Like Water Off A Duck’s Ass

That’s how many of the things that would bother me before feel now. I’m almost wishing Sparring Partner was taking ADs as well and then maybe he wouldn’t blow his fuse every time Doodicus opened his mouth.

I can’t help but wonder if I had done this three years ago, would I have lost my job? Isn’t that crazy? What ifs still haunt me, but it’s been a long time since I thought about my ex-boss in a way that wouldn’t be considered premeditation in a court. Obviously part of it is finding a very comparable job after two and half years of looking, looking, and looking, but I no longer miss where I worked or who I worked with.

I’m still trying to square out the sleep issues. The ambien gets me to sleep, but doesn’t keep me there. I’m tossing and turning by 3:00 am. NOT taking the ambien means a little longer getting to sleep, but I’m once again tossing and turning by 3:00 am. I’ll keep my eyes open (literally?) for other options to the suppository-sized gelcaps of melatonin from my last post. I admit that I reread the instructions to make sure they WEREN’T suppositories.

ADs: not for everyone, but seriously? If you’re a hot, angry mess of tears and rage, I would strongly recommend.

Speaking of a hot, angry mess, Sparring Partner and I are considering finishing our basement. We didn’t when we built the house just because we had no idea how we wanted it finished. We have about 2,000 sq ft to work with and plumbing for one bathroom and a kitchenette already dropped in addition to one large bedroom space already framed but not walled.

SP said that he’s going to have a dropped ceiling installed. I said “you’re fucking insane!” That’s only the first of hundreds of disagreements this next adventure holds for us. I also want heated flooring and sound barriers installed in the ceiling and walls since HE wants to have a media center. Aaaaannnnnd….? yeah, that’s all I’ve got in mind so far.

Do you have a finished basement? What should we consider? What should we avoid? It’s a walk-out to the backyard and patio. This is the view from the outside, except now there’s grass and we decided the propane tank would look better about 100 yards away.

That Woman Isn’t Asleep; She’s Unconscious Having Choked On Her Sleep Aide!

Either I’m a moron or you guys are assholes. Take a look at this item I bought at Walgreens that has 3mg of Melatonin PER. DAY!!

No where on the packaging does it say that the 3mg is via TWO of the liqui-caps, but I figured based on the image, I would have to throw back two. Now I’m not a good pill taker. I’m a gagger. I thought these look similar to the Advil gel-caps I take on occasion, so how bad could it be, right?

“What’s wrong with those,” you ask? Should I mention that the cap is as big as a salad plate? OK, so I’m exaggerating, but those fuckers are HUGE!

“Just HOW big are they,” you ask?

You sure to ask a lot of questions, you nosy bitches.

Could you swallow a AA battery? I ask in return.

Why don’t I just throw some BBQ sauce on them, hand out toothpicks and call them “lil’ smokies”?!

Viva La Columbia

I have been very fortunate over the years to have formed bonds with dozens of bloggers. Many no longer actively blog but we keep in touch via Facebook or Twitter (and now G+). I’ve even had the honor of meeting a few, including the only blogger I know that admits living in North Dakota.

You might know her, too. Her name is Erin. She use to write at Viva La Columbia, documenting the adoption of her two sons from Columbia. After she brought home her second son, her personal story got a little too complicated, even to blog about, so she stopped writing. Sadly, she later told me that she and her husband divorced.

Off and on over the next couple of years we’d touch base with each other, and eventually she started dating a very sweet man who doted on the boys. And then?

Well, eight months ago she sent me a shocker of a message. After years of dealing with PCOS and infertility, which led to the adoptions, she was pregnant for the first time!

I would now like to congratulate Erin, who gave birth to a beautiful boy earlier this week. My heart swells with joy for my friend who is now raising three amazing sons with the help of a loving partner!

Today I’m Full of I Don’t Give a Hoots

After six days on paxil, I’m almost hesitant to admit that something seems to be working. Hesitant because I have an incredible knack of jinxing myself, but I’ve gone on this far.

