Making things easier

Even thought I haven’t heard back from my doctor yet about my thyroid test, I asked Dr. Google and he said I have an underactive thyroid (or I’m going through menopause at 33.  he likes to hedge his bets.) (which, if I am, hurry up and bring it.  we’re entering month 4 now people.) (won’t Boy 1 be jealous if I suddenly grow a bigger mustache than he can?) (shoot me.)

Ahem.  So, having diagnosed myself, I did what I always do when faced with something new.  Got a book on it.  Actually, got three books on it because if a little information is good, lots of information is great, right? (not so much really.  book three was written 1979 and basically said to go smoke some pot and forget about it.) (or something like that)  One book said, and I quote, “Hypothyroidism can also affect your appearance, so you might not look as attractive as you have in the past.”

Well.  That should make the whole dating scene MUCH easier, no?

Answer me this

So, um, my… friend, um… Female with Kids, has a question.

Is it bad when you go to a certain Chinese food restaurant so often that they comment on how you must really like their food?  And that you really would LOVE some beef with broccoli right now but you’re actually debating whether it’s more embarrassing to go there again or to actually seek out a different Chinese food restaurant, even though you know your normal place is the best place in town?

I’m She’s just curious.

I WON!

So, did you guys watch the Thanksgiving Day parade this morning?  On NBC?  And did you happen to catch Matt Lauer make a comment (and I’m paraphrasing, and probably getting it mostly wrong) about how the Macy’s parade was the Largest Thanksgiving Day Celebration in the World!

Um, Matt… Honey?  That’s probably because Thanksgiving isn’t a world-wide celebration.  Remember?  Native Americans? Columbus?  Pretty much a U.S. thing going on here…  Not hard to be the biggest at something when NO ONE ELSE IS COMPETING.  Kind of like when Boy 2 announces he’s won the race, and we all thought he was just running around. 

Thanks

I am thankful for…

- Going to my relatives’ house and spending Thanksgiving with my Franken-family*. 

- Spiked eggnog to get me through spending the day with my Franken-family.

- Lots and lots and lots of pie.

- Not having to cook Thanksgiving dinner.

- A job I like (most of the time), a healthy family I like (most of the time) and a roof over my head.

- Fat pants.

- That Dog is doing better on his medicine.

- That I was able to purchase the boys’ big Christmas present online this morning, on sale and with extra bits thrown in and don’t have to set foot in a store tomorrow.

- Being able to sit around in my pj’s as long as I want tomorrow.

- That the boys are completely wound up and haven’t stopped talking/making noise/fighting all morning and they’re going to their dad’s house for the rest of the weekend.

* Franken-family = family made up of bits and pieces from Him’s family, Her’s family and my family. 

Best Part of the Holidays

Eggnog milkshakes at McDonalds. Almost as good as a Shamrock shake, twice as good with rum.

Things I want to say

Stop jumping in the house, upstairs tenants.  Seriously.  You’re making my light fixtures rattle.  Stop.  Jumping.

Dog, I realize the boys are outside and you are inside and this drives you nuts.  But they are trying to play ball sans dog slime and so you must stay in.  The relentless staring you’re doing?  Drives me insane.  Lay down and chill out.

Boy 1, why is it you are only worried about your grades 10 minutes after your bedtime?  I believe your worries are genuine, since you are grounded at the moment from All Things Enjoyable until you get the TWO classes you are currently failing up to par, but seriously?  Why do you always wait until after bedtime?  Now both of us are worried and I’m the bad guy who is going to make you go to bed because you don’t get to stay up late because you decided not to do your work when I asked you about it earlier and you told me you didn’t have any.  Start worrying earlier please.

Cat, you are declawed.  You were declawed when you joined our family.  Thus, you are not going outside.  Sitting at the screen door and meowing pitifully?  Will not get you outside, I’m sorry.

Dude who parks in the parking garage a good 8 feet from the wall with half your car out in the middle of the lane?  W.T.F.  Seriously.  Why?  You have a small car, you can easily fit in the space.  There is no reason for you to stick out like that.  You look like a complete tool.  Or, you have an invisible car parked in front of your car, in which case you are a tool for blocking them in. 

