All posts for the month October, 2012


Published October 25, 2012 by sarcasmica

I’m well aware of the saying you are not handed a challenge bigger than you can take on… but i’m not sure. I’m pretty much standing on the borderline of my limit and all i feel is a headache and what might be the beginning of an ulcer… but only on one side, and near an ovary.

I had to take a stand with myself when i was in the shower for the second time this morning. Yes, i took TWO showers today, and yes, i have conversations with myself in there. Doesn’t everyone? Anyway, i’m on a hamster wheel with one situation in my life and nothing is changing. I had to finally give into the stress. Accept that i am taking on MORE than I can handle, and I no longer accept it. It is now for someone else to deal with because i’m done. It’s not worth what my kids are missing out on just to stress and mull over something that is ultimately out of my control.

I’m not a social person to begin with, but among small crowds, it’s not too bad. The Moms group i’m in had their Halloween party. I didn’t realize how off i was until i was sitting in a room near my daughter who doesn’t need constant supervision. I was using it as an excuse not to mingle and chit chat. I was hoping to blend in with the couch and the toys.

Unfortunately the only way i’d blend is if i were near a life sized stuffed animal and real house vs a doll house.

But anyway, i was just feeling tired. Exhausted. Done. I just got back from a trip that while too short, was also too long for me to be away from my monsters. Before the trip i wasn’t getting very much sleep, and after getting back, i needed to catch up.

So now i’m in a room full of women and their little kids. Most of the little ones were in their little costumes. It was very cute. My daughter refused to wear her cat ears, and i was not going to force the issue. We had a few new faces and if i were a proper grown up, i would have found those idle chit chat topics at the back of my brain to bring up and ask … but i honestly just didn’t care. I didn’t want to engage someone in a conversation i’d have to ask all over again the next time i saw them because i wouldn’t remember what the hell was said !

I realized then I probably should have stayed home because i was unfit for public socialization.

But my daughter had a blast. And i’m proud to say, was very good with sharing toys !! Girls are so much better at the social stuff than boys. My son wasn’t ‘bad’ necessarily, but i did have to watch to be sure he wasn’t causing a battle.




Published October 17, 2012 by sarcasmica

I have stopped myself from writing on this subject over and over again.. I TRY to respect the feelings of certain people in my family, but you know what? Quite frankly, i humiliate and spurn my own offspring as frequently as I want, so i don’t know why I feel i can’t to everyone else in the fam…. perhaps because if they so wished, they could actually READ what i have written.

No matter. It is part of my life and i’m tired of holding back.

I am a stepmonster. I have a step daughter who lives here with us, and has for the past couple of months.

This makes for a very ….. *interesting* dynamic in our house. Our life was complicated before. This doesn’t change that, but it shifts how everyday life goes along on the day-to-days.

I had a stepmonster myself, but i never lived with her and my dad. I couldn’t imagine imagined living with them from time to time. When I was mad at my mom, or having some sort of overly hormonal perceived crisis at home. But there was no room at my dad and stepmom’s because they always seemed to be preparing for Hoarders. The show wasn’t around back then, but you wouldn’t know it based on their house.

The dynamic between me and my stepmother was cordial. I respected her. I was brought up the right way to respect people older, bigger, and meaner than myself. I was also, i suppose, thankful and appreciative she kept my dad around. She didn’t have to. He contributed little to the home. When he went on medical disability, he planted his ass on the sofa and grew roots.

But she and I got along fine. I wouldn’t divulge any deep dark secrets to her, and it was always pretty clear to me her own children and their families took precedence over myself and my brothers. … which was actually my dad’s doing in that he never tried to change that.

That was their deal. But she was always affectionate towards me, and when introducing me to people, always said i was the ‘bonus’ when she married my dad. I was the ‘chosen daughter’ because it was a choice to have me in her life. She was very careful not to use the word ‘step’. I’m not sure why, actually. It’s making me feel kind of guilty to introduce my own stepdaughter as such. It’s not a dirty word. It is what it is.

So now we get to wade through the waters of equal distribution among three children. Two young’uns, and a teenager. My husband has always cherished his ‘me time’. It’s usually debatable what qualifies for said time. He likes to nitpick it down to the minute and has certain requirements for what qualifies absolutely for ‘me time’. My qualification is usually am i in the car? is anyone with me? do i get to HEAR the music that is playing? done.

