Worse in person


Believe me. It is much worse in person. It is physically impossible to maneuver one’s self from one side to the other – any other – side without stepping on something.

And what kept me from having a total meltdown, complete with tightened chest & hyperventilating, was my wondrous, hyperbolic daughter smiling peacefully at seeing me return home to her. That smile has brought great calm to me today, & hearing my son having so much fun with Hub’s has kept me from pulling out my freshly-styled hair.

Tonight, looking at this hell-pit, I can say unabashedly – HAPPY WON!!

GET YOUR HAPPY! Be joyous. And live moment by moment. I hate the irrational fears. And too often I allow them to dictate my day, or else fall victim to my silly obsessions.  Nobody is going to die from my messy floors. I actually believe that right now. No harm will come. I’m not talking long-term psychological damage – (shit, uuugh, gotta fight that thought now) – but a friend or family member being murdered because my floor is messy (gross understatement). But I am calling that fear out.

I swear, having OCD is, at times, like a bad horror movie. You know you shouldn’t stand near the window, but you’re helpless to move – because you’re cast to stand there. It just has to be that way. And your very thoughts consume your will to fight back, then all your fears mount up against you, and you do anything you can to quieten those fear monsters – rock, pull hair, tripple check the doors – all doors, wash & rewash hands, clean, clean, clean.

Well a big fuck you, irrational fear. Nothing horrible will happen because I let my kids have the best time today . . . Or if I don’t literally break my back cleaning it tonight. I’m gonna enjoy some snuggle time with my guys while Diva sleeps. Because life is far too precious to waste, or idly watch happy slip by unrealized or enjoyed.

Peace, bitches!

Get you happy. OCD can wait.

Untitled Mess

I returned from my hair appointment a bit ago. I imagined it would be bad, but as I got out of my car, I could hear screams of elation coming from the second floor. My son opened the front door & graciously welcomed me home. Nothing prepared me for such a sweet welcome from Diva. She was genuinely happy to see me.

I walked through the sea of toys, food, & towels (a soda was knocked over) covering the floor to let Hub’s see . . . Bombarded by chatter from all three. Something about diahrea for a disputed amount of time. As I bent over to kiss Hubs, Diva interrupted to show me something. Something on her fingertip. And it was doo-doo brown.

Dayuuum. Dayuuum. Daaaayuuuuuum!

So we head upstairs to change her diaper, which she’d “fixed” about half an hour prior, and get the shit off her finger, while explaining we don’t put our hand in our diaper.  I’d fed them lunch before I left, but they were starving upon my return. And, needless to say, no nap for Diva. There had been video games, bad behavior, lots of fun, some punishments, but Hubs enjoyed spending time w/ the kids. Win!

I got Diva squared away, & served up some snacks. My hair looks amazing. I even put on makeup.  My back was not loving sitting still for 2.5 hours, though, & so I took a muscle relaxer, & am now sleepy as all hell. But we broke the base, added platinum highlights, & finished with a gorgeous toner. Love it!! Even Diva touched my hair & said “oooohh.”

Get your happy, & don’t let OCD snatch it away. Cleaning & decluttering can wait. Kids aren’t kids long enough – so let them enjoy wallowing in toys a while.

Peace bitches!

Snagged another one.


And for those of us dealing with neurological issues like OCD, this simple idea can seem like an impossibility.

I’ll be happy when my kids behave, when they mind, when my house is clean, when I have a home, when Jaguars become more reliable, when everything is the way I envision, when everyone follows my plans . . . And that is just a crap-way to live. I am trying like hell to just be. To let my kids be. And just sit back & let all of my obsessions entertain themselves in a corner somewhere.

It is a conscious effort, & at times, I lose. Some days are epic failures of truly legendary purportions. But I decided I will try for happy over tidy, fun over filing. Things can wait. Life goes by much too fast, and that happy is all that makes life awesome. When you focus on controlling everything, you always leave out room for spontaneous enjoyment. So for today, try to get some happy, & allow yourself to enjoy it.

