Therapy Sessions

When I write, it is for therapeutic purposes, though it may be interesting, funny, or offending - the main reason behind me picking up a pen plunking away at my key board is to get whatever's bothering me out.  I need to have an outlet, and this is my chosen outlet.

So, first thing's first: If you don't like it, why do you bother to read it?

Second - With the exception of Mr. Delusional and my children, I don't ever name names.  Period.

I'm going to write about something that's been bugging me a lot lately.  No names, No descriptors as to who each individual may be.  But I need to get this off of my chest.

Everyone has a few branches on their family tree that they'd like to prune....not that there's anything wrong with those people, perhaps it's just a clash of personalities.  Whatever it is, I'm sure you can relate.

I have a family member who likes to make "mountains out of molehills" -- In an effort to save my sanity, I have very limited contact with her - I simply don't have the time and patience to constantly sooth her trivial needs.

I have a family member who I would consider to be on the extreme end of the religious spectrum.  I also limit my time with her - saves arguments from happening.

I have another family member who has had a sketchy past, I'll not go into details, but let's just say that she burned the bridge that connected her to me (or was it me who struck that match?).  So be it.

However, now this family member is at a point in her life where there is a lot of good coming her way. I think that's great.  Other family members are happy for her.  I think that's great too.

So what's the problem??  For the life of me, I cannot be happy for her.  I just feel as if there's this dark, looming presence on the horizon....I'm waiting for that other shoe to drop.

My head, my schooling, and some family members tell me that I need to give her another chance....but in my heart, I just can't.  And I can't even explain it more than that.  I just can't.

So why is this a big deal?  Because now, when I visit our mutual family, I have to put on a facade of caring....so I no longer visit.  I'm not comfortable listening to them talk and rave about how wonderful everything is - inside I'm screaming "Did you all forget what she's done?"  You see, I have this fatal personality flaw - it's called vengeance.  I rarely forgive, and I never, never, ever forget. 

I simply can't bring myself to do it.  They can be happy for her for me.  I hope and pray that the changes in her life stay this time, but I still want nothing to do with her.  I'm sorry that that hurts you, but I absolutely refuse to apologize for the way that I feel.

They called me stubborn, so be it, I am.  I call it protecting my family, without her around I know that they are safe.

:(

The Pasta War

There's a certain someone in my family who doesn't like it when I write blog posts about him - so let's just call him...uh...Mr. Delusional (and that's oh so fitting for this post)

Mr. Delusional is a little picky with things.  For example - he doesn't like left-overs.  At first, I thought that he was just being a big whiny baby - but after spending some time with Mr. Delusional's mother, I realized it's because she'll make a giant batch of food and then the family will eat from that food until it's gone.  Yeah.  So, growing up like that, I can see where Mr. Delusional's loathing for leftovers comes from.  So now, I either make smaller meals without planning for left overs - or make a large meal and freeze the left overs for eating at another time (ps - Do NOT make Mr. Delusional aware of this time and sanity saving trick of mine!!)

I think that the meal-of-the-week thing is the same reason why my husband doesn't like certain pastas.  If he sees a macaroni shaped noodle - he will not eat it.  But this is where our argument comes to a head...

You see - Mr. Delusional thinks that each pasta shape is made from a different recipe -- as if the ingredients somehow affect the shape of it. One day, I'd planned on making cannelloni -- but realized I didn't have any cannelloni noodles - so I made large stuffed shells instead.  He thinks it tastes different.  He thinks that spaghetti has a different flavour than linguini.

No amount of evidence has convinced him yet.

Yesterday - I wasn't feeling well, so made a simple supper...A nice baked talapia with some cellentani noodles tossed with a garlic butter.  But -- he didn't like the "taste" of those noodles.  I guarantee you that if I had made it with a vermicelli or linguini, he'd have chowed it down.

I've even showed him this video and he still doesn't get it. Why are men so stubborn??