So i’m put in a tricky spot. I feel like i’m the referee around here with time spent, who is spending with whom, and what is happening during that time. Is it even? Is it fair?

I should admit here and now i’m a Libra. This is not an excuse, but it just is. I tend to see things on the scale at all times. Everything has a scale, and if that thing isn’t swinging towards middle ground, heads are gonna roll, and i’m gonna turn into SuperBitch. It’s just my makeup.

I have learned to swallow some rage and frustration… lots of frustration. This is not healthy for me, but what is one to do? Seek counseling. This is next on my to do list, after everyone else’s appointments are met.

How do you support the raising of a child who is in your home. Who is influencing your own small children – good and bad – but who ultimately is not your own? This child was raised by her parents. You were not in on the decisions made, but now suddenly you are. The way you have chosen to parent your own children is very different from your husband’s child. How do you make that work? Is it just accepted from the beginning everyone is not going to be happy with this arrangement all the time, but so what? Is there something MORE you need to be doing?

Someone told me once being a step parent is one of the more thankless jobs. i’m inclined to agree. It’s sort of the epitome of ‘you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t’.

But in the meantime, she’s our responsibility.

When I met my husband and learned he had children, i didn’t think it was a big deal. In my mind, at the time, it wasn’t. Being from a similar situation, i thought i was pretty well prepared for it.

*Family Feud Buzzer*


I have tons and lots and heaps of advice and feelings about this topic, but somehow it seems unfair to write it all out… but if i don’t, it is stuck in me. Like a clotted artery.

I suppose one of the things that surprised me was when I was pregnant with my first child. My husband was running his own company at the time and had little time to be home.

It kept running over and over in my mind, “He’s done this before. This isn’t as special because it’s not his first child like it is mine.”

If the depth of that thought isn’t clear, please refer back to my Libra handicap with scales and even-stevens. It wasn’t even.

My husband was a champ when my son was born. At that moment when the first solo diaper had to be changed, and there were no nurses around, my husband’s experience came in very handy. I was so thankful for it. I had no idea what to do with an umbilical cord that looked like a melted Snickers bar, and a baby weenie that was just snipped. Forget about the poop or pee, the first and foremost heebie jeebies were a result of the first two things. Alien.

My husband came to the rescue for the first couple of diapers until i realized nothing was going to explode or pop off.

Then we got to introduce the girls to the baby. That was a whole new experience as well. I could see my husband felt fulfilled.

For me things just got a little more complicated with each milestone.

Now I have my own daughter, and my husband has his oldest daughter here with us. And to add to the web of extremes, my mom is living with us as well.

So there are a lot of emotions and frustrations and fun times and challenging times to boot. It makes for a bigger life, certainly, but still … what am i supposed to do with the frustrations that cannot be brought to anyone under the same roof?


Published October 15, 2012 by sarcasmica

The calendar says it’s October 15th. Just about halfway through the month. Halfway to Halloween. (one my my fav holidays!) Approaching the edge of reason to BUY a costume for your kid from Target. Any longer and you’re riffling through bags thrown onto the floor, and it’s likely the entire costume is not in there anymore. Everything is resembling, tasting, and smelling like a pumpkin. I don’t mind this, but my poor husband is not necessarily a pumpkin fan. .. other than marrying one 🙂

But for me, this marks what would have been my dad’s birthday. Right after he died, i always felt kind of odd on this day. The first year or two i would get sad and wonder when it wouldn’t hurt so badly. .. then the hurt diluted. Almost 11 years later, it’s still sad, but it doesn’t bring me to tears. … not necessarily. Now any random song at the wrong time of the month, or during a particularly emotional or stressful day might reduce me to tears, but usually the date on the calendar no longer does that. He would have been 66 today. The older i get, the more tragic i find it that he chose the path he did. He was only 56 when he died. Newly 56. Not quite 56 and 2 months.  That is such a young age now that i’m 36 and my own husband is nearly 45.

My dad didn’t die in some unexpected accident. There was no surprising shocking medical diagnosis that caused an unexpected demise. Not a car crash or plane crash. He simply ate himself to death. Our family history is RIDDLED with heart disease, diabetes and all the other side dish health problems. He smoked when he was younger, as did most people of my parent’s generation. His own mother was one of the first recipients of a quadruple bypass surgery. A surgery he would later have to have duplicated himself. When I was still very young he was diagnosed with type II diabetes. He was insulin dependent nearly my whole life. 20 years or so. I still vividly remember him going to the fridge, taking out the little vial, and rubbing it quickly between his massive hands to warm it up before sticking the syringe in and filling it. Then he’d poke himself and inject it in his thigh. A ritual I saw countless times.

