It's no too much to ask, is it??

So in the blog world people play by these rules that help you find stuff to write about (I guess?) and this is Sass' contribution. I love her lists, and wish I could give her everything her little heart desires. 

But focus, people, this is about me. Hellooooo....MommaKiss' Blog here!  (heh)

So considering the fact that I'm totally fucked w/ any sort of creativity (not to mention TIME to write should that creative bug bite me in the ass) here's what I want for Thursday: 

Wish me a happy 35th birthday, will ya?

Why?

Because my husband is still hanging w/ the Cannucks.

Because my kids are only 2 and 4 and while they're wickedly cute, they don't know that if they want munchkins, they'll wish mommy a happy birthday before they even consider getting out of bed.

Because my BFF is too far away to hug me or bring me a cuppycake.

Because my local Besties have dropped the ball.

Because I'm FUCKING MIDDLE AGED!

Because I had a root canal on Tuesday and didn't get narcotics. (Motrin. Motrin?!? Please).

Because I'm out of wine and really can't be going to the packy w/ the kids in tow.

Because I'll be all a-flippin-lone on my birthday and just want some god damn love. 

Because if I see you reading this and you don't say Happy Birthday to me w/ extreme levels of enthusiasm, I'll hunt you down and boil your bunny.

Thank you and have a nice day.

Narcotics or Alcohol.

Psssst...a lil update.


I have totally lost my BloJo*.  Have no idea what to share, or even how to share it.  I've got so many balls in the air right now, it's making me loopy.


In addition, I have to make a decision.

It's hard. I know it's incredibly hard...

Percocet to dull the pain for my tooth that is rotting from the inside**...or grab some wine to dull that pain AND lull me to sleep. 


Such a tough sitch, no? 


*Blog MoJo (pervs)


**I need a root canal. This will be my 3rd. Damn hillbilly teeth. 










Nineteen Minutes - a repost

Since I'm in the weeds at work, my hillbilly teeth may need a root canal and my house is a muthafuckin pigstye, I haven't had time to blog about anything.

I did however just re-read this book. In the past 2 days. I'm not sleeping well so when I'd wake up, I'd read and read.

I think I originally posted this in 2008? I forget. But thought I'd re-post...makes ya think. A lot.

******


In nineteen minutes you can mow the lawn, color your hair, watch a third of a hockey game.

In nineteen minutes, you can bake scones or get a tooth filled by a dentist; you can fold laundry for a family of five.

Nineteen minutes is how long it took the Tennessee Titans to sell out of tickets to the play-offs. It's the length of a sitcom, minus the commercials. It's the driving distance from the Vermont border to the town of Sterling, New Hampshire.

In nineteen minutes, you can order pizza and get it delivered. You can read a story to your child or have your oil changed. You can walk a mile. You can sew a hem.

In nineteen minutes, you can stop the world, or you can just jump off it.

In nineteen minutes, you can get revenge. ~ Jodi Picoult


A friend and fellow momma recommended this book and it has changed me. It has actually rocked me to my very core.

It is chilling to read. And difficult to read.

But I believe any parent, or adult with children in their lives, or even teenagers should read it.

The story is about a school shooting. And the character build is phenomenal, the teen years, flash backs to early childhood, etc.

I can fully relate to many of the characters, even 15+ yrs out of high school. I was a misfit. We moved a lot when I was little. So I was often the new kid. And my (single) mother went to college late in life, so for years we were on welfare. I was teased for not having the best outfits or for getting free lunch. I was bullied at times.

And then I can sort of relate to the “popular” crowd, too…in high school, I had friends who were jocks and pretty. I wouldn’t say I was totally “IN” that crowd, but I was accepted by it and it felt nice.

Looking back, I feel like I balanced myself really well in HS, not that anyone could have told me that at the time. I had friends in lots of groups – the smokers, jocks, brains, pretty people. As I said, looking back – that’s a tough thing to accomplish, but at the time, my goal was to just be accepted. By anyone. And not desperately, I don’t think. But in a “this is hard, this teenage stuff, I’m looking for anyone who can relate” sort of way.

