I've Been to Paradise, but I've Never Been To Me...

So lately I have heard this a lot, "I think you need a break". A break? A BREAK? What is this word you speak of, break? A break from what, may I ask? A break from being pregnant for the past two years? A break from having two boys still in diapers? Or do I need a break from lack of sleep, could that be it? Perhaps I need a break from having nothing in my closet now but maternity clothes? I don't know, maybe I need a break from not being the only one in the bathroom while I pee. Oh wait, I know what it is, I need a break from having a proper meal, right?
No, no, no, I need a break from all the vacations I take. Damn, Mexico is getting so mundane. You know what, it must be a break from all the heavy diamonds I wear - geesh these things bring me down, eh?
I think, in reality, what I need a break from is other people thinking my time is not as valuable as theirs. You know what I am talking about. People who come and go as they please in your life because well, you don't have crap going on anyway... Those who are under the impression that a SAHM sits around eating bon-bons and watching her "stories" all day. The fine folks, whether they be friends or relatives that make plans with you and TOTALLY FORGET ABOUT THEM after you have gotten up at 5am (after going to bed at 3) to clean your house, clean your children, clean the dogs, make sure angry children have eaten, beaten them into submission (kidding) so they don't embarrass you, tried to comb your hair and USE A HAIR DRYER because only your kids are used to seeing what a scary creature you resemble. Look, I do not have a maid or a nanny, and I do all of this alone for over eight hours. I have a newborn and a 19 month old - this is WORK, people. If you are coming over to my home that's great, superb, fine, lovely, dandy, can't wait to see you. But if you cancel on me TWICE, I may have to reconsider the next time you "plan" to see me and I get up at the crack of dawn to accomodate your visit. I actually went to the trouble of trimming my bush (stop it, Lotus, uh-huh I KNOW you) outside so you would not get whacked in the face by a rogue tree branch. And let me tell you something, I received quite a nasty wound from this gardening I did. Yeah! And you know what else, the time I spent cleaning the damn house is time I could have spent with my kids, because, well, I have to stash them somewhere so I can actually get something accomplished, and, yeah, I was going somewhere with this but I've lost it. The sun is about to come up.
I think I need a break.

Are You There God? It's Me, Allie

First of all, props to those of you who get the title.

Do you ever have one of those days where (shudder) nothing goes wrong? The children act like humans, you have no headache, no bills came in the mail, you actually got to shower AND vacuum. And you're all "there is something highly suspect about this".
Like maybe you are hovering in a dreamlike trance because you have been in some accident and you're really under the influence of morphine in a hospital bed and just dreaming. Or perhaps this is Heaven and you've gone and died but were simply too tired to recall how you bit the dust. Because come on, how often do you have days where nothing strange happens? I did not fall under the attack of any camel crickets, the scary neighbor stayed inside while I went to the mailbox - it was pure bliss...
I did almost perish in the shower due to an unfortunate encounter with Nemo, but that doesn't count because I am not graceful by nature.
I am not trying to tempt Fate here and I am NOT complaining about my decent day. I just wanted to thank God, Buddha, Elvis, and Coco Chanel for letting me survive and state, for the record, that I didn't take it for granted. So tomorrow when I get the electric, car insurance, credit card, and various medical bills, when my toddler decides to grind Pop Tarts in the carpet with his precious little heel, when my six week old causes me to change three shirts due to spit up, when my dog licks her feet for so long that I want to open the front door and let her run free, and when a giant black spider with fangs stares me down in the kitchen causing me to protect my children from what I know is certain death from spider venom- I will close my eyes and remember today. And I am happy to have had a good day to remember.
Peace.

To Poop or Not to Poop, That Is the Question...

I had great fantasies about creating this blog. In the back of my mind I kept hoping someone of relative importance would fall upon it and kind of throw a Pulitzer my way, or at least I could snag a segment on the Today show.
Alas, I doubt any of that will happen. Plan B was kind of a "celebrity-based" blog. Just kind of posting about famous people and gossip. Nah, overdone. And I most definitely did not want it to become a "mommy blog" because believe it or not, I am more than a mommy. Although it may not seem like it these days...
In reality I guess it will just be a "me" blog. Random posting about things that interest me, annoy me, or happen to me - as if anyone gives a crap, huh?
This rambling all leads up to what I will attempt to compose today. A little diddy about pooping. Or shitting. Making #2. Lovely, right?
I am not a big pooper. I was not blessed with a regular constitution, as they say. Sometimes it would be a couple of days before I would visit the toilet for anything more than a relieving urination session. And when I'm pregnant? Well you can forget it honey because I barely see any action from my colon. And I do not discuss the act of pooping if I can help it. Now my mother on the other hand will raise the window and shout to whomever is listening when she has had a successful bowel movement. Nothing pleases the woman more. And knowing how much it disturbs my father just encourages her to be as vulgar and graphic as possible, and she includes a soundtrack. So don't ask her, because she WILL tell you, in great detail, about her poop. To her it's like an Olympic (see how I just made this relevant to current news?) event. I also do not expell gas if at all possible. Especially not in front of people. I would rather have my head chopped off. I live with three men. Two of them find it highly amusing to make noisy bodily functions (and don't EVEN get me started on my dog). The third has no control over it yet, and I'm not hanging that over a 5 week old's head. Anyhoo... My point is, I go through a lot of effort sometimes, and have suffered through many horrible stomach pains to spare my male family any knowledge that I do in fact have to poop at times. I go to great lengths to disguise the act of shitting. I used to rely on the bathroom fan to block out any (God forbid) noises that emerged from behind the closed door. Because with the size of my house, I may as well drop trou in the living room - yeah, it's small up on this bus. Now my beloved fan has died. A scary burning smell wafts down from the fan when I turn it on now, so I leave it off for fear of lighting up the house in a firey blaze. My mother has suggested a radio. Well with the lack of space to put anything, I would have to suspend the damn thing from the ceiling. I could run the water, which I do, but then I feel horrible about wasting water just so I can throw off my suspicious husband who is probably just glad I have left the room and doesn't care what the reason is. But it is the sheer AGONY and MENTAL ANGUISH I deal with when I even suspect a poop is coming on. Is it worth it? I don't know.
So I ask myself, is it safe to poop or not to poop? THAT is the question.
And now I bid you good-night.

