Saturday, November 10, 2012

When I blog I usually do when when I get to get my frustrations out. I am not normally angry/sad. 

I am pretty upset right now. Yesterday, I noticed that the filters in my Shark Navigator were pretty dirty. So I did what needed to be done and cleaned them out. After months of me begging M. finally decided to move his ass and rent a Rug Doctor. Don't ask why I have to beg to get something that simple done. I just have to.

Anyway, he asked his sister to clean the living room up. I told M. that I had cleaned the filters and that it would take 24 hours for them to dry. So he tossed them in the dryer and went off. 

We came home to a picked up and vacuumed living room.  Sister-in-Law started in on where was the Rug Doctor. We didn't get one because of having to wait around for HOURS to get M's check (his supervisors apparently decided to have a VERY LONG LUNCH). This could have been solved by getting direct deposit but M. refuses to go that route.

Walmart was a damn nightmare. I assume that people were grocery shopping (like us) and buying Christmas presents. So getting though the store was horrible. We decided to get the Rug Doctor another day. 

Sister-in-Law was all, "Are you going to get one?" Uh. Yeah. You sure as hell won't. You won't buy anything worthwhile with your check. The freaking local politicion pays for your car insurance on your father's car! You don't have any bills. But, please, go on about how you pay the mortgage with your father's check. Terrible hardship that. 

Anyway, today I go to do laundry and find one of my vaccum's filters in the dryer. That pissed me off. So I came upstairs to put it in my vaccum and found out that my sister-in-law vaccumed without ANY filters in it. Great. Let's just BREAK my vacuum you fucking idiot. 

Lesson learned. The vacuum is going into my bedroom with the DOOR LOCKED when not in use.

Monday, November 5, 2012

I was a Daddy's girl growing up. I remember having to go with him wherever he went. He was going to take our trash to the dump? I was with him. He was going to the hardware store? I was right there. It didn't matter where he went. I wanted to go. 

When I was very little. Oh, I was maybe, 6? My Mom used to babysit these girls whose parents had divorced. They would ask me, "Who is your favorite parent?" I answered with, "My Dad." 

When we moved to Maine... Dad acted differently. He constantly had a chip on his shoulder. Everything we did was wrong. Bad. If I needed help in school, I was stupid for not getting it immediately. Once in 2nd or 3rd grade, I needed help learning how to do something in math. It wasn't make since. Dad looked at it and made fun of me. He told me that I did math like a baby would. That never left me. I've always felt like I can't do anything right. Nothing I do is good enough. Everything I do is bad. 

When Dad left to go to Iceland, he had been acting so horrible that I was glad he was leaving. I remember the relief I felt when he wasn't around. It like we could be free. 

He came home from Iceland and we moved to North Carolina. Dad didn't send much time with us. Most of his time was spent in his office room chatting up women. I'll never forget when I found out that he was having an affair. Dad and Mom were fighting and I overheard her say, "How would you feel if I told you that I had a girlfriend, huh?" I was dazed. How could he do that? How could anyone with a conscience do that to their spouse? 

They decided to sperate. They called us into the kitchen where Mcdonalds was spread out on the table. They even got french fries. I remember this because my father would always refuse to buy us french fries saying that we had them at home. My parents told us that they were seperating. It wasn't a shock. We all knew it was coming. 

A week later, I walked into the living room and saw my parents cuddling on the couch. They never said anything to us, but I knew that they were back together. I was happy.

It came out that Dad was having an affair. Mom threw him out of the house. She was crying and crying. I went online and told my BFF at the time. She consoled me. Mom decided to move back to Maine. Stephen was going with her. I felt like I had no choice but to go with her to keep Stephen safe. Without me he would have been alone and I knew it. So I moved back to Maine with her.

Little did we know that a month later Dad was out car shopping with Sarah's daughter. 

Dad never called. We would go down and see him in the summer for a month. Then we would go back home.

One summer, I was 17, I think. He had to go to the beach for some sort of conference. Stephen and I went with him. He asked us, one night, how we felt about him marring Sarah someday. 

I told him the truth. I said that I was afraid that he would forget about us. That her family would become his family. He got angry and stormed off. It's funny, because I was right. That is exactly what happend.