Major Vent/Rant

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.  Everything is making me grumpy and I don't even know why, so...some of the thoughts that cross my mind today will be vented out here...please tell me I'm not alone in my anger issues:

• Dear Jean Manufacturers everywhere, can we please stop with the low-rise crap?  I'd like to be able to sit down without half of my back end showing.  Thanks.
• Why won't my daycare children eat any more?  I made a giant pot of delicious chicken vegetable soup and they're all asking for Mr. Noodles.  Hello???  Yummy and healthy in exchange for salt covered Styrofoam??
• Ever since Adam's been sick, when I ask him to clean up he puts on this painful face and says "My tummy hurts, I can't clean up."  It's not funny any more, honey....just clean up the damn lego!
• People asking stupid questions.  I can't handle it.  Things like "what should I advertise about my daycare?" Seriously??  You've been in business for how many years and you don't know what to put in a stinkin' advertisement??  You suck!
• Dear Dust.  DIE.  I hate you.  I hate your sneak attack...I think my home is clean and lovely and I turn around and there you are just waiting to show people that I'm actually a lazy old hag.  Thanks for nothin'!
• who the hell invented Transformers??  Must have been a childless person, as someone with a child and half a brain can imagine the pain caused by stepping on Bumble Bee's Tranny/Gun.
• We have (literally - not pulling any jokes/sarcasm here) 5 feet of snow on my yard.  I figure that by the time I"ll see any grass it'll be mid-August.  Yippe-fricken-ki-yay.

This is all the complaining that I have to do right now.  The children are sleeping (Thank GOD) and I'm going to make myself a cup of tea and perhaps meditate....I need to be nice again (though, I reserve the right to add to this list as I see fit today)....

A little friendly waxing advice...

I'm going to tell you a story, it's all true (and may be a bit of a PG 13 thing) - but I have to give you a little background info first.  Some of this will include a bit about my faith....but I'll soon get into the advice.

I don't think I've kept it any secret that I am a Muslim -- part of my faith is ensuring cleanliness -- of the home, of the body and of the body parts.  We are even told that it is better to remove the hair from the armpits and pubic areas.  Yup, that's right.  Personally, I choose to wax to do this.

The problem comes in that I'm also fairly cheap.  Getting it done at the salon is a LOT more expensive than buying those little wax strips...but I will do it myself and then give myself the "treat" of the salon every few months.

So -- last time, I was brave enough to give myself a Brazilian wax at home.  It requires a lot of determination, and well placed mirrors.  I did a decent job and was happy with it.  So, I thought I could do it again.

I got all my gear together and went at it... but (there's always a but, isn't there?) at the very last strip I pulled the skin tight (I was working on my labia area) and ripped that last bitty strip off.  The problem came because I was holding that skin so tight that I literally ripped it.  Yes...my skin split.  A gash probably 2 inches long....

My first reaction was "Holy *&$#@!!!!!" I was near fainting...I was shaking and crying and....well, I'm sure you can imagine.  After calming down a bit I assessed the damage and realized it wasn't so bad, but just in a horrible, horrible spot.  It was bleeding a bit, but manageable....I hobbled over to my tub and got into the shower....debating whether or not I should go to the hospital.  Thank God for friends who are nurses....she came to check on me and I'm all good -- just have to slather it with Polysporin and keep it clean.

So -- my advice in all this -- when dealing with "sensitive areas" and hair removal - It is worth every penny it takes to get it done by a professional!!

Momtuition strikes again!

You know how you have that "momtuition" that lets you know when something's just not right with your kid?  Well, it was blaring at me this morning.  I woke up, cleaned up my daycare room - and it stayed clean.  That was sign number 1.  Adam didn't have breakfast, that was sign number 2.  We went out to the mosque, and as per usual, stopped by Tim Horton's for coffee and doughnuts (hot chocolate for the kids) after prayer.  Adam didn't touch is doughnut (sign 3), didn't freak when we cut it in half and split it between Iman and Isaac (sign 4) and only drank about half of his hot chocolate (sign 5).  We're driving in the car and Moe had to stop at Home Depot -- I say "Adam's sleeping, I'll just wait in here with him." -- 15 minutes later, Moe gets out and we head for home.  Less than 5 minutes from the house - Adam wakes up spewing vomit all over the back seat.  All over himself, the carseat, the floor and his sister.  It was N-A-S-T-Y.