Mothers, Friends, and Dogs

I have come to the intelligent conclusion that moms, friends, and dogs can pretty much help with any given situation. As long as you have at least one of the above, consider yourself lucky. Friends are not like what you find on television shows, coming and going throughout the day through an unlocked door and having jobs that they never seem to actually go to. And moms are not June Lockhart or Leave it To Beaver, wearing pearls and red lipstick whilst cleaning the house with a white picket fence. And dogs are not all Lassie, alerting you to small children stuck in a well... They are real people with kids, financial problems, marriage issues, and real occupations. Some dogs smell and sleep all the time, some friends have husbands who allow their wives to send "sensitive" pictures of recent medical procedures over the internet (I'm talking to you, "Regina"), or share their own experiences of loss to prevent you from making a rash decision, and some moms have their box o wine that gets them through the day... My point is, all of these people (and canines, or felines if you're into that) are there for you and if they judge you, hell, at least they do it behind your back. Like a good friend or family member would. I can take that.
Now as far as in-laws go, well, all that comes to mind is the "C" word. And Mom if you are reading this, I have taken pity on you and not spelled it out - but I wanted to, really, really badly.
Now look, I realize this was not my deepest or most literate post, but folks, I'm not Bill Shakespeare - we all have our breakdown moments...

The Bloodletting...

In a solid effort to distract myself from recent issues, I have taken a course of action. This would be vigorously scratching the numerous mosquito bites I have accumulated over the past several days. My arms and legs are virtually covered with wounds from vicious insects. I found I have given in to the incessant itching they have caused and I scratch with great abundance. I scratch and scratch until I have big red marks and I bleed. *I can go off on a profound sidenote here about how my bleeding is a release of anger and vitrol that is inside of me but I shall skip it for now*
Anyway... I looked in the mirror after my shower and was astounded to see the injuries I have caused myself. Not to mention shaving my legs was purely out of the question. And as I sit here furiously typing away to finish this post before my children wake up, I continue to scratch. Where is my self control? Have I lost that along with my mind, my identity, and my good sense?

To Quote Darth Vader...

..."Now his failure is complete".
End quote.
Has someone you love ever hurt you so badly that you feel it in your core, your soul? Someone you foolishly thought had your back and would stick by you through all the bullshit Life throws your way? Someone you considered to be your partner and best friend? And the hurt is so exquisite, so deep that you cannot even cry? But the betrayal is so evident it may as well be tattooed right on your forehead (or fivehead as the case may be).
Yeah, I thought so. It was only a matter of time.

Sounds of Silence

I am used to constant noise and activity. It is the norm now. We have five parrots, one dog, two kids, and there is always music playing, toys blaring, or the ever-reliable NOGGIN channel (thanks Yo Gabba Gabba, what's the deal with that show anyway?). So when I am home and the husband is at work, the boys are napping, and the birds are quiet, I feel lost. Lost in my own thoughts. Like I should be doing something that I'm not. I pull myself up, shower, clean things, get the mail, whatever I can to pass the time. Then I realize I am just trying to get through the precious moments of silence until all hell breaks loose again. Because sometimes silence isn't golden, it's loud and hurts my ears. Because I now love the newborn cry and the 19 month old banging on things. Sometimes I find myself watching Blue's Clues when no one else is. I used to be so cool, what the hell happened to me?

I Used To Sing In The Shower

Back in the day-o I fancied myself the next Natalie Merchant, or going back to 1982 the sixth member of Duran Duran (shut up). Up until two years ago I would sing in the shower. Ah, fond memories of actually having time to take a shower and shaving my legs or (gasp) under my arms, but I digress... I could sing anything, selections from the musical "Grease", something from 10,000 Maniacs, or perhaps my stand-by favorite 'Endless Love' (I sang both parts because I'm diverse like that y'all). My point is I actually knew the words to different songs.
Now when I find myself under the flow of water in my bathroom, the only songs that fill my head are those off my son's toys. The amount of times a day I hear "Hickory Dickory Dock" in some strange choral arrangement or "Row Row Your Damn Boat" is amazing. So instead of pretending I am the newest pop singer on the scene, living like a rock star, doing meth, and drinking too much - I am now reciting the ABC song (in English and Spanish). I often wonder to myself, is anyone else going through this too?

Hi, I'm New Here

Well, here it is, my blog. Created on my trusty Sidekick LX. So don't expect any fancy stuff because I have zero time to actually sit in front of a computer. My lovely Macbook sits collecting dust on the dining room table. I will talk about kids, feelings, celebrities, and whatever I find interesting at the moment. Right now I am enjoying a glass of fine wine, André from Food Lion! Only $2.99 Bitches! Sometimes I need to vent, I get sad. It will take me a while to get the hang of this, so stick with me.