Peaceful calm

So, determined to keep Blue Rays & DVDs out of Diva’s reach (and me outta hot water with Hub) I bought shelving. It may be an eye sore, but will cut down on my stress level. She refuses to mind me, so removing temptation is the only logical path. After seeing me remove her favorite “toys”, & tuck them just out of her reach, she went to her hiding spot, retrieved an orange crayon, & while I made our lunch, she “decorated” it for me. And I could only get some of it off.

She is now asleep in her crib.

Good news, though, it will still serve it’s purpose. The marks can’t be seen. We will still use it in our new house. And it’s Hub’s favorite color (crayon marks, which, again, won’t be seen) orange.

Hope is in sight. I don’t care how ugly, it’s hope. And I can always make a drape cover using an elastic band & canvas/tapestry cloth if Hubs can’t stand it. It serves a purpose. Just like every human on the planet. Just like every one of my posts. Just like every struggle we face. There is always hope. Even when we get tired (too tired to keep hoping) & literally faith in something is all we have to get us through until we can hope the next day.

Today has been okay. Busy, but instead of doing the clutter shuffle, I am making places for everything, and will be better-equipped to sort through & eliminate the clutter, rather than continue to just pile it higher & higher.

A peaceful mind starts in an uncluttered space. How I long for that. I can deal with constant nagging, as long as I can have a bit of restful solitude daily. And with 2 adults, one child, & one toddler – somebody is always nagging.

It’s been months since I’ve had hope enough to think I might just make it living here in this temporary apartment one more year. But today I got it & right now, enough happy to cancel out the dread of constant uncertainty.

Today, get your happy. Even if it’s a sno-cone. Even if it’s sitting in silence for 10 minutes after everyone goes to sleep, or in your car before you drive home. Do it. Get your happy on. How else will you be able to be there for the rest of the people who need you? And believe me – somebody always needs somebody with extra happy.

Peace, bitches!

Running through a muddy field

Ever try to run through a muddy field? Your feet get bogged down, you’re quickly covered in mud from head-to-toe, & the more mud on your shoes, the harder it becomes to lift your feet, m7ch less continue running.  That seems to be the theme of my life. The harder I try, the more difficult it is to move forward. Each day drags on, while I recognize my life passing me by. This is my brain. This is my world.

I know this will all pass, in time, but for now it sucks. Again, I am clinging to any & all happy that crosses my path. “The ‘storms’ of life”. Yeah, not so much. Just struggling to find peace while exercising patience. And that’s going over like a pregnamt hurdler with a lead balloon.

However, I am embarking on a new challenge (I just thought of it) 5 things everyday that bring me a slice of happy. Doesn’t have to be a whole cake, I’ll even take the crumbs. Just 5 things everyday.

Today: I got to bathe myself!! Alone! Huge win. I did a load of dishes. Dinner was easy & delicious. Boo actually waited till I had my keys in hand before opening the door (huge OCD panic attack otherwise) & he pointed out he did it to help me NOT spaz out, and finally, my #5- Hub came home & kept Diva while I drove Boo to jiujitsu class & I didn’t have to wait on the ex this time, so fartman didn’t get me. Yeah. *Jack White’s new song sounded STELLAR blaring in the Jag – BONUS!

Sometimes, you gotta look & just be greatful for those rays of sunshine while you’re mired in the mud.

Peace, bitches!

If you’ve seen the movie, you know what I’m talking about. I have three bosses. Can’t get fired. And am ready to just unhinge everything I don’t like, then walk the fuck out – like a boss.

Wouldn’t that be awesome? But I live on a little bubble I like to call reality. It’s a bitch. Daily.

But, I have my next dental cleaning, my bloodwork (cholesterol check), new shrink, Hub’s bloodwork (bp check), & Diva’s speech evaluation all scheduled . . . So, June should be fun. Here, let me pour another glass of wine & settle in while the clothes dryer finishes.

Still have to get the Scout Pack Committee to meet, and outline key dates, since I’m Committee chair (no, it didn’t mean what I thought when I agreed to it). And make sure our boys assist in 5th grade graduation (is that REALLY an accomplishment?) And don’t get me started on the chores. And the never-ending to-do list. Combined with Diva’s screaming, Boo always drumming on or bouncing something, the tv always too fucking loud, and lights left on, things not done, projects incomplete . . . And wasn’t I writing a book? Oh yeah, the house. We have to finish paying off the last remaining debt, then start building a FUCKING HOUSE!! And my ex husband drones on & on about this & that & this & that.

