Debt Update

A while ago I posted that I wanted to work on being debt free.

The good news:  I paid off my medical bills today.

The bad news: I had to take Ladybug to the doctor today...here comes more medical bills.
                       I had to put a lot on the credit card this month because it turns out that hosting a Thanksgiving weekend is expensive.
                       I am stressed financially and I need to defer my student loans.

It is all about the choices we make.  And if I make the right choices now it will only make things better for me later.

Mean Mama

Chicken Nuggets

I have been told that I am a picky eater.  I am not.  I don't like seafood or fish.  I refuse to eat squash.  And I think over cooked mushy veggies are gross.  Ladybug on the other hand ... is a picky eater.  It is difficult.  If it isn't a hamburger, pizza or macaroni and cheese then she is not interested.  Unless you consider desserts.

One of the things she likes -- usually -- is chicken nuggets.  And then I saw a video online about how the meat in chicken nuggets is processed.  I was disgusted.  I will spare you the link.  It was almost enough to drive me back to being a vegetarian.

About a month ago Ladybug wanted chicken nuggets.  I bought a bag at the store.  She refused to eat them.  Said they were gross.  No kidding.  I tried one.  They were gross.  So bad that I actually tossed them.

But she has started asking for them again.  I just could not bring myself to buy them.  But then I had an idea.  Over this past holiday I made Chicken Parmesan for dinner.  I followed the recipe and yet somehow I ended up with about 2 cups of breading left over.  So I decided that I would buy some chicken and make nuggets from scratch.  And Ladybug was excited. 

We cut chicken.  We dunked it in egg.  We buried it in breadcrumbs.  We fried it.  Here is the problem.  I can't decide which I find more disgusting -- raw egg or raw chicken.  Really.  They give me the creeps.  Turns my stomach.  So I am dipping one disgusting thing into another disgusting thing with my hands.  GAG!

Luckily, Ladybug wanted to get her hands dirty.

 

 

Even better ... she loved them.  And I know that they are not that gross and disgusting processed chicken.

Mean Mama

bugs bugs bugs

When my niece was born my parents each spent a week at my sister's house.  My mom went first.  She came back telling stories of how truly gross her house was.  My mom is a very clean person.  She is not OCD.  She has one cat and one dog.  She is single.  She gets to have as clean of a house as she wants.  Clutter free.  My sister is not clutter free.  She is a pack rat -- I think that is the nice way of putting it.  My mom spent the week cleaning.  Because my sister was in the hospital.  Then my father went.  He didn't clean much but he came back with the same stories.  And this was after my mom had already spent cleaning for a week.  Then my step mom spent a week.  And she told the same stories. 

I have never been to my sister's house.  We have a complicated relationship.  We have a hard time getting along.  But I believed the stories.  They described stories of things piled high around the rooms with pathways from one place to the next.  A pathway from the bed to the dresser.  A pathway from the couch to the door.  We have many family conversations about if this was the right environment to raise a child.  But in the end, we did nothing.  Well, I did nothing.  My parents continued to talk to my sister.  Encourage her to clean.  Purge.  Change her ways.

When my niece was about 2 years old my parents took a trip to my sister's house again.  This time they refused to stay at her house.  They said there were cock roaches all over her house.  A few weeks later my mom took a trip to her house.  She came back with the same stories.  She said that after the first few hours she refused to be in my sister's house.  She went to a hotel.  She said she saw at least a couple hundred cock roaches. The family conversations started again.  My sister listened.  She cleaned her house.  She fixed her house.  She fumigated her house.  No more cock roaches.  She promised.  My mom explained to her the health worries.  The general ones and then added that my niece has asthma.  So for my niece my sister cleaned up her life.

For this Thanksgiving everyone came to my house.  I wasn't worried about the bugs.  There was no need.  It has been nearly 2 years.  There is no way I had anything to worry about.  But on the first night, as I moved her suitcase aside to get into my coat closet, I saw 2 teenage cock roaches hop out of her suitcase and scramble into my closet. 

No.

No.

NO!

I just got rid of all mine.  I worked so hard. I hate bugs.  I don't want cock roaches in my house. 

Now that she is gone I have located and killed 2 cock roaches.  And I am waiting for more to appear.  I can not live with cock roaches.  I will not live with cock roaches.

