And while I'm bitching, some woman was on the TV news last night for having quadruple bypass surgery, turning her life around, and losing 90 pounds. The Husband was impressed. Oh sure! Retired, empty nest, no responsibilities, all the time in the world, and she can get to the gym, buy fresh greens, cook healthy meals, take yoga, practice stress management, and get 9 hours of sleep a day? Wow. How does she do it? And why can't the rest of us follow her example?
Apparently, her husband lost 40 pounds and her daughter lost 125 pounds. The Husband was awed. How do you lose 125 pounds without dying? Umm. Honey. If I lost 75 pounds, I'd still weigh 150 -- a full five pounds more than when I married you.
Idle, skinny bitches piss me off.
Friday, March 25, 2016
I'm fed up with my kids and homeschooling. My son has access to my Facebook account, so I hesitate to ask there.
We have another appointment with the psychiatrist today to raise his dose of Seroquel, which is supposed to make him sleep at night. But I think we need more. I think we need a psychologist to help him get his head together. If he'd go. Which he won't because he doesn't like people in his head.
Okay, I homeschool my 15-year-old twins, both on the spectrum. Since both are becoming uncooperative enough to make themselves a full-time teaching job, I'm considering sending one of them back to school.
My girl is 15 years old, almost verbal, extremely impulsive. Are any of the local ASD schools a good fit -- Blue Jay, Chase, Monarch -- or are they mostly full of small boys?
Having written this down, I now feel sure I don't want to do this. But something has to give. If I could just get my son awake during the day and mildly interested in just going through the motions with four classes, that'd work, too.
Thanks for "listening"!
We have another appointment with the psychiatrist today to raise his dose of Seroquel, which is supposed to make him sleep at night. But I think we need more. I think we need a psychologist to help him get his head together. If he'd go. Which he won't because he doesn't like people in his head.
Okay, I homeschool my 15-year-old twins, both on the spectrum. Since both are becoming uncooperative enough to make themselves a full-time teaching job, I'm considering sending one of them back to school.
My girl is 15 years old, almost verbal, extremely impulsive. Are any of the local ASD schools a good fit -- Blue Jay, Chase, Monarch -- or are they mostly full of small boys?
Having written this down, I now feel sure I don't want to do this. But something has to give. If I could just get my son awake during the day and mildly interested in just going through the motions with four classes, that'd work, too.
Thanks for "listening"!
Refrigerators and survival camp
Well, the Sears dude couldn't fix the fridge. Not that he didn't still charge me $75 for trying. He said for $250, he could get the part to repair it in two weeks, but I said something like "yeah, no", and sent him on his way. I got on frikkin' youtube and ordered the exact replacement part overnighted to me for $125 and installed it for free. After it instantly blew out (as the repairman hinted it might), I went to Lowe's, picked out a new fridge, made jokes about living with an ice box, and got expedited delivery. Shit.
But now, I can turn my attention back to my horrible kids and their equally horrible sleep habits and inconsiderate treatment of those of us who still know how to sleep like normal humans. Ahem.
The Girl has started sleeping midnight to six, then napping in the afternoon. The Boy either sleeps all the time or never -- I can't tell which. So I'm asleep a half-hour after the last kid and up again around... I can't even. They woke me this morning throwing things at each other. Apparently, he was in The Girl's way, so she poked him. She did it because she knows he hates it, and will freak the heck out and get out of her way. Then the fireworks start, and The Boy says I let her do whatever she wants and he's not the bad guy, even if he threw a flashlight at her. Apparently, no one is impressed with my screaming, "I don't care who started it, I will END IT! No poking! No throwing! GET IT TOGETHER!" I know *I* would have been impressed, what with my head exploding and all.
The scary part is *I*'m not sure what can be done. I think The Boy needs two weeks with a fitbit to see what he's actually doing for sleep. Then he probably needs a talk-therapist to figure out why he doesn't want to sleep at night. 'cause he doesn't. (He wants to sleep during the day.) I think it's mostly he can't stand The Girl, which is really sad. But you know how some people just grate on your nerves? Yeah. She chatters constantly and is just now growing out of the hands-in-the-pants stage. (He's also TOTALLY creeped out by babies and toddlers for the same reason.) Anyway, he refuses to try the fitbit, and the talk therapy isn't covered by any of our health insurance. So until I can get a nap, I'm screwed. Then I'll try again. It's what I do. :)
What they both need is survival camp for two weeks. Up with the sun, work hard, eat meals, sleep well. Bam. So what I need is a time machine to the 1800's during haying season. Honestly, I'd go by myself at this point. Sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. And the only cost is 14 hours of back-breaking labor. Sign me up.