Let me continue this vision of my reality: good friend is moving to Arizona (lucky bitch!), another friend misses me & I just don’t have the time, a family friend died, an aunt is now in a psych ward after her 2nd suicide attempt in as many weeks, my dad is battling cancer & waiting on results from 2 tests & a PET Scan.  Oh yeah, hell is a lot less warm than I had imagined. And I’m really just giving you the “overview.”  And my OCD/ADHD brain cannot process it. I just can’t seem to filter thoughts anymore than what comes outta my damn mouth.

So. What can I do? One thing at a time. Yeah. Suck my dick. Go eat a bag of potato chips – one chip an hour. If you don’t have it, you don’t get it.

I will continue to try – every mother fucking day – to just be alive. I will welcome happy at every chance. I will embrace this chaos. And starting June 9th, I’m going to walk out, LIKE A BOSS, & and be a kid with my kids. Story time at the library, tent forts in the living room, & swimming in the pool. We did the last homework of 2nd grade (that’s getting fucking done) tonight. He’s already been promoted, so kiss my ass. I am done being his warden.

Oh wait. Fuuuuuuuck. I have to make him read & work on his handwriting ober the summer. Oh well. We’ll work while Diva naps – after the pool. Win-win. Yeah. I have a plan.  Uuugh. Vacation. I was supposed to plan vacation 2 months ago.

Happy? Happy? You motherfucker. Where the hell are you? You bastard.

Fuck it. Laundry is about done. Bout to get my sleep on. Wine’s kicking in. Diva’s in her crib. I’m out.

Go find your happy, & drag it’s ass back, like a boss, & enjoy it. Everything else can wait to annoy you until you’re done with happy.

Peace, bitches!

Link

Home.

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Excellent truth.

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However, I believe my good wolf has died due to starvation . . . And with that, I will have lunch.

Maya Angelou

Few writers have moved or inspired me as much as Maya Angelou. She shared her strength, her very soul, in fact, with the world. She was beautiful in a way that was beyond worldly. This morning she was making headlines once again, but perhaps for the last time, with her passing. I will never have the chance to meet her. To sit and be still and just listen and learn from her. Or to tell her thank you. The world has lost a true inspiration. And future generations are now left with the Kardashians ovet class. Sad.

Wish me luck!!

So, found a new shrink!! And not a fucking Physician Assistant flunkee, either!! Hope is in sight. Now, if I can manage to keep them from chunking my crazy monkey ass in a rubber room, it’ll all be good.

That’s something happy!! Get your happy on, bitches!

Life’s short & the days are shorter. Go!!

Anything is possible?

Yeah, they say anything is possible. If you believe. If you have faith. If you’re patient. With God. And it just goes on & on. I must say, I have become a sceptic & a bit cynical over the past few years. The optimistic, hopeful romantic has kinda died, giving birth to a realist.

I kinda miss that naive, blissful happy. Being a grownup sucks. Life isn’t the way I envisioned. And for the life of me, I can’t fix it. I have to patiently wait for life to unfold. That, for me, sucks even worse than being a grownup.

Ever just wanna run to your old bedroom, the one filled with stuffed animals & toys, and pounce on your strawberry-shortcake comforter- covered bed & listen to The Go-Go’s on your record-player & be 7 again? Hard times just seem to suck worse when you’re pushing 40.

Ever notice that when one setback happens, everything else that can go wrong does so at the exact same time? Even shit that you forgot about. Not to mention getting blind-sided by a host of other things that weren’t even on your radar? 

My ADHD brain is in full-effect, yet again. My mental checklist has overloaded. I need a 1000-page spiral notebook for my “to do today list,” and realize bitching ain’t getting me any closer to accomplishing any of them. So, I will grab a small spiral, & begin my list.

Diva, when she hugs me, or looks into my eyes and smiles . . . Oh, that is my big happy. I wish my son was able to be that kind of happy. For longer than 2 minutes/day. He is at the difficult age of 8. Not yet a tween, and not a little kid. I watch him struggle to find an identity, a safe place, a place to belong, and it hurts, mainly because I’ve been there. We all have.

When the magic seems to disappear from childhood. The rose-color glasses become a tad less rosey. And I find myself choking on my own selfish need for him to always be my baby. Did I mention being a grownup sucks? Letting him be free to grow up is so difficult. How tight is too tight? How loose is too loose?