Boo & Diva are running through the living, dining, & kitchen areas. And I will enjoy them playing together until one starts crying.


Hey, dammit!

I am 39 & a half. At the store, I’m not carded, as I appear to be 40 or older – easy. What the fuck?? However, I let it go. But today, my doctor shows me my spine, & tells me I have arthritis.

I’ve never been kicked in the teeth. However, I imagine that is what it feels like. To find out the excruciating pain is from fucking arthritis. Damn, fucking, shit! And one vertebrae appears to have a fracture, but will confer with the radiologist, but hopes I won’t need surgery or a cast. What the fuck?  I was just hoping for a refill on that miracle cream, & maybe a script for some massages. Massages are nice.

Arthritis. Are you fucking kidding me? Obviously, you can tell I am still processing this, & presently I am in the “extremely pissed of” stage of acceptance. A few serious car accidents, & one time getting thrown off a horse, & one time breaking my tail bone as a kid, & so I fell down the stairs . . . And my body gets arthritis? Man this sucks. I have a two-year old, for fuck’s sake. I really can’t deal with having arthritis now. Not yet. Maybe after my grandchildren are teens. Not yet.

That being said, a shot of steroid works wonders. Whole body aches, but no writhing agony at the moment. No numbness or tingling, either, which is good.

How I got here: The fracture inflamed the arthritis, as best I can understand, and that, in-turn, caused muscle spasms & inflammation, which smooshed (like my word?) some nerves. Ahh geez.

It’s the unexpected. That damn blind-side. I didn’t know arthritis or a fractured vertebrae were even “on the table”. It has been a day, ya’ll. I don’t think I am going to like being 40. I’m very apprehensive that there could be more things I haven’t worried about or mentally prepared for. And that sucks. But before I go get my medical encyclopedia for shit that breaks after 40, and launch into a full blown panic attack, fuck it. Why? I’m a tough mother, & I will take it all in stride (I have wine & insurance for meds). I kinda have to. Living still beats the alternative, so with my “big girl panties on,” I say “bring it!” I’ll get through it & whatever else comes. And I will snag happy all along the way – every chance I get!!

All I can say is “seriously?” Fucking seriously? On the upside, Diva was an angel (for the most part) today. She’s having a total meltdown now, so I will tend to her, then get ready for tomorrow, & take all my old lady medicine before turning in for the night. Grab your happy with both hands & shake that mother till glitter hits you on the face & flies up your nose.

Peace, bitches!

What day is it?

Well, shrink has me up to 3 pills a day & am supposed to do 4 if I can tollerate it. The bad thing is that with every increase, I become more aggitated, & my OCD worsens for a few days before it calms down. We agreed my rage is the first issue to get controlled. We’ll come back to the OCD, as I have stated before, I am an “extreme” case, so I’ll be in her chair for a WHILE getting my shit resolved.

And today, I have been seriously considering just saying fuck it. I’m broken. Deal with it. Diva has been especially trying today. Plus, sleeping on my parents’ guest bed really screwed up my back & neck. Yeah, you can keep that tempurpedic bed shit. I feel like I was thrown from a horse, then hit by a semi!!

Was considering going to my doctor, but the addition of heavy pain killers is less than appealing. May buy a TENS unit, since I have extensive experience with them & know how & where to use it. Plus Hubs might feel better, too. Sound investment, I think. 

Boo has been at his dad’s all week. When I complained, I got to hear, “but you see him all the time.”

Let’s look at that. Well, Ex gets busy with his life & skips getting my son. A lot. So fine. I do get him more than we agreed to, which is all the more reason to stay living so far away from him. However, my son is reaching those pivotal years, which just makes me cry because he shoukd still be 5 . . . I digress . . . Those years when a young boy NEEDS his dad around, even if said dad is a complete knob. So, the house hunt to move closer continues. What is best for my son trumps my selfish desire to keep him to myself. Plus, when he’s here, he is either antagonizing his sister or hiding out from her. So fine. He can stay with his dad this whole week without me getting all bent outta shape.

