It's not you, it's me. And it's kind of you. But mostly it's me.

I often struggle with blogging. Not with the writing aspect - I have all these posts that I would LOVE to write - but with the social aspect of it all. When I post and you all faithfully make comments it just makes this girl so happy! I have been overwhelmed so many times by the support I get from people I don't even really know; or by the friendships I've made through blogging. The problem comes with the pressure I put on myself.

I feel like I have to make a connection with each and every one of you. Like I need to come to your place and leave multiple thoughtful comments. I should reply to your comments so that you know I read and appreciated them. The social aspect of blogging is dragging me down. Add Facebook and Twitter to that and I'm just completely useless.


There simply is not enough time in the day for me to go out and comment on all the blogs I want to or reciprocate comments on the new followers here. I follow hundreds of blogs and I read about 10 on any sort of "regular" basis. I've tried having a separate folder/reader for the blogs I want to read regularly but I just feel so guilty. The emotional investment that I want to put into this "virtual relationship" you and I have is just too steep for me right now. It's not you, it's me. And it's kind of you. But mostly it's me.

How do you do it? How do you get all the comments and reply to them thoughtfully? How do you read other blogs? How is it that you can comment on EVERY post I make, faithfully, even though I only say boo to you once every couple of months?

Obviously I put too much pressure on myself. I've tried to say the hell with it and just post and not worry about reciprocating or making blog rounds but I just shut down. There's no posting OR commenting going on at that point. So I continue to sit here and stew in the guilt of not being a good blog friend.

The kicker? I know that there are going to be a whole bunch of you that say, "Hey! Don't even worry about it! We all get busy!" or "We still love you, heidi." and that just makes me feel even MORE guilty for not being better at this blog networking garbage.

Anyway. Just some thoughts. Verbal vomit and what have you.

I DO appreciate each and every one of you that reads and comments and emails me. I really, really do. I just suck at showing it. And one more thanks...

Perspective

My past few posts have been pretty full of whining and complaining. I haven't had the best of time the last couple of weeks - but I have to tell you that my week is NOTHING compared to what my friend Chelsea is going through. Nothing.

As I write this, her barely 1 year old son, Brayden, is in surgery. Brayden was diagnosed with Congenital Heart Disease with 2 different congenital defects. One is in his aorta, and the other is his mitral valve. He is a very sick little boy.

As I held Keaton this morning, I just couldn't imagine going through all that Chelsea and Brayden are going through. Facing the obstacles that they are facing. I may whine and complain and feel overwhelmed with all of the garbage going on in my life, but I have to remember that someone else always has it rougher than I do.

Please pray for Brayden and Chelsea. If you're not the praying type - then send them some positive thoughts, please.

If you want to follow up on Brayden, here is his blog: Brayden's Journey.

If you want to read more, here's an article that was in the local paper: Snow Lakers Help One of Their Own

If you want to spread the word, I made this (I have no SKILLS, yo. If someone with skills wants to fix it up, go for it.):


Over here, we're praying for the best possible outcome from this surgery and all the ones to come.

Helpful Hints - The Shitty Edition

To say I had a shitty week would be an understatement. By Wednesday I'd pretty much had enough but the week was not through with me yet. Oh, no...no no no....not yet. I'll just give you some highlights:

Thursday night I was upstairs folding some laundry and I left the baby downstairs with all the other people that live here. I said, "Watch the baby, I'm going up to fold some towels." Mistake #1 - I got no confirmation from ANYONE that anyone heard what I had said. Mistake #2 - I assumed that they were listening and would comply with my request. Mistake #3 - I left the job to other people.

I come walking down the stairs about 10 minutes later and I can already smell it. I look over at the baby and I see this red/orange/brown goop everywhere and instantly I know he's had a blow out. I yell, "Holy shit!" (Funny, no?) And everyone instantly perks up "What? What happened? What's going on?!" Oh, NOW you wanna know? Psh. I run over to scoop K up and realize that he had this blowout about 5-10 minutes ago. There is sweet potato poop everywhere. Since no one was paying attention to the little guy he proceeded to crawl through the living room - thus dragging his poop with him - and then back through it again. It was on his legs, his arms, his chest....it was all over his toys, the carpet...UGH! *gag* So much fun.

Hint? Don't ask anyone in my house to watch your baby.

Friday woke me up with a shitty attitude. (Poop pun intended.) It only got worse when I discovered the 3 year old, Beetle, in the bathroom covered in...yep, you guessed it - poop. It was on the wall, on the toilet, all over the floor. On his legs, his stomach, his hands. *SCREAM* Are you EFFING kidding me?!? That was a blast to clean up. Craptastic.