Mean Mama

sleeping arrangements

My house is plenty big.  Okay, townhouse.  I watch a ton of HGTV.  Sometimes I am amazed at the "required" list of some people who are looking for a house.  A young couple no kids must have 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2500 square feet, large kitchen, large back yard...etc.

My townhouse is about 900 square feet.  Two bedrooms and 2.5 bathrooms.  When I was cleaning last week I discovered 2.5 bathrooms is too many.  Who wants to clean that many on a regular basis?  The half bathroom is downstairs and the 2 others are upstairs.  It is nice not sharing a bathroom with Ladybug.  She is not the neatest child.  On the other hand since I am not inspecting or using her bathroom on a regular basis it gets really bad without me noticing.  Two bedrooms is necessary... no matter what Ladybug may say or think. 

She needs her own room.   And she goes to bed in it every night.  And yet she wakes up in my bed every morning.  EVERY. MORNING.  Why?  Well, I might have discovered why.

Over the holiday weekend I had to do a little shuffling.  I gave up my bed.  My beloved bed.  No really.  I love my bed.  It was the first real piece of furniture I bought for myself.  An oak sleigh bed.  Queen.  And I bought a fabulous mattress.  Hard.  Apparently I like it hard.  But I gave it up.  I let my parents have my bed over the weekend.   I heard my father crawl into my bed and say to my step mom, "This water bed is hard."  They sleep on a water bed so it must have felt hard to them.  But if they can't appreciate my bed I will gladly take it back.

My sister and niece slept in the living room on the futon.  She is a morning person.  I am not.  At. All.  I think it is silly to get up at the crack of dawn and start drinking coffee.  Why not just sleep later.  No coffee necessary.  But since she was sleeping in the living room that meant that we all had to go to bed early.  Which I guess is not a bad idea -- especially since I was EXHAUSTED by the end of the weekend. 

I moved into Ladybug's room.  She slept on the floor in my room so she could be close to my parents.  A few years ago I bought an Ikea bed off craigslist for her.  I had heard good things about Ikea.  Everybody loves the.  I think the bed is kind of ugly.  But it worked.  This weekend was my first time to sleep on it.  It is NOT comfortable.  At all.  I now know why she crawls in bed with me.  Every night.  I would too if I slept on it every night.  I barely slept all night.  The mattress is too thin.  I tossed.  I turned.  I flipped.  I did not sleep. 

The second night I found a few extra pillows ( I only had one the night before and I normally sleep with 4 -- just for me).  That helped.  Turns out I am a pillow girl.  And now I am just happy to have my bed back.  I LOVE my bed.  Really.

Mean Mama

failing

I have failed. Miserably. I did not get back down to 265 before Thanksgiving. And the holiday food did not help. It actually hurt. So Project Hopeful is about to get some more money I did not plan on.

I am back up to 270. BLECH!!!! 23.8 pounds this year. BLECH!!!!

When I finished the last round at the end of October I felt good about myself. I liked the way things fit. I liked that I fit comfortably into all my winter clothes. I am planning a trip to the mountains over Christmas so I want to feel comfortable. Without needing to buy any clothes. I wore all the clothes last year too. But they were tight. And uncomfortable.

This weekend my step mom took Ladybug and I to the store to find a dress of Ladybug for her birthday. We picked out a few good options and proceeded to the dressing room. Big mistake. The lighting! The mirrors! My fat self! Not a good combination. As I sat on the stool helping Ladybug in and out of the dresses I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The image did not help my self image.

It is no wonder that nobody has noticed my weight loss. Not my sister -- who is also trying to loose weight. Not my step mom -- who is very weight focused. Not my dad -- who for the first time is having his own weight issue. Not my co-workers (okay one has noticed -- and that was really nice to hear). What people know is that I am fat. And they are right.

So tomorrow I start one more round of starvation dieting. Starting tomorrow. Ending on December 21. Leaving for the holidays on December 22.  The goal is .... well.  I am hoping for 15 pounds.  Will be happy with 10 pounds.  I can do this.

I can do this.

I can do this.

Please let me be able to do this.

Mean Mama 
PS - 23.8 down and 120 to go.

Truth Pandemic

Get the truth. Know the truth. Spread the truth.

