So long Summer

It’s finally been raining all week. I don’t consider the summer truly over until we start to get the rainy weeks. I need my boys to come home from football practice with mud caked to their cleats to make peace with the passing of summer.  Oh how I used to love the summer….

This year summer had nothing magical about it. There were no trips to the beach, no late night phone calls to my love, no weekend getaways. There were no amusement parks, no road trips, no picnics, and not even a yard full of flowers to sit and enjoy.

There was a broken air conditioner, a pregnant daughter, doctors who threw out scary scenarios for us to pray over, a shoulder surgery, a sister trying to turn her life around, a mother who never called with she was needed, a cancer scare that hasn’t gone away and a house full of kids who were tired of Ramen Noodles.

The worst of it was that I am the one who lost the magic. I was the one who loaded those kids into the car year after year and made games out of hunting for rocks on dirt roads or piled them into a musty old cabin near the sand with nothing more than a few groceries and a bottle of sunblock to make the perfect vacation. I made the magic, but it’s like everything is gone now.

A hurricane stole that little cabin from me. And a disease has taken my joy. My love of writing has been sitting stagnant from the pain in my fingers. My love of capturing the perfect scene has been held back because of the fire radiating through my feet. My dream of a weekend on the road by myself to take nature pictures, squished! (I got the camera, and I lost the drive.) My journal of prayer has turned to a book of worry. Even my love of mothering is impaired by the pure lack of energy that has taken me hostage.

I’ve lost my ambition. I’ve lost my purpose. I’ve lost myself. And honestly, I don’t think anyone has noticed that I’m gone. I’m just an empty shell of the girl I want to be. Sometimes I reach out, but I don’t think I get through. So I wonder, at what point have you lost enough to just stop existing?

What is a life that sits un-lived? Maybe there’s a pill for that too. I’m taking so many, what’s one more, right?

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Just Take Your Lumps

     Some things aren’t supposed to be lumpy. No one wants to pour lumpy gravy on their mashed potatoes. When’s the last time your kids said “Mom, would you make me some super lumpy oatmeal for breakfast?” Or how ’bout “I want the lumpy pillow!” I’m struggling to think of something that is nice when it’s lumpy… yeah, I’ve got nothing! Continue reading

Dear Sweet Tina

So the hubby has always had a girl following. He’s cute, he’s funny, he’s hyper, he’s outgoing. The girls love him. They Facebook him. They text him, They call him. They need their cars fixed and their kids chased and I think truly they just want to laugh, and he’s a big goober, so he makes them laugh. I am not bothered by that. My years of being the jealous type ended long ago. Hell, I’m the one with an arsenal of boy toys- the Cable Guy, the Pawn Star, the Coach, the Boyfriend, the Professor… so what kind of hypocrite would I be if I had a cow every time he said “hey sexy lady”?

image courtesy of pinow.com

image courtesy of pinow.com

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iConfess

I was never a fan of the iPhone. From the moment iPod’s emerged I though Apple added and i and overcharged for their stuff, but I just found a reason to love the iPhone. I’ve confessed before that sometimes in the middle of the night I hide in the bathroom and play Ruzzle on my hubby’s iPhone. I have been so depressed and overwhelmed by my life that sleep rarely comes to me. My brain won’t shut down because it’s too busy to making lists of the things I need to get done, the bills I need to get paid, the conversations I need to have but avoid… I could go on, but long-story-short for months I would stare at that stupid little screen until the light made my eyes tired enough to finally close them. The one night I tip-toed to the bathroom only to find Ruzzle had been deleted.

iPhone

It didn’t rock my world or anything, it’s just a stupid game I used to count sheep. I figured it must have drove him crazy with notifications or something so I never said a word about it and I never turned on his iPhone in the night again. The one night my blood sugar dropped to 53 in the middle of the night. I woke up dizzy and woozy. I am new at this whole “diabetic” bullshit but I knew enough to quickly check my sugar level. After spending the summer in the 300 range, I didn’t know what to think about 53, so I grabbed the iPhone to Google some answers. After reading a few pages that suggested I was in trouble, I crawled to the kitchen and drank the very soda I have avoided for four months now, and finally started to feel normal again, but the scare kept me from falling back asleep so I started to play with the phone, seeking to wear my eyes out.

Here’s where I found something I still don’t know how I arrived at… it was a prompt that asked me if I wanted to undelete messages! Undelete? Really? I’ve never seen that before. So I said “yes” and that’s when Pandora’s box opened up. Continue reading

I’d rather be alone….

I’m so sick of superficial artificial fake-ass people. I swear I’d rather be home all by myself than constantly deal with fake friends, fake men, and drama I didn’t ask for. It’s pretty sad when you have 600 friends on Facebook and only two you’d trust with your heart.