Squirrel, I’m going to get you.  I realize you have the upper hand, what with being a super quick rodent with a tail and all, but revenge will be had for all the f’ing times you sit RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY PICTURE WINDOW, eating my tulip bulbs.  And you don’t even finish them, you leave half of them lying there in the dirt, to taunt me.  There are starving squirrels in Africa you know, you should at least clean your plate, er, finish your dinner, whatever. 

Cat, when I wake up in the middle of the night to you staring at me, maybe 3 inches away from my face?  You scare the fuck out of me.  And then I yelp and jump 15 feet in the air and scare the fuck out of you.  Easy solution?  Don’t do this.

Young

Boy 2 has a friend over.  And this friend reminds me that I don’t really like kids.  I love babies, I love my children, but kids?  Eh.  They’re loud and dirty and jesus on a stick, if they start wrestling again, I’m spraying them with the hose.

Boy 2’s friend, A, is big for his age.  Tall, big and looks much older than 12.  His brain, I fear, lags far behind.  He talks ENDLESSLY.  None stop.  Through the tv shows they watch, through the xbox games they play, while they played basketball and football.  While we ate dinner.  NONSTOP TALKING.  My ears are bleeding.  And it’s not even conversation, it’s just rambling.  I’m beginning to think his parents keep him muzzled at home, and now that he has the chance to talk, he’s just letting it all out. 

Add to that Boy 1.  He’s grounded (insert whines of it’s not fair, it’s not my fault, the teachers forced me to not do my homework and fail two classes) and so can’t have friends over (along with going over to their houses, playing on the computer, using his cellphone, going to basketball games and breathing.  to name a few.) and is a bit desperate to hang out with someone other than his brother and I.  So he’s latched onto A and the two of them act they have the combined age of 3 years, 2 months and poop jokes are all the rage.

Is it bedtime yet?

Updated

So, an update on the girl parts. Still wonky. I've decided my uterus is a bitch. Three months now, this has been going on. I've had my period for all but three weeks of the past three months. There's excitment for you! The latest test is blood work to check my thyroid, which after asking Dr. Google, I've totally decided that's the problem. My thyroid levels are too low, I say, which can lead to wonky periods, fatigue (hello! me! fatigued off my ass!), weight gain, etc. All me. So, we'll see how that goes.

On the up side, my boss told me that I did good work this week, which is HUGE coming from him. He's the type that will give me a big project and when I hand it in, will ask if it's perfect. And I think it's perfect until I've handed it to him and he's asked me that, and then I'm positive there are 8 million mistakes and please just let me go shred that and start over. So, yay. Good work.

On the down, bitchier side, you do notice that he qualified. Good work this week. As in, all other weeks have sucked, but this week? Eh, this week you didn't suck quite so badly.

Geez, aren't you jealous you don't all have an inner bitch like I do? Really good for the self-esteem, honest.

Just here to say hello!

It’s that time of the month when the girls have made their transformation from deflated balloons to Hello, Dolly!  As lovely as it is to have fully inflated breasts once in a while, there’s a large difference between one time to the next.  Like, whole different set of bras.  And clothing. 

This morning, I was running late, had to get the car to the shop so they could spend my next 15 paychecks on new brakes, and my contacts were acting up so I had my glasses on, which means I have NO peripheral vision.  So, I just grabbed a shirt.  A white button down shirt.

A white button down shirt with a wonky first button from the deflated balloon breast selection.

Care to guess how many times I looked down to discover the Girls saying hi?  Hello!  Yes?  Hello?  We’re here, we’re inflated and we are ready to party!  Hello!!! 

Yes that’s me, always professional.

Lowes is trying to kill me

Lowes, that great big box home improvement store, where I spend a third of my weekend and two-thirds of my money, obviously hates me.  And is trying to kill me.  And my relatives.  Which is not very nice of them at all.  Seriously, can’t we talk about this?

In their Creative Ideas magazine, they told me I should hold Thanksgiving OUTSIDE.  See?  The killing part?  You see, in Maine, holding Thanksgiving outside would result in being very cold, wrapped up in many many layers of coats, clothing and scarves, and my relatives?  Would probably beat me amongst the head and shoulders with a frozen turkey leg. 

Why would you do that to me Lowes?