All posts for the month March, 2015

Sticky Planning

Published March 30, 2015 by sarcasmica

Our family is getting ready for an actual vacation. Like flying to an actual established location! I can barely compute this in my brain at this point. It was a last minute decision based on quite a few facts that I can’t necessarily go into here. My husband travels a LOT for work, and he’s maximized the advantages of this in regards to point systems and frequent flyer-type-scenarios.

Not the mile high club or anything, mind you. Strictly points. Minds outta the gutter, people.

Anyhoo, we are planning a major getaway in just a matter of weeks that will mostly be produced by said collection of uber points. This is exciting, exhilarating, and exhausting. I’ve woken up every morning since the booking either early, or after having an entire night of excursion-based dreams.

I’m going to be a worn out wreck by the time we arrive at the airport at this rate.

I’ve heard it said before when dating, you should always vacation together to figure out how compatible you truly are.

This means bubkiss if you are not dragging along some ratty kids with a bad attitude as well. Throw in boarding pets to boot and anything less is still actually a vacation.

I imagine lazy mornings of sleeping past 9, a breakfast of your own choosing cut how you like and eaten hot. Eggs prepared the way YOU like, and not with the false hope of having a small munchkin actually eating them. No one’s slobber or ketchup on your napkin except your own. …. bliss.

So i’m working rrrrrrrreally hard on not getting bogged down in the logistics. I’m not necessarily good at logistics. Here’s where my husband and I differ. I like to fly by the seat of my pants. He likes an excel spread sheet….. that he can never find a day later … with mostly items regarding only himself, and none relating to preparing children for a trip or plane ride.

I am currently in a mad dash to find a solution to our stroller dilemma. We are going somewhere we will absolutely need a stroller for my gigantess 4 year old. My 50lb, 44 inch 4 year old that has outgrown most strollers.

We did have 2 at one point, but got rid of them in a garage clean out thinking i’d have no use for them before her sheer size collapsed the contraption. We have an umbrella stroller, but those things are useless. Useless if you need to transport bags. (Backpack or ziploc) Kids can’t actually lay down and nap in them. And the biggest of all offenses, this 5’11 mom will not spend this amount of money and planning just to walk around and push a cranky kid in a stroller while hunched over for days on end, resulting in a Crocs-on-Hunchback look.

I realize there are rental services, but for $65 I can buy a cheap-ish consignment stroller that I wont have to worry about if/when my daughter blows chunks all over it. … which, unfortunately, would not be an unprecedented occurrence. (I’m lookin’ at you, Disney Princesses)

Plus, I can always turn around and re-consign it and make something back

Next up, boarding the creatures. (The 4 legged ones, that is)

Here’s hoping I wake up after the buttcrack of dawn tomorrow. As often as i’ve met 5am, I still think she’s a bitch.

Accio Serenity!!  🙂



Published March 22, 2015 by sarcasmica

Words are toying with me today. It’s one of those evenings, I s’pose. I just tried to type “allowed” and it came out “aloud”.

Wrong but right?

This has happened in the space of five minutes at least as many times. Brain. Not. Functioning. Perhaps it’s the yummy chunky peanut butter toast I just ate? I dunno. And I don’t particularly care.

I’m ramping up for what is going to be a slightly more busy week than normal around here. My daughter is the all important V.I.P. tomorrow, which is teacher speak for glorified servant. She is the line leader and snack duty “chosen one”. In preschool this means she is the Elsa for the day … in her own mind. And that’s what life is with a preschooler; following the reasonable rules for reality in their own minds. So we are set with the snacks ready and bagged (mandarin orange cups, and store-bought, bakery – baked cookies) and sharing toy selected. Letter Y and Spring Things, here we come!

The following day my son has a field trip. This means i’ll be rooting around for Xanax or any kind of sedative I can find. Sudafed will most likely be the winner. Third grade and the field trips still send me into “What If” panic…. the quiet kind, though. The kind that usually results in the noise of chip bags and cracker bags being opened and then frantically closed. The refrigerator opened and closed repeatedly. Perhaps I’ll have to take myself out of the house for the morning so i’m not imagining him wandering off at the bathrooms, or getting on the wrong bus and ending up in Albuquerque. (as Bugs would say)

This brings me to one of the projects. Curtains. I am a lame duck at decor. Complete Daffy. I cannot commit to a color or a theme. I get all muddled when figuring out where to begin with an entire room. Window dressing seems to be the icing on the cake of a room, and what am I terrible at? Baking. Cooking. Anything domestic-related. I love me a paint chip, but when it comes time to throw down the gauntlet, it’s Anxietyville.

