My husband is a phenomenal cook. He can pile what looks like a load of crap into a pot and onto the grill, and out comes a culinary masterpiece. Last night, it was soup made from leftovers. A delectable, refrigerator-cleaning bowl of yumminess.
Problem is, eating soup next to Jasen is anything but a masterpiece. Juni couldn't wait for dinner before his bath time, so it was just Jasen and I perched at the bar. At first, I felt elated that he scooted next to me. Usually, Juni plops down in the middle chair.
It began with the seasoning. Pepper so heavy it lofted my way and made my eyes water and burn, and sneeze. I'm estimating about 3/4 of the pepper actually made it into the bowl. The rest landed on the bar. Waiting for me to sponge it off. Lovely.
Then began the actual eating. I swear, it was like the man hadn't eaten in 32 days. Noodles slurped into his mouth, spewing chicken broth droplets on the side of my cheek. And of course on the bar, again, waiting for the sponge.
I'm quirky. I know this. One of those quirks happens to be hearing people eat. As a child and teenager, I couldn't eat cereal near my mom. She crunched too loud. Jasen brings an all new meaning to loud eating. He slurps. He sips. He moans and groans in glutenous happiness. Makes me laugh and drives me crazy, all at the same time.
Later that night Juni passed out on the couch before his bedtime. I don't know what I was thinking, but I thought it would be nice to eat orange slices in bed with Jasen. Yeah...not so much. I thought eating soup was loud.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
#26
There's a No. 26 to my previous 25 revealing things. I believe that being honest about mental health helps to educate people, and that if sharing my story can help just one person in my situation, then it's worth it. When I told people I struggled with depression, they shared their stories. When I was diagnosed with the panic disorder, More people asked questions and revealed their own struggles to me.
Well, as luck you have it, I am officially a mess. I've always been a happy person. Sometimes too happy. So excited that I'd grab Jasen and shake him too hard. Drive too fast. Spend too much. Or do things that were completely out of character, like sewing (which I hate), or staying up all night. Running on no sleep. Little Food. Little thought process. My life would fly by like a movie...without me participating, but as a spectator. I would feel like I wasn't myself. Think thing that I normally wouldn't think. Consider things I normally wouldn't consider. And occasionally, the happiness would get so out of control, my brain, and actions, were out of control as well.
After years of struggling to hide what I knew was Bipolar disorder, I hit another manic phase. A bad one. Some people spend money, drink, have sex, leave their lives, or use drugs to get through the high that is mania. I did none of these things. But I did put relationships at risk with behavior that is totally not like me.
My official diagnosis? Bipolar I with a lower-level of disassociation, non-psychotic episodes and no hospitalization needed. I know...a long-assed diagnosis. Which at first scared the petunias out of me. Basically, it means that when I'm manic, there are risks. For me, it's to relationships. Because I act in ways that aren't true to my self. I'm irrational. I don't think about what I'm doing or saying. And that hurts other people. Disassociation means I literally feel like a different person. I don't remember some of the mania. I act out of character, and don't understand why or what I've done after it's over. It's not multiple personalities...I'm not that crazy. It's hard to describe, but it's been researched, and does exist.
There's a cycle to Bipolar. Ups and downs. Mine are far and few between. A "dangerous" mania once every 4-5 years. They last a few weeks, and I'll either do something out of character, or be the happiest person you've ever met. Like I'm jumping out of my skin with elation. I don't cycle through the lows because I was already on antidepressants. Some people cycle several times a day. I don't envy them.
This is part of the reason I've decided to do a total mind, body and soul renewal. I'm in semi-intensive therapy. I'm seeing a new psychiatrist every 6 weeks. I'm taking a new medication (Lamictal, which regulates my brainwaves to stop the manias. It's not quite a mood stabilizer like Lithium). I've lost 20 pounds, and take better care of my body. I try to look in the mirror and not gag.
I'm working on my marriage more than ever and trying my damnedest to fix what I've almost broken. And I'm learning about my condition as much as possible. A second child may not happen, because the risks are too much with my new meds, and a mania could be even worse with the pregnancy hormones. So that's a downer. But other than that, things are slowly getting better.
A friend of mine told me a few weeks ago that "I wish I could spend one day in your body...In your life. You're so lucky."
Yes, I am. I lead an extremely charmed life. My husband is supportive, forgiving, an amazing provider, and is helping to change our relationship. My son rocks. My house rocks. My family rocks. And I'm not totally unattractive.