Given his diagnosis , you would think he’d reevaluate at least some of his choices with food… but nope. My parents divorced, he remarried, and continued right down the path to the ER. At 49 the doctor’s found a blockage and insisted on a quadruple bypass surgery.

Having your chest cracked open at 49 years old, and having 4 major arteries replaced, and waking up to an assortment of tubes and cords piping your body would SURELY make you reevaluate your life, RIGHT?!


Onward and downward, as it would later play out.

Next up was a congestive heart failure diagnosis. I remember not understanding what this meant. I was about 23 i think when he told me this. I looked it up online. I found out that it was something a person could live with, but never be cured of. My dad had nitris packets in his shirt pocket in case he needed a little something to help him out. The likelihood of living longer than a year with this diagnosis was unlikely. Five years was sort of the maximum according to my own layman research on a new(ish) world wide web. I’m guessing that has a lot to do with someone’s lifestyle, and *SHOCK* if you don’t change what got you to that diagnosis, the outcome shouldn’t be too surprising.

Still undaunted, he ate on.

My dad was an intelligent man. Painfully so. This, combined with his love of gab endeared him to lots of people… not necessarily to his children, but he got along famously with strangers. The man loved to spend time in Auto Parts stores – snore! and bookstores – and anything airplane related. History was a big huge hobby of his and he loved learning about wars.

I use the word ‘learning’ loosely. In his mind, i’m sure it was more a reaffirmation of stuff he already knew. The man was an encyclopedia of anything you would never necessarily have to know about a war. The tanks used, what cartridges were shot out of them, the type of tracks that made them go. The ammunition and types of guns/knives/grenades, etc of any army man on either side of the fight. The planes, of course, and a whole lot of trivia about them. it goes on and on.

As smart as he was, i learned and put some things together as I grew up, that he was a very unhappy person. He didn’t see a whole lot of value in himself. His brain, yes, his self, notsomuch. It’s sad, really, when someone virtually begins life not seeing their own worth. He gave up on things that should have mattered so easily. I remember how hurt he would be that my brothers wouldn’t reach out to him. But for HIM to pick up the phone and call took an act of God. If i wanted to talk to him, i had to call. It didn’t go the other way. He loved spending time with his younger brother. They often went shooting together, and once in a while, i got to go. But there were many times plans fell through, and it seemed always on my uncle’s end. My dad would seem so hurt… but i rarely saw him pick up a phone and call him. My dad tended to sit back and have the mentality that ‘if they want to see me, they’ll call me’. For a smart man, he was ignorant and stubborn when it came to communication.

When he died, i remember a couple of people asking if it was expected. That’s a strange question to ask someone grieving a loss. I imagine even if someone is diagnosed with a terminal illness and given a prognosis that includes a time limit, there is no way to emotionally prepare yourself for the loss of a loved one. Was it expected? Yes. Was it predicted? Yes. Was anyone ready for it? No. .. other than him. He knew on some level he was going to die. He hadn’t been sick. He didn’t have any symptoms other than just not feeling ‘well’. He gave me the most incredible gift anyone has given me right before he died. He called me. He called me to chat. A gift i will forever cherish and be thankful for. So many many very many people do not get a chance to say goodbye. I did not have any indication when i said goodbye that last time it would be so. He died the next night. He went peacefully.

So on this day, what would have been his birthday, i am reflecting on his life once again. I had a dream about him the other night. It’s not the same as being able to see him, but i sure wish i could get one more hug from the man. My dad gave the best hugs. I wish when i was younger i would have appreciated them more. Not pulled away so soon. The crushing squeeze he would give sometimes would embarrass me and now i see that as a shameful waste of an opportunity to just accept something. Accept something from someone who was so stingy about giving anything away of himself. If i could talk to him now, i’d tell him he was worth it. He was worth me letting him hug his daughter anytime for as long as he wanted.

I love you, dad. I hope you are celebrating with a giant slice of Motherload Cake wherever you are.