So anyway, now that I’m a mother to 2 young boys, this book could not have been written at a better time. It poses many many questions without really answering any of them. The shooter, Peter, is the younger of 2 boys who is continually compared to his older (and smarter, more athletic, amazing) brother. I’ve always known I wanted to ensure that my sons are raised as individuals, but how many times have parents done that “compare?” And even the most benign or subliminal comment can stick with a kid. Peter is also bullied because he is slighter, wears glasses and is just “odd” (or so it seems to other kids). His lunchbox is thrown out the window of the bus on his very first day of school and the torment never ends. It turns worse with (and this is my biggest nightmare) the internet. Can you imagine dealing with that every single day? There are kids being bullied right this very second. And how many stick up for them?

So I continue to question, how can I raise my children to be good. How do I ensure they’re not bullied? AND, how to I ensure they’re not THE bully? I know in my heart I can’t keep them in my sight forever, but isn’t that the only way I’ll know they’re OK? Part of letting them become men is to let go, but to think I have allow that independence at a young age? In kindergarten? That’s going to be a tough balance for them, to be cool, but not too cool. I love love LOVE my sensitive little boy right now. But what if he’s “too sensitive” for the cool kids and is not treated well?

My God, I could go on forever.

I’ve talked to Mr. Kiss about this and he thinks I’m a little bit nuts, but this has really been weighing on my mind. We do agree that the only thing we can do is teach them to love, but not coddle them. And to talk to them. To monitor what we can, but not smother. And to talk to them. We will have a computer in an open area and monitor use (even though they can find computers anywhere else, I’m sure). And talk to them. Have I mentioned talk to them? I can’t stand the thought of them withdrawing.

I’m not ready to have teenagers. Hell, I’m not ready to have 5 year olds! It’s years away – but I’m doing my best to build a good foundation now.

I’ve rambled a bit, but I guess my point is that I’m very glad I read this book, it’s opened my eyes to a whole lot of things kids deal with these days and I’m sure it’ll be even more crazy in 10 / 15 years.

My only option is to parent the best I can and when it’s time to let go, let go ~ praying I did my best.

Too Pretty

I mean, seriously.

I've found peace...

Whilst looking at Gabe the Trojan-like bartender down there, I decided there's more to life.

I've been crying off & on all day long. I'm working, did I mention? It's the tiredness. It has to be. I'm all emo.

So I'm going to stop being such a bitch and I have found my peace.

And it lies here...accuradio.com

Please, do NOT tell Mr. Kiss that I'm dipping into the Christmas music before the tryptophan arrives...

Silent Night makes me weep. In a good way. And count my damn blessings.

I think I have a point, hang in there.

Oh, life is a crazy bitch sometimes. I've been up for an hour, dealing with a sick 2 year old. Coughy, sneezy, faucet nose which means he'll probably be kicked out of daycare today. And yeah - I'm that mom who will send her kid in w/ a cold - because really? Those places breed colds...he's probably better off there. You know, for the sake of his immune system.

My children got the best of me last night. I had an OK day. Productive at work. Pleasantries w/ the Mr. The plan was for me to pick up kids and we needed groceries like you read about.

So I took the kids w/ me.

Mistake #1.

Big Kiss in all of his 4 year old glory, didn't get the "right" seat in the cart. You know those carts? The mutherfuckers w/ the truck on the front? The ones that kids scream for and then get out of half way thru the store? That cart. Apparently Little Kiss was in Big Kiss' seat. So he screamed. And cried. And had tears. I just kept on truckin,ignored the stares and got my produce.

Mistake #2? Giving in to their desire for deli cheese. What the EFF is with that? I mean, I'd rather the cheese than the cookies at the bakery, but damn, these kids know the deli man by name. Well then Lil Kiss dropped his.

Yah. So I shoved Big Kiss in the "wrong" side and continued pushing the cart thru while they both screamed.

The store manager knows us well and she opened a lane just for us. Probably to get us the hell out of there. The bagger was laughing at my screaming children and I said "You know, you should sell wine in here. Every third aisle or so. Or even shots."

Kinda cool aside? My grocery bill was $100. On the spot. I didn't even plan it.

Anyway - back at the ranch, Mr. Kiss didn't help me carry anything in and that set the tone for the rest of the night. Well, maybe the insane asylum trip to get food started it, but whatever.

Kids were yelling for food, Lil Kiss was coughing and sneezing snot rockets across the room, Big Kiss finally got a banana (whilst I cooked their different boxes of mac & cheese...I mean seriously? Scooby Do tastes the exact same as Spiderman. Whatever)...And Mr. Kiss took off the peel. Completely. Apparently he's not in the know about Big liking to hold his banana like a monkey (peel still partly on) and that started another tantrum.