Scary moments

The weekend before Thanksgiving I was in a cleaning frenzy. I vividly remember that anytime my grandparents would visit my house my parents would make us clean. And as a result I would always tell them that there was no way I was going to clean my house for them when they came to visit me. Take me or leave me.

But it turns out that I don't clean enough. So I cleaned. A lot. Could you eat off the floor? No. But you would be willing to walk barefoot over it.

While I cleaned, Ladybug was allowed to play outside. I left the front door open. I gave her instructions. I checked on her at least every 2 minutes. Which made cleaning more difficult. I would look for her. Verify that she wasn't doing anything wrong and go back to cleaning.

And then I poked my head out of the door and saw... nothing. Nothing. No kids. Where was she? I called her name. Nothing. I called louder. Nothing. My heart began to race. I slipped on my clogs. and walked down the street. Nothing. I got to the end of the street and found a group of kids. I asked if they had seen her. No. Really!!??? Where was she. I looked in the back yard. Nothing.

Panic is really starting to set in. I am having images. Where is she? Is she hurt? Did she get snatched. I am racing back toward my place so I can get my cell phone. I am seriously thinking of calling the police. How do you call the police and tell them that I have lost my child? Just let her be safe.

And as I panicked I remembered what happened 24 hours earlier. She had gone into another kid's house without telling me. Another child playing outside saw this and told me. So I went and got her. I then had the conversation about how that was not allowed. I must know where she is. AT ALL TIMES! She would not be back in a house without permission within 24 hours. Would she?

So I started knocking on doors. And she actually answered the door. She answered the door. And my panic changed from panic to rage in .3 seconds flat. I told her to get home.

The girl had the nerve to look at me and say ... "I don't want to."

You don't WHAT????

I am thankful she is okay. I am thankful I found her without calling the police. I am thankful she is not hurt. But if she thinks she is going to get even 10 seconds of unsupervised time outside of her bedroom anytime soon she is crazy.

I am NOT going through that again.

Mean Mama

Ethiopian Food

Feeding my child healthy food is nearly impossible these days. If it is not a hamburger, pizza, or chocolate she is not interested. Some days she would rather go hungry then eat what I serve. But if I cook Ethiopian food she will eat... and eat... and eat. The girl loves her some Ethiopian food.

The first time I made Ethiopian food I planned it out for weeks. Then the first weekend I made the Ethiopian butter. Everything tastes better made with Ethiopian butter. It took all weekend. Seriously. I just remember thinking cooking was a full time job in Ethiopia. I was never going to be good at it.

This time I made the butter on Saturday night in preparation for the feast on Wednesday. It took 2 hours to complete the process. And I was tipsy on good wine while I did. The smells wafted through the house and I was happy on wine.

And then on Wednesday I threw together my Ethiopian feast. Which not only was enjoyed by all -- but now I have a freezer full of quick, easy microwaveable meals. Fast food that is healthy -- that she will eat.




Mean Mama

Family tree

A few weeks ago Ladybug stated she wanted to make a family tree. I asked her what she meant (just in case I didn't understand) and she told me exactly what I was thinking.

And then I had a (small) burst of creativity. Wouldn't it be nice to have a family tree that actually looks like a tree? We could draw a tree. We could use real leaves. It is fall.

So after several weeks Ladybug finally harassed me enough and we created a family tree today -- just in time for Thanksgiving.



It is hanging above the kitchen table -- it has only crashed to the floor once so far.

You may notice that there is something missing from the family tree. Yep, the family. The idea is to take a picture of each family member ( just the ones coming to Thanksgiving and my brother and sister who can not make it) and paste them in the tree.

She is quite the little artist.

Mean Mama

sometimes it is scary to get what you want

Last night I put Ladybug to bed and she immediately started coughing. That wet productive body wrenching type of cough. I listened for a little while but then I got the meds. I had to wake her up and have her sit up. I don't know how she sleeps through that kind of coughing.

She went back to sleep. For a minute. She got up wanting some cuddle time. She cuddle for a few minutes and the coughing continued. Until I realized that it was getting to the point that she was likely going to puke. I was lucky enough to get her to the bathroom before she spewed. YEAH!!!!