Before I talk about why I think it’s having a positive affect on me, I want to talk about the ambien, which is seriously trying to make render me as senseless as a box of hair. I started by taking a whole pill but that left me woozy the next day. The following night I skipped it. The third night I was laying in bed thinking, "I don’t need a sleep aid! I can fall asleep just fine on my own!" until about an hour passed with me tossing and turning before getting out of bed and taking half a tablet (scissors work pretty well for that).

Sure it puts me to sleep in a snap but by 3:30 – 4:00 a.m. I’m awake AND exhausted. By the time my day starts I feel like hell. I feel like my clients are staring at me as one eye slowly meanders to the left. Just the ONE eye so they are glancing away uncomfortably, not sure of which gaze to follow.

What sucks is that by bedtime, that fuzzy feeling has faded and I feel wide-awake. No more ambien for me, OK?!

As for the paxil, I noticed I’m not as anxious or irritable. Pretty miraculous considering I’m PMSing. Doodicus’s whining and arguing doesn’t set my teeth as far on edge as it use to. When I’m notified that a client has a problem with their account, I don’t feel my ass-cheeks clench up in defense. I’m not as quick to reply with my scripted instructions, which is a good thing. I’m waiting for them to complete their questions, to let them inhale again, before jumping in.

While I am feeling better as far as the ADs go, my husband is not. He’s annoyed that I would take the first thing offered to me; that I wouldn’t seek out a psychoanalyses; that I would dare trust a *gasp!* Physician Assistant with my mental health. Now on the other hand, if the PA had prescribed me a little blue pill that made me horny ALL. THE. TIME. he would think that PA was a freaking genius! With the aid of medication, I can just poo-pooh Sparring Partner with a dismissive wave of my hand and walk away. A week ago I would’ve punched him in the nuts.

OK, so I’m exaggerating, on both ends. It’s not THAT good and it’s not THAT bad.

Will keep you updating with all the scintillating details.

P.S. My G+ account is via my "" gmail account if you are looking for me. I’m trying to switch it over to thismamasaid, but in trying to do so I gave myself a brain aneurysm. I can also be found as one of the probable hundreds under my "handle": D D. That’s first name D and last name D. Yes, I’m re-energizing my old identity for purely selfish purposes as many still know me by that in addition to my old avatar, the boxing babies.

Gee Plus

Because I can’t get enough of social media, I’ve found myself sucked in by Google+ (or G+) if you be wit’it.

I like it. At first I didn’t because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. A help video? They had a help video for new users? PSHAW!

Let’s first hit upon hat I don’t like about it: going through facebook and twitter acceptance all over again. There are several bloggers and even FB friends I have added to my circles that have yet to reciprocate. I can’t squelch the paranoia that makes me think that those people weren’t able to fob me off earlier and weren’t making the same mistake twice.

I know, boo hoo, right?

What I DO like is its flexibility in sharing posts, updates, photos, thoughts, etc. I can post something publicly and share it based on location, finding other local updates; or I can share it easily with just family. Now of course, you can do that on FB as well, but you have to click this, then click that, and then type this and type that, and click again…In addition to being paranoid, I’m also lazy. G+ is the lazy person’s social network.

Of course I will talk it up because I want to add you to my Circles. If you want to try G+ out, but are waiting for a coveted invite (FYI: they are NOT limiting invites…), let me know what email you want me to send it to by either leaving a comment or emailing me directly at thimamasaid (at) gmail (dot) com. I would love to see more of you there!

It’s a Better Day, Relatively Speaking

Today is a little bit better. I only took half of the Ambien and in doing so there’s no way I’m going to make those suckers last twice as long if I completely obliterate one side in trying to cut it in half. I’m going to have to finesse the fine art of halving the tiny pill or end up with a bottle full of ambien dust that’ll have to be snorted. And I don’t think it’s made for that intent, while on the other hand I’m sure some moron has tried.

I’m going to bitch about something else, OK? I’ll have to get all this out of my system before the ADs work their magic and I end up just shrugging my shoulders in bored indifference when this kind of shit comes up in the future. Let’s talk health care insurance.