A few weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night. My head was shaking. I can’t explain it very well, I can only say if felt like someone opened my skull, put their hand in my head, and shook my brain. I don’t know if my body was moving or not. I do know I wanted to cry for help. I wanted to wake my husband up, but I couldn’t speak. I could hear the words in my head, but I couldn’t get my mouth to move. I’m not sure if it was a seizure of some sort, but I know for the next week I was exhausted like never before and I had a headache I couldn’t shake. It was the scariest moment of my life. When my doctor said “you will be seeing me once a week until we figure this all out,” suddenly I realized, life really can be too short.

It was common knowledge around here that I was pretty sick, mainly because my husband is a big mouth, and I’m sad to say none of my Facebook followers bothered to check on me. People who used to claim they were my best friends couldn’t even muster a phone call. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe because I got sick of being the PTO President, Martha Stewart kind of mom I was known for being. Or maybe because I finally had too many things to do to keep helping everyone else with everything they needed, but sometimes I am shocked by the sheer audacity of some people.

One of these so called friends used to come to my house 3 or 4 nights a week. I cooked dinner for her family night after night. I treated her kids well, and I even ignored the fact that she thought riding on my husbands motorcycle meant she had some kind of chance to get in his pants. Then one day, I had a house to clean and kids to feed, and I quit lying to her about why she couldn’t get a man, and POOF, she was gone.

To be honest, I think the nail in the coffin was plain old jealously. I’ve got a husband and a blast from the past that loves me still, and she can’t get a guy to hang in there for six months. It’s easier to blame me that her own personality. I tried to tell her all it takes to get a man is a smile, a shirt that isn’t a black t’shirt everyday, and some cleavage. But she doesn’t like my advice, so she found a new best friend.

She still calls from time to time, but it’s always awkward. The day after I got out of the hospital I heard from her because she needed help with her computer. When I explained that I had just gotten out of the hospital, and couldn’t run into town to help her solve her problem, did she say “omg, are you ok?” No! She said “how ’bout tomorrow?”

I wonder when the world became so selfish? When did people stop honestly caring for one another? I wonder, how many people who say “I’m praying for you” actually fold their hands and whisper a prayer? Today, I’m thinking sincerity is lost on this world of ours, and that’s a bigger problem that gun control and terrorism put together…

fakeppl

Confession: I have the blues

I think I have the winter blues. I just feel “blah”. I can’t seem to find my enthusiasm for anything. I started working on my old scrapbook, but I only finished half of it. I started cleaning out the closets, but I only did one. I went shopping for lingerie but I bought one thing and left the store. I LEFT THE STORE, and I STILL HAD MONEY!

I just feel so ‘bleh’ that I can’t even come up with a good word for it. I tried to cure myself with a long bubble bath, but all it did was make me realize that the grout is in desperate need of scrubbing. I tried getting a pedicure, but for some reason all I could was sit there and wonder if they were making fun of me in Vietnamese. I don’t know why I always think the salon girls are gossiping about the customers, but it does seem that way. Continue reading

As Seen on TV

Some of the stuff I see on TV really disturbs me on a very deep level. Like that skin tag commercial, I can’t watch that thing without a case of the heeby-jeebies! Not only do I find the visualization of all those skin tags unsettling, I think it’s rude of them to make people think this will be some kind of instant cure when the fine print says “use for three weeks”… 21 days of looking at one of those? No thank you!

Then there’s that commercial for the “HurryCane”. Sure, it’s a neat improvement from the old walking stick, but come on, how stupid do they think people really are? When this commercial plays on TV, a bulleted list spells out the perks that come with ordering this cane. Not only will you have the HurryCane and it’s neat little travel bag, but you also get your very own, one-of-a-kind, Certificate of Authenticity. Now I know we’re all guilty of using those lovely bullet lists on our resumes, and sometimes they require creative writing to fill them in, but come on! A certificate of authenticity, for a cane?? I dare you to walk up to the first person you see sporting the HurryCane and ask them “Do you have the Certificate of Authenticity for that?”

Maybe there’s some kind of black market for HurryCane’s and they don’t want us to be tempted to purchase a knock-off, like my Cabbage Patch Doll and her birth certificate that proved she was real. (Well, it was the certificate and the signature of Xavier Roberts on her booty.)

Then there’s that one where the toe nails have fungus– I’m glad to know the makers of Lamisil are trying to solve one of the world’s nastiest problems, people with funky feet, but did they have to make the fungus pop open the toenail like the hood of a car? For years the sound of that commercial has sent a chill down my spine. Continue reading