Greg: Mooommm, Eric kicked me in the face!!!
Eric: No, I kicked you in the arm!!
Greg: Yeah, but that made my hand hit my face.
Eric: So….basically you punched yourself!
My Sick and Tired List
I am sick. A lot. I hide it. Well.
I try not to complain. I really do try. I tell myself that others have worse problems. I’m fortunate in many ways. But that doesn’t mean my problems aren’t important. So, for today, I’m giving myself permission to complain. A lot. I’m not hiding it. Not well.
I have a body full of bacteria and a weak immune system. I have lyme, and have also tested positive for all of the major co-infections that ticks carry. Lucky me got bitten by a tick with super powers. Oh, did I mention I also have lupus? And blood clotting issues that makes my blood the ideal environment for bacteria to thrive? When I get sick, I really do it right.
A recent illness required a trip to the ER. While lying around, I made a sick and tired list. It was therapeutic.
- I’m sick and tired of hearing “but you don’t look sick.”
- I want to not FEEL sick.
- I’m sick and tired of feeling weak for not being able to get rid of problems caused by a bite by something the size of a pin head.
- I want to feel strong for being able to get out of bed at all while my body is fighting so hard.
- I’m sick and tired of feeling like a guinea pig when a new treatment option comes out.
- I want off this hamster wheel.
- I’m sick and tired of being told that I always have a smile on my face and handle it so well. Don’t ask my family how I really handle it. They see me at my worst.
- I want to truly always have a smile on my face.
- I’m sick and tired of having liver damage caused by the bacteria.
- I want any damage to my liver to be caused by too much expensive wine.
- I’m sick and tired of brain fog making me forgetful. Wait, what was I going to say next?? Oh, now I remember…
- I want the only cloudiness I deal with to be weather related.
- I’m sick and tired of the random ups and downs of symptoms that come and go.
- I want to ride a roller coaster, not live one.
- I’m sick and tired of going to the lab for blood tests. And being told how bad my veins are as they poke me repeatedly to find a good one.
- I want to only be poked on Facebook. And even that can be annoying.
- I’m sick and tired of getting burned from forgetting sunscreen during a car ride while on medication that makes me sun sensitive.
- I want to get burned from having so much fun at the pool that I lost track of time and spent the entire day there.
- I’m sick and tired of telling my kids to see what is in the freezer because I’m too tired to cook.
- I want to have freshly baked cookies ready every day after school. …Yeah, that probably wouldn’t happen regardless.
- I’m sick and tired of taking horrible tasting pills by the handful.
- I want handfuls of M&Ms. They melt in your mouth.
- I’m sick and tired of spending so many hours in bed.
- I want a Tempurpedic. But I digress. I want to only need my bed at night.
- I’m sick and tired of my kids searching for socks that match because I haven’t done laundry.
- I want a laundry fairy. But, again, I digress.
- I’m sick and tired of a new treatment making me feel better temporarily. Without warning the improvement ends. It always ends.
- I want the end to be happily-ever-after.
- I’m sick and tired of counting spoons.
- I want a giant ladle.
- I’m sick and tired of cancelling plans with friends. Or hesitating to make plans in the first place to avoid having to explain why I am cancelling.
- I want to be a good friend.
- I’m sick and tired of being a source of information for friends concerned about having lyme. I enjoy helping; I don’t enjoy why I am knowledgeable.
- I want to have never heard of lyme. Just the green fruit.
- I’m sick and tired of doctors telling me I have a high tolerance for pain. That doesn’t make living with it any better.
- I want to be a wimp and cry over a stubbed toe because that is the worst pain I have ever felt.
- I’m sick and tired of trying to cram in everything fun on days when I am feeling well. I should have learned by now that doing too much at once ultimately makes me sick again.
- I want to have fun every day.
- I’m sick and tired of having an illness that I don’t want to discuss because it is so misunderstood and affects everyone so differently. If I hadn’t personally experienced it, I wouldn’t believe some of it either.
- I want it to make sense.
- I’m sick and tired of well meaning people telling me of a friend who tried “X” or a cousin who took “Y” and are perfectly healthy now. I have tried “X” and “Y” and also A-W.
- I want to find “Z.” I know that will cure me. It is out there. Somewhere.