But step inside. First I spend my childhood and teen years not knowing I was having panic attacks. Then I spent years trying to dig myself out of depression. I've spent years hiding my mania. Thinking there was something seriously wrong with me. Nervous. Scared. Terrified someone would find me out. Hiding within my mind.
I look in the mirror and don't see what others see. I see cellulite. Huge pores. Bulges. And a woman who has struggled to love her mind and body ever since I can remember. I've been on accutane three times. I was on facial antibiotics more times than I can remember. I was on Retin-A for countless years. And I have the internal, and external scars to show that acne is a real bitch.
I know there's a stigma assigned to Bipolar. And it's there for a reason. Some people are completely out of control. And I feel for them. It's hard to give up a high that is so amazing I can't find the words. Finding words is my thing. And the depression some people feel are so deep, so dark, that suicide is their way out. They become desolate. Homeless. Obese. The statistics are terrifying.
That's not me. I'm not a threat to anyone. I'm a good mother. I'm a good person. I'm a good friend. And I'm not scared anymore of who I really am. I'm crying right now as I write this, but that's just because it's freeing to finally reveal something I've spent so long denying.
We can't hide from who we are. We can't change our chemistry. If you looked at my brain on an MRI during a manic episode, it literally looks different than yours. I can't help that. But I can help myself control the urges and phases. I can take my medications. I can talk to my therapist. I can ask for help. I can be more honest. And maybe by making myself vulnerable, a target for the jokes and stigmas, I can help someone else. We are who we are. And some day, everyone must face that fact. For me, I hope to accept it and maybe even embrace it.
Well, as luck you have it, I am officially a mess. I've always been a happy person. Sometimes too happy. So excited that I'd grab Jasen and shake him too hard. Drive too fast. Spend too much. Or do things that were completely out of character, like sewing (which I hate), or staying up all night. Running on no sleep. Little Food. Little thought process. My life would fly by like a movie...without me participating, but as a spectator. I would feel like I wasn't myself. Think thing that I normally wouldn't think. Consider things I normally wouldn't consider. And occasionally, the happiness would get so out of control, my brain, and actions, were out of control as well.
After years of struggling to hide what I knew was Bipolar disorder, I hit another manic phase. A bad one. Some people spend money, drink, have sex, leave their lives, or use drugs to get through the high that is mania. I did none of these things. But I did put relationships at risk with behavior that is totally not like me.
My official diagnosis? Bipolar I with a lower-level of disassociation, non-psychotic episodes and no hospitalization needed. I know...a long-assed diagnosis. Which at first scared the petunias out of me. Basically, it means that when I'm manic, there are risks. For me, it's to relationships. Because I act in ways that aren't true to my self. I'm irrational. I don't think about what I'm doing or saying. And that hurts other people. Disassociation means I literally feel like a different person. I don't remember some of the mania. I act out of character, and don't understand why or what I've done after it's over. It's not multiple personalities...I'm not that crazy. It's hard to describe, but it's been researched, and does exist.
There's a cycle to Bipolar. Ups and downs. Mine are far and few between. A "dangerous" mania once every 4-5 years. They last a few weeks, and I'll either do something out of character, or be the happiest person you've ever met. Like I'm jumping out of my skin with elation. I don't cycle through the lows because I was already on antidepressants. Some people cycle several times a day. I don't envy them.
This is part of the reason I've decided to do a total mind, body and soul renewal. I'm in semi-intensive therapy. I'm seeing a new psychiatrist every 6 weeks. I'm taking a new medication (Lamictal, which regulates my brainwaves to stop the manias. It's not quite a mood stabilizer like Lithium). I've lost 20 pounds, and take better care of my body. I try to look in the mirror and not gag.
I'm working on my marriage more than ever and trying my damnedest to fix what I've almost broken. And I'm learning about my condition as much as possible. A second child may not happen, because the risks are too much with my new meds, and a mania could be even worse with the pregnancy hormones. So that's a downer. But other than that, things are slowly getting better.
A friend of mine told me a few weeks ago that "I wish I could spend one day in your body...In your life. You're so lucky."
Yes, I am. I lead an extremely charmed life. My husband is supportive, forgiving, an amazing provider, and is helping to change our relationship. My son rocks. My house rocks. My family rocks. And I'm not totally unattractive.