So, Diva now wants to always go to her room, which she shares with me & Hubs, & she says “night night,” but in no way actually implies she has any inclination of actually going “night-night,” it merely means she wants to go fuck up the mess of a room where we sleep. In order to get her way, I told her she must clean up the living room.

I be damned if she didn’t have all of her shit put away in 5 minutes! I also learned today she loathes “time-out” worse than Lucifer detests the Gospel. Plus, she learned “me” today, & when she points to her things, she says “me”. It’s a work-in-progress, folks. Hubs & I have her talking! Huge win!! She loves red & points it out (very loudly) whenever she sees it. And says “lo” for hello & “hi”. Houston, we have lift off!! This all seems miniscule to someone NOT battling the “terrible two’s”, but friend, let me tell you – it is a fucking nightmare.

I read Mike Rowe’s S.W.E.A.T. pledge. And brother, being a housewife has taught me more than I ever wanted to know. I think he should do a Dirty Jobs show about being a housewife. I mean, it gets dirty, can be scary, people’s lives are at stake, & it is exhausting as it is rewarding. I gotta hand it to him, though, it does give me perspective on my career as a housewife. And all of my previous jobs helped prep me for this, but parenthood is just . . . At times, cruel & unusual punishment. And other times, the best high you can get. There is simply no drug that could come close. I suppose heroin, because it is so addictive, like little giggles & tight neck hugs. I’m trying like hell for my damn happy, alright?

Today, I feel like a prisoner. My whole body aches, my mind is mush, & I just want tomorrow to be filled with an Alaskan crab ship full of happy.

I hear Diva coughing upstairs, so guess I’ll close with this nugget: store up your happy. And when you’re in a shit storm, know with all of your being that it will pass, you will get through, & just keep hoping for another shitload of happy to get dumped on you like a wrecked manure truck!

Peace, bitches.

Lots on my mind

Okay. I’m trying the deep breathing & cold water . . . Per shrink. Meds still working.

Although I do believe I had a mild heart attack Monday night – lol. Took Diva FOUR FUCKING HOURS to go to sleep. Are you fucking kidding me? I seriously about stroked out trying to keep from killing her. My son. And my mom’s dog. And their home phone. Who has a home phone? And why? Oh, to wake my toddler. Yeah. Seems legit.

I haven’t seen Boo since I dropped him w/ his dad Tuesday morning. Fucking sinus drainage is making me delightful, yet the only screams today have been from Diva. I haven’t even been close to losing my shit. And that is awesome. Even though my ears & throat are killing me. And my damn bersitis in my right hip is literally kicking my ass. I’m here, & I’m in control. And my GI spasms are really getting old. I’m okay.

Pool water was like . . . Dayum? Ice crystals??  But after dinner I asked Diva what the best part of today was: she stopped to think, then she started waving her hands & singing. I asked if it was singing & she grabbed my hands. I asked “singing with me,” & she said yes. Ahhh. Yup. My day was made!!

We practiced some words, colored, played with dolls & her dollhouse, & sang our alphabet, colors, shapes & numbers. And sinnging with me was the best part of her day!! She is getting much better at talking, & understanding not to hit, kick, or throw, as well as not yelling, screaming, or growling at me. (Note:animal from Muppets, reference).

Tonight’s bedtime was just after 7, per my shrink, & she was finally asleep around 9:30.

We are all working hard to be a happy, functional family. But that shit is hard. Apartment is still an unholy mess, but with 2 kids, it will be. Still dreaming of that house with a big back yard to let them run & play. We’ll get there.

Still working on Cub Scouts. I’ll get there. Trying to figure out cars, as Hubs wants a Vette & I want an XJL, and neither are in the budget with a half-million-dollar house all at the same time.

In life, this is certain: there are no certainties.

There are no givens. You gotta take what you got & try like fuck-all to make it work, while finding your happy, otherwise . . . Well, otherwise you’re just a rat in a cage, stinky, miserable, & trapped.