So I settled her back in bed. Crisis averted. She cuddled under the blankets. And promptly puked all over her pillow which dribbled down onto her sheets and blanket. Of course. Sheets changed and back in bed for the night.

I silently told said to myself -- please let her sleep through the night.

When I woke up this morning at 8am I realized I was alone in bed. I was alone all night. And it was 8am. Neither happens. Ever. I stayed in bed for a few minutes listening. To nothing. No coughing. No beds clinking. No singing. Nothing. And then my imagination got the better of me. Why? Why hadn't she crawled in bed with me? She does every night. Why wasn't she up? She never sleeps to 8am. What if something was really wrong? What if she was really ill?

So I got up and checked on her. She was sleeping. Sweetly. So I went back to bed. For about 30 seconds before she came and joined me.

Mean Mama

Any wonder why she is sick

I hopped in the shower this morning. I asked her to clean her room, get dressed and brush her teeth.

I got out of the shower. She was dressed. The room was mostly picked up. I ask her to get a trash bag because I need to get some of the trash out of my house today. I asked if she brushed her teeth. She said yes. She lies about this topic all the time. I ask to see her teeth. There is chocolate packed into her teeth. So I tell her to go back in and brush her teeth.

Chocolate? Where did she get chocolate. It is morning. I would never give her chocolate. She stole it. I need to get rid of the junk food in the house.

Go brush your teeth.

I get dressed. She is brushing her teeth. But I don't hear it. I bought her one that runs on battery and threw away her old one 2 weeks ago.

2 weeks!

I got to the bathroom. She is brushing her teeth. With the tooth brush I threw away 2 weeks ago.

That is what I get for asking her to help with the trash.

Mean Mama

Totally Wine

The holiday frenzy starts. I am having Thanksgiving at my house. In a moment of weakness I made the offer. My first. Well, with family. I have had several with friends.

One of the things that I had to do was buy wine. I don't drink much. I once had to take a lie detector test for a job. They go over the questions with you prior to administering the test. They don't want to register a surprise. They want to register an untruth. When it got to drinking habits he laughed at me. He asked me to categorize my drinking habits. Alcoholic? Heavy drinker? Social drinker? Non drinker? I told him I was a social drinker. He asked me to define social drinker. 3-4 drinks per month? 3-4 drinks per week? 3-4 drinks per day? I told him maybe 6 drinks per year. He laughed. I mean roll on the floor, tears rolling down his cheeks laughing. Once he calmed down he explained that would make me a non-drinker.

I hate beer. Hate. All. Can't even pretend to choke down the stuff. I have tried wines. And people laugh at me about that too. I like sweet wines. Ridiculously sweet. Grape juice with alcohol. Not very sophisticated. But it is what I like. I also love sweet drinks. But for the holiday dinner I need wine. So I headed out to the wine store. With a list.

I need a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc or Pinot Grigio for my step mom. I need a bottle of Cabernet or Malbec for my dad. I can do that. So I go to the wine store. Not a liquor store. Not a grocery store. A wine store. There is a whole aisle devoted to each of those types of wines. A whole aisle. For each. Luckily each one has a description of the taste. Unfortunately that means nothing to me. Do I want oak or citrus or... I don't know.

And apparently I look like I don't know. Because not one but 2 sales people come at me offering help. One backs off and the other one helps me. He is preppy and peppy. I think he needs some of the wine he sells. But he is also 12. NO! I swear. Okay, maybe 13. He definitely hasn't started shaving yet. I am so old. I am taking alcohol advice from a 12 year old. But I swallow my pride and listen to him. He finds me a Sauvignon Blanc and a Malbec. You will have to wait a week to see if they are any good.

I then decide that I need a bottle of wine for myself too. I can at least play sophisticated for a day. So I tell him I need a ridiculously sweet wine. He takes me back to the tasting station. Who knew! I can have samples of wine before I make a decision. He pours a red. I taste. It is good. He drinks it too. Maybe he isn't 12? He pours me a second wine. White. Oh my!! Talk about ridiculously sweet. It is like drinking syrup. It is good. But a little too sweet. Even for me. I opt for wine number..... 1.