But now, I can turn my attention back to my horrible kids and their equally horrible sleep habits and inconsiderate treatment of those of us who still know how to sleep like normal humans. Ahem.
The Girl has started sleeping midnight to six, then napping in the afternoon. The Boy either sleeps all the time or never -- I can't tell which. So I'm asleep a half-hour after the last kid and up again around... I can't even. They woke me this morning throwing things at each other. Apparently, he was in The Girl's way, so she poked him. She did it because she knows he hates it, and will freak the heck out and get out of her way. Then the fireworks start, and The Boy says I let her do whatever she wants and he's not the bad guy, even if he threw a flashlight at her. Apparently, no one is impressed with my screaming, "I don't care who started it, I will END IT! No poking! No throwing! GET IT TOGETHER!" I know *I* would have been impressed, what with my head exploding and all.
The scary part is *I*'m not sure what can be done. I think The Boy needs two weeks with a fitbit to see what he's actually doing for sleep. Then he probably needs a talk-therapist to figure out why he doesn't want to sleep at night. 'cause he doesn't. (He wants to sleep during the day.) I think it's mostly he can't stand The Girl, which is really sad. But you know how some people just grate on your nerves? Yeah. She chatters constantly and is just now growing out of the hands-in-the-pants stage. (He's also TOTALLY creeped out by babies and toddlers for the same reason.) Anyway, he refuses to try the fitbit, and the talk therapy isn't covered by any of our health insurance. So until I can get a nap, I'm screwed. Then I'll try again. It's what I do. :)
What they both need is survival camp for two weeks. Up with the sun, work hard, eat meals, sleep well. Bam. So what I need is a time machine to the 1800's during haying season. Honestly, I'd go by myself at this point. Sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. And the only cost is 14 hours of back-breaking labor. Sign me up.
Saturday, March 5, 2016
Buddy can you spare a fridge?
Well, I'm thinking of starting a DIY blog. Hey, everybody else has one, so why shouldn't I? (Or a grammar blog, 'cause I just corrected that from "why not me?")
See, everything that gets fixed around here is fixed by yours truly. How do people afford to have someone else fix everything? The screen on the sliding glass door finally expires -- so I buy seven feet of screen and re-spline it. (Lucy! You got some splinin' to do!) The toilet clogs, overflows, and fills the bathroom with two inches of water? I remove the toilet, replace all the parts, buy a new wax seal, and re-install it. The valves on the sprinkler system fail? Just dig that crap up and replace it. The list goes on and on.
But now it's the refrigerator. So far, I've replaced shelves, ice maker parts, brackets, and, yes, the entire freezer door. But now. Now it has stopped making coldness. The lights are on, but no body's getting any colder. Crap.
The problem is, I work for Starbucks gift cards. I'm pretty sure the Sears repairman doesn't. Worse, I'm really afraid that it's not going to make it. I can't afford a new one.
Wish us luck.
See, everything that gets fixed around here is fixed by yours truly. How do people afford to have someone else fix everything? The screen on the sliding glass door finally expires -- so I buy seven feet of screen and re-spline it. (Lucy! You got some splinin' to do!) The toilet clogs, overflows, and fills the bathroom with two inches of water? I remove the toilet, replace all the parts, buy a new wax seal, and re-install it. The valves on the sprinkler system fail? Just dig that crap up and replace it. The list goes on and on.
But now it's the refrigerator. So far, I've replaced shelves, ice maker parts, brackets, and, yes, the entire freezer door. But now. Now it has stopped making coldness. The lights are on, but no body's getting any colder. Crap.
The problem is, I work for Starbucks gift cards. I'm pretty sure the Sears repairman doesn't. Worse, I'm really afraid that it's not going to make it. I can't afford a new one.
Wish us luck.
Monday, March 16, 2015
The Whining Stage of Grief and (Weight) Loss
I just got an email that all pizzas ordered online from Domino's are 50% off for an entire freakin' week! No way!!
Oh wait. See? This is what gets me in trouble. I don't mind eating Brussels sprouts (with bacon) or kale shakes (with blueberries),but I DO love me some pizza. And blueberry cobbler ice cream. (Thanks kids!) And Klondike Bars. (Thanks, husband!)
For me, it's not a matter of eating healthier. I have all that carrot juice and broccoli thing going. It's the "no more sucking chocolate sauce out of the bottle in the evenings while the kid is (finally) in the shower" thing that gets me.