Happy would be Birthday


Published October 12, 2012 by sarcasmica

Recently i have figured out I have a terrible condition. It is not contagious, but it is isolating. It’s hard to contain and even harder – it seems – to manage. There is a cure, but it takes time and luck. I have discovered since the recent move that i have diarrhea of the mouth.
I have met a few people here in Washington that i have run into again and again either at school pick up or over the back fence. (neighbors)

I was speaking to my neighbor today who wanted to know how the school year has been going.
Here’s how my condition plays out:
I think to myself, “Give the short answer. Do NOT go into detail. She doesnt KNOW you! If you want her to want to know you, say what you have to say and then SHUT. UP.”
She was sincere. Shes the PTA president, but im sure there’s a limit to what she wants to know. That’s certainly how i feel when i meet someone new. Don’t throw it all at me at once, lady!
I’m firmly zipping my lips after giving her the jist. I’m confident i can do this….
But then i open my mouth. I give the concise and intelligent answer… and then my lips continue moving. My tongue will not stop wagging. I go on and on about past schools and teachers. I can hear myself, and mentally i’m slapping my own forehead.

just. shut. up.

As an afterthought, i reach back behind my brain and force out a question about how her kids are managing.

Ok .. she’s still talking to me, i think. That was good. Just pray she doesn’t ask another question. Do NOT comment too much on her experience. Don’t be that annoying person you yourself hate talking to!

It seems the more i encounter these same people, if they have the generosity of speaking to me more and more, i get it all worked out. Once i’ve purged the necessaries that have most recently been stressing me out, i tend to calm the spastic dialogue a little better.

Unfortunately, for the ones i see less frequently, i’m afraid i’m just the over-sharer who they try to limit the eye contact with. Another lady i met through my neighbor i ran into at pick up the other day. Unfortunately for her, it was the end of a long long day of doctors appointments and diaper rashes and standard daily headaches…. but compounded together, i was at a breaking point. That’s when the dreaded question is asked. “Hi! How are you?!”

And it begins all over again.

I can see the horror in her eyes as i over share my daughter’s diaper rash story.

She doesn’t need to know my husband is out of town … but if i pepper my diarrhea with something relate able, maybe she can draw an accurate conclusion that i’m desperate for conversation and friendship.

Great. Now i wreak of desperation .. and dirty diapers and rash cream.

I’m hoping my condition runs it’s course and i’m cured soon. I fear it will cause me to begin an unending cycle ending in ultimate isolation for this cabin fevered mom.

Hormone Overload

Published October 10, 2012 by sarcasmica

Lately i’ve been on a hormone roller coaster that has me doing loopty loops and roundabouts. I can’t explain it, i’m just feeling it. It’s always around when i ovulate. In addition to having some cramping when i ovulate, i get to have super PMS twice a month, it seems. This is a new development. It’s been hard to differentiate between the mental state of my husband traveling, or hormones, or having a 2 year old, or having a 15 year old in the house that is my husband’s. It’s a cornucopia of possibilities, how can you choose just one?!

So all day today i’ve been on the verge of tears. No exact reason, but a lot of little ones, i suppose.

So i go to pick up my son from school, and driving home from a mandatory Target please-fix-my-mental-state run , we went down the ever-present construction street. It’s the closest to our street, and they’ve been building 2 condo buildings since we moved here. It’s been a bit of a pain, but not always entirely impassable.

So today, i’m a respectful distance behind a teenager on a bike. I’m slowly ambling down the road behind her and there’s an oncoming car the hardhat traffic director has stopped. Since that car was stopped, i continued on my merry way. The man directing traffic (a construction worker, not a cop) is throwing up these confusing hand signals. “stop”  go ahead “stop”  go ahead “STOP”

Then he’s walking toward my van with this “Are you a f-king IDIOT?!” look on his face.

I’m totally confused at this point. I roll my window down and he puts his hand up and says, “I”m telling you to STOP to let the girl on the bike go!”

the girl on the bike was a car length in front of me.

“Giving confusing hand signals, there, man.”

He just kept looking at me, and then gives an equally muddled signal for both of the cars to continue on.

“Oh my gosh!” as i roll up my window mentally spewing a days worth of frustration at him.

Then my child pipes up from the back seat and says, “Mom! Don’t yell at him, he’s been working hard all the days building these buildings!”

Seriously ?!! THIS is the person you clue into as a hard worker and, i don’t know, say ….. ummm . … YOUR MOTHER?!