I work in a medical office as a coordinator. I won’t get anymore detailed on that but it’ll explain why I have to talk to people like the one I’m going to mention in the following tirade:

If you had a fairly major surgery performed a year ago and now are finally getting statements billing you for the balance after your insurance finally paid, don’t come whining and pissing and moaning to me about how long it took. Insurance companies are fuckers. They will try all kinds of random shit to keep the benefits in their company’s coffers including "losing the claim", "sending it for review", "requesting medical documentation", "confirming student status," etc., etc. And while YOU (and I don’t mean you-YOU, I mean the policy holder who called me up with a bug up her ass), have every right to be concerned over how long it took your insurance to pay out benefits, it’s not like you can act all surprised that you are getting a bill.

Did you think the medical office just "forgot" to bill you? Did you never wonder what your ever insurance paid? I know damned well that if we get a request or a denial in the office, you got a copy of it, too, so that should have been a little reminder to follow up and see what’s going on.

And finally, just because you are friends with one of the staff here and a cousin to another, don’t think you can call me and pull the ole’, "Well, next time I guess I’ll have to go elsewhere!" bullshit and think I’ll woo you or apologize in hopes you won’t. I say good riddance. My doctor will say good riddance, ESPECIALLY since you are a cousin/friend of the staff. Blow as hard as you want, you are not going to get me to apologize on the behalf of our office for the incompetency of your insurance company or the fact you didn’t take responsibility for the services you sought out and were provided.

Suck it to the marrow, Ho-bag.

One Day at a Time

Tuesday night I took my first Ambien and first Paxil.

Wednesday morning I woke up with the kind of hangover that reminded me of my much younger days when I went through a different kind of drug experimentation. And not in a very good way at all. I wanted to puke.

I vaguely remember waking up in the middle of the night for a bathroom trip. And I do mean VAGUELY.

Most of the day Wednesday I felt nauseous and lost some water weight due to intestinal distress, which my PA warned me about. The anticipation really didn’t do the eventual event much justice. I didn’t even dare to have my cup of espresso! It wasn’t until late afternoon that I finally started to feel considerably better.

Wednesday night I decided to skip the Ambien and just take the Paxil. That’s the one I need to get my body adjusted to (if it WILL adjust), plus I need to rule out which one was making me feel very much fucked up.

Thursday morning was rough, but nothing like Wednesday morning. I still avoided my coffee but no sudden evacuations (Are you catching my drift or do I need to snow again?). My brain feels distracted, befuddled. My concentration is shit right now. My eyeballs hurt. I had to develop an xray and as I stood in the dark room with just the red light on I teetered and swayed even though I am wearing flats because I felt unbalanced.

God I hope Day 3 is better. They say that it can take a couple weeks to feel better. I just think that after a couple of weeks you get use to the crappy side affects and that in itself can make you happier, not that it’s chasing away the Depression.

In Sanity

I finally returned to see my PA for some pharmaceutical enlightenment. The good news is I apparently lost a couple of pounds since my visit a month ago. The bad news is “I believe that once you reach 40, you become the person you will end up being,” per the PA.

Which sounds totally lame now but there’s quite a kernel of truth there. I responded with a succinct, “Well, that sucks.”

Based on my bloodwork there’s nothing to indicate why I feel BLAH most days, and he didn’t think it was the other possibility, depression. “Do YOU think you’re depressed?”

Isn’t that a trick question? If I answer yes, doesn’t that make me sound like I’m just in it for the drugs and attention? If I answer no, does that mean I’m in denial? I answered with, “I have no idea.”

He asked if I cry. Well, yeah, I cry. Don’t we all? I told him I cried when I read about Leiby, the 8 year old killed in his zero-crime neighborhood. I told him I normally avoid the news because all that stuff makes me sad. The world just seems to be so pathetic. He asked what my husband thought? I said he thinks I am a bitch most days. I go from making pleasantries to a ‘roid-raged cunt in seconds because he didn’t rinse out the dish rag or pick up his socks. I told him that some days I can’t stand being around my son when he’s having a particularly crap ADHD day. Do I sleep at night, he also asked. I fall asleep instantly, but I’ll wake up 3-4 times a night tossing and turning.