But step inside. First I spend my childhood and teen years not knowing I was having panic attacks. Then I spent years trying to dig myself out of depression. I've spent years hiding my mania. Thinking there was something seriously wrong with me. Nervous. Scared. Terrified someone would find me out. Hiding within my mind.
I look in the mirror and don't see what others see. I see cellulite. Huge pores. Bulges. And a woman who has struggled to love her mind and body ever since I can remember. I've been on accutane three times. I was on facial antibiotics more times than I can remember. I was on Retin-A for countless years. And I have the internal, and external scars to show that acne is a real bitch.
I know there's a stigma assigned to Bipolar. And it's there for a reason. Some people are completely out of control. And I feel for them. It's hard to give up a high that is so amazing I can't find the words. Finding words is my thing. And the depression some people feel are so deep, so dark, that suicide is their way out. They become desolate. Homeless. Obese. The statistics are terrifying.
That's not me. I'm not a threat to anyone. I'm a good mother. I'm a good person. I'm a good friend. And I'm not scared anymore of who I really am. I'm crying right now as I write this, but that's just because it's freeing to finally reveal something I've spent so long denying.
We can't hide from who we are. We can't change our chemistry. If you looked at my brain on an MRI during a manic episode, it literally looks different than yours. I can't help that. But I can help myself control the urges and phases. I can take my medications. I can talk to my therapist. I can ask for help. I can be more honest. And maybe by making myself vulnerable, a target for the jokes and stigmas, I can help someone else. We are who we are. And some day, everyone must face that fact. For me, I hope to accept it and maybe even embrace it.
Friday, February 25, 2011
25 Things
This was a viral on Facebook a while back. Thought you may enjoy it...
1. i can tell when it's going to rain because the bunion on my left foot starts to throb.
2. doctor's wanted to break both of my feet and do reconstructive surgery because of said bunyons. my mom said no because i would have had two full leg casts and wouldn't have learned how to walk on time. she said no. i wish she'd said yes. if i have the surgery now i'm looking at months on crutches and in a cast.
3. my husband was my first "real" boyfriend. i was 15. he tracked me down 9 years later and the rest is history. we met at the skating rink.
4. i watched my sister give birth 6 weeks ago. it was one of the most amazing moments of my live.
5. my sister helped me give birth almost 3 years ago. that was the most amazing moment of my life.
6. i almost died when i was 5. something called epiglautitis, where your throat closes for no apparent reason. they flew in a surgeon from richmond to chkd and he put a tube down my throat. i remember pretty much everything. i came home on christmas eve.
7. i'm terrified of tongue depressors. result of doctor jamming depressor down my closed throat, vomiting, and choking.
8. i can put my fist in my mouth. comes in handy when a doctor presents a tongue depressor. much easier just to flip-top my head.
9. i'm double jointed. which comes in handy sometimes, but also hurts. my joints pop out while i swim, sleep, stretch...
10. i was the editor in chief of the collegiate times, virginia tech's newspaper, my senior year. it was great and horrible at the same time. way too stressful for me.
11. i still have the tab from blackburg from my 21st birthday. i drank 22 drinks and was sick for 3 days.
12. i can't drink much anymore. more than a glass of wine gives me a panic attack.
13. i have a relentless panic disorder. i've been on medication for years.
14. i have ADD. i took medicine in college and grad school, but struggled in high school.
15. i usually feel very out of place during social situations. the most moronic things will come out of my mouth for no apparent reason. i usually end up feeling like an idiot.
16. my son didn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time until he was 9-and-a-half months old. that means i didn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time until he was 9-and-a-half months old. he still wakes up several times a night, and i usually end up in his bed by morning.
17. i had night terrors and insomnia as a child. they did a sleep study on me.
18. i still count on my fingers.
19. my favorite tv shows are My Name is Earl and House. i think they both reveal sides of the human condition. I've also added Grey's Anatomy, and pretty much anything having to do with housewives.
20. i stare at imperfections on my face every night while sitting on my bathroom counter with my feet in the sink. not comfortable or sexy in any way. It's an unhealthy obsession.
21. i have nightmares just about every night, mixed in with two or three other extremely vivid dreams. i sometimes mix up my dreams for reality.
22. i once covered the supreme court.
23. my most recurring dream is that i'm back in the dorms with paula, but am married and have juni, so i have to commute. it SUCKS.
