Archive for the ‘not so much’ Category

This will be funny someday.

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Posted 17 Oct 2010 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category house stuffs, not so much, the cats, The Hubs

Scene: Saturday morning. My basement. Recently refinished with new flooring, and remodeled bathroom.

Players: Myself, and my friend who’s been helping me for the past few weeks with said bathroom.

He hasn’t been over since the floors were finished and I’ve painted the bathroom. Today we are just wrapping things up – putting the toilet back and installing the sink and vanity. Needless to say, I’m SO EXCITED to show him how good it looks.

Me: OMG! Doesn’t it look awesome! Now, come look at the bathroom. It looks so good, doesn’t it?!

Him: Uh…is that supposed to be there? (maybe not what he said because OMG I can’t remember specifics at this point)

Me: What?

He points to the floor behind me, underneath the laundry sink.

I look down, and see this:

Thats not a mouse.

A FUCKING RAT.

IN MY BASEMENT.

RIGHT NEXT TO ME.

Okay, I don’t care that it’s dead WHATHEMUTHEREFFINGHELL is a RAT DOING IN MY HOUSE?! !?

At this point, I’m like, hyperventilating, jumping all over the place and trying to form complete sentences but HOW CAN I WITH A RAT RIGHT THERE. My friend is just laughing and also being slightly grossed out and simply cracking up because I was all “Look at my beautiful basement!” totally oblivious to the dead animal with a 12 inch tail inches from my feet.

Once I gained enough composure to start breathing, I thought long and hard about how we could have gotten an animal THAT SIZE in our house, and how I didn’t notice. Then I remembered the gaping hole in the floor where the toilet usually sits. We had stuffed paper towels in it 3 weeks before so the sewer fumes wouldn’t stink the house up. I looked in the bathroom – paper towel is no longer in the hole. This thing swam through the sewer (vomitvomitbarfGROSS) and somehow ended up in my basement.

Wait. I should pause this story to add the following sad sidenote: We had to put our cat Boo-boo down on Friday. He had come down with the same disease that was our cat Miles’ ultimate demise. He was getting really sick and we just needed to take care of it before it got out of hand. It was super sad, and we were lucky enough that the sister-in-law was able to be with him when he was put down. (I was at work, and the hubs couldn’t bear to do it – he did it with Miles and couldn’t do it again.) We’ll miss you Bubs. :(

It dawned on the hubs and I that more than likely, before Boo went to the scratching post in the sky, that he must have killed this rat. I shit you not when I say this rat was half the size of Boo. Like, no effing joke. And Boo killed it. Even as sick as he was, he was still defending his territory.

I told my dad about what happened. His response? Good luck getting your mother over to your house again.

I’m exhausted.

2 Comments
Posted 05 Oct 2010 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category marriage, motherhood, not so much

I hate when I wish for entire weeks to be over, when it’s only Tuesday.

As I hinted in my last post – we got the bug over the weekend. Well, to be specific, I got it Saturday (along with the mom-& sister-in-laws). I thought it was a weird hangover caused by a mere 3 beers the night before. When I threw up at 3 in the afternoon, it just felt wrong. But I felt better. And then I felt worse. MUCH MUCH WORSE. The hubs kept Abbers away from me all night and slept in the living room so I could rest. I slept like crap, but felt better Sunday.

Monday morning, the hubs wakes up to find SURPRISE! He has it now. I have Mondays off, so I kept her in the living room and away from the sick room and she was happy as a clam. Teething like a mofo, but hyper and cute and cuddly as could be. We had an awesome day together. I chose to sleep on the couch as the hubs had, and put Abby down, only to have her wake up like, 6 times during the night. At 1:30, I brought her onto the couch with me where she slept on my chest for an hour before I brought her back to bed. It was so cozy, and I just figured she was in the clear, she’d survived without getting ill.

This morning, shortly after only finishing half of her bottle, she threw up. And I immediately felt like a failure.

I know it’s not my fault, and I know there’s not much I could have done to keep her from getting this, but I felt it anyway. The mother-in-law came over today to watch her, and sadly she was the one to get puked on. I then felt horrible that I couldn’t be home with my daughter when she was going to be at her sickest. Abby didn’t seem to mind to much, she was settled in nicely on her grandma’s lap with a book.

Then I tried to leave for work.

She whined and reached out for me.

