Thursday, November 8, 2012

$10,000

$10,000. TEN thousand dollars.  Ten THOUSAND dollars.  TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.  That's what it will cost to put my 9-yr old daughter through the 6-months of cognitive training she needs to overcome her learning difficulties.  TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.  Ten thousand dollars to hopefully reverse some of the damage that has been done (and prevent more from happening) by a lackadaisical school system that would rather pass kids from grade to grade so it's "someone else's problem".



I know the school is not solely to blame.  My daughter has specific physiological weaknesses in her brain that need to be strengthened.  Because of these weaknesses, she has struggled in school since day 1.  Now she's in 4th grade and it's affecting her self-esteem more and more.  If I can make life easier for her and ensure a brighter future, can I really put a price on that?  If I DON'T get her this help because of the cost, what does that say about me as a mother?  I was a great student with shitty self-esteem and ended up as an alcoholic and drug addict.  Both of my daughter's parents are sober alcoholics.  The fear that my daughters will go through the things that I have gone through, that many drunken women go through, is always in the back of my mind.  I try my best to raise her so she won't have to go down that road.  TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.  Can I really put a price on my child's future?  NO.



The reality of the situation is that I'm a single mother of 2 elementary school girls.  I have a job, but because of circumstances beyond my control, I do not make a lot of money.  I am one of "those people" who qualifies for state-funded healthcare and foodstamps.  I don't abuse the system and am grateful for it EVERY SINGLE DAY.  We have healthcare and are able to eat fruits and vegetables instead of the 5/$1 mac-n-cheese and $1.00 hot dogs.  The child support I receive comes in the form of disability money that my kids get because their father, my ex-husband, is on disability due to mental illness.  Add up all of these factors and I think I made maybe $10,000 all last YEAR.

I just found out the cost of the program this morning so I'm still having some sticker shock.  I have no idea in the world how I'm going to come up with $10,000, but I have to.  I just do.  So now what?  I choose hope.  Hope that something to fall into place and make this happen.  Hope...when you don't have money, it's all that's left.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Sometimes Denial Is No Longer An Option

Last week I had a health scare.  For the 2nd time in two years, I was afraid I was having a heart attack.  I'm 36.  36 year old people should not be concerned about having heart attacks.  I'm a 36 year old single mother of 2 young girls.  I can't have a heart attack.  I know I medically can, but I CAN'T.  It started on Monday with a sore/achy left shoulder.  I ignored it until Tuesday morning when I woke up and felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest.  My heart wasn't beating funny, so I thought it was my lungs.  One asthma treatment later, and nothing had improved, so I tried to ignore it and I went to work.  At 5pm I took my kids to their dad's house so I could go to the doctor since nothing was getting any better.

1st ER - I was hooked up to the heart monitor and EKG pretty quickly while blood was drawn to look for "indicators".  After a couple hours, it was determined that all of my cardiac functioning was fine and it definitely wasn't my heart.  The next thing the doctor's talked about was a possible blood clot in my lungs.  Normally a CT Scan would provide answers fairly quickly.  Unfortunately for me, the CT scanner at this facility was a "standard size" machine and I would not fit in it.  Enter shame and embarrassment.  After giving me Valium for the panic attack and Morphine for the pain, a few hours later they decided they would transport me to their sister facility in the closest major city because they were better equipped to deal with me.

2nd ER - Again with the heart monitors and EKG and discussion of a CT Scan.  After an hour or so of monitoring, the doctor came in and said a CT scan wasn't going to be an option after all and they were going to do a V/Q scan (involved radioactive air & dye & multiple x-rays).  This test is a lot less accurate, but it's all they could do. As it turns out, I am ok.  We think.  We can't be definitive because I am  TOO FAT FOR LIFESAVING MEDICAL TESTS.  WTF?  Who let's themselves get to that point?  WHY?  HOW?  I find I want to go into a multi-paragraph, self bashing rant, but I can't say anything worse that I haven't already said and it doesn't help anyway.