24.i have 11 cows, 10 chickens, 2 dogs, 2 cats and quebert, my goose, with his wife and six kids from last spring living in my back yard. i have a big back yard.
25. my biggest fears are 1. something bad happening to juni and 2. growing old.
1. i can tell when it's going to rain because the bunion on my left foot starts to throb.
2. doctor's wanted to break both of my feet and do reconstructive surgery because of said bunyons. my mom said no because i would have had two full leg casts and wouldn't have learned how to walk on time. she said no. i wish she'd said yes. if i have the surgery now i'm looking at months on crutches and in a cast.
3. my husband was my first "real" boyfriend. i was 15. he tracked me down 9 years later and the rest is history. we met at the skating rink.
4. i watched my sister give birth 6 weeks ago. it was one of the most amazing moments of my live.
5. my sister helped me give birth almost 3 years ago. that was the most amazing moment of my life.
6. i almost died when i was 5. something called epiglautitis, where your throat closes for no apparent reason. they flew in a surgeon from richmond to chkd and he put a tube down my throat. i remember pretty much everything. i came home on christmas eve.
7. i'm terrified of tongue depressors. result of doctor jamming depressor down my closed throat, vomiting, and choking.
8. i can put my fist in my mouth. comes in handy when a doctor presents a tongue depressor. much easier just to flip-top my head.
9. i'm double jointed. which comes in handy sometimes, but also hurts. my joints pop out while i swim, sleep, stretch...
10. i was the editor in chief of the collegiate times, virginia tech's newspaper, my senior year. it was great and horrible at the same time. way too stressful for me.
11. i still have the tab from blackburg from my 21st birthday. i drank 22 drinks and was sick for 3 days.
12. i can't drink much anymore. more than a glass of wine gives me a panic attack.
13. i have a relentless panic disorder. i've been on medication for years.
14. i have ADD. i took medicine in college and grad school, but struggled in high school.
15. i usually feel very out of place during social situations. the most moronic things will come out of my mouth for no apparent reason. i usually end up feeling like an idiot.
16. my son didn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time until he was 9-and-a-half months old. that means i didn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time until he was 9-and-a-half months old. he still wakes up several times a night, and i usually end up in his bed by morning.
17. i had night terrors and insomnia as a child. they did a sleep study on me.
18. i still count on my fingers.
19. my favorite tv shows are My Name is Earl and House. i think they both reveal sides of the human condition. I've also added Grey's Anatomy, and pretty much anything having to do with housewives.
20. i stare at imperfections on my face every night while sitting on my bathroom counter with my feet in the sink. not comfortable or sexy in any way. It's an unhealthy obsession.
21. i have nightmares just about every night, mixed in with two or three other extremely vivid dreams. i sometimes mix up my dreams for reality.
22. i once covered the supreme court.
23. my most recurring dream is that i'm back in the dorms with paula, but am married and have juni, so i have to commute. it SUCKS.
24.i have 11 cows, 10 chickens, 2 dogs, 2 cats and quebert, my goose, with his wife and six kids from last spring living in my back yard. i have a big back yard.
25. my biggest fears are 1. something bad happening to juni and 2. growing old.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
What in God's Name is the SOUND?
I do not throw up. Okay, wait. That's not entirely true. I've thrown up once in the past 25 years. I had a stomach bug a few years ago, as written in a previous post. But, I did manage to make it through my 21st birthday, sick as a dog, rocking back and forth and not throwing up for three days. Not an ounce. I made it through pregnancy, dry-heaving for months, lurching over the toilet, toting my big blue plastic bowl around the house. Nothing. I even made it through Juni's projectile vomit without one drop of sympathy puke.
I will pray to whatever power will listen to not throw up. I'll sweat, cry, plead and beg. I realize no one enjoys throwing up. But I absolutely despise it.
Jasen, as in basically other aspect of our lives, is the polar opposite. No, he does not enjoy throwing up, but he'll take a good Pukefest over feeling the least bit queasy. A bit too much Jack Daniels and he's on the front steps, leaving his dinner for the dogs. A steak he let get a little too green and he's on the back porch fertilizing the roses. Stomach bug? Not for long. You get the picture.
I don't mind it when Jasen looses his lunch outside. It's when he's inside that there's an issue. The other night proved a classic example.