Hint? Do not assume your preschooler is smart enough to not play in his own feces.

We were supposed to head out of town this weekend with the family. Our big vacation was cancelled for financial reasons, so we planned to take some smaller trips. Thursday night we refigured our finances and discovered that we aren't even going to be able to do all of the mini trips we'd planned. Telling the kids was fun. Or not. Anyway - we decided to go ahead and still do this day trip, so on Friday Rob rook the Suburban in for an alignment. They didn't do the alignment. Wanna know why? I'll assume you do if you're still reading. Because all FOUR ball joints are bad. Guess how much THAT costs to fix?? NINE FREAKING HUNDRED DOLLARS.

Yeah. $900.

Rob and his dad went and bought the parts and some special tool for closer to $300 and are trying to fix it themselves, today. It's not going well. So, we had to cancel our trip and stay home. Oh - we still had fun at the park and pool and we dragged out the fire pit and cooked out last night - but still...we were looking forward to the trip.

Hint? There is no hint here, I just wanted to whine.

Things I Learned Today

If no one tells you they changed your appointment, you'll not show up for it.

It is mortifying when your son tries to kick his pregnant Occupational Therapist and tells her how stupid she is - even though she knew what she was walking into.

My 3 year old spins in a circle like a sprinkler when he starts peeing in his pants.

My FIL does not know what to do when the 3 year old pees his pants.

The carpets need cleaned. (See above.)

I am physically unable to be two places at once so I should not schedule myself that way.

Not sleeping makes me clumsy. (Ouch, THAT'S gonna bruise.) (Yes, I peed on a stick. No, I'm not knocked up.)

No matter how hard I try and work it out, I can NOT fit 8 kids in my car. (3 in the back, 3 in the middle and the oldest up front.)

Business and places like PUBLIC POOLS need to update their websites if they reschedule their opening date so moms don't blindly drop their children off to swim for a few hours while they are at the Dr. with the younger siblings.

There's never anyone around when you need someone to be around NOW. (But the other day we had a whole slew of people "drop in".)

Holding down your 9 month old for blood work makes you want to drink. (Not yet, not yet..hang on...only a couple more hours to go.)

Geographical tongue is a real disease. Weird.

Idiots are going to turn when they wanna turn, regardless of whether or not it's their turn.

If you turn too hard the soda cup will fall over and spill all over your 12 year old daughter who will gasp and leap and scream at you. (Psh. She HAD just hit me in the face with her straw wrapper. That'll teach her.)

Similarly - if you don't put your water bottle in the cup holder, it will fall and dump all over everything.

Your husband will not remember promising to call you back when you want him to.

The air conditioning in my Suburban does NOT work.

Wind and kids with sensory processing disorder do not mix.

It's hot in the car when you can't roll down the windows very far and the air conditioning doesn't work.

Taking 5 children, 8 and under, to Wal-Mart is something they do to break hardened criminals.

Even if it's not personal and he doesn't mean to do it, it hurts when your son verbally attacks you.

Also, it hurts and makes you want to lash back out when he gets physical.

And this just in.....the day's not over yet!

Later I hope to learn that Vodka and Lemonade are refreshing.

The Kind of Wife I Really Am

I make him breakfast if he asks. I make his lunch, every day - and it's not frozen dinners. I cook meals that he likes. I keep the house clean and I tend to the kids 95% of the time. I do all the chores except the odd job I throw his way - like cleaning the bathtub and doing the recycling. I let him go out and take pictures when he wants. I let him go to his geeky computer club meetings. I let him go watch a few games down at Buffalo Wild Wings. I even put out more than the average wife.

But, really? THIS is the kind of wife I am.

I posted this picture on my FB and now I'm posting it here. It's not a flattering pic of Rob - his eyes are closed. But? It's a GREAT pic of me and that's what's important, right?



Eh, we've been married for 15 years (as of Wednesday!). He is well aware of what kind of wife I am.

This is How We Do It

Not Howie. How We. But I know you sang that.

See this? I took this picture on 6/10:



It's our calendar. Nothing different than normal, right? Dates, activities, events, blah blah blah.

Except look closer. Look. Just LOOK at what my 12 year old wrote on the calendar.



Some things are so monumental they just beg to be written down on the calendar for all to see.

The EYES Have It

At a graduation and I sit down in my seat. This is what I see, staring back at me...



Someone should tell her it isn't polite to stare.

Wonder what would happen if I poked her in the eye.

When she wakes up in the morning does she think, "I can't see, I can't see!" until she rolls over?

Does she tell her kids, "I've got my eyes on you!" when she's doing the dishes?

What about if she's having sex, um..yk..in a position that would require her back to be the part her partner sees. Wouldn't that be kind of creepy? Or maybe he feels like he got a deal - two, two, two lays in one!