At my brother's insistence, I have an appointment later this week at a nutritional/weightloss center.   I hate it and I'm scared and I want to throw up just thinking about it, but I'm out of options.  I've always been self-destructive.  Booze, drugs, cigarettes, sex, food...you name it, I've abused it.  I no longer drink, use, smoke (except the occasional few puffs), or sleep around.  Food is the one thing that's still got me by the neck.

So now I take this huge leap forward and hope like hell something works.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

No, I would NOT like it if Elvis shook his penis at me!

Scene from the swing set last night:
8 (youngest daughter) climbing around like a monkey: Ah! I almost fell on my penis. <lots of giggling>
 

 9 (oldest daughter): Did you hear that mom? She said she almost fell on her penis.
 

Me: Yes, I heard. <only sort of paying attention>
<more giggling and penis talk by 8 & 9>
 

Me: We DO remember that no one that lives here has a penis, right?
 

9: Yeah, but Elvis had a pelvis and Elvis liked to shake his
pelvis and thanks to you helping me study for my bones test, I know what and where a pelvis is.
8: If Elvis shook his pelvis, that means he'd be shaking his penis. Hey MOM, do you think that's why everyone liked Elvis? Because he shook his penis while singing?
Me: Maybe.
9: Well I don't think I'd like it if some boy shook his penis at me while singing me a song...even IF he was a really good dancer.


Seriously...I couldn't make this stuff up.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Road block.

I think I have a blogger inferiority complex.  There are so many instances when I've thought, "That would be a great blog" but then don't write it because I think it won't measure up to some of the "greats" that I read (*ahem* I Want a Dumpster Baby, Mom Off Meth, reading (and chickens), Insane in the Mombrain and SO many others).  Looks like once again that asshole "fear" got in my way again.  Since I refuse to turn a blind eye to fear anymore, now I have to do something about it.  Tonight I will write a proper blog post about something that may or may be interesting and/or funny.  <--I have now left it vague enough to cover my insecurities.  Being me is annoying sometimes.  ;-)

Sunday, August 19, 2012

THERE IS A SOLUTION

It has taken me so long to write the second part of this post because I was going through a lot of “stuff” and didn’t have the energy to type it all out.  Wait, that’s not entirely true.  Yes,  I was lacking the energy, but mostly I was lacking the willingness to actually sit down and do it.  Why?  Because even though I know that if I don’t ask for help when I need it, and I know I may be jeopardizing everything good in my life, I still don’t always do it.  Partly because it feels like whining (‘cause someone’s always got it worse than me), partly because sometimes I need to sit and stew in my own chaos and self-pity for awhile, partly because it was just so overwhelming at the time that I just couldn’t do it, and partly because my ego still likes to think “I got this.”  

 
What was I so upset about?  Lots of things.  What was the crux of the problem?  I’m fat.   Not just chubby (how I jokingly refer to it), FAT.  F.A.T.  Yep, I’m a fatty.  I’ve always been heavier than I should be.  At age 5, getting ready for kindergarten, my mom told me to go on a diet because, “No one plays with the fat kids.” I’m sure I’ve told that story in a different blog at some point.  Needless to say, nearly 32 years later, that still sticks in my head.
 