I was pretty good over all. Didn't yell, mostly ignored, and cooked 3 frikkin meals. That shit has GOT to stop. I continued to prep lunches, my coffee for this morning (thank GOD) and put away the groceries.

We split up bedtimes - both of them little terrors - and then? Mr. Kiss goes to Manland. Guess he knew I needed my space. And while that was the right thing to do? It pissed me off.

So I'm folding laundry, he comes up for something and had the nerve to ask me if I was ok. He got a "FINE" and took off.

Don't blame him.

Later? He came up before going to bed and gave me the whole "you know, sometimes they have a hard day, too" speech. "Sometimes they just need a little TLC."

No shit asswad. I know this. But really? When they're clearly throwing a fit over the smallest things? I'm not rewarding them w/ chocolate milk and cartoons before bed.

Not to mention, I totally talked it out w/ Big Kiss before bed, letting him know that even when he's sad or Momma's frustrated, I love him all the time. His lil red eyes smiled and we snuggled.

Anyway, that pretty much sucked to be "told" by my husband.

Moral of this story? I'm struggling really hard to not dive into depression. Like REALLY hard. I had a pretty kick ass summer, got a new body and just had one of the best weekends of my life. No lie. It's like 2nd in place after my honeymoon. Maybe even 1st. But since being home and Hello? The bullshit that goes on in Reality, I'm really trying to be conscious of my 'tude.

I also started a new medication. Waited till after my trip and boy am I glad I did because apparently drinking on it, even 2 glasses of wine, is Effed Up. I'm stumbling and dizzy and shit this morning. Good times. Perchance the lack of alcohol will help w/ the depression?

While I'm forced to deal with Reality, let it be known that my mind is totally here...


Sipping a drink made by this fine specimen of a man...

Reality F'n Bites

I left on Thursday evening to have a weekend away from the kids. The husband. Work. Reality.

I barely slept.

I laughed so hard my ab stitches were about bustin' off.

I laughed so hard I peed my undies. Literally.

I sat on the beach, swam in the ocean and peed in the ocean.

I got pruned in the pool. And sauced in the pool.

I hugged, motorboated and groped a plethora of women. I have pictures to prove it.

I am completely in love with soul mates of the female version and it hurt to say goodbye.

I have to go to work tomorrow. Wearing real clothes (not to mention a fucking jacket!), hiding the suntan and tattoo, is going to suck.

Oh, I got a tattoo. Party on, dude.




Totally teasing, that's just sharpies.

I got 2 stars on my foot - one for each kid. In their "colors."

Domestic Violence awareness

October is National Domestic Violence Awareness month.

I'm neither a victim nor survivor of domestic violence. And I thank God for that every single day. But there are women, men, kids walking around who are. They have secrets and demons.

My mom is a survivor, and my hero.

I read the posts on VU.com to be aware, to offer support and to ensure the contributor doesn't feel alone or at fault. I don't know why. It moves me.

I'm so moved, I wanted to share this "refresher" that maggie posted. You never ever know just who's reading and if someone is helped, well, then I'm paying it forward.

(from maggie at violenceunsilenced)
I thought this might be a good time to offer a quick refresher on the Violence UnSilenced project. Please pass this post on; it is highly likely you know someone who needs it, whether you realize it or not. Domestic violence and sexual abuse/assault impact all of our lives.

* Violence UnSilenced features two survivor stories each week, on Monday and Thursday at noon central time. At this point in time I don’t want to run them more frequently, because I want each survivor to have sufficient time to garner support from the community.

* Anyone can have his or her story posted on Violence UnSilenced. You don’t have to be a “writer”, you don’t have to be a blogger, you don’t have to go through an approval process.

* This site is not just for survivors. Perhaps just as importantly it’s for non-survivors to listen to and support the brave people willing to speak out. Each comment is so important. You can also show your support and help spread the word about VU by “taking the pledge,” wherein you paste this badge on your website and I add your blog to the blogroll.

* Violence UnSilenced is not a forum. It is not a space for debate, or free and open discussion. This is a safe space, and only supportive comments are tolerated.

* If you would like to submit your story, email it to me at maggie [at] violenceunsilenced [dot] com and I will add it to the queue. Please try to keep your post between 700-900 words. Due to the number of submissions it may take me a day or two to respond. If you do not hear from me within three days please resubmit.