So now I have a bay window I have to ‘dress’. Blinds/curtains/combo? Who knows?! Double rods, single rods/tracks/ tie backs, I have no effing clue! Pinterest doesn’t help. It just shows me even more options I didn’t even know existed! Like having a spoon, but only one mini bowl in a room of 487 flavors of ice cream. I don’t know what i’ll like six months from now! I don’t know if the print will burn my eyeballs out after three months! I have no idea if the valance is a smart idea or just another thing I wont wash often enough.

I’m pulling my eyelids down to my nose in overwhelmedness, currently. In case you were wondering.

So I have the bay window to deal with, and also my master bathroom. We currently have the jerry-rigged tension rod-supported quasi shutters over the tub allowing for what I hope is plenty of privacy from the entire street. We found out today from the mold expert that SURPRISE! The windows need to be able to air out, and not have blinds trapping moisture and cold air close to them for days/weeks/months on end.

I’m going to have to replace them with airy, boob-blocking, junk-hiding bathroom curtains.

This is like SAT time for this domestically-challenged SAHM.

I know, I know, “Shut up, Sarcasmica! You want to whine about something, whine about having to work three jobs as a single mom!”

This is my blog, and the beauty of it is that I get to bitch and moan about my own reality. So this is my challenge this week: Buy curtains for two separate rooms. One of which has not one, but three windows. Don’t break the bank. Understand all the parts necessary to complete the task without having to go back to the store. Do this all with a preschooler in tow. A preschooler who is currently going through a particularly ugly Dragon-guarding-the-Dwarven-gold phase of orneriness and fire-spitting. And make sure the people using said rooms wont bitch about the color scheme/palette/print. If they do, you can always make the curtains out their sorry hides.

The Other Side

Published March 18, 2015 by sarcasmica

I went to a support group tonight for parents of special needs kids. I sat across from a set of parents just starting out. Just getting through the trenches of post diagnosis, and into that great vast barren beyond of “now what?”. I feel for you. I see you and your smudged eye make up, your mussed hair, your general aura of “Holy Shit” and your tired eyes and I wanted to tell you that you’ll get through it. You will. If I did, anyone can.

Having a kid who is not typical is overwhelming. Having a kid who is just left of “oh, I know why that happens” is exhausting and frustrating and beyond reason. Being a parent of a kid with seemingly no answers to daily/hourly struggles and battles is soul crushing.

Getting a diagnosis or a reason is the key to heaven, my friend. For me, once I found that puzzle that appropriately labeled all the pieces that make up my kid and seeing a title on the box was the biggest relief of all. I had a “why”. I had something to point at and say, “THAT is the reason.”  I’m not crazy! I didn’t imagine that all of this is not normal.

Once I had a name, I could research. I could question. I could ask. I could verify and compare and discuss. I had power. I had something controllable. My kid’s tantrums were not in any way controllable, but having a sensory diet list was.

My kid falling down on the floor was less confusing and scary when I had a reason for it.

My kid screaming at the top of his lungs while punching and kicking was not at all acceptable or reasonable, but understanding the trigger that led to it was empowering.

Talk to people. Ask for help. Talk to anyone who will listen and it will get you farther. I would not have a starting point if I didn’t honestly and openly go to my friends and talk about my child’s behaviors and tell them truthfully what I was feeling and thinking.

Be open. You will always receive more when you are open versus being rigid in what you think you know and will accept. When your ship is sinking, recognize a life line for what it is!

For me there was nothing more healing than sitting across from someone with papers that declared a higher education looking me in the eye and saying, “Being a parent to that child has got to be hard. I can see how difficult and challenging and exhausting that must be for you. No wonder you are overwhelmed! Look at all you have to cope with!”

It’s like giving someone a full breath of air after breathing through a straw for two days. .. or eight or seventeen depending on your level of suffocation.

Someone once told me that each parent is given their child for a reason. There is a reason that soul was given to you. I truly believe this. It may be gut-wrenchingly hard and swallowing-cut-glass painful, but find a reason and stick it to your forehead. You can be this person’s salvation if you dig deep enough, drink heavily enough, and find ways to laugh and do it often… preferably in the company of sane people.

There are days when you never ever think it will ever change or get better. There are times when you think this will be it. Your brain is definitely going to now self destruct.

It wont. It doesn’t. You go to a dark room. You close the door. You get into the fetal position. You let a few tears burst from your eyeballs, you might even rock back and forth. But you find the strength after five minutes or an hour or three days to get up, and go back into the fray. You will find something that sparkles in your kid when you least expect it. Hold that thought close, and find a way to help your child work through their own mind. You can do it because you were chosen to, and you have the ability to.