My Dad prepared his absolutely delicious mussels in wine and butter broth. Tasty does not begin to describe this dish. Jasen had not so much as swallowed a single mussel for about eight years, since the last time my dad made them. That time, he used butter. A lot of butter. I'd venture to guess Jasen ate a good pound of mussels. And an even better pound of butter. Later that night, he puked a good pound of mussels, and an even better pound of butter. After the other night, I'm thinking Jasen is allergic to mussels.
I've reached my un-scientific diagnosis because this time was different. There was very little butter. They were delicious in every way. My stomach welcomed every tasty bit of shellfish delight.
So imagine my surprise when I hear Jasen puking at 2 am. Everyone's husband pukes. I realize this. But here's what makes mine different:
When Jasen really has a good puke, it lasts for hours. Two, in this particular instance. Two hours of puking. Two hours of torture for him, and me.
And here's why it's torture for me. The sound in insane. There are no words to describe. But I'll try. The volume jolts me out of a dead sleep. Even a Klonopin-induced sleep. Granted, I'm a light sleeper, but this sound causes me to sit straight up in bed, terrified there's an earth quake. Or some sort of alien invasion. Or an airplane headed straight for the front yard.
It's like he's puking from his pancreas. Hoo-waa, Hoo-waa...similar to Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman. Only in a demonic voice. I've witnessed the event with my eyes only once. It freaked me out so bad I'll never walk in again. He pukes with his entire body. Muscles I didn't think he had bulging. His hair on end. His face tomato-red. I asked him once why he was so violent with the event. I thought maybe he had some sort of exotic disease that caused his puking mechanism to go haywire.
"I want to get it all out. When I'm pukin', I'm not playin'. You sit there crying over the toilet. I'm not into that. I want that shit out, man. You gotta just get it out."
Gotcha. So he's forcing the contents of every internal organ out through his mouth. I get it. The other night, I drifted in and out of sleep after asking him if he needed anything and he replied "ugh...hoo-waa...no, babe...hoo-waa. I'm fine. Don't come it. F'in mussels. I'm never touching f'in mussels again in my life. hooooo-waa." Flush.
Here are some other choice phrases that woke me up.
"Oh, my God. I though mussels smelled bad before they were digested."
"These f'ers taste f'ing horrible."
"Damn. Damn! Hoo-waa, hoo-waa." Flush.
"Ohhhh...lord. Hooo-waa. I have to get up in two hours. Hoo-waaaaaaa." Flush.
Apparently, he decided at some point to gargle some of my mouthwash to try and mask the taste of mussels, bile and our accompanying dish, spaghetti. Yep. Spaghetti. Everyone's favorite food to expel. the mouthwash was a version of Listerine meant to help whiten teeth. Which means it contains peroxide. Foaming peroxide.
"Oh holy Hell. What the Hell is in the shit? Jesus. I'd rather taste the puke. Oh God...it's drizzling down the back of my throat...Hoo-waaa. Hoooooo-waaaaa....HOOOO-WAAAA." Flush.
And then, just as abruptly as it began, it was morning. Towels from wiping his mouth were in the hamper. There was no sign of the nightmare that was the night before in the bathroom. His eyes featured circles from the lack of sleep. He bitched about the mussels ad nauseum. His skin boasted a bit of a green tint, but other than that he seemed fine. He even took out the trash he'd forgotten the night before...mussel shells and all, without missing a beat.
I hadn't realized until later that day that he'd drizzled a bit of vomit on the toilet. After Sade licked the toilet for 30 minutes while I got ready that morning, and then gave me a love lick on my calf. Now that I realize she was licking the remnants of puke, I'm not so happy about that bit of affection.
Jasen came home that night, walking a little funny. I didn't say anything until later that night, when he got into bed.
"Umm...Honey? Is something wrong? You're not quite as frisky as usual."
"Yeah, well...I'm pretty sure I pulled something last night while I was puking."
"Pulled something?"
"Yeah. I'm seriously never eating mussels again. Don't even bring them into the house. I definitely pulled something. Something important. Damnit."
"Ummm...okay...you're not giving me much to go by, here, babe."
"I think I pulled, you know, my love muscle. Is that possible?"
Oh...Good...Lord. My husband is hilarious.
I will pray to whatever power will listen to not throw up. I'll sweat, cry, plead and beg. I realize no one enjoys throwing up. But I absolutely despise it.
Jasen, as in basically other aspect of our lives, is the polar opposite. No, he does not enjoy throwing up, but he'll take a good Pukefest over feeling the least bit queasy. A bit too much Jack Daniels and he's on the front steps, leaving his dinner for the dogs. A steak he let get a little too green and he's on the back porch fertilizing the roses. Stomach bug? Not for long. You get the picture.