And right before I leave my preteen wine genius I remember that my bottle opener is in storage...at my mom's...700 miles away. So I ask my boy genius where I can find a bottle opener that does not require a college degree to use. I figure he must know that since he is 12. He hands me one and tells me... "I have been using this one since I was 11." No joke. Direct quote. Must be good. He has been using it for an entire year. So I bought it.

One holiday errand done -- too many to count left to do.

Mean Mama

My first child

I know I am a single mom of an only child. But Ladybug wasn't my first child.

When I was in college I decided to major in social work. When I did my internship I immediately picked a group home for teenagers. No hesitation. I could not have been more excited.

It was TERRIBLE! I hated it. I dreaded every single moment I had to be there. Until I quit. I couldn't believe how wrong I had been. And I was left with wondering what to do with my life.

About 6 years after graduating from college a friend of mine (who is no longer my friend -- but that is another story) came to me glowing about her job. She loved it. She worked for a group home for teenage boys. Juvenile delinquents. Sex offenders. Drug users. Aggressive and violent. And she told me I had to apply for a job there. I had to. I didn't want to. I could not go back to doing that work. Six years was not enough time to make me forget how miserable I was during my internship. She convinced me that I had to go for an interview. I could do that. It didn't mean I needed to take the job.

But I took the job. And I loved it. I loved going to work. I looked forward to talking with the boys. I felt competent. I had a purpose back. It was like I had found where I was suppose to be.

There was a 15 year old boy in my unit. He was quiet and shy. He rarely talked. He was tall and gangly. He made friends with the other boys. He did what he needed to do to work the program. He didn't make waves. He didn't get attached to the staff. But he decided he liked me. I didn't know this was significant because I was new. The other staff understood. Maybe I was the person who was going to get through to him.

He became my first child. I fell in love. And I do not mean that inappropriately. We developed a tight bond. Parental. He blossomed. He came out of his shell. It turned out he was a really funny kid. He got a job. He did well in school. He committed to his therapy. I could not have loved that kid more if he had actually been my child.

In the year and half I worked with him I met his parents twice. I took him home for a visit. For an hour. And his parents stopped by the unit once for about 20 minutes. I was really his only parent. They didn't call him. They didn't visit. They didn't know him. I didn't know his parents. I know he was in the unit because of his actions. But he was such a fabulous kid that I didn't understand how they stayed away.

Eventually all of the staff and treatment team decided he was ready to move into independent living. He was ready to graduate from the program. I disagreed. He was doing great. But he was young. He had come a long way but it didn't mean he was ready to fly the coop. The team disagreed with me. I knew him better. But it didn't matter. He was going to move on. And it was my job to make him believe he could do it. I never told him he wasn't ready. I never told him I was scared for him. I never let him see my doubt that the team was wrong. I encouraged him. I told him he was ready. And I let him go.

For a year he called me. For a year he leaned on me. For a year I continued to do my job with this kid. I was right. The team was wrong. But I would not let him fail. He stumbled. He failed. He struggled. And each phone call I helped him figure out how to pick himself up. For a year I watched him question himself. For a year I watched my boy slip. And at about a year after leaving the program, he got it. He got stronger. He made better decisions. He made life work for him. And I lost him. He left his new program. I left my job. My boy had grown up and left me. Because it was what was right for him. But I still loved him.

Now I silently stalk him on facebook. He doesn't know it. He joined the military. He married his high school sweetheart. And he recently found out he is going to be a dad. It has been 10 years since I have had contact with him. He did it. He made a success of his life. He beat the odds. And I am a proud mama. But he doesn't know it.

Mean Mama

Pity me

Will you please take pity on me? I am a single woman. With an only child. Who sits at a computer desk all day. Dealing with clients whose lives are falling apart. I have no social life. I need a change.

When you visit my blog -- and I know at least one or two people are -- will you leave me a comment so I know that I am not alone?

Fix my problems.

Laugh at me.

Commiserate.

Ask me questions.

Give me blog ideas.

Let me know that you are out there.

Anybody....

Bueller???

Mean Mama

Too funny

If you need a good laugh check out one of my favorite blogs. She cracks me up. She has been gagged on certain topics but you can still read the adventures she has not been gagged for.

Snarky Mom


I really like her most recent blog.

