone calls to catch up with long lost friends, no easy runs with the immobile baby strapped into a jogging stroller, no afternoon quickie while the baby sleeps. Long lost friends? Forget you ever knew them. Jogging? A waste of time anyway. Quickie? Quickie what? No, really...what?
And even if, by some crazy chance, both of the product of your loins ARE sleeping at the same time, the LAST thing you're going to want to do is check out a couple scars between your husbands legs. Sleep would probably be the first choice.
Facebook the second, of course.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Number One Reason Why I'm Too Tired To Post A Blog This Week
I have a baby.
Do I really have to say any more?
Really, yes, I do. I always need to say more, otherwise this whole blog thing wouldn't be nearly as entertaining. When the whole blog thing actually happens, that is. And for as often as that is these days, it'd better be damned entertaining. So, yes, I will say more.
I have a baby. And that baby is the sweetest, most darling little creature I've ever set my eyes on. Even at 1am. And 2:15. And 3:07. And 4:23. And 5:19am. Of the same night. By 6:34 she may have moved to second place. But probably not. Because she really just is friggin' adorable.
Especially when *I* am the only thing she really wants. And I know I'm the only thing she wants because I've begun abandonning her EVERY DAY to the EVILS that are DAYCARE so I can go do something completely unexplanable and unimportant to a tiny precious baby like her.
Guilt has taken me a long way in life...but I confess this is the best guilt trip I've ever gotten. If only cuteness came caffeinated.
Do I really have to say any more?
Really, yes, I do. I always need to say more, otherwise this whole blog thing wouldn't be nearly as entertaining. When the whole blog thing actually happens, that is. And for as often as that is these days, it'd better be damned entertaining. So, yes, I will say more.
I have a baby. And that baby is the sweetest, most darling little creature I've ever set my eyes on. Even at 1am. And 2:15. And 3:07. And 4:23. And 5:19am. Of the same night. By 6:34 she may have moved to second place. But probably not. Because she really just is friggin' adorable.
Especially when *I* am the only thing she really wants. And I know I'm the only thing she wants because I've begun abandonning her EVERY DAY to the EVILS that are DAYCARE so I can go do something completely unexplanable and unimportant to a tiny precious baby like her.
Guilt has taken me a long way in life...but I confess this is the best guilt trip I've ever gotten. If only cuteness came caffeinated.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Don't You Hate Those People?
Who forget about the really important things in life? Like blogs?? What could be more frustrating than finding a good blog to read and then having the author run off and have a baby or some shit? If you're going to start a blog, you should give your readers or potential readers the benefit of your entire existense. Are you with me on this? Huh? Really?
In unrelated news, I've returned to work since having my baby and STILL cannot get my priorities straight (inform world of hilarious and/or heinous events first, calm screaming baby second.) But, never fear, I have made a pact to ammend this problem! Because the world needs to know about my life! Oh yes, they do!
So, if you don't see a new blog on here every week, you are welcome to come to my house, bang on my door, pull my out of bed and stand over my shoulder while I groggily type up some random BS to post on public access internet. Really.
So...see you next Friday! Just...try, not to wake the baby, would you?
In unrelated news, I've returned to work since having my baby and STILL cannot get my priorities straight (inform world of hilarious and/or heinous events first, calm screaming baby second.) But, never fear, I have made a pact to ammend this problem! Because the world needs to know about my life! Oh yes, they do!
So, if you don't see a new blog on here every week, you are welcome to come to my house, bang on my door, pull my out of bed and stand over my shoulder while I groggily type up some random BS to post on public access internet. Really.
So...see you next Friday! Just...try, not to wake the baby, would you?
Monday, January 3, 2011
2010 New Year’s Resolutions in Review
As decreed at the beginning of 2010, I am holding myself completely accountable for my New Year’s Resolutions. I have given myself simple pass or fail grades, but as you must realize, a failure at one silly little resolution may not really be ALL my fault and often can be explained… As it turns out, I did pretty awesome.