I picked her up and tried my hardest not to cry. Especially in front of her, with her already being sick and upset. I teared up but kept myself together, gave her a gentle squeeze and she grabbed on harder, sensing I was going to try to hand her back to grandma. I let go, said “See you in a few hours, sweetpea!” walked out of the house and lost my shit. I cried the whole 2 blocks to the train.

I’m tired. I’ve eaten 3 pieces of toast, a bowl of soup, a bowl of cereal and a box of macaroni & cheese since Friday night. I don’t want my daughter to be sick. I want my husband to be back to 100%.

I want this week to be over.

Why are there SEVEN boxes of Kleenex?

5 Comments
Posted 20 Jul 2010 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category motherhood, not so much, TheRapists

The title of this post is the very thought I had when I walked into a room I’m about to become very familiar with – the therapy room.

I had my first visit with a therapist yesterday.

Wait, I should pause for a moment to add this disclaimer. I’m sure some of you are thinking, DOODE. You’re just going to put that out there? For everyone to read? Even people you work with or like, barely know? And the answer is, YES. I almost didn’t get help because I was embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t help myself anymore, that I couldn’t fix my problems the same way I had been. I can only assume there are other people out there, not just people who’ve had babies, who have felt the same way. I’m here to admit that I’m not embarrassed to get help anymore.

Okay, so yeah. First therapy appointment yesterday. Probably THE WORST day to meet a therapist for the first time. I got about 5 hours of sleep the night before and had spent the 5 hours before going to bed and after waking up working on a project for work that was launching at the same time as my appointment. (Can you say STRESSED OUT?!)

One of the many lessons I learned yesterday is that, NO…I CANNOT WORK FROM HOME. I mean, I got stuff done, but Abby was all “MOMMA LOOOOOOOOOOOOK” but instead of saying that she was all “BAAAAAAAA MMAAAAA DADADADAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” until I’d pick her up. And then she’d try to dismantle my work laptop via teeth and fingernails that needed to be trimmed.

ANYWAY, I showed up to my appointment without the papers she wanted filled out because I couldn’t find a printer that worked in the 30 minutes I had before my appointment. She didn’t mind, and escorted me into the therapy room.

It was small, felt like a den in someone’s home, and had SEVEN OPEN BOXES of Kleenex. I couldn’t believe it. I was like – WTF. Who needs this much Kleenex?

Within 20 minutes I had answered my own question. I cried so hard I couldn’t speak for almost 2 minutes.

I spilled everything I’d been bottling up for the last three or four months. Because I did feel better than I had a month ago, and I wasn’t as scared of my thoughts anymore, I admitted the horrible thoughts I’d had but was no longer having, even though I still had a fear she’d try to admit me to a hospital or have Abby taken away from me. I told her about how I was starting to have episodes where I felt like I might explode, and just wanted to sit down where I was, cover my ears and scream. That sometimes knowing I’ll be in certain situations makes me want to curl into the fetal position and rock myself into oblivion. That I am constantly full of worry and totally unable to verbalize any of this to anyone for fear of how they’ll handle my thoughts.

We went through the dreaded depression checklist. By the end of my appointment, she was leaning towards my having anxiety issues moreso than depression. We’re meeting again soon to discuss my pregnancy and labor. She wasn’t also ruling out the possibility of PTSD after my labor experience.

When it was over, I walked outside and took a big deep breath. The sun was out for the first time that day. I felt like, twenty pounds lighter. I know everyone says “it’s like a weight is lifted off your shoulders” when you talk to someone for the first time, but it was. That was when I tweeted this:

I’m just so looking forward to not feeling this way anymore. I think I was ramping up to this for a long time, and my pregnancy was just the trigger to make it unmanageable. I don’t even care anymore though. I just want to be better, and I feel like I might be able to now.

Why rompers are bad

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Posted 25 Jun 2010 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category I am a moron, not so much, retail therapy

Recently, I purchased a romper at Target. I have since come to realize that I was drawn to the fabric print more than the “fashion-don’t” itself, but hindsight is 20/20, eh? I thought to myself, “I have an outdoor concert to go to on Saturday – if it’s hot, THIS WILL BE PERFECT!” WRONG.

Anyway, ROMPERS. In and of itself sound like toddlerwear. BECAUSE THEY ARE. Adults are not meant to wear rompers..for a number of reasons.

Do you see the results? MEANT FOR BABIES.

Right, so…why are rompers wrong? Well, first – let me tell you: I had fully intended on taking a photo of myself in this romper I purchased (see below) REGARDLESS of how I looked in it. THAT’S how confident I was that I wouldn’t look like shit. I was SO WRONG.