- I’m sick and tired of doctors telling me I am a medical mystery.
- I want to be solved.
- I’m sick and tired of calling it lyme disease. Disease sounds too permanent.
- I want it gone.
- I’m sick and tired of being sick. And tired.
- I want health.
Priceless Paper
From a distance, the yellowed, typewriter written, tattered papers appear to be nothing impressive . But the information contained on those papers is what makes them amongst my most cherished possessions. It is the only window I have into an unknown part of my life. The only knowledge about my biological past. My adoption papers.
The sketchy information does not even come close to telling the entire picture about the beginning of my life, but it’s enough for me to read between the lines to create a story in my mind. Enough to take the blank slate and provide some understanding of the circumstances surrounding my birth and what makes me the person I am.
The first page of the paperwork contains details about my biological parents. The brief description – only a few lines total – is the most valuable information to me. I can peruse the traits and see glimpses of myself in the presentment, especially in the features and personality of my biological father. “Green eyes, dark brown naturally curly hair, dark complexion” could readily describe me. I like to think I also am somewhat “outgoing, happy-go-lucky and have a good sense of humor” which is how my biological father’s personality is portrayed.
My biological mother is also described as having brown hair but with brown eyes, and no curls. From reading her description, however, I know where I got my left-handedness. Drawing is listed as an interest. Perhaps that is where my son, Jake, got his love of art. Her personality is depicted as “moody, quiet and lazy.” I choose to envision that she was understandably moody because of the turmoil she was feeling over giving me up for adoption. She was uncharacteristically quiet. Pensive, wistfully wondering what “could have been” under different circumstances. She was not lazy, just weary. Fatigued and distressed about the toll pregnancy was taking on her body – and soul – for a baby she was not going to raise.
“Completed high school” is listed as the education for both, with the addition of “anticipates furthering her education” for my biological mother. From this, I deduced that the pregnancy occurred during their senior year of high school and I was born the October after they graduated. In another area of the paperwork, it states that pre-natal care began in mid-June. I concluded that the pregnancy was concealed from her classmates, and most likely her parents, until after graduation to reduce the embarrassment of her predicament. I wonder if either did go on to attend college after the adoption.
Some of the other tidbits of information tend to cause more questions than answers. The papers state that I wasn’t given baby formula for the first time until three days after birth. What happened during those first days of my life? Was I still with my biological mother during that time? What other explanation could there be for the delay in receiving formula? My adoption wasn’t finalized until the end of January, more than three months after I was born. I believe I was in a foster home during this time. Was I living at a private residence or a group home? Who were the kind people who took care of me? What were they like?
Most of the remaining information is mundane medical records and daily routines. But to me it is precious. I don’t have anyone with whom to discuss those first three months. No one to tell me how often I ate, how I reacted to bath time, that I made a “coo” sound when I laughed. These type-written words are all I have.
Will I meet my biological mother and father one day? Perhaps. There are so many questions that these papers can never answer. Maybe one day I will try to fill in the gaps left by the words that are not written. But for now, when I feel overwhelmed by all the unknown, I will pull out the worn, aged papers and look for a clue I may have previously missed. A clue to my biological past. A clue to my adoption story.
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You may have noticed I only reference the parents who created me as my biological mother and father. Not Mother and Father. Not Mom and Dad. I will always be grateful to the people described on those pages for making the difficult decision to give me to someone who could provide a better life for me. But my adoptive parents were, and always will be my Mom and Dad.
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I’m so excited that this post was featured on the Freshly Pressed page. Thanks WordPress for the recognition! http://wordpress.com/#!/fresh/
Blogging For Idiots
Text conversation after I discovered Jim’s accidental post on my blog (see “Publish = Blog Entry, Not Comment” for the story).
Me: You have made me laugh for the past hour. You MUST read my new blog entry. It is an explanation of “my” blog entry from this morning.
Jim: OK, but I have that look of horror on my face again.
Me: You should. Let’s just say I found your “comment.” And so did the rest of the blogging world. Go to momopolize.com to read it…NOT wordpress.com.
Jim (after reading blog): Does that make me a blogger?
Me: Sure. You are now a blogger.
Jim: Yeah! Maybe I’ll get that book deal. Blogging for idiots.