Resolution #1. Arriving at work on time. Initial Grade: FAIL.
I wholeheartedly blame my pregnancy for the capitol letters in the word fail – it is beyond impossible to get enough sleep while in either the first trimester or the third trimester, or a vast number of days during the second trimester, to actually not only be able to get up on time but WANT to as well. I can say with a fair amount of confidence that I not only did I NOT arrive at work on time the majority of my pregnancy, but that I could actually probably count on my fingers the number of days I DID arrive at work on time for that really very small portion of the year that was taken up by my pregnancy.
Of course pregnancy related lateness is completely forgivable, and I must only focus on the three months before pregnancy occurred to REALLY grade myself. And for those three months, I will blame the Unsupportive Louse and his terrible unsupportiveness for my chronic lateness. I mean come on, how selfish can a husband be that he is more concerned with his thesis than with the amount of sleep his wife is able to achieve?
Ultimate Grade: Excused.
Resolution #2. Decreasing my Facebook Addiction. Initial Grade: FAIL.
Not only has my Facebook addiction not decreased, it has undoubtedly worsened. Perhaps exponentially. But in my defense, I completely forgot this was a resolution. Who the hell would make such a dumbass resolution? And really, there are so many more people on Facebook now, and so many more of them are utterly addicted than before, leading to a massive increase in daily status updates, picture uploads and wall postings that it’s hardly my fault. I didn’t allow it to interfere with my work (to a noticeable extent), nor my social life (one could certainly argue it only helped in this category) and almost never checked it at all from home – which proves it’s really hardly an addiction at all. Not only that, I actually don’t have a smartphone from which I can log on, which means my “addiction” is most likely far less than the rest of the addicted population.
Ultimate Grade: Excused.
Resolution #3: $20 minimum balance in my checking account at all times. Initial Grade: PASS!!!
Go Penney, you’re fricking awesome! And not only did I pass, I actually passed without using my built-in pass protector. I actually could give credit to the Unsupportive Louse’s new high-paying job (which is still significantly less than mine, PhD or not…) but really, we have separate accounts, what does his money have to do with me? Besides, it’s way more fun to give myself all the credit.
Ultimate Grade: A+++
Resolution #4: Contributing to my savings account monthly. Initial Grade: pass.
The first few months, I did put a little bit in the savings every month, so I started off perfectly fine. Then the tenant in our beautiful but poorly purchased, un-refinanceable, and over-mortgaged condo decided to stop paying her rent. Not only did I have to stop putting money in savings, I had to start taking money OUT of savings. This, however, is clearly not my fault and is completely forgivable. AND we also made a great big, huge, massive, ginourmous contribution to the Energizer Bunny’s college fund this year, so I feel that counts for a lot. And there’s always the pass protection clause added in to the resolution which allows my automatic retirement fund/college savings plan contributions to count towards savings account contributions in case of failure to deposit monies in ACTUAL savings account, and since those in fact are automatic, they always occurred and allowed me to pass this resolution despite the perceivable failure.
Ultimate Grade: B.
Resolution #5: Pay off my last credit card. Initial Grade: fail.
But it’s close, it’s SOOO close. Way closer than at the end of last year. Under 100 bucks close. I could just write the check now and you wouldn’t even know that I’d lied and hadn’t actually paid it off in 2010 close. In fact, I’m writing the check right now. And pretending I sent it last week. Done.
Ultimate Grade: A!
Resolution #6: Yelling a little itty bit less at the Unsupportive Louse. Initial Grade: FAIL.
But come on, dude, I’m pregnant, how can anyone expect a pregnant woman to yell LESS at her unsympathetic, encouragement-incapable, unassistive husband?? It would be unfair to even begin to expect such a thing.
Ultimate Grade: A. Seriously, the guy’s lucky he’s alive. If it weren’t for this resolution, he might have been.