My last thoughts are about something that’s been on my mind for a week.  It’s about you. Imagine you are a hot new night club, very exclusive.  Your doorman has a guest list. Some are getting in because they wait & they come & hang out. Then you have your VIPS- these are the ones who walk past the line & cross through the velvet ropes. These are your revered friends & extended family. However, there is another group still more exclusive. This is your entourage. The ones you cannot leave home without.

For me, my entourage is a small circle of blood or legally bound family: Hubs, Boo, Diva, my parents, my sister & MIL & FIL. These are the only ones that are always with me. Can always reach me, & who I owe my utmost to. My VIPs are a close 2nd. And they still get bottle service & access to the VIP room, but that inner circle is my very first line of defense. The VIP ring fills any gaps.

As your life changes, the VIP list will, too. Some will slip from VIP to honored guests & vice versa. But that entourage list-that one is for life, & for me, it’s strictly blood. Because I know, at the gates of hell, those are the ones who would stick by me – no matter the cost, & for me, it is the same. 

Some VIPs get honorable mention here, as my VIP list is also very exclusive – I’d say around 15, with half not related, but would gladly help me bury a body & likewise. However, if I’d managed to piss off everyone, even my entourage, the entourage would still remain. I’d have to do some kind of drink specials to win back my VIPs. . .

So, what I’m saying is choose your circles. And choose them wisely. Don’t be happy you are on someone’s guest list. Make your own. And mind the bouncer doesn’t let frenemies into the VIP area for unnecessary drama in the form of stress. And know where you stand & where others stand so nobody leaves the club pissed off. And don’t be afraid of no-showing on occasion. Not because you’re a flake, but because your entourage needs you more. Or because you need some happy on your own.

Well. I’m about to rub some cream on my hip & get my sleep on so I can rock tomorrow like a happy rockstar bitch!

I don’t mean to come off all preachy, but life’s short, marriage is work, being a mom is a struggle, & only my entourage fully understand my crazy, messed-up life. But they love me unconditionally, & for that, I am forever loyal to them first-because all of them have seen me at rock-fucking-bottom like nobody else. You know, those parts we gloss over to the VIPs, & omit completely for everyone else. Most likely everyone has this list already, but keep it updated, & make a point to visit each VIP once/year. For my VIPs out of state, I’m going to implement a conference call via video chat. It’s been too long. Get YOUR happy on.

Peace & love, bitches!

Detailed description of hell & happy

I guess that is why everyone liked “Radio Silence”; my post about my experience living without my husband while he traveled to India on business. Details.

If you can imagine Alice in Wonderland, but with Edward Scissorhands, set in a “problem child” reality show . . . With evil flying monkeys, that would pretty much sum up a day in my life, but really, I will work on the details a bit, if for no other reason than to make you feel better about your life.

I’ve all but given up on writing the novel. Diva has hit a new level. I’d just finished hot-gluing my son’s toy machine gun for the second time today, when Diva slammed it over his back, sending the butt of the rifle flying . . . Again.

There is something seriously messed up with her. I love her, but she’s just mean. Satan himself called earlier to let me know to keep her in church & away from him.

I am secretly terrified about visiting friends in their home this weekend. I’ll have to double check our bank account. I’m actually being serious. She breaks stuff just for the hell of it. She likes getting in trouble more than me painting her nails, coloring with or reading to her. I just cannot figure her out. She’ll be that kid who sets our house on fire, I fear.

Then, she will just sit quietly for a long time in my or Hub’s lap, and hum a song so soft & sweet, & I think to myself – is this the hell cat from 15 minutes ago going berzerk over a damn 2nd cookie??

And when she says “Mommy” I completely melt. Those are my happies. And Boo has been utterly amazing today.

I stopped myself from crying earlier. I deeply miss my husband. He is in the same bed, but Diva is firmly planted in the middle. It changes daily who she prefers, but I’d just like to cuddle with my husband, even on the couch, for half an hour. Just to feel like we are more than Diva’s minion; slaves to her every whim, or else face her wrathful vengeance. Yes, we are all terrified of the little dictator.