I should mention that the weather here right now is in the -30s.  Before we could get through the intersection, the sudden rise in the humidity level of the car causes the inside of the windows to go foggy.  We are driving with the windows open and our fingers plugging our noses, Adam is wailing and freaking out because he's got puke on his mitten, Iman is valiantly trying not to gag as she tries to ignore the bits of vomit on her jacket, legs and boots...and Isaac was playing his DSi.

We get home and go into full "family team" mode - Moe takes the puke-covered Adam out of the care and into the house to get cleaned up, Iman organizes a pile of "this stuff's been puked on" for me to put into the wash - and Isaac hauls in the bags of "rescued items" and my purse.  Meanwhile - I run and grab some Mr. Clean and a spray bottle and go back to the car -- I see that there are two good things that have happened.  1. 90% of the puke is on the carseat itself, 2, most of the rest is on the floor mat of the back seat -- this is good as both can be pulled out and washed.

However, there is bad in this too -- You see - taking out a carseat that has just been covered in what seems like 2 liters of vomit is tricky -- it leaks and spills out of little crevices that you don't even know are there.  Thank GOD for leather seats!  Also -- trying to wipe down things like this when it's -30 outside is next to impossible -- the spray is frozen before it even hits the acquired targets!  Once it lands, you've essentially got a Mr. Clean slushie to clean up with.

Then comes the carseat itself -- trying to take the cover off of the carseat and attempting to recall how you did it way back in the day when he was just a baby (also - suddenly realizing how big he's gotten that there's only another 1 1/2 years left on the seat itself) - wow.  I finally remember where I stuffed the manual for it - go about unhooking little elastics from places that only elves and fairys could possibly have placed them, and try not to gag as the scent of curdled hot chocolate wafts up to me at every moment.

In the end - the car seat was cleaned, so was the car.  Poor Adam was sick all night long and still showing signs of it today -- gotta love flu season.

Just call me Mrs. Brady -- why are you laughing?

So, I'm on a new kick...I wonder how long it will last.  I have a fairly clean home (except for the never ending dust - God how I hate dusting!) and have been keeping on track with my cleaning routine (thanks to Flylady - if you've never heard of her, you may just curse me) and have been cooking relatively decent suppers thanks to a whole lot of cook books (my favourites are Company's Coming, but I've got tons of different ones).

Kitty Forman - She's like a super happy version of me

Why doesn't my family appreciate this though?  Monday I made a Hungarian Stew, it was good -- but my picky kids wouldn't eat it.  Actually, Adam was digging right in until Isaac said "I....don't really like this" Then all hell broke loose and no one wanted to eat.  It makes me want to scream when I go to the effort of cooking and no one eats it.  Moe and I ate it (really, it was good!) ...and then were "mean" because we wouldn't let the kids eat cereal instead of the perfectly fine meal on their plates.

Tuesday I made Pastito - I love pastito...you get pasta without a typical Italian pasta taste -- likely because it's more of a Greek dish.  It was heavenly -- and again, Adam was happily chowing away when the older two "didn't like" it.  I nearly stabbed them with my fork.  Again, they went to bed with "nothing good" to eat.  Whatever.

In anger - last night I refused to make anything.  Yup, I let them gorge on cereal...what do I care?  I was mean and nasty and grumpy all day (but damn, my house was clean -- because I didn't give up on that!).  Then I started feeling bad -- these are growing kids, they need more than carbs and milk to get through the day.  So, I went onto Allrecipes to find a nice healthy and hearty breakfast for them.  I chose an oatmeal - it's cold here, I thought it would warm their bellies and stick to their ribs.  I wake up and gather the ingredients (this one had egg -- odd, no?) I happily am stirring away and the kitchen is smelling like a warm cinnamon hug....it was great.  I spoon the oatmeal into their eagerly awaiting bowls...they take a bite....and -- you guessed it "I don't like it"

And I'm a bit like Lois on my bad days...