Resolution #7: Being nicer to the Walking Guilt Trip. Initial Grade: Fail.
See #6. Also, I was WAY better before she chose to exert her passive aggressive tendencies regarding a slight propensity of mine to arrive late to engagements. Then she pissed me the f”*& off and I think it is completely understandable that I couldn’t treat her any better than she was treating me; after all, I am only as good as I was raised.
Ultimate Grade: Forgiven. Who could blame me?
Resolution #8: Eat fewer desserts. Initial Grade: Pass. Ish.
While I may have in fact eaten more desserts, I WAS, after all, eating for two for the majority of the year. And I most definitely put extra effort into baking any homemade desserts healthier, which I think may have been the most important factor in my list of options - after all, if I’d just bought cookies instead of making them on my own with some whole wheat flour and maybe some dried fruits, I would have not only been eating less healthy I would also have not had the great exercise of standing on my feet while doing the baking. Plus, I almost always stole any desserts for the baby while no one was looking, which means they didn’t count, which means my dessert consumption most likely decreased, even if we’re NOT counting the healthier bit.
Ultimate Grade: A.
Resolution #9: End the year 5lbs lighter than I began it. Initial Grade: fail.
First of all, I had a baby 3 weeks ago, so let’s just give me a flipping break here. Second of all, when I wrote these damn resolutions, I actually thought I might be pregnant AT THE TIME, which would have meant I had over 3 months to go from my pregnancy weight back down to a reasonable size. As it turned out, the Unsupportive Louse’s sperm were not nearly so potent as we once believed and it took him a few extra months. But let’s not blame him, after all he IS getting old. And since I did just push a baby out of my uterus and have not yet stopped bleeding and therefore can’t yet exercise intensely enough to actually lose any weight, I’d say the 15lbs less weight I have on me today than 3 weeks ago is enough to pass this stupid resolution anyway.
Ultimate Grade: Discarded. But if it had been kept, it would have been an A.
Resolution #10: Writing lots. Inital Grade: fail.
Unless you count solely Facebook status updates, then it’s a Pass with a capital P. But I actually really did write lots for the first 9 whole months of the year. Lots of blogs and lots of e-mails and even the real writing that this resolution was actually intended for: my book. Then my stomach became so massive that my laptop could no longer sit anywhere near my former body and my arms actually could not reach the keyboard and my back could not actually support the excess weight so that even sitting up caused spasms and my bladder became so squashed that I literally had to get up once an hour to pee even overnight which combined with everything else meant I had to spend 12hrs in bed a night to come even remotely close to getting enough sleep, which all led to a complete lack of time, patience or ability to write anything at all during the last few miserable months of my pregnancy. Which means, once again, it could hardly be blamed on me that I did not accomplish all I had hoped to accomplish in those last few months of 2010.
Ultimate Grade: A-. I could have written a few more blogs, yeah? Yeah. I’ll do better this year…promise.
Resolution #1. Arriving at work on time. Initial Grade: FAIL.
I wholeheartedly blame my pregnancy for the capitol letters in the word fail – it is beyond impossible to get enough sleep while in either the first trimester or the third trimester, or a vast number of days during the second trimester, to actually not only be able to get up on time but WANT to as well. I can say with a fair amount of confidence that I not only did I NOT arrive at work on time the majority of my pregnancy, but that I could actually probably count on my fingers the number of days I DID arrive at work on time for that really very small portion of the year that was taken up by my pregnancy.
Of course pregnancy related lateness is completely forgivable, and I must only focus on the three months before pregnancy occurred to REALLY grade myself. And for those three months, I will blame the Unsupportive Louse and his terrible unsupportiveness for my chronic lateness. I mean come on, how selfish can a husband be that he is more concerned with his thesis than with the amount of sleep his wife is able to achieve?
Ultimate Grade: Excused.
Resolution #2. Decreasing my Facebook Addiction. Initial Grade: FAIL.