Mean Mama

Murphy's Law

I pulled up to Ladybug's after school program today with my fingers crossed. Please please please let her have had a good day. I know it is not good that I get emotionally involved with her behaviors. But she has had a few hard weeks and I want it to be better. Please

And it was! 11 out of 11 points. Yes, that means she is back on the other chart. But it works. I know most parents want their children off the bad behavioral chart. I want her on it -- she does better on it. And she is happy to see me.

The school is having another fundraiser. This time it is at our favorite pizza place. And it is healthy pizza. If she was good today I was willing to forgo cooking dinner (HA!) and go out for pizza. So we drive across town and get pizza. We apparently go here a little too often because all the waitresses say hello to Ladybug and notice that she has a new hairstyle this week.

She starts to get a little frantic. She is shoveling pizza in. She can't sit still. She is touching everything -- with her greasy, dirty hands. She is picking her food apart. She is talking and not listening. I am just hoping she holds it together long enough to get home.

We leave the pizza joint and we are crossing the parking lot heading to our car. She is singing and dancing. And I am vividly aware that the car parked next to ours is about to back up. I start talking to her. Asking her to wait. Asking her to stop. She is ignoring me. I know she won't listen and I reach out for her to stop her but she is a little to far away from me and I can only grab her hoodie and yank her back to me. At which point she spins on me with all the attitude she can possibly muster and yells at me to stop. I yell right back as I am pointing at the mini van that has now backed out and would have hit her. But she doesn't back down. She yells that I could have just told her. And I lose it. I did! She didn't listen. She would have been hit. Now get in the car.

She gets in and buckles up and promptly falls asleep. I know she is tired. She has been sleeping like crap this week. But I know she has fallen asleep because she is shutting down because I yelled. But I use the ride home to calm down. We are about 3 minutes from home when she starts coughing in her sleep. She has been fighting a cold for a couple of weeks. Not really sick but coughing in her sleep. She has grabbed my shawl and is holding it up to her face as she coughs. I tell her not to hold it in. Cough -- clear it out.

I pull into our parking lot as she coughs into my shawl. I turn and look. Oooooh! I know that look. Nooooo! Don't throw up. Not into my shawl. NO!

She does. Of course.

I park. I tell her not to move. I unlock the front door. I unlatch the car seat. When I had an older car unhooking the car seat was easy. One button. Now that I have a newer car it is more complicated. I have to crawl into the hatch back and dig under the bedding to unhook it. Then I have to crawl into the back seat and unhook it. It is safer. But not nearly as easy at the end of a hard day in the dark to deal with.

It is all unhooked. But I don't want her to stand up and walk out of the car. I don't want puke all over the car. I don't want to clear the car. I don't even want to clean the car seat. So I make the decision to remove the now unlatched car seat from the car with her still in it. I mean, how difficult could it be? To remove a large car seat with a 56 pound child covered with puke from the back seat without hurting the child or getting puke on me. Sometimes I hate being single.

But I managed to do it. Not gracefully. Then she unbuckles herself. Of course she has puked right down the front -- covering the buckles. She wants me to do it. I don't want to do it. She does it. Yeah, I know ... Mean Mama. I drag the car seat to the front door and leave it outside. I let her jut inside the front door. Standing on the linoleum. I ask her to strip. She starts to. But she starts to follow me. Dripping puke on the carpet. I walk her back to the front door. She strips. I send her upstairs to shower. I start grabbing the pukey clothes and taking them to washer.

She is in the shower singing and giggling. I am outside trying to yank the cloth off the car seat. It requires that I take the whole seat apart. I am trying to do this without getting puke on me. I get puke on me. It starts to rain. Of course. The good news is that it will wash away the trail of puke from the car to the front door. She sounds happy. I am not.

I get the cloth in the washer. Now I must wash the car seat. But I don't want to do it outside. It is raining. So I decide to put down my down blanket on the carpet and place the car seat on it. It can be washed. And I have been thinking it needs to be washed. Really. It could use a washing. I try not to breathe too deeply. The smell of pizza, doritos, and stomach acid is not good. Luckily most of the puke is on the cloth part of the car seat. Which is in the washer.

When the washer is done I realize that one piece of the car seat had too many folds in it to get really clean. So I send it back through the wash. With the blanket. At the end of the cycle I pull it out. The 2 have tangle into each other. Probably because of the hooks in the car seat. I untwist. I rotate. It is not coming free. They are now one. So I get the scissors. And cut my blanket. I need the car seat parts.