I don't mind it when Jasen looses his lunch outside. It's when he's inside that there's an issue. The other night proved a classic example.
My Dad prepared his absolutely delicious mussels in wine and butter broth. Tasty does not begin to describe this dish. Jasen had not so much as swallowed a single mussel for about eight years, since the last time my dad made them. That time, he used butter. A lot of butter. I'd venture to guess Jasen ate a good pound of mussels. And an even better pound of butter. Later that night, he puked a good pound of mussels, and an even better pound of butter. After the other night, I'm thinking Jasen is allergic to mussels.
I've reached my un-scientific diagnosis because this time was different. There was very little butter. They were delicious in every way. My stomach welcomed every tasty bit of shellfish delight.
So imagine my surprise when I hear Jasen puking at 2 am. Everyone's husband pukes. I realize this. But here's what makes mine different:
When Jasen really has a good puke, it lasts for hours. Two, in this particular instance. Two hours of puking. Two hours of torture for him, and me.
And here's why it's torture for me. The sound in insane. There are no words to describe. But I'll try. The volume jolts me out of a dead sleep. Even a Klonopin-induced sleep. Granted, I'm a light sleeper, but this sound causes me to sit straight up in bed, terrified there's an earth quake. Or some sort of alien invasion. Or an airplane headed straight for the front yard.
It's like he's puking from his pancreas. Hoo-waa, Hoo-waa...similar to Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman. Only in a demonic voice. I've witnessed the event with my eyes only once. It freaked me out so bad I'll never walk in again. He pukes with his entire body. Muscles I didn't think he had bulging. His hair on end. His face tomato-red. I asked him once why he was so violent with the event. I thought maybe he had some sort of exotic disease that caused his puking mechanism to go haywire.
"I want to get it all out. When I'm pukin', I'm not playin'. You sit there crying over the toilet. I'm not into that. I want that shit out, man. You gotta just get it out."
Gotcha. So he's forcing the contents of every internal organ out through his mouth. I get it. The other night, I drifted in and out of sleep after asking him if he needed anything and he replied "ugh...hoo-waa...no, babe...hoo-waa. I'm fine. Don't come it. F'in mussels. I'm never touching f'in mussels again in my life. hooooo-waa." Flush.
Here are some other choice phrases that woke me up.
"Oh, my God. I though mussels smelled bad before they were digested."
"These f'ers taste f'ing horrible."
"Damn. Damn! Hoo-waa, hoo-waa." Flush.
"Ohhhh...lord. Hooo-waa. I have to get up in two hours. Hoo-waaaaaaa." Flush.
Apparently, he decided at some point to gargle some of my mouthwash to try and mask the taste of mussels, bile and our accompanying dish, spaghetti. Yep. Spaghetti. Everyone's favorite food to expel. the mouthwash was a version of Listerine meant to help whiten teeth. Which means it contains peroxide. Foaming peroxide.
"Oh holy Hell. What the Hell is in the shit? Jesus. I'd rather taste the puke. Oh God...it's drizzling down the back of my throat...Hoo-waaa. Hoooooo-waaaaa....HOOOO-WAAAA." Flush.
And then, just as abruptly as it began, it was morning. Towels from wiping his mouth were in the hamper. There was no sign of the nightmare that was the night before in the bathroom. His eyes featured circles from the lack of sleep. He bitched about the mussels ad nauseum. His skin boasted a bit of a green tint, but other than that he seemed fine. He even took out the trash he'd forgotten the night before...mussel shells and all, without missing a beat.
I hadn't realized until later that day that he'd drizzled a bit of vomit on the toilet. After Sade licked the toilet for 30 minutes while I got ready that morning, and then gave me a love lick on my calf. Now that I realize she was licking the remnants of puke, I'm not so happy about that bit of affection.
Jasen came home that night, walking a little funny. I didn't say anything until later that night, when he got into bed.
"Umm...Honey? Is something wrong? You're not quite as frisky as usual."
"Yeah, well...I'm pretty sure I pulled something last night while I was puking."
"Pulled something?"
"Yeah. I'm seriously never eating mussels again. Don't even bring them into the house. I definitely pulled something. Something important. Damnit."
"Ummm...okay...you're not giving me much to go by, here, babe."