Not only has my Facebook addiction not decreased, it has undoubtedly worsened. Perhaps exponentially. But in my defense, I completely forgot this was a resolution. Who the hell would make such a dumbass resolution? And really, there are so many more people on Facebook now, and so many more of them are utterly addicted than before, leading to a massive increase in daily status updates, picture uploads and wall postings that it’s hardly my fault. I didn’t allow it to interfere with my work (to a noticeable extent), nor my social life (one could certainly argue it only helped in this category) and almost never checked it at all from home – which proves it’s really hardly an addiction at all. Not only that, I actually don’t have a smartphone from which I can log on, which means my “addiction” is most likely far less than the rest of the addicted population.
Ultimate Grade: Excused.
Resolution #3: $20 minimum balance in my checking account at all times. Initial Grade: PASS!!!
Go Penney, you’re fricking awesome! And not only did I pass, I actually passed without using my built-in pass protector. I actually could give credit to the Unsupportive Louse’s new high-paying job (which is still significantly less than mine, PhD or not…) but really, we have separate accounts, what does his money have to do with me? Besides, it’s way more fun to give myself all the credit.
Ultimate Grade: A+++
Resolution #4: Contributing to my savings account monthly. Initial Grade: pass.
The first few months, I did put a little bit in the savings every month, so I started off perfectly fine. Then the tenant in our beautiful but poorly purchased, un-refinanceable, and over-mortgaged condo decided to stop paying her rent. Not only did I have to stop putting money in savings, I had to start taking money OUT of savings. This, however, is clearly not my fault and is completely forgivable. AND we also made a great big, huge, massive, ginourmous contribution to the Energizer Bunny’s college fund this year, so I feel that counts for a lot. And there’s always the pass protection clause added in to the resolution which allows my automatic retirement fund/college savings plan contributions to count towards savings account contributions in case of failure to deposit monies in ACTUAL savings account, and since those in fact are automatic, they always occurred and allowed me to pass this resolution despite the perceivable failure.
Ultimate Grade: B.
Resolution #5: Pay off my last credit card. Initial Grade: fail.
But it’s close, it’s SOOO close. Way closer than at the end of last year. Under 100 bucks close. I could just write the check now and you wouldn’t even know that I’d lied and hadn’t actually paid it off in 2010 close. In fact, I’m writing the check right now. And pretending I sent it last week. Done.
Ultimate Grade: A!
Resolution #6: Yelling a little itty bit less at the Unsupportive Louse. Initial Grade: FAIL.
But come on, dude, I’m pregnant, how can anyone expect a pregnant woman to yell LESS at her unsympathetic, encouragement-incapable, unassistive husband?? It would be unfair to even begin to expect such a thing.
Ultimate Grade: A. Seriously, the guy’s lucky he’s alive. If it weren’t for this resolution, he might have been.
Resolution #7: Being nicer to the Walking Guilt Trip. Initial Grade: Fail.
See #6. Also, I was WAY better before she chose to exert her passive aggressive tendencies regarding a slight propensity of mine to arrive late to engagements. Then she pissed me the f”*& off and I think it is completely understandable that I couldn’t treat her any better than she was treating me; after all, I am only as good as I was raised.
Ultimate Grade: Forgiven. Who could blame me?
Resolution #8: Eat fewer desserts. Initial Grade: Pass. Ish.
While I may have in fact eaten more desserts, I WAS, after all, eating for two for the majority of the year. And I most definitely put extra effort into baking any homemade desserts healthier, which I think may have been the most important factor in my list of options - after all, if I’d just bought cookies instead of making them on my own with some whole wheat flour and maybe some dried fruits, I would have not only been eating less healthy I would also have not had the great exercise of standing on my feet while doing the baking. Plus, I almost always stole any desserts for the baby while no one was looking, which means they didn’t count, which means my dessert consumption most likely decreased, even if we’re NOT counting the healthier bit.