While you feel that you are sinking in your life as a parent, please know that others are there beside you. We feel for you because we live it. You are not alone and no you are not the world’s worst parent. You are the most amazing parent for that little bugger because you are there. You are still fighting. You have not given up and after some time, I promise the rewards will rain down upon you.

These days in the eye of the grocery store tornado will pass. These years of limited expression and quick tantrums will pass. Those fucking fours will become fives, and then more mature sixes, and sevens. Time and patience are the least of your abilities and end of your sanity, but if you hang in there it will get better. I just wanted you to know that I see you. I was there. I understand the mind melting chaos of all of it. Every aspect. Friends, family, school, IEPs, therapy, insurance, siblings, behavior charts, stickers, birthday parties, all of it. I made it and I even like my kid!

My kid is his own case. Every kid is different, diagnosis or not. I just want you to know that after almost two years of independent O/T, three years of IEPs, three schools, one marriage counselor, parent counselors, seminars and 8,277 boxes of kleenex, my kid is a loving, logical, manageable, self-regulating, fairly typical eight year old boy who loves Minecraft, doesn’t get out of his bed 28 times per night after being tucked in. His nosebleeds are no longer the life altering event they used to be and he has friends who love him and a family that wants to be around him.

His Dyspraxia/Sensory Issues/ADHD/Depression no longer scream his introduction. They are a quiet background to the person we were able to help him become, and continue to help him strive to be.


Published March 12, 2015 by sarcasmica

This is why i’m a lunatic. This, dear husband, is a short list of all the reasons after bedtime I am too checked out to even consider the horizontal mambo or the bedtime tango.

The highs and lows of just one day:

Woke up, got the 3rd grader up. 4 year old is on the iPad in my bed while daddy, aka Sleeping Beauty, snores.

Had a marvelous one on one breakfast with son. We laugh, we joke, we even both get to eat!

Then hurried herding: brush/bands/jacket/backpack/now now now, hurry!

Manage to drop off just before the bell rings. Win!

Get home. Incomprehensible that waffles and/or Nutella are not on the morning menu for Her Highness the Preschooler. We find a nearly acceptable alternative, but this insubordination will not be forgotten.

Laundry is finally grudgingly hauled to the room of procrastination. Clothes are loaded and machine is on.

HH (Her Highness) refuses to use the bathroom alone because washer is making noise. She demands our fearless dog Barney accompany her because insubordinate mom refuses to entertain such foolishness.

10 minutes later Quick Pee McGee is still in the bathroom. She refuses to come out because she is afraid the soulless, barely audible, only working body in the house will devour her whole.

She eventually makes it back to the living room in one anxious paranoid piece.

Two spiders were seen this week having the gall to traipse across our ceiling in broad daylight. One a mega sized daddy long legs, the other a dead speck of legs smooshed near the shoes. Because of these anarchist arachnids, daughter refuses to play in/around/beside the play room. Shoes are smashed, flung, cried over, inspected, hit on the floor before being put (always) on the wrong foot first.

We make cookies. I am asked no less than 2000 times “Can I lick the spoon now?”

She notices a familiar drawing insufficiently covered or hidden in recycling bag. All hell breaks loose.

Andre the Giant size tears are pouring out of her eyeballs and she wails, “Why you didn’t like my pictures?!?” “You HATE my pictures?!?”

My heart falls onto the unmopped floor and I lie. “They must have fallen in the RECYCLING bin, (annunciating as if the fact they were not in the trash is any less of a betrayal) I’m SOOOOO glad you found them! That was lucky!”

The cookies patch some of the damage (on both sides)

I now completely understand how hoarders begin their stacks. Kids’ drawings.

Pick up Super Son who has finally managed to remember to put in his bands after lunch, AND without using a mirror, and who also aced his spelling test.

Homework gets done with no yelling. Dinner is eaten with no drama.

Bedtime makes me want to claw my eyeballs out. Son has seemingly been entombed in cement and cannot quite lift a toothbrush. Daughter has imagined her room a den of infinite angry face-sucking, toe-munching tarantulas on a mission for her brain and any place BUT her bedroom is safe despite the million-stuffy army she has surrounded herself with.

Once all the precious angels have settled into their beds I turn my brain off, turn the TV on, and hit the recliner button. No brain necessary. And please, for the love of God, do not ask me any questions. Especially if they begin with “Honey, where is the…..” because i may just answer with my brain exploding all over this couch.

I know for some this may seem trivial and demeaning to have so little undo me so much. To you I say kudos. You obviously are far more intelligent & superior, and im ok with that. Me and my margarita are good over here on the inferior side of the sofa.