* PLEASE DO NOT POST YOUR VIOLENCE UNSILENCED STORY ON YOUR OWN BLOG. We can work together on supplmentary posts, but fresh material here is appreciated.

* I will never run your story without contacting you first. You will always have some warning, and the opportunity to make additional changes to your piece.

* Since Violence UnSilenced launched in February 2009, we’ve had a several month wait list. Submissions, with some exceptions, are run in the order in which I receive them.

* We have added a Wednesday Q&A feature. If there is something you would like to know about domestic violence and/or sexual assault, please email our volunteer expert Carrie K. at carrie [at] violence unsilenced [dot] com.

Listy list list time.

It's list time. Because I'm mutha cluckin lazy.

*I got my wig busted on Saturday. It was pouring rain. The Mr. and I booked a (free) sitter and had a dinner date. So I proceeded to spend $120 on my hair and $50 on product. It costs to look this good.



*Date night. We left at 7.30. Lil Kiss was already in bed, Big Kiss loves my friend who was putting him to bed, so leaving was no big deal. The big deal? Me. In "real" (i.e. non-yoga-type) pants. And real shoes. I haven't worn that shit in THREE WEEKS! And then? We arrive to the place that doesn't accept reservations and find that a table won't be ready for an hour. It was 8pm. I typically eat around 6 and am being a lazy bitch by 8. Eating? Dinner? At 9 or 9.30? DAMN, the shit I do for love. *wink* The place was gorgeous, so we lived it up. Drinks at the bar while we people watched, bottle of wine w/ apps, dinner AND dessert. I was in physical pain leaving for home - at midnite!

*Date night GIFTS! I got a super surprise gift! Mr. Kiss reaches in his pocket and gives me a bracelet. It's a pandora bracelet, where you add charms / beads for special occasions. I'm stoked - because 1) he surprised me; 2) he and the boys can buy 'additions' to this gift for many and every occasion coming up and 3) he surprised me! Why did I get a gift?

*Our anniversary is tomorrow. 7 years. Seven. 7. Christ on a cracker, that makes me crazy. Honestly? I never ever thought I'd be w/ one person for life. Faithful. In love. Interested. In ONE person. But for real? He's da bomb, and even though we get on each other's case once in a while *ahem* - we're good together. We fight pretty nice, we get it out and make up, we parent well, we back each other up and we're pretty GD funny. So we typically have tried to do 'traditional' gifts for our anniversaries, but he surprised me and I didn't get him shit.

*It rocks being the wife sometimes. ;) Men are supposed to get gifts. Women get a pass.

*I fully intend to buy him a gift tomorrow that will benefit us both and pass it off as an anniversary token.

*I'm thinking that kick ass wine bottle opener thing - the one swift move wine opener? I bet William's Sonoma has it. I'll get it at lunch.

*Lunch. I'm going back to the office tomorrow. For a full day. So I'll use my lunch break to go to the mall and shop for me. I mean. My husband.

*WORK. I'm back to work tomorrow. Ugh. Like, double UGH. I have no frikkin clue what to wear.

*Stamina. I have no frikkin clue how I'm going to make it THREE whole days in the office this week!

*why only 3? Because on Thursday I'm headed to Florida to see some of my best girls. Some? Meeting "in person" for the first time. Even though we've talked for over 2 years - we haven't seen each other in the flesh and this is it. This weekend. I. Am. Stoked.

*Packing. I'll have to pack on Wednesday night. But the list is short: jammies, sweats, coffee and flip flops. I can make do on that alone. Oh, I should add undies. Yah. I need undies. Don't need bras, tho, if I don't want 'em.

On that note, gotta bolt.

Help Cure JM - doing my part.

I read this at thelifeofsass and it touched me. Maybe I'm hormonal. Maybe it's pms. I'm guessing it's just because I'm a mom and as much as my children can get on my last nerve, they are healthy. This child was diagnosed at 2. TWO. Ugh.

Anyway - I just thought I'd repost for the parents (Always Home and Uncool)...today is the anniversary of the diagnoses.

Kevin, don't know you - but wishing your daughter many many more years of smiles and laughs.

************************

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.


The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before. http://www.curejm.org


The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.


He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.


The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.


The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.


The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.


She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:


The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.


The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.


The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.


The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.


She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.


This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.


That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.


Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.


What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.


I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.


That, too, is my purpose today.


It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.


To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at http://www.curejm.org/.


To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.