How do you overcome that underlying feeling to your core that you’ll never be good enough?  That you will never have any friends?  That you’ll instantly be disliked because of what you look like?  You find different ways of making people like you.  You know that you’re always going to be coming from behind, so you learn how to overcompensate.   When I was in early elementary school, I found out that if I was funny, people liked me.  Funny and silly, but not loud or obnoxious about it.  I was talkative and told funny stories and cracked jokes.  I was polite and energetic.  (In fact, I was a lot like my 8-yr old daughter is now. )  I figured if you were laughing and smiling at me, you liked me, and as long as you liked me, I was OK.  And then…people started saying things like, “Do you ALWAYS talk this much?” and “Don’t you EVER stop talking?” and finally, “For the love of GOD, STOP TALKING!”   (I try to be mindful of how I felt, but sometimes I hear myself tell #8, “Please…just stop talking for 3 minutes and give my ears a rest.”  She usually shuts it down for a few minutes and then picks up right where she left off. Lol)  Stop talking.  Now what?  My failsafe had failed.  The one thing I was good at was now considered a bad thing.  The one thing I relied on to fit in and feel good was all of the sudden the thing that people didn’t like about me.  Now I’m fat AND I talk too much.  I guess I better learn to be quiet.  Seen but not heard.  I learned to watch people and gauge their reactions to see if I was annoying them.  I learned how to read facial expressions and body language.  I could still talk and be funny, but only at the appropriate times.  If only I could figure out the right times.  I guess it’s just safer to shut up.  I clammed up.  Around adults I mostly only spoke when spoken to.   I read a lot and learned to entertain myself.  Both of which were touted as good behavior and won me favor.  Got it.  Quiet is the answer.  
In 4th grade we moved.  I left a small class of kids who rarely teased me (after all, I WAS the tallest girl in the class and only 1 boy was taller than me), to a new class where I was the new fat girl.  By 5th grade I had been teased enough to come up with a new plan.  INTIMIDATION.  I was still the tallest girl, and 3rd tallest in the class.  I had cut my long hair off and had a spiked haircut.  Drugs had already been introduced into my life and I was learning that if people are a little afraid of you, they leave you alone, and being left alone was always better than being teased.  I admonished the “popular kids” and became leader of the “non popular girls”.  I made up enough stories to make me seem more interesting than I really was and talked a big game and was always hatching a plan.  Plans for what I cannot remember, but it was usually something very elaborate that probably ended up in us overthrowing the social ladder in our grade or meeting New Kids on the Block or something equally important.  Oh by the way, did you know that I met TIFFANY at a big mall in the cities?  I always liked her better than Debbie Gibson.  It was SO great!  She was walking behind me in the mall, heard me singing one of her songs, and caught up to me and sang with me and told me how great I sounded!  Best day ever. (Yeah…that’s the kind of bullshit I would make up and they would believe me, or at least pretend to so I wouldn’t get pissed at them.  People that I was pissed at NEVER had a good day at school.  I would do whatever it took to let people know that I was pissed at you and what a loser you were and seriously, no one wants to hang out with “her” anymore because “her” is so stupid and thinks I lie about stuff because “she’s” lame and jealous.  Yes, unfortunately, I was THAT kid.  I could dehumanize you in a flash and not feel bad about it.  As long as I was holding court, I was ok, and it didn’t matter who I had to take down.  I would go to any lengths to be the leader of the pack. 



I would like to make it clear that I was not a “people pleaser”.  I hate that term.  I really didn’t care if you were PLEASED by me.  What I REALLY wanted was your approval.  As a great Al-Anon speaker once said, “ I am not a people pleaser, I am an APPROVAL SUCKER.”  I don’t care if I’ve please you at all.  Just show me your approval and I’ll be ok.  How do early to mid-teenage girls gain approval?  Well, if you aren’t skinny and popular, but you have bigger boobs than most of the other girls, you’ve got something to work with.  If you recognize your worth correlates with the size of your boobs and your willingness to let boys touch them, and add in a steadily increasing use of drugs and alcohol, you end up with a slutty teenager.  You remember the slut in school, right?  There was usually at least one girl who was the class slut and usually it didn’t have much to do with the truth about her behavior, but lots to do with the rumor mill.  I was never actually labeled a slut though, because really, who would sleep with that fat cow?  The truth is, I was becoming a chameleon.  I knew how to work ”whore”,” crazy”, “weird”, “stoner”, and “not cool” quite well.  The right behavior with the right person and I was pretty much left to do my own thing.  Let’s look at the truth of the matter though.  I was young, sensitive (I rather get in a fist fight than have my feelings hurt) girl with shameful secrets and who was on the path to becoming a full-blown alcoholic and drug addict.  All because I couldn’t handle my feelings.  All because I couldn’t take rejection.  I had no coping skills to deal with the pain of being me.  I did have one thing though.  One of the best things in the world.  I had drugs and alcohol.