Published March 12, 2015 by sarcasmica

Yesterday I was primed and hopeful to weigh in at Weight Watchers. I had the most active week to date. I had been tracking like a mo-fo. (daily for three weeks in a row!) I was RED-AY.

I step on the miniature livestock scale and boom. I get the whispered, crinkle-nosed “You’re up a little this week.”

I had prepared myself for this possibility. We had 2 salty dinners in a row and I was feeling a little *expanded* from the salt. I was still feeling really proud of all the activity I had done and just took it with a grain of salt ….. ehh? See what I did there? nyuck nyuck nyuck.

So my spirits were high leaving the meeting. Not as high as if I had lost a pound, but happy nonetheless. I went along with my business of the day.

After I picked up my son with the 4 year old in tow, she had a prized little sister moment. We were walking to the van and my son was chattering along happily about his day (a feat in and of itself) when he turns, turns back and says softly, “(my crush) is walking behind us, mom!”.

He hasn’t learned not to utter such phrases around his little sister. Instinctively, she grabbed onto this and wouldn’t shut up.

“G loves (her)”.
“G want’s to marry (her).”
“SHUT UUUUUUP! MOM! Make her stop!”
(mom laughing) “She can’t hear, honey, don’t worry about it.”
(trying desperately not to laugh)
“G wants to kiss (her)”
“knock it off !!! She’s going to hear you!”
My daughter was really feeling her moment at this point. The thrill of the possibility of embarrassing her brother. The fact mom was turning purple from trying not to fall down in hysterics. The raw POWER! It was going to her little head.

It ended with us getting to the van finally as my son was making threats on his sisters’ limbs if she didn’t shut up. I felt bad we were all snickering cackling in front of a family we didn’t know, but it was a rare moment of my son being quiet and embarrassed and my daughter puffed up with all the power. It was hard not to react.

Cut to this morning. I am taking my son to school while the daughter is at home on the iPad with the unconscious husband. Somehow we get on the subject of monsters or fighting and I made the comment, “Oh yea, kind of like me when I turn into a monster, huh?” … setting the trap… he responds, “Yea.” and SNAP! Caught just like that.

“Am I a monster mom?”
“No .. not really.”
“Am I nice more often or a monster more often?”
“Nice ….mostly.”
“I’m just kidding, mom! 🙂 …  I was kidding …. mom …? ”

So I did my best imitation of myself losing my shit. He is laughing and then says, “Yea, you’re like the MULK.”

“The Mulk?”
“Yea, like a mom Hulk”

How very flattering… not.

Then we had an informative conversation about how I turn into the Mulk. The common thread being a lack of movement or direction-following on his part. Coincidence? I think not.

I wonder how many calories I burn turning into the Mulk? I’ll have to pay closer attention to my steps … MULK SMASH!

(She’s missing a spare tire and a cup of coffee… and a scowl and double chin. Then the resemblance is uncanny!)

Leash The Beasts

Published March 8, 2015 by sarcasmica

I have to get in my “steps” and activity points wherever I can. I have recently found, thanks to a very dear friend, a dog park that has a sort of circuit to walk. It’s very clever in that you can’t ever see just how far ahead you have to go because it’s sort of a circle. It’s a circle surrounding a kind of swamp land, so there are lots of bushes and trees causing you to only see ahead …. which curves, so even then you can only see a couple hundred yards.

I do not like walking, personally. I don’t like knowing how much further I have to go. I don’t like having nothing to do while walking. I don’t like the random lists and thoughts that form in the absence of any stimulation. I am also not a DJ, so putting together the right playlist fails me every time. The off leash dog park, however, is nothing but distraction and fun for me. I don’t realize how far i’ve gone, and how far I still have to go and i’m usually distracted by my 2 mutts anyway. Before I know it, i’ve logged 3K steps! It’s amazing!

What’s not amazing about it, I discovered today, is taking my children. Oh it’s all fun and games in the planning stage. But it never ends well. Here are the stages of taking the bigger animals (kids) with you to the dog park:

1. Wake up to beautiful sunshine and think, “We need to be outdoors today!” Hey, dogpark! Everyone will get exercise and sunshine, it will be a bonding experience for sure!

2. Remove invisible fence collars from dogs, replace with actual collars ….. remind yourself after a year and a half you should probably update that dog’s tags.

3. Let the kids fight over who gets which animal. In fact, it’s really the leash the 4 year old wants anyway. Carry the small dog, 4 year old carries leash, big kid takes the other dog.

4. Convince the dogs they can, in fact, cross the invisible line of ZAP to get to the car.  Put shaking, confused dogs into car without their invisible fence collars.