When she says, look me in the eye - do you have to run around her in circles?

If she doesn't see eye to eye with someone, can she just turn the other cheek???

Ok..I'm done.

Uh..wait...

Can we call her 4 eyes?

NOW I'm done.

#Fail

Things have been going along famously over here in the S&P house. Everything is dandy and wonderful and nothing has gone wrong. Not one single thing. There have been no #Fail moments, at all.

Well, except these:

Fail #1:

I bought this adorable, lightweight (see through) little cowl-ish neck sweater for myself. (I'm so fashion forward, aren't I? HA!) And I wore it. Three times. I wear a cream colored cami underneath and it covers all the bits and parts. Or, so I thought. At CHURCH the other day, Sis points out that she can see my bra through the back. I'm like - oh, well cover it and she's like, "Uh, mom? There' s no covering that thing." I'm talking, of course, about my big ass nursing bra. The cami? Hits right BELOW the bottom seam of the bra. So the big bra sticls out COMPLETELY and everyone at church has seen this. THREE TIMES. WHy did no one mention this before???



Sexy, no?

Fail #2:

See this kid? Oh, he *is* a handful. I'm not kidding. The one that gets yelled at the most? Beetle. The one that I chase the most? Beetle. The one that INFURIATES me consistently? Yep. Beetle. And the one that gives the best hugs? Beetle.


So the other day Rob & I are in the house and the kids are playing outside. Corbs comes in giggling and tells daddy he better come outside. I'm nursing the baby and Rob hollers from outside, "Babe - I think you need to come see this!". I'm irritated but I go. Know what I saw when I got out there?

Beetle, naked as the day he was born, playing cars in front of the garage.

ALERT! Two-part FAIL! We failed to snap a picture for posterity (and blogging!).

Fail #3:

Beetle is potty trained now - YAY! Well, he has been for awhile but whatever. *I'M* still celebrating that I don't have to change toddler poop. *gag* So, anyway. Beetle goes potty on his own. And pulls his own pants up.




Mostly.

Eh, there's more but why bother? I still have to go make 2 more pans of brownies (I already made 1 pan and 4 dozen chocolate chip cookies), 2 loaves of bread, organize my coupons, fold some laundry...blah blah blah.

Ring Ring
Me: Hello?
person: Hey heidi - what're you doing?
Me: Putting my head in the oven. I can't keep up with all this crap!
Person: You do know your oven is electric, right?
Me: Oh. Well. Shit.

Another Fail.

“Oh, for the love of cheese and pantyliners!”

I won an award! And it's really my kind of award, too. I don't have to do anything. No lists to make, no one to pass it on to.

"This badge will be awarded, by The Dysfunctional Supermom directly to those bloggers who are truly bladder-inspiring: those writers who gift us with the rare (or not so) opportunity to piss ourselves with a simple tale.

The ability to share a tale, laced with humor, is truly a gift…one that should be celebrated. And to pop the cherry on this bad boy…I’m gifting it to the following bloggers who’ve inspired me to laugh until a change was needed (a literal pantyliner change, y’all)."

Well, HA!, I accept! I do. I'd like to thank those that nominated me. And I'd like to thank those that peed themselves because of me. Just don't pee on me, please.

I don't feel like I belong in the category with the other people that received the award. These woman...HA...they are truly funny! Me? I'm just an idiot that has a blog and doesn't mind telling you about the moronic things I do.

But, I accept and am honored to be in such company. I hope I make you all piddle in your panties a little from time to time.

Down Where?!

I knew it would happen. I mean, it's inevitable. Everything changes and grows. Everything gets older. "To everything, (turn turn turn), There is a season (turn, turn, turn)"...Including people.

No, this isn't a post about how old my kid is.

This, my friends, is a post about something else ENTIRELY.

It's a scary post.

One mid-afternoon an innocent, unsuspecting lady came upon a scene unlike any other she'd witnessed before. She stared in shock and horror and her screams could be heard throughout the land. She recoiled and double checked. Triple checked. No, her eyes were not deceiving her...it was true! This terrible, terrible thing was TRUE!

She had grey pubic hair. *scream*



Listen, I was ok with the grey on the top of my head. That's been there for awhile, it's old news. But when I saw that grey pubic hair? Forget about it. That's something only OLD people have, right? (Don't even say it. I'm still closer to 35 than 40.)

Grey pubic hair...grumble grumble grumble.


Edit: Oh, hell no! I just googled "dying pubic hair" - uh, not because I'm going to or anything, I was just curious - honest! Guess what? You can dye your hair "down there". There ain't nuthin they ain't thought of, is there?