They allowed me to move in with them when I was 20. I had been living in Florida in a terrible situation. Working a job that kept me so stressed out that I would come home and vomit at the end of the day. I would pray and beg God to get me out of that situation. He did. I moved in with Dad, much to Sarah's dismay. She did little to hide her true feelings.

While living there I was lied about. Dad believed every word. I loved working. I was treated so much better by the people at work than I was at home. I longed to never be there. 

I was forced into buying a car. If they had held back, I would have went to college. The car payment scared me. I knew enough to realize that I would have to support not only myself, but my car while in college. I was so afraid that I never went. 

In 2007, I moved out. It was sweet freedom. I left them and didn't call or talk to them for half a year. I finally broke the silence by visiting Winston-Salem with M. and Stephen. I called him and told him that I was in town. 

It's funny how much of a Daddy's girl I had been. It's funny that he has allowed himself to get rid of his family so that he could have women. It isn't funny. Wrong word. Sad. I would never do that to my little boys. 

Saturday, October 27, 2012

I am a very insecure person. 

Being insecure the way that I am makes me wonder if perceived slights are actually that or just my insecurity show. Recently, we went to go see my father, his wife, and my grandmother. My father's wife bought my nephew and Fat Baby mini-pillow pets. She did not pick one up for Buggy. 

Did she mean to do that or did she simply overlook my big boy? I know this woman. I lived with her for two years. She hated (hates?) me. She tried her best to make me look like a terrible person to my father. I know that isn't my insecurity talking because the woman would freak out over me using her washing machine for Pete's sake. No normal person would act like that. I assume that the reason that she hated (hates?) me is because my father used to love me. That made her feel insignificant and she wanted me gone out of her and my father's life. 

My father happily follows her lead. So there we go. I see him once a month and I don't call. Happily ever after. 

I don't expect people to buy presents for my children. My problem is when presents are being given out to everyone else and my child is left out. Then the problem is that she didn't leave one out for Fat Baby. Was it intentional? I don't know. 

I hope not.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Happy ... then sad due to M's attitude.

I've decided to try my hand at making Arroz con Pollo tonight. I scoured the internet searching for a simple recipe that was remotely like the ones I've had at Mexican restaurants. You wouldn't believe how hard that seems to be. All of them either don't add cheese or add chedar cheese and not the white Mexican cheese that they use at the restaurants. 

So I finally found one that looks easy enough for this novice of a cook. I'm going to actually change things up though. I'm going to use Mexican cheese and I'm going to add more rice than is called for. My reasonings are two-fold. 

1. Rice fills bellies cheaply.

2. Mexican cheese makes me happy. 

I'll update when I make it. I wouldn't be surpised if I don't get to since M. is in a foul mood right now. God knows that when he is off work (which is more MOST of the week) he acts like he shouldn't have to do anything because he worked for a day or two. There are days when I really wish that I could change the past and never get married. 


Monday, October 22, 2012

I love my boys!

I love being a mom. 

I always knew that I wanted to be a mom. I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't want to be a mom. The closest was when I was 19 - 20 while I was working in an illegally ran daycare. I knew that I wanted children, but I didn't want them for a long time. 

Today, while Fat Baby was cuddling on me (very rare) all I could think about was how much I loved having him in my life. I can't imagine not seeing his dirty blonde head toddling all over the place. I can't imagine not hearing him scream for a "Bite!" when he's hungry.

I don't really have much to say expect that I love being a mom. I love my boys so much.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Cleanliness is close to godliness

I'd like nothing better than to have a clean, clutter-free home.

 We live in my father-in-law's house along with my sister-in-law, her daughter, and my uncle-in-law. The house is huge. There are two kitchens. Three bathrooms. Six bedrooms. Crazy. Large. House. When you live in a house with so many people (even a large one) it makes it difficult. For example, uncle-in-law will rifle through our laundry and pull out ALL THE TOWELS including the hooded baby towels and store them in the basement apartment (where he and father-in-law live.) He even stole my changing pad cover because it looked like a towel. He also steals our socks. So we're constantly buying socks. I've decided recently that I'm going to go buy the funkiest, weirdest socks that I can find and I'm going to label them. We'll see if that stops him.