"I think I pulled, you know, my love muscle. Is that possible?"
Oh...Good...Lord. My husband is hilarious.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
14 Inches...
of snow. Get your minds out of the gutter.
I love snow. Juni loves snow. Jasen loves snow. It's beautiful, serene and just plain fun when you have acres to trek, sled, build snow families and flop down for snow angels. I love snow cream, cuddling on the couch. Shooting pictures. I. Love. Snow.
I do not, however, appreciate 14 inches of snow. I learned real quick that there's only so much one can do to keep their 4-year-old child and 34-year-old husband occupies. They get bored. Quick. And I get agitated. Extremely quick.
Also, the Chesapeake snow removal sucks ass. Seriously. They can kiss the fattest, most cellulite-ridden part of my ass. Our road remained treacherous for a full week. So they can bite me. But anyway...
Jasen spent the days we were snowed in pondering what he could do, and coming up with nothing. Well, not nothing. He did manage to drive me crazy. Literally crazy. We're talking having to meditate just to make it through the day crazy. Juni decided the cold just wasn't for him. He'd go out, play a bit, and come in crying because his fingers felt like they would fall off any second. Fun times. I spent my time cleaning up after my men, and bitching about it. And cooking. And cleaning some more. And giving myself facials. And anything else I could do to not go even more crazy.
I've decided I'm ready for summer. Stay tuned...in six months, I'll be bitching about sweating and sticking to my car's leather seats...
I love snow. Juni loves snow. Jasen loves snow. It's beautiful, serene and just plain fun when you have acres to trek, sled, build snow families and flop down for snow angels. I love snow cream, cuddling on the couch. Shooting pictures. I. Love. Snow.
I do not, however, appreciate 14 inches of snow. I learned real quick that there's only so much one can do to keep their 4-year-old child and 34-year-old husband occupies. They get bored. Quick. And I get agitated. Extremely quick.
Also, the Chesapeake snow removal sucks ass. Seriously. They can kiss the fattest, most cellulite-ridden part of my ass. Our road remained treacherous for a full week. So they can bite me. But anyway...
Jasen spent the days we were snowed in pondering what he could do, and coming up with nothing. Well, not nothing. He did manage to drive me crazy. Literally crazy. We're talking having to meditate just to make it through the day crazy. Juni decided the cold just wasn't for him. He'd go out, play a bit, and come in crying because his fingers felt like they would fall off any second. Fun times. I spent my time cleaning up after my men, and bitching about it. And cooking. And cleaning some more. And giving myself facials. And anything else I could do to not go even more crazy.
I've decided I'm ready for summer. Stay tuned...in six months, I'll be bitching about sweating and sticking to my car's leather seats...
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Buying a Red Cedar Log from a transitioning Transgender Person
I consider myself an accepting, politically correct person. I teach Juni not to stare at anyone. To celebrate our differences. Realize it's those differences that make this world beautiful and interesting.
So imagine my surprise when I found myself stumbling over my words and struggling to peel my eyes from a person different from me.
Jasen had lusted over a gigantic red cedar log in the front yard of a blue house on the other end of our road. I know the question...what would one do with such a log? The answer is simple, if you are a proper Redneck. You take it to your buddy, who happens to have a mobile sawmill, and make boards. Then you dry the boards for months, then you create furniture. My husband crafts some of the most amazing furniture. He's a perfectionist, so he'd argue with me, but I love what he creates. But, as usual, I digress.
I wrote down the number for the person selling the log, and called. The man who answered said his name was Julie. Okay. A little odd, but who am I to judge? Juni isn't exactly on the top 100 list of names for 2006.
We talked price, and I told him I would drop by and pay him that day. And then he kept talking. About what I'm thinking are inappropriate things for someone you've never actually met. His divorce. His kids. His job. His age.
Shit. He's going to flirt with me when I get there. Not a good situation. Especially with Juni in tow. But Jasen had his heart set, and I knew I had to suck it up, grow a pair, and knock on the blue house's door. I saw his neighbor in his yard, so I felt safe. Plus, I told my ginormous tree guy, Dallas, where I was. Just in case.
I walked up the steps, and knocked. The door opened, and my jaw dropped. I couldn't move my eyes. I couldn't think of words, or get them out. This is not going well. Not well at all.