These are the things that keep me up at night, haunt me while I sleep, and shadow me all day.

Ok. Cleaning the place up while Diva is taking a nap will at least occupy me more than Pet Rescue Saga, & help declutter my brain with busy work, as cleaning will be an accomplishment, which leads to happy, did you see that squirrel?? Bwahahaha. ADHD moment. Go be happy.

Peace, bitches.

The struggle

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Oh, it’s hard to be positive sometimes. This is such a sweet, gentle reminder of how I should strive to be . . . But my inner bitch just threw up in her mouth.

Peace, calm, & serenity? Ah fuck it. Who am I kidding?? Mahem, anarchy, & chaos, bitches. It’s like that song by the Bloodhound Gang, “we don’t need no water let the motherfucker burn . . .” Eh, you know the rest.

It’s just like that. Why fight the demons?  There are a million reasons to fight, but dammit, I’m fucking tired. Tired of shit going wrong. Tired of never doing anything right, & tired of the never ending, overwhelming guilt of just not being good enough.

Life is like a carousel ride at a cheap carnival, the gears are jammed, and it won’t fucking stop, or even slow down long enough for me to jump off. The whole world is a blur as it rushes by. And my only hope is to keep my focus on what is close to me on this ride-my family-as the outside spins by, out of control.  Solid ground is just out of reach. I know it’s there.  I can smell it.  I can almost make it out just past the blur, but oooohhhh! Just outta reach.

So it goes with OCD. Not being fair is without saying. Tomorrow is another day. And I will rest tonight. I hope you do, as well. And tomorrow, we will rise. And we will shine. And we will fight. And we will roar. And we will be another moment closer to happy.

Peace, bitches.

Packing up

On Friday I was visibly in utter panic. Flitting around, hurredly, frantically packing. Hubs took Diva upstairs to get her to sleep as I obsessively went back & forth to my list of items & the couch & table staging area. My son tried to help, but I snapped at him to please leave me alone or we would not be going.  I crept upstairs to get toiletries & clothes for Mass gathered, as we’d be going to church since we’d be staying the night with my in-laws.

I came back down with my arms filled like a pack mule. Boo quietly said, “Mom, Satan tells you to panic & makes you feel stressed out. I know I can help you, if you’d just let me try, you’ll see God has a better plan. I can help, Mom.”

Anyone with OCD can appreciate how packing MUST be done alone, with the utmost concentration, so no detail is left undone.

I tried to reason with my son that God & Satan don’t care about my packing rituals, or that this is just a neurological disorder I have & and maybe God can’t fix it, then I stopped suddenly, knowing these excuses were just bullshit lies & grabbed him & hugged him.

“You’re right, Boo! You are so right. Maybe if we pack together it will be fun.” My son is all of 8 years old, & finishing 2nd grade. I had never been so humbled or so proud in my life.

Not one item was forgotten. And we were only 15 minutes later leaving than we anticipated, which is a huge accomplishment for us.

We went to Ennis, to celebrate The National Polka Festival, got Boo & Diva dressed in Czeck costumes, & headed for the parade, then the KJT Hall for lunch, meeting family, & Polka music.  Back to my in-laws for a quick nap before getting dressed for Mass, then back to the KJT for dinner and meeting friends. The hour break before Brave Combo came on stage, the kids had free reign of the dance floor  running & playing. It was a great time. Sunday was a big breakfast before going to see my parents & taking the kids to a city park/water park before a huge lunch, then napping on & off while watching Pirates of the Caribbean in 3D before leaving Boo to spend the night as we headed home.

The only snag came Sunday morning when Hubs noticed the shoes Boo had worn Saturday to church & to the hall did not match.  He had two similar pairs of brown shoes, unfortunately, two different sizes. My heart sank as I did not look more closely at his packing to notice. And he had worn those two different shoes for 5 hours. That’s a boy for ya. All he cared about was me letting him wear his red tie & getting to play. He could have been naked, as long as he had that damn tie.

For a while, I will be replaying my son’s words to me when I stress out, “Mom, that’s satan making you stress out; God wants you to trust Him & be happy.”

Get your happy on. And remember, if you enjoy speaking English, live in a somewhat free country, can openly profess whatever spiritual & political opinions you have without risking penal reprimand, and don’t have to worry about being invaded by a foreign country, please thank a Veteran.

Peace, bitches!

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