I am turning into not a very nice person.  The last year, has had an unfortunate effect of making me a bitter, crabby, bitchy person.  This is probably not really all that true, but I just don’t know how much more I can take.

Mea has said to me, too many times to count, that I am always making a frowny face.  Which is not good for my overall mood, not to mention that I am going to end up with permanent frown lines, and need Botox or something.

Let’s do a recap of 2013 so far…

My Mom diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.

Fired from job of 10 years.

Unemployment for four and a half months.

More than one friend or friend’s spouse diagnosed with cancer.

One job offer, at a significant cut in pay.

Big daughter moves to Ohio.

House is broken into.

Small daughter’s babysitter quits with no notice right before Thanksgiving.

Big daughter calls crying as her work will not let her have any time off for Christmas, and she cannot come home.

This last one is just the icing on the cake.

Mack can’t afford to just quit her job, it took her 2 months to even find this crappy job she doesn’t really like, she had talked about just quitting and coming home, but this just isn’t really a reasonable thing to do.  My Mom is just devastated.  My heart hurts, I cried at work this morning.  Blubbered all over one of my co-workers. 

I cannot even begin to tell you what this is going to do to Mea.  She is going to be crushed.  She has said multiple times that she only wants Mack home for Christmas.  Now, she’s not fooling me completely, she still wants a guitar (she’s getting that) a computer (not so much) a I-Pod Touch (nope) and a Nerf bow and arrow (yes!), but I cannot provide the one thing that she has asked for over and over again.  It is at the top of each Christmas list.  I have even heard her whispering it to Sparkle Heart….

“I want my MackamooSissy home for Christmas….”

This breaks my heart, not just for Mea, but for me too.  I miss Mack like crazy.  I have been good, I haven’t complained about her not being here, I was sad when she wasn’t here for Thanksgiving, and I had to suck it up a few times.  I can only begin to imagine what Christmas without her is going to be like. 

Every year, for as long as she has been alive, and old enough to actually “help” Nana decorate their house for Christmas, she has been the main “elf” doing all of the decorating.  She told my Mom before she left for Ohio, that she understood that decorating couldn’t wait, but to please save the nativity for her to put out. 

My Mom made the nativity scene with her ceramics ladies.  Sanded, painted, and fired each piece herself.  The nativity has always been Mack’s last duty in the decorating.  Mom was saving it for her.

My Mom sent me a text that she can’t put it out.  She had my Dad put the box back in storage.

 We are going to pull everything together, get it wrapped so that I can get it shipped out in time for Mack and her boyfriend to have gifts to open.  Some of her stuff isn’t here yet, so I guess she may end up getting some of her presents in installments.  She has been making many of her gifts for the kids and grown-ups, so they are not all finished either.  I told her I would help her with the shipping when she was ready and able.

We have been planning on going out to visit over Spring Break, and to be honest, March 14th cannot come soon enough for me.  I need to see my girl.  I need to be able to touch her and give her a hug.  Skype is wonderful, but it’s not exactly the same thing as giving your big girl a snuggle.

I am over this year. 

It has been awful, and I just don’t know how much more I can take.

I’m tired of whining.

I’m tired of not being my normal snarky, somewhat happy self.




Too Many Guys and Friends

Before Mea even came home, her collection of stuffed animals was started.  We took her first guy, Raffie, (the giraffe) to June’s house during our first visit with her. 

Our adoption placement worker, or some such title, had recommended that we (my husband and I) sleep with a stuffed animal in our bed for about a week ahead of the visit.  A sensory type of thing, to get her accustomed to our “smells” and the smell of our home.

Mack and I shopped at several different stores before finally deciding on Raffie, and a pink hippo, who was never played with.

The week prior to June bringing Mea home to us, she was instructed to sleep with one of Mea’s blankets so that it would be infused with her smell, and the smell of her home and the only home that Mea had lived in for that last year.

The blanket is tucked away in a special baby box along with the outfit she came home in, the outfit she wore to court for finalization, and a few other things.

Stuffed animals breed.

You may not realize this, but they do.

They are breeders of epic proportions. 

One day you have a Raffie and a pink hippo with no name, and the next day you have all the Garry, Larry, and Beary, all of the Yo Gabba Gabbas, five or six different Pillow Pets, Build a Bears, claw machine animals, and only heaven knows what else living in your kids room.

I have given serious thought to one of these, but while we still have the bunk bed, it seems that the top bunk works just as well, at least for now.  I wonder if I could make one cheaper too.  Cheaper and bigger.  This doesn’t seem very big.

Anyway, yesterday Mea lost the remote to her TV somewhere in her room.  I thought for sure it was on the top bunk of her bed, but after sending her up there to look she insisted it wasn’t up there.

We looked for the remote for an hour, all three of us.