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Sorry, Jim. Looks like it’s not in the cards for you. Maybe “Commenting for Idiots?”
(photo from nulledtemplates.com)
Publish = Blog Entry, Not Comment
Important warning to all bloggers: One must be sure to log out of WordPress on husband’s computer when finished. Or one may find a new mysterious blog entry next time one logs on.
My husband, Jim, finally decided to read Momopolize. “Gee honey, it only took you 3 weeks. Thanks.” Oops. I forgot, I promised to play nice. I meant “Gee honey, you took the time to read 3 weeks of blogs in one day. Thanks!!” After reading, he decided to post a complimentary comment about my new blog. Only he didn’t post a comment. He put his comment as a new blog post. And PUBLISHED it. For the world to see. So for everyone who viewed the new blog entry from earlier today titled “I hope no…”, now you have an explanation. I’m sure you’ve been wracking your brain all day trying to figure out the mystery.
At least now I know I’m not the most technologically challenged person in the family.
This was Jim’s “comment” blog entry seen ’round the world.
“I hope no one sees how long I’ve been reading this. I never realized how much I miss of my own family. What an interesting time from 2:30pm to 6:00pm each week day. I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you for all you do! Love you.”
I hope this dispels any rumors that I am narcissistic for posting my immense appreciation and love for myself.
Honey, repeat this 3 times: Don’t click “add new post.” Ever. Thanks for the kind comment though. I really do appreciate it. And for giving me my laugh for the day. And material. Lots of material for my blog. Writing my blog is easy. I simply regurgitate the antics of my family!
I’m not really a writer. I just play one in real life.
Tales of a Tattle
Greg: “Eric called me a snitch.”
Me (to Greg): “Just tell him that’s not nice.”
Me (to Jim): “He is snitching about being called a snitch. Do you see the irony here??”
A minute later…
Greg: “Now he called me a tattle-tale for telling that he called me a snitch.”
Jim: “Greg, what is the definition of a tattle-tale?”
Greg: “Someone who tells on someone else that isn’t doing something very bad.”
Me: “And what are you doing now?”
Greg: “…oopsie…”
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- Greg: “I’m going to go play Jake’s PS3.”
- Me: “Did Jake say it is ok?”
- Greg: “Yes, he owes me time because he punched me but I didn’t tell.”
- Me: “Well…you kinda’ just did.”
Brother, can you spare a dime? Or quarter?
- Me: “So did you and Greg decide to switch chores?”
- Eric: “No.”
- Me: “But I’ve seen Greg feeding the pets a lot recently”
- Eric: “I know. I give him a quarter to do it.”
- Me: “But we pay you more than a quarter.”
- Eric: “I know.”
- Me: “So you pay him PART of what we pay you, and he does it??”
- Eric: “Not exactly. I usually find a quarter he left lying around and just give him the same one again.”
(7/30/12)
Welcome, Day of Sweet Repose
Yes, officially it may be Labor Day. A day intended to celebrate work and also the symbolic end of summer. However, for me today is a day to recover from the first week of school, and to mourn the end of summer.
The first week of school is really tough. Adjusting to rising early, making a good impression on the new teachers, getting all the homework done. No, not the kids. ME!
The horrid beeping of the dreaded alarm aside, the first week is full of assignments for the parents. This early in the year, I’m still trying to give the illusion that I have it all together. By the end of the year, it is unquestionably apparent that I do not, but I start out each year using slight of hand tricks to cover the truth.
Monday started out well. I got all 4 of the dreaded “first day packets” filled out. It even seemed less time consuming this year. Maybe after 12 years, I’m finally getting it. I even filled out the “describe your child” sheet for Eric, which I find extremely difficult. “Five adjectives that best describe your child.” OK Miss Teacher, do you want me to describe my child or really describe my child?
Abrasive, Combative, Volatile, Obnoxious and Selfish. No, that’s is how his brothers would describe him.
Argumentative, Whiny, Defiant, Forgetful, Lazy. No, that’s only when asked to do chores.
Brilliant, Enchanting, Enthusiastic, Responsible, Dazzling. No, too kiss up.
Kind, Bright, Funny, Happy, Stubborn. Simple, with a negative thrown in for a reality check. Bingo.
