Replace Klonopin with Beer and Get...This

I'm beginning to realise that I should have subtitled this blog, 'I'm ranting again, just wait, I'll stop shortly' because, let's face it, that seems to be what I do. If this were a proper Mommy blog it would be full of sunshine and kittens and breastfeeding, and if I were younger it would include a myriad of sexual innuendo and mildly profane remarks about the Divine Mr Hiddleston and anyone else of note.
But this poor blog is neither of those things...that's why I named it what I did. It's everything and nothing and all over the place, with no rhyme or reason. Just like me. And I loves it, Precious.

This is where I should get all philosophical and talk about what the Lack has taught me about the true meaning of life. This is where I should submit myself to a public flogging because I once bought my husband a one hundred and eighty dollar t-shirt. I know I should, but I can't and won't. The Lack sucks. I'm sure it doesn't just suck for me, it sucks for alot of people. But this is my blog and not the world stage.

I love my life. I love books and plays, movies and my kids [in no particular order]. I love beer and sex and looking at pictures of Mr Hiddleston like some starry-eyed fifteen year old. What I don't like is loosing my house, my car and everything that sews the fabric of my life together. I don't like where I am right now. I hate it.
Tomorrow is the day the Lack will become a tidal wave and drown me, us. I've ducked and weaved and wheeled and dealed...I've even borrowed and stolen. But as of tomorrow none of it will matter...because of the way the dates fall my beautiful monstrosity of pick up sticks will crash and be washed away.

Yes, the melodrama is flowing...I've replace the klonopin with beer for the evening...feel free to disregard.

It's Roux' birthday in less than two weeks; she'll be three and it's all she can talk about. I feel like the worst Momma in the world because I know I won't be able to live up to the party she has planned in her head. Yes, before you point out that she's only three I will clarify: I don't even have the money to invite the family over for cake and chips...that's how badly the Lack has become. I can't find money to buy gas or groceries, how on earth can I find it for balloons?  Yes, I'm a thrifty person, so yes she has gifts [mostly second hand, but cute and clean] I started buying them months ago [hey, Christmas is only a few weeks away].  But still...it hurts, you know?

It hurts a lot.

Waiting For Gastro

You know that feeling of impending doom you get when one of your littles has gastro [or stomach flu for those non-Quebec folks] and even though they're getting better, you know its only a matter of time before another member of your household succumbs? That's how I feel right now...some people wait for Godot, I wait for Gastro.

My relationship with gastro is long and complicated...and absurd, really but it's part of what makes me, me.
I admit it, I worry constantly about the kids getting it, the Wog getting it, even occasionally me getting it, though that's calmed down since I discovered Mommies aren't allowed to get sick, ever.

Last night poor Roux was up all night being sick, and she found the whole exercise terrifically exciting; no tears from my little Miss, just plenty of 'Momma I throw up *insert place*!' Ug. A night full of washing and rewashing, and then sanitising and re-sanitising cause it makes me feel better.

So here I sit, klonopin in hand, waiting. Calmly. I've accepted my fate.

~I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.~  

~Samuel Beckett

Whines and Worries

Well, we're four days post-surgery for Roux and I think she's doing great. I know in the grand scheme of things tubes and adenoids aren't a big deal, but they were a big worry for me. That's sorta my thing...or one of my many things; I worry, alot. I worry about things that I'm sure most people don't even spare a passing glance to. From the moment my eyes open from my klonopin inspired slumber I worry through my day.
Thanks be to my years of teen aged therapy so I function perfectly well to the casual [or even not so casual] observer, but inside my mind moves in ways I can't even begin to explain. My worries range from the mundane, 'is summer over?' to the chronic 'will my kids/me/myhusband get gastro?' to the things that probably should be worried about, 'will we sell the house before the bill collectors knock down our doors and take all we have?'. I still wait for the wonderful. Oh how I wait, and worry.
Is it any wonder that I try to will my spare time with things as far from my actual life as possible?
I read more fanfic than any human should, and still crave more...so I delve deeper, darker, naughtier, and branch into things I never would have considered five years ago.And for the record, there's pretty much nothing I wouldn't have considered five years ago...I consider my tastes t run towards vanilla but have been told my self assessment is flawed. Perhaps vanilla with nuts, and gumdrops, and bourbon sauce...
I'm currently obsessed with fandoms that I never even glanced at before, both Panda and otherwise, and I love/need/crave my Panda world...
And don't even get me started on that dratted Hiddleston.