Ultimate Grade: A.
Resolution #9: End the year 5lbs lighter than I began it. Initial Grade: fail.
First of all, I had a baby 3 weeks ago, so let’s just give me a flipping break here. Second of all, when I wrote these damn resolutions, I actually thought I might be pregnant AT THE TIME, which would have meant I had over 3 months to go from my pregnancy weight back down to a reasonable size. As it turned out, the Unsupportive Louse’s sperm were not nearly so potent as we once believed and it took him a few extra months. But let’s not blame him, after all he IS getting old. And since I did just push a baby out of my uterus and have not yet stopped bleeding and therefore can’t yet exercise intensely enough to actually lose any weight, I’d say the 15lbs less weight I have on me today than 3 weeks ago is enough to pass this stupid resolution anyway.
Ultimate Grade: Discarded. But if it had been kept, it would have been an A.
Resolution #10: Writing lots. Inital Grade: fail.
Unless you count solely Facebook status updates, then it’s a Pass with a capital P. But I actually really did write lots for the first 9 whole months of the year. Lots of blogs and lots of e-mails and even the real writing that this resolution was actually intended for: my book. Then my stomach became so massive that my laptop could no longer sit anywhere near my former body and my arms actually could not reach the keyboard and my back could not actually support the excess weight so that even sitting up caused spasms and my bladder became so squashed that I literally had to get up once an hour to pee even overnight which combined with everything else meant I had to spend 12hrs in bed a night to come even remotely close to getting enough sleep, which all led to a complete lack of time, patience or ability to write anything at all during the last few miserable months of my pregnancy. Which means, once again, it could hardly be blamed on me that I did not accomplish all I had hoped to accomplish in those last few months of 2010.
Ultimate Grade: A-. I could have written a few more blogs, yeah? Yeah. I’ll do better this year…promise.
Friday, October 15, 2010
The Many UN-expected Joys of Pregnancy
Some things women have been taught to expect in pregnancy. The puking, the moodiness, the fatigue, the backaches. Other little joys are just an added bonus.
Because my job is awesome, I get to spend a lot of time in the creepy, dark basement. And, being pregnant, I have recently (perhaps not surprisingly) spent a LOT of time in the basement bathroom.
To save the earth (or more likely to save money) but mostly to add to the creepy ambience of the basement, the bathroom lights are on a motion sensor. Occasionally some other poor soul has spent enough of their life in the basement to need to use the basement bathroom and the lights are actually on for me. Most days, I walk in, they flutter on as I pick out my stall and life goes on as expected. As my bladder currently holds 10cc or less, the bathroom and I are on great terms these days, and I no longer hesitate even a stutter step’s worth before heading on in.
But even the bathroom loves a good joke now and then. Hey, life in the basement has got to be pretty boring, ya can’t blame a guy for wanting a laugh.
And so not once but TWICE this week, I’ve peed in the dark. Absolute pitch-black dark.
At least it was reassuring to discover there is a smoke detector in there.
Because my job is awesome, I get to spend a lot of time in the creepy, dark basement. And, being pregnant, I have recently (perhaps not surprisingly) spent a LOT of time in the basement bathroom.
To save the earth (or more likely to save money) but mostly to add to the creepy ambience of the basement, the bathroom lights are on a motion sensor. Occasionally some other poor soul has spent enough of their life in the basement to need to use the basement bathroom and the lights are actually on for me. Most days, I walk in, they flutter on as I pick out my stall and life goes on as expected. As my bladder currently holds 10cc or less, the bathroom and I are on great terms these days, and I no longer hesitate even a stutter step’s worth before heading on in.
But even the bathroom loves a good joke now and then. Hey, life in the basement has got to be pretty boring, ya can’t blame a guy for wanting a laugh.
And so not once but TWICE this week, I’ve peed in the dark. Absolute pitch-black dark.
At least it was reassuring to discover there is a smoke detector in there.
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