In fact, most of the calories I eat are consumed between evening and bedtime. I'm tired, stressed, bored. Maybe a cookie will perk me up and make me feel happier.
It's like quitting smoking. There are time/place triggers. I'd look up strategies for stopping smoking, but you know they'd say things like, "Go for a walk." And then I'd have to kick someone. Cause walking in my McNeighborhood is boring and depressing. Bah humbug. And pass the mincemeat pie. With whipped cream, please.
Did Kubler-Ross mention anything about the whining phase?
Oh wait. See? This is what gets me in trouble. I don't mind eating Brussels sprouts (with bacon) or kale shakes (with blueberries),but I DO love me some pizza. And blueberry cobbler ice cream. (Thanks kids!) And Klondike Bars. (Thanks, husband!)
For me, it's not a matter of eating healthier. I have all that carrot juice and broccoli thing going. It's the "no more sucking chocolate sauce out of the bottle in the evenings while the kid is (finally) in the shower" thing that gets me.
In fact, most of the calories I eat are consumed between evening and bedtime. I'm tired, stressed, bored. Maybe a cookie will perk me up and make me feel happier.
It's like quitting smoking. There are time/place triggers. I'd look up strategies for stopping smoking, but you know they'd say things like, "Go for a walk." And then I'd have to kick someone. Cause walking in my McNeighborhood is boring and depressing. Bah humbug. And pass the mincemeat pie. With whipped cream, please.
Did Kubler-Ross mention anything about the whining phase?
Sunday, March 15, 2015
On the Five Stages of Grief and Weight Loss
Okay, so I only use this blog when I'm upset and no one else wants to hear about it. Like now.
Turns out that I'm not just overweight -- I've crossed over into obese. Mind you, I'm six feet tall, so I coasted for quite a while. I have places to hide fat that you don't even know about. But eventually, I hit a tipping point, and become roly and poly.
Hi, I'm Mom... and I'm fat. ("Hi, Mom!") Yes, fat. The kind of fat that causes Scandinavian children to stop, gawk and take pictures of us in American airports. (Ooh. I just Googled, "I Sinterklass thin?" and got an eyeful of Swedes in black face. Ooh. Bad.) Yes, I'm not just fat, I'm American fat. Greatest-Nation-In-The-World fat. Fat.
I did the math. If I give up all white foods, sugars, and fried foods, I can lose a pound a week, and be only "overweight" by, say, September. If I keep it up through Christmas, I may sneak into the top of the "healthy" range by spring of 2016. Then what? Then, I get to keep it up for the rest of my frikkin life? How much does that suck?
Unless I'm mistaken, I've moved past the "denial" phase of weight loss and straight onto the "anger" phase. Next up? Bargaining: "If I go gluten-free, will that take care of it?" And everyone's favorite, depression. "Oh God, how much does this SUCK?! Kill me now!"
So, bear with us here. I'm hoping we get to acceptance soon...
Turns out that I'm not just overweight -- I've crossed over into obese. Mind you, I'm six feet tall, so I coasted for quite a while. I have places to hide fat that you don't even know about. But eventually, I hit a tipping point, and become roly and poly.
Hi, I'm Mom... and I'm fat. ("Hi, Mom!") Yes, fat. The kind of fat that causes Scandinavian children to stop, gawk and take pictures of us in American airports. (Ooh. I just Googled, "I Sinterklass thin?" and got an eyeful of Swedes in black face. Ooh. Bad.) Yes, I'm not just fat, I'm American fat. Greatest-Nation-In-The-World fat. Fat.
I did the math. If I give up all white foods, sugars, and fried foods, I can lose a pound a week, and be only "overweight" by, say, September. If I keep it up through Christmas, I may sneak into the top of the "healthy" range by spring of 2016. Then what? Then, I get to keep it up for the rest of my frikkin life? How much does that suck?
Unless I'm mistaken, I've moved past the "denial" phase of weight loss and straight onto the "anger" phase. Next up? Bargaining: "If I go gluten-free, will that take care of it?" And everyone's favorite, depression. "Oh God, how much does this SUCK?! Kill me now!"
So, bear with us here. I'm hoping we get to acceptance soon...
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Who knew?
The go cart racing went just fine. He only nearly ran over an attendant once. And he only almost threw up once. And it all worked out. WHO KNEW?!
But I had a really weird high school dream this afternoon. But more later. Headache...
But I had a really weird high school dream this afternoon. But more later. Headache...
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