Apparently that is all enough to make me fall under “Depression”. However, he hesitated putting that in my chart because he said that will haunt me and my insurance forever. Instead, he said he might just put insomnia. I guess I don’t know what he did eventually put on that sheet. *sigh*

For the “insomnia” (which I would never really consider that insomnia compared to some people I know who sleep 2, maybe 3, hours a night), he prescribed Ambien. For the “depression”, we’re starting with 20mg of Paxil. He gave me a script for 90 days but I’m to return in 30, sooner if necessary.

We wrapped up our exam by discussing my weight, which was my initial concern along with the exhaustion. As he held open the door for me to exit the room, he bluntly told me to quit obsessing about my weight. When I walked past him, he leaned towards me and whispered, “You are NOT fat.” I crushed on him just a bit right then and there.

Hello Spiderman

What a difference having a job makes. A couple of months ago before I finally got a job I was in Hobby Lobby and I discovered a cake mold for a Hello Kitty cake. It was $15. I put it in my cart and walked around the store for some more before realizing that a simple sheet cake in a pan I already own would work just as well thus saving me $15 I could spend on a gift instead. I did one of those things that peeves me and just put the pan on the first shelf I passed while making the decision instead of returning to the cake decorating aisle. I might have been looking at pillows or styrofoam balls, who knows. Last weekend I returned and bought not only the mold but Hello Kitty temp tattoos and some bright pink forks that will probably never again see the light of day. Guilt free.

BTW, before I forget, “expensive” food coloring goes bad after a couple of years. I bought the pricey gel and we discovered the hard way that it gave the colored icing a funky and bitter aftertaste. I’ll stick with the food coloring that probably causes sclerosis of the liver, but at least my frosting won’t taste like ass.

Of course you would think that since Aitch’s birthday theme had been on my mind for months that you wouldn’t have found me an hour before meeting the in-laws for supper where we would present her cake putting the final THREE colors of frosting on her cake. Thank the sweet baby jesus that 90% of that cake was white. However, next year I want to shake it up a bit and make H.K. look NOT like H.K. Like maybe a zombie H.K. or a Spiderman H.K.

Speaking of which, why does it seem like the underwear for little girls are of crappy quality compared to boys’? For Aitch’s birthday, my present to her was to take her shopping for whatever kind of underwear she wanted because of course she will instantly decide that being three is the perfect time to be potty trained.

Do I even need to add the hysterical and/or sarcastic laughter here?

Before we hit the Bullseye store, she said she wanted panties (yes, I’m sorry, but we are calling them “panties” in this house even though the word brings images of pedobear to my head) with Spiderman on them. Now of course I knew we’d never find S.M. on panties, but hey, boys’ briefs should be an easy substitute, right? Well, momma failed to provide her baby girl what she wanted for on her birthday because Spiderman, as illustrated by Marvel comics is too scary to put on little kids’ underwear. However, in her size (2T/3T), I can find Spiderman in this pack of Superhero Squad briefs:

Do you see Spiderman? Yep, he’s right there! Where? Right there, on your underwear!

First of all, these characters look like baby superheros and that’s NOT what she wants, and I’m sorry, even with my job I can’t justify $10 for one pair of underwear with Spiderman taking a back-seat – or shall I say back left ass cheek – to Iron Man and *squinting at the picture* Cyclops.

So anyway, boys’ briefs compared to girls’ panties. Why are briefs made with what feels like thicker and softer fabric than panties? Why do panties have those skin-cutting elastic waist- and leg-bands compared to briefs’ wider stay put banding? And why do briefs have the “flap”? My son is nine and I’m sure he still has no idea what the “flap” is for. And I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I’m going to tell him. The kid barely finishes peeing before he’s pulling his pants back up creating all kinds of embarrassing wet spots. Maybe that’s just MY son??

Happy Pills

It’s hard to believe that I thought my mood was related to my thyroid, isn’t it? I’m a little slow on the uptake. I think I’ve known for a long time that I’m dealing with depression, but I’ve always excused my mood to not having a job or Doodicus’s ADHD or my mother’s health or my cancer or my weight…

And no one called “bullshit!”? I need a couple of trolls.