Then I have the issue that my SIL will make a huge mess in the kitchen and will refuse to clean up after herself. So I'll wake up and go to make my kids breakfast and there won't be any clean flatware despite the fact that I just washed (by hand as the dishwasher is broken.) all of them. She keeps her food in the basement apartment but for some reason needs to use our dishes. Drives me batty.

Then I'll walk into the living room where the children will have pulled ALL THE BOOKS off of the bookcase.

We don't make a lot of money. M. is an RCA. If he worked full-time we'd make decent money. Since he doesn't work full-time (usually) we're on a very strict budget.  I've worked in the past. Most recently I worked at Mcdonalds (don't judge!) at a biscuit maker. It was horrible. I ultimately quit for two reasons.

1. I was asked to stick my arm in a 500* oven and clean it out without any protection and not being allowed to turn the oven off.

2. I came home from work early one day and found Fat Baby (who was three months old at the time) wearing a diaper that went down to his knees. While laying down. His shirt (all that was on him in the December cold weather) soaking wet. Then I saw that Buggy also had on a diaper that was hitting his knees. Even though he was supposed to be potty training. I was livid! 

So I quit and I've stayed at home since. Well, I didn't truly quit. I am on a leave of absence and have the ability to come back at any time. If I so wish.  Which I don't.

Anyway, to get back to what I was saying about not having a lot of money. That means that we have to make do with what we have. My changing table was amazing when I bought it. It was on clearance at Kmart and had three very large drawers. The drawers broke. It is very sturdy, but it looks trashy as hell. We don't have the money to replace it. So we keep it.

The carpet is pink and completely stained up. This carpet has been in this house for over 20 years now. Cleaning the carpet makes it look nice for a week. Then the stains start to come back out. It makes me embarrassed to take pictures.

The whole house is a giant mess and I'm just too... depressed? Lazy? Unmotivated? To clean it.

I look so forward to moving out and getting my own place. I look forward to M. getting the full-time route so that we can afford to.

This is my confessions Pt. 1

I use TV as a babysitter. 

I told myself before I was pregnant and while my oldest was a baby that I wouldn't resort to that. Studies show, after all, that TV before a child is two isn't healthy. I know those studies by heart. It doesn't stop me, because the house isn't going to clean itself. 

I don't buy organic milk.

I did. Back when my oldest (Buggy) was a baby. He would drink one 8oz sippy of whole, organic milk. I was so proud of myself for doing the best for my oldest. Then I had my youngest (Fat Baby) and told everyone that I'd give him organic milk until he turned two. That didn't last. I didn't count on how much money it would be to feed not only Buggy but Fat Baby too. I just can't afford nearly $7 a gallon of milk when I can get two and a half gallons for that price. My kids love milk. My husband loves milk. I hate the stuff. So we go through so milk. 

It wouldn't be so bad if M. didn't fuss so badly about drinking the kids organic milk. The problem really lies with the fact that M. isn't satisfied with regular milk if we have organic in the house. Then he'd sneak it. Then I'd get mad. Then we would fight. I solved this problem by not buying organic milk. 

I didn't breast feed.

Every. Single. Person. In America know that breastfeeding is the absolute best for your children. I had planned on breastfeeding Buggy but then I got sick after he was born and was afraid of passing my medicines on to him. I get a pass from everyone about that. So he drank Similac from his Dr. Brown bottle and thrived.   

When Fat Baby came along I was determined to breastfeed. I had a lactation consultant that I talked to weekly. She had breastfed seven children (while maintaining the ABSOLUTE BEST figure.) She told me with a smile that if she could do it, I could. I believed her.

In the hospital Fat Baby refused to latch on. Doctors, nurses, and the on-site lactation consultant were stumped. So we started formula to get something into him. 

When I took him home, I tried to breastfeed and he's latch on to one side. He'd ignore the other one. It would frustrate me and then M. would start talking to me in the most condescending tone while I was breastfeeding. He'd try and tell me that he'd make a much better mother than I would. I finally told him that I was done with breastfeeding and that I wanted to bottle feed. 

M. rolled his eyes at me and that was the end of the fighting. About that at least.

I Fight With M. Too Much

That is enough confession in itself.