Here's what opened the door: a person towering over me at a good 6 feet tall. Man feet, without shoes or socks. The largest hands I've ever seen in my life. Larger than Jasen's, my Dad's, even Dallas'. Short, permed hair. A hot fuscia, short sleeved, mock turtleneck sweater. Makeup from 1985...we're talking blue eyeshadow, hot pink lipstick, and enough blush to cover four faces. Perfectly smooth skin.
And yes...my eyes had to check to see if there was a package. Nope. But, as my sister informed me, there is such a thing as tuck and tape. Who knew? Julie also had giant boobs. Perfect boobs. Obviously fake boobs.
Did I mention this person had the deepest voice I'd ever heard? Yep.
"Ummm...I'm looking for Julie?"
"That's me. Hold on just one sec. I'm giving my mom a perm."
"Ummm...Oh. Oh. OK."
Internal thoughts "Oh my friggin lord. This is insanity. If Jasen only knew. Oh holy Hell. Dallas has to come over here and get the log for me. Geeze. Can he handle that? Poor Dallas...such a good 'ol boy."
Juni noticed nothing but the old dog and kitty inside the house. No mention of the obviously transitioning Julie.
So I paid the money, got in my car, and dialed Dallas. He said he'd be there in 45 minutes to check out the situation.
The situation, as it turns out, is that Julie liked Dallas. A lot. His name used to be James. And how he is becoming Julie. Dallas was obviously being hit on. He couldn't figure out why.
But I could...he's a tree man. And his truck's license plate says...wait for it... okay, this is so good you have to again... his license plate says...
So imagine my surprise when I found myself stumbling over my words and struggling to peel my eyes from a person different from me.
Jasen had lusted over a gigantic red cedar log in the front yard of a blue house on the other end of our road. I know the question...what would one do with such a log? The answer is simple, if you are a proper Redneck. You take it to your buddy, who happens to have a mobile sawmill, and make boards. Then you dry the boards for months, then you create furniture. My husband crafts some of the most amazing furniture. He's a perfectionist, so he'd argue with me, but I love what he creates. But, as usual, I digress.
I wrote down the number for the person selling the log, and called. The man who answered said his name was Julie. Okay. A little odd, but who am I to judge? Juni isn't exactly on the top 100 list of names for 2006.
We talked price, and I told him I would drop by and pay him that day. And then he kept talking. About what I'm thinking are inappropriate things for someone you've never actually met. His divorce. His kids. His job. His age.
Shit. He's going to flirt with me when I get there. Not a good situation. Especially with Juni in tow. But Jasen had his heart set, and I knew I had to suck it up, grow a pair, and knock on the blue house's door. I saw his neighbor in his yard, so I felt safe. Plus, I told my ginormous tree guy, Dallas, where I was. Just in case.
I walked up the steps, and knocked. The door opened, and my jaw dropped. I couldn't move my eyes. I couldn't think of words, or get them out. This is not going well. Not well at all.
Here's what opened the door: a person towering over me at a good 6 feet tall. Man feet, without shoes or socks. The largest hands I've ever seen in my life. Larger than Jasen's, my Dad's, even Dallas'. Short, permed hair. A hot fuscia, short sleeved, mock turtleneck sweater. Makeup from 1985...we're talking blue eyeshadow, hot pink lipstick, and enough blush to cover four faces. Perfectly smooth skin.
And yes...my eyes had to check to see if there was a package. Nope. But, as my sister informed me, there is such a thing as tuck and tape. Who knew? Julie also had giant boobs. Perfect boobs. Obviously fake boobs.
Did I mention this person had the deepest voice I'd ever heard? Yep.
"Ummm...I'm looking for Julie?"
"That's me. Hold on just one sec. I'm giving my mom a perm."
"Ummm...Oh. Oh. OK."
Internal thoughts "Oh my friggin lord. This is insanity. If Jasen only knew. Oh holy Hell. Dallas has to come over here and get the log for me. Geeze. Can he handle that? Poor Dallas...such a good 'ol boy."
Juni noticed nothing but the old dog and kitty inside the house. No mention of the obviously transitioning Julie.
So I paid the money, got in my car, and dialed Dallas. He said he'd be there in 45 minutes to check out the situation.
The situation, as it turns out, is that Julie liked Dallas. A lot. His name used to be James. And how he is becoming Julie. Dallas was obviously being hit on. He couldn't figure out why.
But I could...he's a tree man. And his truck's license plate says...wait for it... okay, this is so good you have to again... his license plate says...
LUVWOOD
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