Stumbling Towards Perfect

It's been a while, I know. I haven't been feeling well. In fact, I've been feeling pretty much like I was beaten down with a dozen baseball bats. Surgery will do that to you, or so I've been told. As if being sawed in half wasn't enough my body has decided to welcome infection, to which my immune system bravely announced, "I SHALL FIGHT IT!" except it isn't doing a very good job at it, which is why, five weeks post surgery, I'm popping prescription pills like they're Skittles. I'm not exactly warm & fuzzy when I feel like crap, so imagine how unbelievably thrilled I was when V told me just moments ago that he "has kind of a problem." Ok... "and I don't want to fight about it." Oh boy. This means only one thing: His mother is unleashed. Sure enough, tomorrow at 4pm she has an appointment at Sears to get family pictures taken. Now, you might be thinking that if you were wanting a picture of your entire fanmily you

Ok, so I've got issues with kids not giving me my much needed (and much deserved, I might add) Daily Quiet Time. The Bean has attitude that you wouldn't believe... she makes sure to tell me on a daily basis how rediculous I am, how unappreciated I am, and how the world, well, her world, would be much better off without me... and yet night after night I find myself held hostage by her noise and clatter. In and out of the kitchen, stomping down the hall, slamming doors, random talking to whoever or whatever she sees/hears as she wanders aimlessly (yet etirely pissed off) around the house. Whatever happened to the moody teenager keeping themselves holed up in the privacy of their own room? Is it too much to ask that by 9:30pm the Bean creep into her room, close the door, and not open it until morning? I don't care what she does in her room.... do her nails, pick out her clothes for the next day, write journal entries how she wishes I was dead. Doesn't matter... as long as

Welcome to Vent Time, Ladies and Gentlemen. It is time for me to blow off steam. Using my current hormonal imbalance due to recent pregnancy/delivery, I'm going to be quite blunt. Therefore, it is with very little reservation that I say this: IF YOU DO NOT HAVE THE MONEY, DO NOT SPEND IT. Don't come to me complaining about how little money you have if every day you are going out to eat not once, but twice. I've been there... I ate noodles. Generic egg noodles. Mixed with generic cream of chicken soup for added flavor. I splurged on a bottle of seasoning salt that had hot sauce mixed in to kick things up a notch. I ate that every single day. We also had no television. None. I was a single mom who was poor, and I had no tv and I ate noodles. I am unable to sympathize for how financially strapped you are when you eat better than I do. Don't come to me complaining about how little money you have, how you have to get your food from the local food pantry, when this next weeke

It's about time to do something (read: anything ) with my hair. My paranoid self refused to color my hair the entire time I was pregnant, so I've got this lovely grey spattering going on. I also was worried a pedicure would bring on early labor, so I went the entire summer without. The bottoms of my feet are so rough I could probably pimp myself out to sand some wood floors just by walking around on them. I didn't tan all summer either. (I know, I know: bad for you. But it's just so relaxing...) And, since the major items were being ignored, I allowed the minor items to be ignored as well. A manicure would be nice. A massage. A facial. Eyebrow wax. Maybe some teeth whitening while we're at it. Geesh, if I actually had the money I could leave for the day, come back, and V would have no idea who I was. Not a bad plan, now that I think of it. Perhaps an appointment shall be made.

It's no secret that V's P's don't think highly of me. Actually, it's his mom and sister (his dad is pretty silent when it comes to voicing an opinion of me). The good news is that his mother treats most everyone she meets the way she treats me: highly judgmental, and not afraid to criticize pretty much anything she sees. I've never heard a true compliment coming out of her mouth for as long as I've known her. She treats V worse than she treats me, but he's used to it, I guess. I, however, am not. And so it is with great reservation that I must let go of my newborn son and somehow be okay with him visiting Grandma Nothing's Ever Good Enough. I figure the best way to do this is have V take the baby while I spend some quality me time at a really great day spa. One that provides unlimited glasses of a chilled German Riesling along with my pedicure and massage. Now, if I require V to foot the bill perhaps the visits will be limited due to financial constr