I did drugs to feel different and I drank to fit in.  At least that’s how it felt in my head.  If I did enough, I found I could numb out all of those feelings and I could be ok.  I could even be ok if the people around me didn’t like me!  This stuff was AMAZING!  I could be funny again!  I could have a good time and not wonder what everyone was thinking about me because they were busying numbing their own feelings too!  It was like I had been holding my breath my whole life and didn’t even know it and now I could BREATHE.  Drinking wasn’t my PROBLEM, it was my SOLUTION.  For everything.  Having a bad day?  Have a drink.  Having a great day? Cheers! Let’s have a drink.  It’s Tuesday? Let’s drink to that!  I’m still fat, but who cares!  Older men LOVE young, promiscuous girls and I knew how to work that.  If I got you to spend your money on me, I WIN!  And later…when you want to feel me up, or take me home…I’ll go a long with it, but only because I WANT to.  To reward you for treating me so well. 

Then morning comes.  I cursed the mornings.  My bad luck started by waking up.  I spent years wishing I could just go to sleep and not wake up.  I’m awake, searching for my clothes, running through the events of the previous night to remember if my car was outside waiting for me or if I rode with you, and if I rode with your, I would debate whether I had to wake you for a ride, or if my car might be close enough to walk to it.  Oh yeah…I’m fat.  I better wake you up because I can’t walk the 5 miles back to the bar to get my vehicle.  Then there’s that awkward ride back to the bar.  Strained small talk and thinly veiled pleasantries.  I HATED that ride.  Feeling demoralized and dirty.  Why do I keep doing this?  When am I ever going to learn?  What the hell is wrong with me?  I’m a fat drunk that no one loves, that’s what’s wrong with me.  I wonder who will be at the bar when I get dropped off.  Hopefully I’ll recognize at least one car and can go in and have a drink.  Hey look a couple of cars I recognize.  I haven’t seen them in a while.  I think I’ll go in and have a drink with them and catch up.
Lather, rinse, repeat.  Night after night after night.

 
Eventually I sobered up.  I had to.  I got to a point where I was miserable drinking and miserable NOT drinking.  I ran out of different bars to go to and a few of the old guys were now comparing stories and figuring out my hustle.  I was running out of people to fool.  Without the numbing effect of the alcohol, I had no defense against my shame and guilt.  I honestly would have killed myself if it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t want to put my family through that.  I couldn’t think of anything more selfish than suicide and they didn’t deserve that.  Finally, in 1997, after more than 10 years of drinking and using, in a last-ditch effort, I walked into a 12-Step meeting and my life has never been the same.
Fast forward to today.  Where am I 15 years later?  Other than the hiatus I took from mid-2000 to February 2005, I have been in 1 of 2 12-Step programs.  I came in through the doors of NA, but found recovery in AA.  Today I have 2 wonderful daughters that fill me with wonder and fear on a daily basis.  I have a mostly amicable relationship with their father, my ex-husband.  I am a mom, a daughter, an employee, a friend and a sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous.  Most days, I get better than I deserve, and have an overwhelming sense of gratitude.  I am lucky enough to help other alcoholics try to stay sober, and in the process, keep myself sober. Integrity, compassion, dignity, and gratitude are 4 ideals that I try to practice in my waking hours.  I don’t do it perfectly by any means, but I seem to get it right more than I get it wrong now.  My dear, sweet daughters know their mother is a sober alcoholic who goes to meetings to keep learning how to make good decisions in life and have healthy minds.  They know that alcoholics who drink alcohol get sick in the mind and start making bad decisions and bad choices.  They don’t necessarily know it, but I’m raising them with the 12-Steps.  I treat it like an insurance policy.  If I keep paying the premiums (lead by example), I pray they will never have to cash in the policy and need the Program to sober up themselves.  I stay active in AA to make sure it’s still there in the future.  AA gave me my life and I will never be able to repay that debt.  I CAN, however, do what it takes to ensure it will be around in the future for the other broken people who are lucky enough to find the courage to drag themselves through the doors of a meeting.