Finally, I sent her up to the top bunk of her bed and made her throw down every single stuffed animal.  There were bears, cats, dogs, pillow pets, bugs, dinosaurs, pants to Build a Bears, panties to Build a Bears, shoes to Build a Bears, a random baby here or there, a baby bottle, a baby diaper, a rogue dried out marker, a popsicle stick, a fruit snack wrapper, a granola bar wrapper, and finally at the very, very end, there was a remote to her TV. 

Tucked in the very farthest corner just out of reach.

All was right with the world again.  Threw all those stupid animals right back on the top bunk.  God help me.

Don’t Touch Me!

I have had a great weekend.  (Insert loads of sarcasm here.)

Friday morning, Mea woke up and said she had a sore throat.  She didn’t have a fever or any other symptoms, so I sent her to school.  (Yes, I was that Mom.)  I did tell her that if it still hurt to go to the nurses office.  I didn’t hear anything all day, so assumed she was fine.

I picked her up from daycare, and she was fine.  Until we got into the car.  Once in the car she was in full meltdown mode, crying and carrying on about how her throat hurt.  We got home, took her temperature again, and it was still normal.  We were going out for dinner, so the deal we struck was that if it still hurt when we were done we would go to the clinic.

We ended up at the clinic.  I suppose it was a good thing, because she had a sinus infection.  Z-pack prescribed.

Woke up Saturday morning, started getting ready for a trip up to Yellow State City to visit Mack and take her to lunch, and Mea starts complaining of it hurting when she peed.  I thought maybe she was being dramatic, or that it was something from the Z-pack causing it.  We went on with our trip, had a nice lunch, visited Mack’s new work at the Cold Stone Creamery, got some milk shakes to go, and headed home.

When we got back to town we picked up our Girl Scout cookies, delivered a few of our orders, and then came back home.  She again started to complain about her bottom, and peeing.  By this time the clinics are closed, so I bought some cranberry juice, and tried to make her comfortable.

Woke up this morning, got dressed, go back to the clinic, and after I was finally able to get her to pee, she did in fact have a UTI.  Now, we need to finish the z-pack for her sinuses, and start the other medication for this new development.

We were almost out of toilet paper at home, so we made a quick stop at Target.  I did tell Mea that she could get something.  Within reason.  That I had the final say on what we were getting.  She is usually fine with this.  After getting our TP, and wandering the toy aisles several times, I had thought we had decided on a toy.  We are walking out of the toy area, and she says, “I never get what I want.”

She should know better.

I took the toy from her hands, set it on the closest shelf, and steered her towards the front of the store so we could check out.

She has started this new thing when she is in trouble, where she screams, “Don’t touch me!”

Until today, she hadn’t said it anywhere but at home.  Added a new dimension to this particular temper tantrum.  She acts like she is beaten on a daily basis or something.  So when I couldn’t get her to walk, I would give her a little shove in the correct direction.  Then she would scream it at me again.  Sometimes adding, “I just want my Daddy!”

I seriously think there were a few people considering calling the authorities.  Then again, if I would have seen this, maybe I would have thought it as well.

I know that there was a woman staring at me, and at Mea, as if she were being kidnapped or something.  While I was trying to pay, Mea was standing behind me, still in the store.  I could see her, I knew she was fine, this same woman stopped to talk to her like she was lost or something.  She was crying, so I suppose she may have looked like a little lost girl, instead of a little spoiled brat girl that she was actually being.

So now, we are home, she is all cried out, and taking a nap.

Do you think anything of this new “Don’t touch me!” phase?

I don’t quite know what to think.




So on Saturday morning, we received our first real snow of the season.  Mea and I were supposed to go out to an area mall and she was supposed to work a booth with her Daisy troop selling Girl Scout Cookies.  I had sent the troop leader an email late Friday night telling her that if the weather was too bad we may not be there.

I am a confident driver in the snow, but I don’t like to do it if I don’t have too.  So when it really started piling up, and it was all over the news that it was worse in the area where the mall was, I made the executive decision that we were staying home.

Mea was pissed.


She was all kinds of evil most of the morning, and was driving me crazy asking if we could please still just go. 

I struck a compromise.

I told her that if she could please not mention the mall, Girl Scout cookies, or Girl Scouts for the rest of the day, I would take her on Sunday and buy her a Password Journal. 

Now, she had seen a commercial for the Password Journal on TV on Thursday night.  My husband made the mistake of mentioning that Mack used to have one.  That started us on a search through the house to see if it still existed somewhere.  I finally called Mack, and she confirmed that she thought she had thrown it out, you know, ten years ago.  Mea was crushed.  There is nothing quite like having your sister’s old stuff to rifle through and call your own.  Believe me there is plenty of Mack’s stuff downstairs for little Miss Sassy Pants to try to claim as her own.