It’s been almost three weeks since I did have my thyroid checked and aside from a couple elevated levels that indicated possibly allergies (AAAAHHH-choo!), I’m normal, relatively speaking. So I’ve been avoiding going back in to discuss the likely culprit because I worry that starting on antidepressants WON’T be the magic bullet. I remember a few years ago shortly after my first miscarriage I went to see my then family practitioner who gave me two weeks of AD pills. I took the first few days-worth but felt they were making me craz(ier) so I stopped.

Sidenote: I stopped seeing that practitioner when he all but patted me on the knee while telling me God had a plan with that 15 week miscarriage. If the “Plan” was to make me find a physician who was not interested in praying for my cursed soul, then it worked.

Now I need to ask, what should I REALLY expect when/if I start ADs? Will I turn foggy? If it makes me feel less sad, will it also make me less happy? Will I gain (more) weight? Will it decrease my sex-drive? Oh, wait. Nevermind on that last question. One can’t have a NEGATIVE sex drive, can they?


The subject of death has been on my mind a lot lately. Mulling the inevitable when it comes to my parents, my mother specifically; my uncle’s, whose funeral is Saturday on my daughter’s birthday; my own (hopefully a long, long, LONG ways in the future); and that of a complete stranger, an 8 year old boy who convinced his parents that he was old enough to walk home alone for the first time after his day camp and who will never come home again.

I don’t like to read about death. I certainly don’t like to talk about death. Right now, I can feel the crushing anxiety in my chest from just writing about it. That is why I must write about it. Exorcise what must be my biggest fear in life. The irony, yes?

My mother’s mental decline has been marked. She’s always been a bit “scattered” but now acquaintances pull me aside and ask if she’s OK and that they’ve noticed a change. She was fired from one of her part-time office cleaning jobs of which she had three because she failed to lock the doors, again. In a town of less than a 1,000 residents it wouldn’t have mattered except it was the bank. Her other two employers implore with my brother to convince her to quit/retire because she seems so frail, tired, and frankly, isn’t doing a very good job anymore. He curtly tells them that if she’s not doing the job then they need to fire her.

Easy enough to say, but they know she doesn’t work because she’s in dire need of cash, but because after all the kids left home she became lonely and bored. She even still makes the weekly 30 minute trip to our home to spend a day with her closest grandkids, Doodicus and Aitch. Unfortunately I see that may have to come to an end as well, at least with her being the sole care-giver while Sparring Partner and I are at work. The past couple of times we have arrived home to find Aitch still in her pajamas. Not a big deal, I know, but it would appear that she may also be in the same diaper, completely saturated and even full of poop. Lunch might consist of a couple squares of cheese, a can of soda, and some marshmallows. They are entertained by Nick Jr., movies and video games.

As I posted earlier, she forgot my birthday which was last week. I saw her this Monday and she never even wished me a Happy Birthday. I mentioned this to my sister who is visiting, and she said that when she was running errands with my mom, she told me how they had just bought some birthday cards for a couple of the grandchildren and then she asked my sister if she needed to get birthday cards for the same kids she had just bought cards for.

I mentioned earlier that I’m not just worried about my mom even though she’s who’ve I’ve gone on about, but you will come to realize if you haven’t already, is that I’m justified. I know we have the Circle of Life and all that shit, but this…living death… a body functioning/a mind failing is painful when you think about how many beautiful memories she will never have to tide over her resting soul.

That brings me back to me. Oh, selfish Yo-yo… I see new “freckles” every day and it sometimes feels as if six month check-ups aren’t often enough. I worry, worry, worry, worry, etc. I often imagine the worst: that my skin cancer had actually gone beyond the site on my leg and had been in my system, undetected for years. I won’t see my son finally graduate and learn that all the bullies and bullshit from school wasn’t worth the heartache and stress. I won’t see my daughter grow up and put her devilish smarts to good use.

Even more selfish? I won’t know who looks up to them. Who they will have an impact on? Who will remember them after they are long gone? And who will remember me when I have been gone even longer?

I won’t live forever. I don’t necessarily want to because no one’s mind and body can keep up with the ravages of time. My mother sure as hell doesn’t want to. She’s been imagining herself dead for the past decade with her constant, “Well, next year I won’t even be here,” response to planning family events. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make my heart ache to think about her no longer here. I am grieving over something that hasn’t happened. Wasting precious time, and grieving over that as well! I am in constant fear over something I cannot control. I hate that my fear won’t end until the thing I’m most afraid of happens.