Today I am still fat.  Fatter than I’ve ever been.  It’s the one addiction that is still kicking my ass.  I know what I have to do.  I’ve been shown the way.  The fact that I haven’t made any progress in that area is a direct result of my resistance to what works.  Fear seems to be the biggest road block for me.  Always has been.  I’m figuring out what the fears are now.  Just like drinking, I KNOW it’s killing me and it still doesn’t stop me.  I have no self-discipline.  I AM taking baby steps though.  Writing about it here is a HUGE step for me.  My weight is the one thing I NEVER talk about.  I’ll tell you about the disgusting drunk I used to be and tell you the horror stories, but pretend like my weight is not even in the realm of things I have issues with.  Well…here it is folks.  It’s out there.  Progress, not perfection, for the win!  Now pardon me while I go eat these raspberries instead of the candy the kids brought home from the festival yesterday.  ;-)




Wednesday, July 25, 2012

BEING OK WITH BEING UNCOMFORTABLE



I HATE being uncomfortable.  HATE. IT.   It fees icky and wrong and makes me want to peel my skin off.  Yes…it’s THAT bad.  I will go to nearly any length to avoid being uncomfortable.  Hell, I’ll go to nearly any length to avoid the possibility of somehow getting myself into a situation where I MIGHT feel uncomfortable.   
 Read that sentence again.
 Now read it one more time.



It’s easy to imagine how much of my own life I have missed out on because of this, isn’t it?  Trying to get through life avoiding any and all triggers is exhausting.  You know what else it is?  Imprisoning and paralyzing.  The amount of forethought, analyzing, and planning that goes on in a day is mind-numbing.  Where am I going?  Will I be able to get there without getting lost?  Will I be able to get there early enough to sit in my car, pretending to talk on the cellphone, so I can scope out where the rest of the people are going so I don’t go the wrong way and look stupid?  Who will be there? Will I know someone well enough to hang out with them to hide the painful awkwardness that is me?  Will it be crowded?  I don’t do well in crowds.  Too many people; too many variables.  Too much I cannot control.  Will I stick out like a sore thumb¸ or worse yet, a giant? Remember what mom taught me, “Nobody likes the fat kid.  No one will want to play with you.”  I wonder if it will be too hot or too cold.  Too cold is OK, but too warm will cause a problem.  Too warm means clammy and sticky skin.  I hate when my clothes stick to my skin.  If it’s really warm, my face will flush (Oh look, that fat girl’s face is really red!).  If it’s too hot for too long, I might even start to sweat.  This is unacceptable! (Look at that red-faced fat girl sweating all over the place. GROSS.  I can’t believe she leaves her house like that.  I’d shoot myself if I was that fat!  I mean, put down the donuts and go for a damn walk already!).  


 By now, I’m nearly hyperventilating and decide that it’s best not to go.  It will be too much work.  Better to stay in my nice cool house, or go to my nice cool office at work.  Phew! Dodged a bullet, I’m sure.  




I used to have a solution for all of that noise.  

...and lots of it, and when I’m done with mine, you should get me another, or I’ll drink yours too.  Yep, that’s right, yours too.  I’ll wait until you are otherwise occupied before I drink it though - I wouldn’t want to appear greedy, or rude, or gross.  Then, when you come back, if you happen to notice and question where your drink went, I’ll convince you that you already drank it silly and come to think of it, it’s your turn to buy a round.  Yep.  I’m that kind of alcoholic.  I’m also a sober alcoholic.  Therefore, I no longer get to use alcohol or drugs to numb myself to the point of not being uncomfortable.  Sobriety can be painful as hell, but my only alternatives are jails, institutions, or death (oh my).



So…what does an addict do when the buffer zone between them and the real world is taken away?  Well, this addict does what many others do.  She finds something else to fill that hole and FAST.  Caffeine, nicotine, food, sex, relationships, shopping…it’s a long list. You just keep throwing things into the giant hole, hoping that something will fill it up and make things feel ok again.  The bitch of it all is that no matter HOW MUCH of that stuff you throw in that hole, it doesn’t fix it.  Not only does it not fix it, it always makes things worse.  Damn it.  A lot of times we end up fat, destitute, and alone.  Alcoholics do not die gracefully and it’s never pretty.  We kill ourselves slowly and take other people down with us…even if we don’t want to.  That’s how we do.  But…

…and thank goodness there’s always a but..