Anyway, Mea ended up talking to Mack, and Mack tried to persuade her that she didn’t want the Password Journal, she failed. 

After I offered up this piece of bribery, Mea wouldn’t shut up about it.  She was wearing out my nerves.  I shovelled four inches of super heavy wet yucky snow, my husband was conveniently working during this snow fall.  The back-breaking labor was almost worth it to have some peace and quiet for an hour and a half.

So Sunday, we cleaned house, we were having the big girls and the grandkids over for the Super Bowl.  Operation Tidy House HAD to happen, whether I wanted to or not.  So we got that done.  Mea was actually a big help.  She “likes” cleaning.  (This is because she is too young to know any better.)  I got showered, made a list, got her ready, and we headed out for our quest of Password Journal.

I had checked online to make sure that Target, specifically our Target had them in stock.  It said they did.  We wandered the toy rows for about fifteen minutes before we found it.  Mea was begging me to ask a Target “worker.”  When we found it, it did not go into the cart, she carried it around with us the rest of the time.  Obsessed, much?  Yes.

We got home, got the batteries in, I read the instructions, and was telling Mea what to do.  Now, she was getting really pissy with me because this was going to have her “secret” password.  She didn’t want me to know what it was.  Part of this is because she is always trying to figure out the password on my phone.  She’ll never guess it, and no one else would either.  A random six digit number, and that is all.  I had to explain to her that her’s would only respond to her voice, that because our voices were different, it wouldn’t open for Momma.  Once we got the password set, I had to prove to her that it wouldn’t open for me, she thinks this is hilarious.

She tried using a long word.  “Starfish” was the first choice, I think she may have seen this used on the commercial.  It was too long.  She needed something short, so that it sounded the same each time she said it.   

“MOM!” is what she picked.

So all day yesterday, as I am finishing things up in preparation for the big girls coming over, I kept hearing, “MOM!”  I kept thinking she was calling me.  Every time I was wrong.  Now, she does almost always actually call me Momma, so I guess I should have known the difference, but you hear “MOM!” and you go running.

I think I should have her change her password tonight to “DAD!”


A Letter to Elmo, and The Count

Dearest Elmo, and The Count,

Where I appreciate the things that you have taught my darling daughter over the years, like counting, colors, letters, how to play nice with friends and such, I am writing to you today to let you know that one of your learning products nearly caused a five car pile-up on my way into the office today.

One thing that you have neglected in teaching my daughter is how to pick up her toys, and how to not leave crap in Momma’s car every single day.  The backseat of my car looks like Toys R Us and Target threw up back there.

Cleaning up after oneself is just as important of a task as learning one’s ABC’s and 123’s, and could go a long way in lowering auto insurance deductibles.

Let me explain.

On the way into the office this morning, one of your push button, dry erase books randomly started counting to itself.  Mea was not in the car.  Each time I turned a corner, or came to a stop, I would get assaulted by Elmo giggles, and The Count counting from anywhere from 1 (One Tuba!) to 25 (Twenty-five Bats!).  Do you know how long it takes for The Count to count to 25, particularly while counting bats? 

A long time.

Several blocks.

Did you know that this particular dry erase counting book has no on/off switch?  That would also be quite handy.

Maybe the next dry erase book that Elmo and The Count do together should be about keeping Momma’s car tidy?  I think that this would be a fabulous idea, and would endorse it 100%, so long as there was an on/off button.  I would buy one for all the Momma’s I know.

So, as The Count was counting to 23 this morning (Twenty-three Bottle Caps!), I was frantically trying to reach into the back seat to turn the freaking thing off.  I nearly didn’t stop when the car in front of me slammed to a stop, I can only assume that they were also trying to stop your counting book from counting.

Please start your work on the new book immediately,


Mrs. Monkeysoup

Where I Freak Mea Out…

Two Sunday’s ago, I took Mea to Build A Bear.  The plan had been to go on Monday, but she nagged me to death persuaded me to go on Sunday instead.  I think I may have already said that I am kind of glad she did, since Sunday night is when Vomit Fest 2012 began.  We wouldn’t have been able to go on Monday.  It also makes me wonder if by going to the germ infested land of BAB if that’s where she picked up her stomach bug.  I guess I’ll never know. 

Anyway, after I was convinced to go, I remembered that I had a coupon to BAB at my office.  Due to the fact that I knew we would not be getting out of BAB for cheap, I decided we needed to head to my office to get the coupon before we went.  The office is close to home, so it was a tiny trip out-of-the-way to save $5, I also figured Mea could start picking which animal she wanted on the way there.

We pulled up to my office, and there was a van parked right at the front.  We obviously were closed, so I knew it had to be the cleaning crew.  I knew that they came on Sunday at some point but I never know what time.

Before I even opened the car doors, Mea started freaking out.  The fact that she knows that it’s possible for there to be a violation at my work clearly scares her more than I realized.