I am waiting for the parts to finish drying and then I would put it back together. And then tomorrow morning I get the joy of latching the car seat back into the car. And I am not a morning person. I just hope the car doesn't smell like puke in the morning.

Mean Mama
PS. I should add that the blanket shed all over the cloth car seat parts and I had to use a lint roller on it before putting them together. Luckily I had a lint roller. And I could find it. Unfortunately I apparently had the bright idea of storing the sticky lint roller in a plastic bag.

Frustration

I would just like to express a moment of frustration.

Back in August I had an interview. Of a job I wanted. And for the most part I would be good at. There are parts of the job that I would need to learn. I have my worries about the job. But I can deal with them. I also realize that since I am hoping to be moving into a small town that my job options are limited.

The interview went well. I hate phone interviews. I mean, I have a lot of experience working on phones and I can get the information I need over the phone. But so much of communication is non verbal. I like seeing people. The little facial expressions. The twinkle in the eye. The nod. It helps me read the person. But without all that I still felt like the interview went well.

In September I got an email from the HR department saying that I had been selected for a second interview. See, I was right. The interview went well. I was excited. They said the second interview would be another phone interview and that they would be scheduling soon.

In October I began to get worried. I still had not heard anything and I was beginning to get worried. So I took the bold move and contacted HR again and asked for a status update on the interview process. I got a very nice email back saying that they had just met with the board the day before and were beginning to start the process for scheduling the second interviews. So I relaxed. And waited.

It is now November. NOVEMBER! Still no word. No interview. Nothing scheduled. Nothing. I know they haven't hired anybody. Yet. But it raises questions. My options for employment are limited. But all they need to do is schedule a telephone interview. And that has taken about 3 months. Maybe they aren't sure they want to hire? Maybe they are having budget issues? Maybe they just operate slowly?

I just want a new job. So I can move. Start fresh. Buy a house. Change my life. But I guess that is not their focus. It is mine.

Mean Mama

795 pounds!

No not me! I am down to 267.8. I had hoped to be down to 265 (again) by Thanksgiving. That is only 1.5 weeks away. Time is flying. I don't think I will be there by then. But I will keep my fingers crossed.

A few weeks ago I got sucked into a show on Discovery Health about a man who weighed 795 pounds. It followed him in preparation for his weight loss surgery. The show ended just weeks before his surgery. He had spent about 6 weeks in the hospital waiting for his surgery and he lost about 60 pounds prior to his surgery. I was so sucked into the show that I stayed up way past my bedtime -- not that that is rare. I wanted to know what happened. Actually -- to be honest -- I wanted to know that he succeeded. I wanted to know he lost a ton of weight and made a difference in his life. But it just ended. I have no idea what happened. I tried researching on the internet but I have had no luck.

There are days when I don't understand. I mean how do you get that big? And then I realize that there must be people who look at me and wonder the same thing. And then there are other days when I realize I could just keep eating and get to that size in no time at all. I do realize that is not a good option.

Once I hit 265 again I promise to update with body measurements.

Mean Mama

Drawn from water

When I first adopted Ladybug I decided to make the commitment to do something charitable in Ethiopia each year. The first year I helped a preschool to raise money for the orphanage Ladybug stayed in before her adoption. Since then I have sponsored a child in Ethiopia to attend school. I pay her tuition.

I continually look for other options to support. And I read a lot of blogs -- not something I had planned on. So as a result I have learned about some things that I otherwise would not have heard about. A few years ago I heard about the Mingi. Please visit this website to learn more .... http://www.drawnfromwater.org/

I would never have thought that this mentality exists before learning about it. I am so impressed with the people who read and learn and then get involved. These people make a difference in lives. The least we can do is read and learn. And maybe someone will also get involved.

Mean Mama

You don't have to tell me

That is one of the most commonly used phrases in our house these days.

It is not that I am trying to micromanage her. It is that I hate mornings. I get up when I have to. I don't get up an hour early to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee before Ladybug gets up. Partly this is because I hate coffee. I mean really hate coffee. Not regular coffee. Not flavored coffee. Not even ice cream coffee. I actually worried about my trip to Ethiopia because I didn't want to do anything offensive but I knew I would never make it through a coffee ceremony. Luckily I was never faced with a coffee ceremony while I was there. The other part is that Ladybug gets up so early. I would have to get up at 4am in order to beat her. And that is so not happening.