There IS a solution.  There is hope.  I’ll even tell you about it.
<cut to commercial>

Friday, July 13, 2012

I make no secret about being a drunk.  Today I am relieved to say I am a sober drunk.  Being in recovery has its ups and downs, but the alternative is not pretty.  Jails, institutions, and death.  Those are the 3 outcomes for a addict like me if I give up and stop working the 12-Step program that has saved me from myself.

That being said, it should not be surprising that most of my friends are in recovery.  Some times the things they say blow me away and I am equally surprised by my response.  My friend Natalie is one of those people.  She is a wordsmith by nature, and a fancy-pants chef by choice.  This is a post I copied from her facebook page to keep for prosperity (or at least to refresh my own riddled short-term memory).
 
Sometimes, i don't want to be in recovery..

Some days, i don't want to know that the way i feel i am completely responsible for.. I don't want to know that my side of the street is dirty too.. I want to just be mad at you, i want to point my finger, but instead I can only be aware of my part..

I want to claim the victim, when reality is, i am only a victim of my own selfish nature. I want to react, i want to be indignant, i want to be ignorant and even belligerent..but i know the root of my anger is my own fear.

Sometimes, i don't want to have acceptance be my answer, i don't want to know that forgiveness is the only way to true freedom..I don't want to know that our only second chance might be to choose differently with the next person..

But the calmness in my heart, the still voice that has made it's home in my chest, with it's hand on my shoulder, keeps allowing me to see things from your shoes..

Sometimes, i don't want to know I'm powerless over changing your mind..

But this is the design for living that saved my life. So, today.. I'm grateful to be in recovery.
 
 This was my response:

Truer words could not be said. I've said before that sometimes I just want to be ungrateful & complain about how rough it is to be me, but that overwhelming sense of gratitude the program has instilled in me really gets in the way of that. It's rough when too much gratitude is my biggest problem. Lol
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It true. All of it. I am so grateful for all of my fellow drunks and the knowledge they have shared with me over the years.




 

Monday, June 4, 2012

Tag, I'm it...and so are you.

Feeling the cyber love today.  One of my most favorite bloggers, the beautiful and badass Miss Slice of Humble, gave me this today:


If you've never read her blog, or her facebook page, you are missing out.  She's all sorts of lovable...and funny...and real...and has a voice that is sexy as hell.

Moving right along... 
As with all Blogging peer awards, there are rules attached: 
1. Thank and link back to the awarding blog. (check) 
2. Answer seven questions. (in a minute...be patient) 
3. Provide 10 random factoids about yourself. (Randomness is my favorite sport!)
4. Hand the award on to 7 deserving others. ("Deserving" is too subjective so I'm just going with 7 of my favorites.)
 
The Seven (non-deadly) Questions
1.       What is your favorite song?
 Choosing just ONE song is impossible for me.  Music is a huge part of my day and different songs fit different moods.  I do have two songs, however that will stop me in my tracks every single time.  
Me and Bobby McGee
This is my dad's and my song.  No matter where we are or what we're doing, if we hear it on the radio we call each other, hold the phone to the speaker for a minute, yell "I love you!" and then hang up.

This one just makes me laugh.  A lot.  Every time.  It also drives my mom nuts, so I make sure I play it to her whenever I can.

2.       What is your favorite dessert?
Right now it's a tie between the strawberry & cream cheese pie from the local family restaurant, and the chocolate fudge cake from Mama Maria's Italian Restaurant.  The fudge cake requires a huge glass of milk to wash it down with.  It also helps if you have a diabetic friend on standby just in case you go into a coma from the sugary goodness.   