The romper in question

I tried it on in my bedroom (Do you understand that I actually purchased one without trying it on? Who the hell do I think I am? Heidi Klum!?) and OH MY GOD. Hot mess doesn’t even begin to describe what I looked like in this thing.

The romper in question did three things for my body, none of which are good:

  1. Hey, look! You’re five months pregnant! Oh, you’re not? WELL YOU LOOK LIKE YOU ARE.
  2. A serious case of NoAssAtAll. And trust me, after bearing a child and being on this very earth for nearly 30 years, I HAVE AN ASS.
  3. Yeah, I know…I have shitty posture. This romper is all, “Here! LET ME ACCENTUATE THAT FOR YOU.”

So, as quickly as it was on, it was off and lying on my bedroom floor. I poked it with a stick a few times to make sure it was really dead and stuck it back in the Target bag whence it came.

After this horrorshow, it dawned on me how horrible it would have been had I actually decided to wear it to this concert. Let’s just pretend for a second that I did look like the fabulous Target model wearing it and got to this outdoor concert. Enter…the PortoPotty.

When children wear rompers, most of the time there are crotch snaps to access poo and pee filled diapers. When ADULTS wear rompers, you pull them down to empty your bladder/poop tubes.

I would have had to sit virtually naked in a PortoJohn to cut a wiz.

I NEVER want to be naked in a PortoPotty.

EVER.

Also, the vision of the lock malfunctioning and the door being opened causing a line of people at the toilets and the entire festival grounds taking a peek at me with A ROMPER AROUND MY ANKLES and nothing else on is both hilarious and probably the worst thing ever. (You know, aside from being locked in a room with “Afternoon Delight” at 11 and on repeat. (PCU! WHAT!))

::breathes::

I took the romper back on Wednesday.

Consider yourself warned.

In all seriousness…

10 Comments
Posted 26 May 2010 — by Mrs. Jenna
Category marriage, motherhood, not so much

So, this is the post I started last week that was going to be a more serious post. Turns out, all I even typed out was the title. But I still remember the topic.

I’m going to jump around here a bit. Stay with me.

It seems like lately, all I’m doing is wishing for things to be different. So much so that it nearly consumes my thoughts when I have a spare moment to daydream. My biggest wish? To win the lottery or suddenly be handed a crap-ton of money. I know, I know – a lot of people wish for the same thing. But I think about it ALL THE TIME. Because it would for the most part, solve a lot of my problems. Again – I know this would also solve a lot of problems for other people, but we’re talking about ME, people. IT’S ALL ABOUT ME! *cough* Anyway…

I wish so badly every day that I could be a stay at home mom. EVERY DAY. This just isn’t possible because we need my income. In fact, I’m trying to start working four 10 hour days (instead of four 8 hour days) in order to get back to 40 hours a week and more money.

So, in essence, a lotto win would equate to never having to work again. And the thought makes me so happy that I simply cannot stop thinking about it. I don’t even think about what else I could do with the money, just knowing I could stay home with Abby is enough. I’m so happy when I’m with her. But when I’m not…

I also am having a hard time with my emotions lately. I’m usually a pretty happy person, but I seem to be crying more often and just kind of in a funk that I can’t shake. I have a huge group of ladies I love more than any e-buddies evar, but I can’t bring myself to talk with them much anymore. I don’t really talk to any of my IRL friends anymore either, save one. I don’t know why. It has nothing to do with them and everything to do with me. I keep blaming my hormones (DAMN THIS MIRENA!) but I don’t know if that’s it. And I’m not ready to start waving the PPD flag, because seriously? I just can’t. I don’t feel like that’s me. And that just leaves me…here. With no answers. Feeling slightly crazy and just hoping that tomorrow I’ll feel better. Some days I do. Others, not so much.

I kind of just feel trapped in my own mind. Like, if I vocalize my inner monologue EVER I will surely be locked up in some sort of looney bin or asylum for special people. I have a lot of issues I need to work out regarding a lot of things, but instead I choose to keep everything locked up, because I simply do not feel like dealing with anything.

::deep breaths::

So…there’s my serious post. I don’t know how I feel about actually putting all of this out there, but I am. I kind of feel like I’m in that dream where you’re in the middle of a crowd with no clothes on and everyone is staring at you. I guess I’m just hoping that someone out there can hand me a robe. Preferably one made of lightweight cotton. It’s warm out, doode.

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