“It doesn’t matter that he’s working hard, he’s not doing a good job directing traffic.”

Apparently my son is also on the hormonal coaster because he begins to yell at me. “You’re not being nice! You are frustrating me, and i thought we were going to do something fun when we got home!!!”

We continue to drive up the street holding back tears. Did i mention how ridiculous this is ?! Logically i know it makes no sense to be so sensitive. Emotionally, i cannot keep it together to save my life right now.

Apparently i need to wear a hard hat, walkie talkie, and orange vest to get any respect around here. …

Or is this just all my yelling coming back to haunt me ? Because, afterall, everyone knows yelling at/around your children can cause emotional epilepsy and stifled growth. (a throwback to my last entry for those of you not entirely following along here)


Rocket Science

Published October 10, 2012 by sarcasmica

I was caught up in an article tonight. The picture used was a young girl crying and her parents arguing in the background. To further tug at your momma heartstrings, one parent was holding a baby. The title was something to the effect of Surprising Study Finds Yelling at Your Kids Does Longterm Damage.

(i have since tried to find this article so i can site it, but *surprise* there were too many to go through to find the exact one!)
I was halfway through this article when i could feel my brain shift. I have had enough.
Here’s a secret; Sometimes your parent can be an asshole.
Does he/she wake up with a plan to crush their kids’ spirit that day? (Usually) No!! Does it sometimes happen out of the blue and without warning? Yes. The example used to start this article was a family driving in Hawaii. They were crossing a bridge when the 5 year old threw a water bottle to the front seat.
The gates of hell opened up and both mom & dad reigned down holy terror on this kid for endangering everyone. (At least, this was how she FELT after hearing it back)
The mom inadvertently recorded the whole thing and heard it later and immediately felt like an awful mother.

this is not an alien scenario to me. Let me say for the record here and now, Yes. I have yelled at my kids. I have yelled around my kids, under my kids, to my kids. This is life! Who goes around not showing emotion and frustration and anger and fear and determination?! Of course there’s a line, and yes i’ve crossed it. However, I think as a society we have become so incredibly self analytical, we cant have a thought without channeling it through the maze of psychologists, psychiatrists and all other ists before acting on it. Then there are the ‘other mom’ channels where you add to that comparing what you think you know you are pretty certain Brenda Bedazzled Homemaker next door would do. You either beat yourself up for not living up to it, or possibly use your judgmental card to feel better about your choice.
Either way, we are trained to not go with our own instinct because ‘what if?!’.
What if i yelled at my kid because he ran out into the street?! What if i yelled at my kid because he was tearing a store checkstand apart? What if i yelled at my kid because he pushed his sister down?!
I’ll tell you what if. What if he stops doing what you have told him three times not to do?
Am i going to mommy hell? Where there are only ‘SpongeBob’ shows playing on repeat, and the only option to feed my kids is broccoli. The kids all need to be changed and there are no diapers or wipes. And you are surrounded by wine bottles.
Empty wine bottles.
I think the more important question this reporter failed to ask was, “who funded this study, and why wasn’t that money given to a shelter where it could do more overall good?
Really?! Yelling at/around your children can cause insecurity down the road. It can cause your children to view the safety of their parent as unstable.
You know what will damage a kid more than a yelling parent? A whispering, bartering, bribing, sunshiny parent.
I bet that kid that threw the water bottle never threw anything inside a vehicle for the rest of his life!
Is it something we as moms enjoy doing? Hell no! Do we really have to enjoy every single moment of parenthood? If we aren’t enjoying the moment, does it mean we are doing it wrong ?! If that stopped us, no one would endure labor ever again. .. or marriage, or a mortgage. Any mom worth her apron will tell you she instantly feels like complete elephant sized shit when she yells at her kid. She will relive it many times over and at random times of the day and night. Does it mean she was wrong? Maybe. But maybe not. Parenting is hard work. Not elbow grease hard work, but constant wearing down of your concience and heart hard work. Because we are teaching small people to grow through an ever-changing labrynth of a world, and you want that kid to be a person. A functioning person who will make the right choices. Not the easy choice. Not the clean and tidy choice. The right choice, no matter how hard. We are not everywhere for them .. but perhaps if we yell, it’ll stick that moment someone offers them a cigarette , or to skip school, or when they want to reach for the chocolate milk knowing full well i said to only drink the regular milk!!!!!!!!!!
Are there consequences to how we are around kids? Of course! Does someone out there truly and honestly believe its possible to raise a kid in a perfect way with zero backlash or consequence or therapy for their adult kid?
Then that person does not have children. ..or he’s a dad.
We have all seen the parents that don’t yell. Don’t raise their voice. They are the family in the restaurant who is causing everyone to turn and look. Silverware thrown across the room, coloring on the actual table, spitting food onto the floor
And what do you think to yourself, or say to your very good friend? “Unbelievable! Handle your KID!”
How is it expected they should handle them? Quietly request they sit down nicely? Firmly explain the ramifications if they don’t ‘put on their listening ears’?
How I have and still would handle it is to take them – by whatever clothing or appendage necessary – into the bathroom where there are far fewer iphones and iballs watching how you will react. You have a come to Jesus talk, and then you walk back to the table looking calm and collected. If the kid continues to be a monster, you package up your food and leave.
But nooOO! I cant! What if Johnny is insecure at 14 because i raised my voice to him?
You know what? Im sure the warden will be more than happy to take over your job when Johnnie is 18.
It chaps my hide to no end when i see yet another study “proving” theres a better way to parent as a blanket statement. Of course there are homes where there’s screaming and abuse daily. Thats not the majority, and this was quite obviously not referring to an abusive household. It was drawing the conclusion and furthering the omnipresent guilt we all already have in abundance that if you continue to do what you are doing, you will undoubtedly screw up your kid.