Truthfully, I don’t remember which adjectives I ended up using. I know stubborn stayed. The rest were probably barely legible because I changed my mind so much I almost erased right through the paper. Immediately I put the paperwork in the kids’ backpacks to be returned the next day. Put one in the win column.
Eric came home Tuesday with all the papers still in his folder, exactly where I had proudly placed them. Are you kidding me?? “Teacher, teacher, I did my homework. I did it all. I did my best. But…my dog ate it? Well, my kid ate it. Or forgot to turn it in. Something like that.” Come on Eric. Let me look good past the SECOND day of school!
One of my other homework tasks for Eric’s class is to sign his agenda every day. Simple
enough. Illegible initials in the signature box. Check. On Thursday I notice – in bid red letters – a note from the teacher. A note that was written on TUESDAY. In addition to not turning in my homework, he didn’t turn in his time capsule. Apparently I’m not JUST supposed to sign the agenda. I’m supposed to actually READ it first. Maybe the teacher needs to add flashing lights and sirens next time.
In the backpack the time capsule went, to be turned in first thing Friday.
Sigh. First homework assignment 3 days late.
Friday afternoon I notice an envelope on the couch. That looks similar to that troublesome time capsule envelope. No way. Are you kidding me?? No, really. Someone must be messing with me.
Sigh. First homework assignment 4 days late.
If it actually gets there tomorrow.
Trying to keep the illusion going this year is going to require some smoke and mirrors. And maybe a rabbit. 
Karma’s only a b**** when you are
We refer to Karma a lot in our house. Usually in a bad way.
“You called your brother stupid and then forgot to study for a test? Karma.”
“You left your skateboard propped against the wall after I told you not to and it fell on your toe? Karma.”
This past week, I had spent a lot of time being a really nice person. Really nice. Yes, I’m patting myself on the back. I enjoy fostering kittens but it has been overwhelming recently and has required more effort than normal. Adoption events, meeting a rescue transport last minute because a group of kittens was scheduled to be euthanized, and, more recently, many vet visits because the poor little baby kittens are ill. The past few days I have had to hand feed kitten milk “formula” every few hours with a syringe. Also last week I agreed to spend many hours doing a strenuous task at work that everyone else (who knew better) didn’t want to do. Today, as I’m on hold with the rescue’s vet (which is about 45 minutes away) trying to schedule yet another appointment (because, despite all my effort, the kittens weren’t improving), all I could think was “when it rains, it pours!” I was already having a little pity party for myself because I had to be late for a picnic in order to make a trip home just to pick up a kitten (not one of the sick ones). I begrudgingly agreed to deliver him to his adopter during the time I should have been at the picnic because it was the only time she was available, even though it wasn’t convenient for me.
When loading up the kitten for his adoption meeting, Jimmy went down into the basement and informed us that there was a funny noise. Jim went to investigate and realized a pipe had burst. It had JUST burst. The wall was wet but it hadn’t even made it to the carpeted floor yet. Jim turned off the water and averted disaster.
“You kindly missed part of your picnic to help a rescued foster kitten find his forever home and then your basement didn’t flood? Karma.”
Shortly after we arrived to the picnic, it started raining. Yep, when it rains, it pours. But better that the pouring was outside at a picnic instead of in our basement. Thanks Karma.
I had to leave the picnic early to make it to the vet appointment, but that’s ok. I’ll just expect another visit from Karma.
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(The two itty-bitty-under-a-pound-in-weight kittens had to stay at the vet overnight because they are so ill. Poor, sweet little guys. I’m waiting to get an update on them any moment now. Hey Karma, I will take that next visit now!!)
Lost control of the remote control
That awkward moment when you realize the kids have left the room and you are watching Spongebob alone.
And you still don’t change the channel.
- “No Patrick, they are laughing next to us.” ~Spongebob
- “It may be stupid, but it’s also dumb.” ~Patrick
- Sandy: “Patrick, don’t you have to be stupid somewhere else?” Patrick: “Not until 4.”
- “That’s it. You just lost your brain priveleges.” ~Plankton
- “As long as these pants are square and this sponge is Bob, I will not let you down.”~Spongebob
- “I’m a goofy goober, yeah. You’re a goofy goober, yeah. We’re all goofy goobers, yeah.” ~Spongebob and Patrick
See??? It’s good stuff!