My selfish thoughts melted away as she started humming our song. She sang the words she knew, the rest was hummed, but with some mixed vowel sounds.

Our song. Of all songs . . . It’s the Barney theme song. But when she throws her arms around my neck & squeezes me tight, then gives me a kiss before the big finish . . . Well, friends, that’s just a whole fucking bag of happy.

Life is a fucking mess. This world & are country are simply fucked. But, there are these flecks of hope, like glitter, fine & sparkling. Grab that shit & take it with you! You’re gonna need it.

Peace, bitches!

Just saying . . .

Having OCD & 2 kids (messy can’t even begin to describe my house or life) is the sane person’s equivallent of having a 5 course gourmet meal, but not able to eat it.

Day 3 on higher dose

Well, the medicine really helps me to keep a better hold on my anger. However, my desire to control my daughter to achieve the behavior I expect . . . Yeah. Not happenin’. OCD is a real bitch. I am so “done” with her throwing everything from tantrums to dinner plates, fists, to sippy cups. Just want to put her in a cage till she’s house-broken – bwahahaha – not really. But she does remind me of The Muppet character Animal. Perhaps she is my OCD manifest as a person to teach me to live with it? Hmmm. Deep thought.

And her screaming . . . Oh my dayum. Even their playing is bitter sweet, as playing always turns to bickering, then Diva goes for a groin-shot to Boo, then he’s crying & she’s in time-out. Is this really how it is? Oh my God. Is this REALLY my life? The only reprieve is when they are distracted, but that only lasts a minute or two, then they are bored with me & my idea.

Boo is in his room, hiding from Diva & watching Netflix on his tablet, so it’s singing & learning time for me & Sophia.

It’s not even 8:30, & I’m counting the nanoseconds till nap time.

Day one – again

So, after letting my family meet with my shrink, she got a better feel for what is going on. Hubs & Boo kinda let loose, but she gave us all some great take-away advise. THAT is an exceptional doctor!!

Doing things to exhaust Diva so she will go to sleep at appropriate times, & taught us (Diva & me) some deep breathing exercises to keep both of us calm.

New medicine is good so far. Instead of just helping me to stay in control, it is giving me the feeling of “why would I even get angry/frustrated about that?”

A few more sessions, then I have to start anger management therapy. Like I’m Bobby Knight, or something . . . But, if it means being able to enjoy the chaos, I’ll keep an open mind.

Since I am not & have never been depressed, it makes treating my OCD a bit more tricky. Most people with OCD also have depression, so Big Pharma pack their OCD meds with (or as) an antidepressant. That makes me manic . . . Talking way too fast & too much, & spending money like a drunken sailor on weekend leave.  This medicine doesn’t do that. It focuses on the rage/anger only.

Anxiety was kicked up a notch this morning, I noticed, but I was able to calm myself down & remain focused on my kids in a positive way while running errands. I made Diva walk, too. No riding in her stroller or the shopping cart.

I also realize that removing temptation from her is a short cut on my part. I’ll have to let her loose so I can teach her now, not wait until she’s older to try to teach her. She will be much more work than Boo. And as tempting as it is to get a job & let her be ‘daycare’s problem’, I am now convinced that me raising her is as much about teaching myself to be a better parent as it is about teaching her to be an upstanding adult.

Motherhood is hard, but taking short-cuts on teaching & raising them will teach them all the wrong things, & they’ll miss out on morals & values that many of today’s youth lack.  Love is simply not enough. You have to parent. And I’m having to re-learn & re-think everything. It’s a process. She is worth it. Patience & staying calm is the goal here – for both of us.

It’s Friday & Diva is sleeping – worn out from this morning. Jag #2 is getting new brakes, & altho it’s $1300, it’s ok. We’ll save money eventually & get that house with the backyard. Life. It happens. No need to get bent outta shape, right? I’m trying . . .

Peace, bitches. Get your happy on & let the stupid shit go. And believe me, I know personally that it is much easier said than done. Keep trying.

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