3.       What do you do when you’re upset?
Since I'm a recovering drunk, I have to be careful with this one.  If it's minor, I usually just take a timeout and sit in a quiet room for a few minutes.   The Serenity Prayer helps too.  Other times I will play piano until whatever is eating at me is out of my system.  Usually I can find the silver lining and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

If none of that works, I plot revenge.  MEGA revenge.  With plot twists and shady characters, and scene changes, and wardrobe, and hair and makeup, and all the explosions I want.  My imagination is my playground.  Before long, my revenge play has me laughing and facebooking about it.

4.       What is your favorite pet?
 Dogs dogs dogs dogs dogs!
This was Rocky.  I had him for all 9 years of his life.  I never liked little dogs (affectionately called "kick dogs" in my family) before Rocky.  He was my 2.8 pound Pomeranian that thought he was a Rottweiler.

This was my Sasha when she was just a puppy.  As all puppies do, she got bigger...
and bigger...
Being a single mom with two active kids, our schedules changed and we couldn't give Sasha all of the love and attention we wanted to.  So, I bit the bullet and did the grownup thing. I gave her to my best friend.  Sasha now lives in a house that is always bustling with activity and is spoiled rotten (yet still very well behaved).  She has a much better life there and I can visit her whenever I want.  Win-win situation for all of us.

5.       White or whole wheat?
Whole wheat most of the time.  Every now and then I get the urge to have a slice of super soft white bread with a slice of Kraft cheese on it.

6.       Biggest fear?
Aside from all of the normal "please don't let me screw up my kids so bad they end up on Jerry Springer" fears and every day insecurities, my biggest fear is of rabbits.  Yes, RABBITS.  If you didn't know that, or if you need a refresher, this is where the answers lie.
 
7.       What is your attitude, mostly?
 Even though I can get myself worked up over some pretty lame things, I generally operate in "It could always be worse" mode.  I have a house, a job, healthy kids, food, water, sobriety, great friends (online and IRL), and an ex-husband I get a long with 95% of the time who is a very good dad to your daughters 97% of the time.  Every time I feel like whining about something, I remember that list and realize how effing grateful I am for everything in my life.


10 ITEMS OF RANDOMNESS

  1. 1. I am kind of a grammar/punctuation/spelling nazi in my daily life, but since that's part of my job and I'm teaching my children the proper way to speak/write, I'm ok with that.  The internets is where I let my wordy hair down and make up words and abuse commas and use the word "and" way to many times.  This pleases me.
  2. I was once "Taken down town" by a rent-a-cop who wanted me booked for assault.  My big crime?  I thew a pickle slice over my head and it hit a carnival worker and stuck to his forehead.  Yes, you heard it right, a pickle slice.  Considering a pickle is a perishable food, I wonder if the charge would have been "Assault with a Deadly Pickle"?  Who WOULDN'T love that on their record.  I'm pretty sure that conviction gets you straight to the head of the class in prison.  You could all be my bitches.  I likes me some bitches.
  3. I did my first illegal drug when I was 8.  I took my first drink (other than little sips) when I was 10.  My daughters are now almost 8 and 9 1/2.  This scares the day lights out of me.
  4. At any given time, you are likely find one or more of the following items in my bra - van key, cell phone, lighter, crumbs, crochet hook. 
  5. I am the middle child in my family and play the part to a T.  At least I used to.  I'm much less codependent now.
  6. A 12-Step program has saved my life.  Not everything that I post or blog about is about sobriety, but it's there.  It has to be.  Without it I'm dead.
  7. My daddy still calls me Princess.
  8. I had my first white hair when I was 19.  I pulled it out as soon as I found it.  Eventually I stopped pulling them out.  I didn't want to go bald.  The only saving grace is that Baby Sis (who is 6 years younger than me) started getting them when she was 16.  She's 1/3 of my size, but she's got 5 times more white hair, so it evens out.
  9. Some of the people who are dearest to me have never met me face to face.  The internet can facilitate beautiful connections that would have never happened otherwise.
  10. My right boob is bigger than my left.

Now I will pass the torch to the top 7 blogs I read (in no certain order):
I Want a Dumpster Baby
Reading (and chickens)
The Klonopin Chronicles 
The Incompetent Hausfrau 
Insane In The Mom-Brain 
The Brady Bunch On Crack 
The Redneck Mommy