5. Endure the whining, shouting demands of who gets to ride beside whom. … one mutt is in a crate, but the hope of eliminating one argument by doing so proves false.

6. Arrive. Alongside all the other sun-starved humans and activity-deprived pets

7. Disembark the van, and untangle all the legs from all the leashes. The retractable leashes. … if only the legs were retractable too …

8. Navigate a parking lot a` la Frogger (drivers with pets in various stages of ‘dangerous’. Hanging out of windows/doors/sunroofs. On laps/consoles/head rests)

9. Get inside the dog park.

10. Ask yourself “What was I thinking?!” As a Great Dane lumbers towards your 4 year old.

11. Walk, keep walking, continue walking while unleashed dog(s) sniff, snort, leg lift, and poop.

12. Field all the “Eeeeewwwwe” comments and questions children are fascinated by when anything in a 1 mile radius poops outside before their own eyes.

13. Enjoy the brief wonder as the children take in all the dogs. The swimming dogs, the muddy dogs, the tiny dogs, the tall dogs, the ball dogs, the old dogs, the barking dogs.

14. Try to locate your own dog in a panic

15. Pull a child out of the way of a bounding puppy

16. Intercept your dog from following the wrong human

17. Ignore the complaining about something called “Being hot” – in the 55 degree weather

18. Ignore the complaining about tired legs

19. Intercept the intelligent dog from trying to escape from your family Convince your rescued dog to come back to you

20. Ignore the complaining about being thirsty

21. Wonder if it’s legal to stop for a drink on the way home at a bar, leaving kids and dogs in car

22. Reach the end, find your own pet to leash. Convince pets it is, in fact, time to leave the haven with the whining, moaning, groaning children

23. Navigate Frogger parking lot again … avoiding poo puddles and poo mines

24. Get in car and speed home not caring who is hanging out of the window panting and crying

25. Drink.

26. Thank little baby Jesus for the 8 millionth time the kids are school-age and tomorrow is Monday and you will never do this again.

Bouncin’ Bertha

Published March 5, 2015 by sarcasmica

I had a great weigh in this week. I am down 3.4 pounds!

Two weeks ago I weighed in and had gained, again, for the third time in a row. The leader asked, “What are you going to do differently this week?” as a rule, tracking is the first thing everyone talks about. Naturally, I robotically chanted, “Track.” to which she asked for an actual amount of time I would commit to it. Panicked, I said “2 days.”

The following week I managed to track every. single. day.


Take that, leader lady!

Except my daughter woke up that Wednesday throwing up. I had to miss my moment meeting.

Instead of showing off – admittedly a pathetic reality – and then being able to just go back to not tracking, I had to continue through the next week and track.

I did it!

I tracked every day for two weeks, not just the two days I originally committed to. As a result, I lost…. finally.

So now i’m really trying to get in my steps on my fitbit. I’m trying to be more active. Last night I had dinner with a friend and afterwards we walked! What a novel idea. We also got a small squirt of terrible froyo, but we walked!

Today I took my daughter to a trampoline center. I have been fearful of these things and always imagined kids with casts jumping about knocking each other down with zero supervision. Like a mall play area on springs. She’s big enough now to hit back, so I figured it was safe.

Oh. My. Gosh did we have a blast! There weren’t too many kids, and there were plenty of separate areas so we didn’t feel crammed. After about 20 minutes of watching other normal sized parents bouncing with their kids, I ventured slowly onto an empty square and gently began to bounce.

Every Funniest Home Video with people tearing through and breaking a trampoline ran on a reel through my mind. I tentatively gave it a little push to see how far the springs let it stretch. I was convinced an employee was going to come over with a lit sign saying “Sorry ma’am, you obviously exceed our weight limit. Please vacate the trampoline area without harming the children with your tusks.”

My daughter was loving this.

Once I noticed the bounces were registering on my fitbit, all bets were off. I was suddenly 12 years old at my uncle’s house on his trampoline again.

My daughter has been having trouble in gymnastics with her “seat drop”. Instead of bounce, sit, stand she just sort of bounce sit sitsitsit struggle ups. So she practiced and then I showed her, and I actually did it. I did a seat drop, y’all! The most non-genteel, megatron, ungraceful seat drop, but a completed one, nonetheless.

Then I got even more brave and did a knee drop. My back didn’t think it was all that cute. My daughter was enjoying the launching my ass dropping was doing for her on my same square. We had a great time, and it counted as a work out 🙂 Bonus!

As added fun, when she was telling grandma later about our adventure she said, “Mom went on it too! The springs went SOOOOOOO far down !! ”

Hopefully I don’t get a bill in the mail for a repaired trampoline patch!

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