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.

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. 

 

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.

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.