“If your office is closed Momma, why is this car here?  Is it a robber?!  We need to go home now, don’t open your car door!”

“Mea it’s the cleaning man, he comes three times a week when Momma is not at work.  It’s okay.  Really.”

“I don’t think it is Momma.”

“We’ll run in get the coupon, and leave.  Easy peasy, Sis.”

She finally decided that it was okay for us to go in.  She then insisted on a sucker.  She was all eyes while we were in there.  Checking all over the place for robbers. 

Truthfully, we probably scared the cleaning man worse than she was scared of him.  He doesn’t speak any English, and obviously wasn’t expecting anyone.  He stayed hid in the basement the whole time we were there. 

Mea insists that she saw him on the basement stairs.  She still isn’t quite convinced that it was the cleaning man, and not a robber.  Somehow, I think that she isn’t going to be cut out for my line of work as a grown-up.  She better stick to her current goal of gymnast or veterinarian.


While we were standing in line at BAB after we had picked her bear, had her stuffed, picked out her outfit and accessories, had created her birth certificate and all the fun stuff, a really snotty older girl said something not very nice.

We bought a pair of glasses for Abby so that Mea and her bear would match.  Kind of silly, but for $3, I thought that it would be cute.  This girl, who was probably ten or so was standing in line in front of us.  She looked at Mea, looked at Mea’s bear, and then said to her mom, “Look, they sell glasses for your animal in case you want it to be a nerd like you.”

It took about all I had not to punch her.  Little jerk.

Three Days with Mea

I actually, finally had a weekend off this weekend.  Thanks to my future assistant manager coming to cover my office for me, I was able to take the long weekend for a change.

Mea and I really didn’t have any plans.  We just knew that Daddy was going to be working, and we would be hanging out.  Saturday morning, I had a haircut.  First one in since September.  I may have gotten berated a little by my stylist for taking the scissors into my own hands.  Those bangs had to be cut, I was way past my eyeballs, couldn’t see, and I am getting too old to put a barrett in my bangs. 

Then we went to Target.  Oh, Target, how I love and hate thee at the same time.  I can always find way too much crap with in your red walls, and always spend too much money.  We bought “Girl Legos,” new shampoo and conditioner for me (smells like lemon Pledge), and miscellaneous other stuff.  I don’t even know what else.

We came home, and Mea played with her Lego’s quietly for at least an hour and a half.  I was able to do the dishes, read my book for a while, and prep everything for homemade pizza night with no help.  That is so worth $20.

We had made plans to go out on Monday to Build A Bear.  I had a coupon, thought it would be a good fun thing for us to do on the holiday together.  Sunday came, and Mea was making me mental about going.  I finally was bullied into persuaded to go on Sunday.  (I am actually glad now that I lost this battle.)  We builded our bear, Abby, did our weekly grocery shopping, came home to do laundry and all that other fun stuff.

We ate supper, watched a movie, and went to bed.

I woke up to Mea crawling into bed with me. 

I then woke to Mea throwing up on me.

I then had the pleasure of sleeping in her bed with her (can we say uncomfortable?), and waking up every so often to watch her vomit.  It was great fun.  A couple of plusses in the whole Vomit Fest 2012, my husband knows how weak my stomach is, and did not even hesitate to take care of the mess.  This is a good thing for many reasons.  I would have surely ended up in worse shape than Mea is, and I would have killed him if he hadn’t.

For the most part yesterday was spent watching Mea sleep.  She slept almost the entire day.  Ate a few saltines, finally ate a few spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup.  I did get the laundry finished, including my new, not planned laundry, and I did make my Mom her birthday cake.  Belatedly.

Last Wednesday was my Mom’s birthday.  We celebrated with breakfast last Sunday the 8th.  I am the only one who makes Mom’s birthday cake, and it is a time-consuming one, so I didn’t make it for birthday breakfast.  I actually have been a very bad daughter and haven’t made it for a couple of years.  I do remember the “reminder” I got last year around February that I hadn’t made it in a long time. 

My Mom’s cake is a Spiced Raisin Cake, that my Nana used to make.  Several years after my Nana had died, I made it, and was dubbed “the only one who can make that cake.”  I was even given the pan.  Yes, it has it’s own special cake pan.  I didn’t use it yesterday, I made her cake into an 8×8 cake, and 18 cupcakes.  Did I mention that it makes enough to feed a small army?  So I was able to make a cake delivery to my Mom’s work in the afternoon when my husband came home for a bit.  She was thrilled. 

I had kind of forgotten how tasty it is.  An old school depression recipe, but pretty tasty.

I think that’s about it.  Target is my friend and enemy, Lego’s are good to Mea, Build A Bear is fun, barfing is stupid, and Spiced Raisin cake is yummy, although quite time consuming.