I was enraged, but quietly made my own bowl....this stuff was NASTY.  The people on the site all gave it a near 5/5...what the hell were they on?  It was friggen disgusting!!  I've made my own porridge/oatmeal before - and it was delicious...this was the equivalent of hospital grade oatmeal with a dash of cinnamon.  *gag*

So - I've decided that I'm done trying to be Mrs. Brady -- I'll settle for Kitty from That 70's Show with a side of Lois from Malcom in the Middle.

Welcome to reality

I hate this picture SO much

Why is it that we can blissfully ignore what is right in front of our faces until we see it in a picture.  Things like mess on the floor -- you don't really notice it, but then you take a picture of your kid and see crap all over the place and think "I can't show this to anyone!" and clean before taking more.

The same thing happens with your weight.  I've seen it on TV and never really understood it.  Those commercials for weight loss where the guy says "I knew I was big, but didn't realize how big I was until I saw a picture..."

Well folks, it's happened to me.  Yes, I saw the doughy roll forming around my middle.  Yes, I noticed that I moved from my sexy jeans to my fat jeans....and then to my sweat pants because even the fat jeans were too tight.  Yes, I saw my thighs getting bigger and bigger and didn't really recognize the person that I saw in the mirror as the person that I see in my head.

But, reality hit me well and true yesterday when I took a series of pictures of myself (outside in the snow to send to a friend overseas who misses it dearly).  I could NOT get a picture that didn't have a double chin.  No amount of neck stretching would do it.  And it hit me -- if my face is getting chubby - what's the rest of me looking like?  With blinders removed from my eyes, I saw me in a new light...and am not really liking what I see.

So, after weeks of telling myself I'm getting up to exercise - I DID IT.  I also logged onto my sparkpeople account for the first time in a long time to track my weight/measurements and food.  And I'm going to keep accountable on the Facebook Group that I made (because so far, it's just been excuses as to why I'm not doing anything).  Also -- I'm putting my plans out here for you all too -- Keep me on track, peeps!


I'm sick of feeling so lethargic and unmotivated.  I'm tired of the rolls and the pain of tight waist bands.

My Goals:

• I am going to do the Shred for 3 days in a row, followed by 1 day of Yoga Meltdown
• I am going to eat whole/healthy foods
• I am going to actually drink water (A major weakness of mine, I don't like water and am lucky if I get 1/2 a glass in a day)
• I am going to cut down on the sugars and starchy foods
• I am cutting out coffee (le gasp!)
• I am going to be positive -- This doesn't mean I can't still have a snarky attitude and maintain my wit -- no --- I'm just going to also see the good in ME instead of the bad.

Who's joining me??

The Dishwasher Bandit strikes again!

Yup, it was almost a year ago that I had issues with my dishwasher that my wonderful husband tore my dishwasher to bits and fixed it.  This time, only the dishes on the top rack weren't coming out clean. I figured that it was blocked by bits of corn or something (why is it that corn doesn't get mashed to bits in the little garburator?  What's so magical about corn?  Mind you, it does come out of a human looking much the same as it goes in, doesn't it?)

Well, after days of nagging that finally ended in threats asking politely hubby finally listened took it upon himself to fix it.  Out came the racks, the spinner blade thing (yes, I'm very technical, aren't I?) and other bits and bobs to look for the offending blockage.  It only occurs to me now that I should have taken pictures.  Oh well...I'm sure that there will be a next time.

First thing that we find is a pen for a DSi.  For those of you that don't know what I'm talking about, a Nintendo DSi  is a little gaming system (think Gameboy, only modern) -- they have these stupid little stylus/pens that get lost all the time.  I think that this is how Nintendo makes it's money... Anyhow -- first we find a white stylus...then a few date pits...and olive pit or two, a red stylus...Donatello's mangled forearm...and finally a black stylus.

So, as hubby pulls each item out - he's grumbling louder and louder.  After retrieving the last stylus, he shouts, "Who put these things in here?"  To which Adam excitedly replies "Oh, Me, Me!  I did it, daddy!!"

Please don't ask me how these items got into my dishwasher without me noticing.  I have no idea myself, and quite frankly, I don't pay all that much attention to the inside of it.  I just load it and turn it on.  Silly me, forgetting that I have the modern equivalent of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes running amok in my house -- I should know better than to assume that things will be running "normal" in my house.