Happy Wednesday

If there has been one constant for every birthday I’ve ever had in the past four decades, it’s the generic birthday card that I get from my mother – you know the kind, the one that comes in the box of 50 blank cards that has a picture of a kitty or a vase of flowers on the front – signed “Happy Birthday! Love, Mom & Dad” in pretty cursive.

Except I didn’t get one this year. She forgot.

Sweet and Sour

Today was a bag full of shit just waiting to explode. And it did. Doodicus was exceptionally defiant and belligerent and several times I had to remind myself that I did indeed see Sparring Partner apply his medicated patch this morning. I can tell by 10:00 a.m. whether or not he’s had his medication, and today he just never showed much improvement behaviorally.

His play with Aitch was rougher and unfortunately he was shouted at more times today than I care to recall simply because he just couldn’t hear us telling him to back off. By that time, whether it was by SP or myself, we were pretty short-fused so Doodicus’s responses were shouted right back. One of the largest tell-tale signs that he just wasn’t acting normally to his meds was how angry he got over the simplest of things, like telling him to get the ketchup out of the fridge for the dinner table or waiting until it got a little darker to light fireworks. His angry? A combination of gritting his teeth and shouting, “GOD!!” while stomping away to his room followed closely by hysterical tears and dry-retching. Not pretty I assure you.

Bedtime is always a welcomed reprieve, to say the least. But it also brought the final melt-down of our day triggered by the fact he couldn’t find his iPod that he uses to listen to his music at night. We made an attempt to find it while he got ready for bed, and during that search I checked the cushions of the chair he usually sits in to play his games or watch TV. What I found in the chair was dozens (and I seriously mean DOZENS) of candy and fruit-snack wrappers crumpled and shoved inside. These weren’t an accumulation over weeks or days because that cushion is also the favorite place for the remote to disappear under as well the fact that the wrappers were mostly from the candy he had obtained from the parade we had attended earlier.

I was infuriated, to put it mildly. Doodicus was summoned from his room and given a tongue-lashing while he cleaned up the mess. After calming down, I returned to his room where he was once again settled in for the evening and I tried to express how we find it harder and harder to trust him as he continues to make the same mistakes over and over AND OVER again with no sign of remorse. NONE, which for Sparring Partner is the more disappointing than the actual rule-breaking. Doodicus just does not give a shit when he disappoints.

So while I’m trying to have this heart to hear talk, SP comes in and holding a nearly empty bag of marshmallows. One that I had just bought on Friday. One that I hadn’t opened. Not only that, but SP had bought a handful of those Laffy Taffy sticks as a treat for the kids…and found one remaining.

It explained why his medication seemed to have little effect on him; he was so fucking high on sweeteners and dyes that it would have put a “normal” adult in a sugar-coma. I suppose you could point out that we shouldn’t keep sweets in the house, but this has never been a problem before; this sneaking of candy and snacks. I can’t help but be reminded of those stories adoptive families tell of their child hoarding food because they were starving in orphanages. Since school has been out, which has been over a month, I have found candy wrappers in and under his bed, the garbage can in his room, the pockets of his clothes and scattered among toys. But tonight was the final straw.

I gathered up the remaining candy, fruit snacks, marshmallows, etc., and tossed them in a giant bowl and tucked it all away in an upper cabinet out of sight. Tomorrow morning when he wakes and starts trawling for sweets, he will find raisins, vanilla wafers and BBQ sauce on the shelf where the sweets were once kept.

While I am disappointed and frustrated, I feel guilty for not having done something sooner. I know a poor diet makes ADHD symptoms worse but I thought I could trust him. Now I’m just so angry, I even considered making him eat even more just so he’d end up sick enough to puke. Maybe he has to learn those kind of lessons the hard way because it seems I’ve failed to teach them in the hopes of making him more responsible.

New Toy

I got a new toy for my upcoming bday and thought I would give it a test run via an app. I can’t imagine typing out a major post with my thumbs (esp since it took me 3 attempts to type “thumbs”).

But when the urge strikes I can update on the fly.