I suppose that therapy savings we started will someday come in handy, then.

More Milestones

Published October 5, 2012 by sarcasmica

My daughter hit another milestone today … redneck as it may be, it still counts.

She went up the McDonald’s play Place!!

Not quite by herself, but with her 6 year old bodyguard. a.k.a. Big Brother Gage

She was such a brave little darling up there among the boogers and bacteria and germs !! She managed the stairs like a pro. The last time we were there – two months ago – i wasn’t yet ready to let her try it. Also, one of the motivators of going is to get my son run ragged before coming home. If he’s toting along his little sister, he wouldn’t get very far.

So she’s two now, and she’s super independent and confident, so i figured why not? Worse case scenario, there’s plenty of grease to get me up to fetch her if she gets stuck and can’t come down. Much like her older brother did to me when he was 3. He made it aaaaaaall the way up to the top of the ‘tree house’ at another play place and he freaked. Refused to come down. I had to squeeze my clearly Mc Donald’s nourished body up the circular stairway to talk him down.

Fun times.

But today, i was a little worried as i watched the giant 7 year olds trample through the play house careless of who they used as a speedbump. My son had it covered, though. Sheriff Gage was on the job. At one point i heard him call out to a kid trying to climb down the step Gemma was heaving herself up to, “Hey! Watch it! That’s my baby sister!” and then half a beat later, “Do you want to come play with us?!” .. and the girl did! Dont ask me how he does it, but he sure has *it*. Once up at the top, I saw my son come barreling down the tube slide. Right behind was a beaming 2 year old Gemma who jumped up and started yelling, “FUN!!! FUN!!! Slide again!”

And off they went. At least five more times.

Then it came time to leave.

mwahahahahaaaaa yea right, mom. My 6 year old is just now getting the hang of leaving (most) places without a full out tantrum. The 2 year old? She followed him down the steps, three steps from the bottom she’d turn around and run back up.

Threatening to leave her there was useless. I think she was secretly hoping i’d leave without her, to be honest.

Half an hour after i planned to leave, we left. To her credit, she only kicked and screamed initially when i pried her little chunky body out of the playhouse. We may have kicked someone on the way, but hey. Much like the Shamu Splash Zone, do not get an upfront view of the play house or you WILL suffer some consequences.

So all in all it was a great day! As a bonus, we got home and she took a three hour nap!

I tried as well, but somewhere between my first and second kid, i lost the ability to fully nap. You have to have narcolepsy or the uncanny ability to go full comatose to get any sleep around here during the day. Between the daytime gardening, the myriad of backyard barking, and the bathroom runs and stair runs i’m much too light a sleeper to get a nap done.

Unless it’s 3 pm and i’m on the couch, and Sesame Street is babysitting my daughter. For some reason, i’m able to catch a 20 minute cat nap … but this happens about once every 6 months.


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