Ladybug gets up early. She has learned to stay in her room and play. Well, unless she has crawled into my bed for cuddle time. When I get up -- after hitting the snooze several times each morning -- we begin the day.

Please go potty, brush your teeth and get dressed.
Please pick up your room.
Please pack your backpack.
Please get your shoes on.
Please find a jacket.
Please get a wipey and clean your face.
Please get in the car.
Please buckle up.

Incidentally, "please" is Ladybug's least favorite word and actively refuses to use it.

Recently she looked at me one morning and said...

I know. I know.

Completely exasperated. I know she knows. She knows that I know she knows. And yet she doesn't do it.

Why? If she knows (and she does) why not do it? It is not like our morning routine changes. It is very routine. If she has to do the same thing every morning why not do it every morning? Why does she wait until I tell her before she does it?

So I stopped telling her. And then she complained that I didn't tell her what to do.

Ladybug 1
Mean Mama 0

Mean Mama

raised by an atheist

I have been mulling this post over for a while. I fear that it could be offensive to some. Please understand it is not intended to be offensive. It is just a reality.

I was born into a Presbyterian home. I have no idea what that means. I was removed from that home when I was 5 years old. I don't ever remember going to church. I don't remember a religious upbringing. I spent 1 year in a foster home where the parents were Baptist. They had me baptized while I was with them. They got in trouble for that. My understanding is that they believed they were saving my soul. But you are not allowed to change the religion of a foster child.

Eventually I was placed in my adoptive family. The religious aspects of my life did not get easier.

My Maternal Grandmother was raised Catholic but converted to the Episcopal church as an adult when she married my grandfather. My mother was raised Episcopal. Not really religious but they were church goers. And believers. During my childhood my Grandmother insisted on 2 religious things. We had to go to Christmas Eve service and we must celebrate Jesus' birthday after the service with a birthday cake. I went to the Christmas Eve service and tried to stay awake. But that birthday cake was a different issue. It is a raisin, date, carrot type thing with a heavy cream cheese type icing. I hated it. But I ate it every year -- until recently.

My Paternal side of the family is Jewish. My cousins all had Bar Mitzvahs. They attended the temple on a regular basis. The weddings are traditional Jewish weddings and my Grandmother's funeral was performed by a Rabbi. They lived in a community that was largely Jewish and all of their friends were Jewish.

When my parents married -- which was short lived -- they decided that the kids would be raised Jewish. We started attending temple soon after we moved in with them. But I wasn't buying it. And I was 7. And I was a trouble maker (any idea where Ladybug gets it from?). After about 1 year my parent's marriage was in serious trouble and I started refusing to go to Temple. We celebrated Passover and Easter. We celebrated Christmas and Hanukkah. We lit the Sabbath candles every Friday night and I learned the prayer in Hebrew.

But I wasn't buying it. Any of it. All of my family is a believer. In something. I wasn't. I tried. I struggled to believe. But I didn't. I just didn't. Sometime in my teen years I started to identify myself as an agnostic. My parents did not push religions. And they did not really teach religion either. But I am not sure it would have made a difference. There are several times in my life that I wanted to believe but ultimately I did not. Eventually I began to identify myself as an atheist. Many friends have told me they know I believe even if I don't know it.

When I decided to adopt I did worry if this would become an issue. Briefly. But what I did notice as I entered the world of adoptive parents is how many of them are religious. I had never been surrounded by so many people where religion was such a focus in their lives. Even in reading blogs so many of them focus on God and Jesus and their belief. The religion varies but so many of them talk about religion on a regular basis.

When I received Ladybug's referral her religion was listed as Orthodox Christian. This is a common religion in Ethiopia. I worried. Really. She was not going to get a religious upbringing with me. I was not going to start doing nightly prayers or going to church. I had no intention of raising her to be an atheist but how can an atheist teach religion?

About a year ago my mom started attending a church on a regular basis. She asked if she could take Ladybug with her. Sure. I was fine with that. I got Sunday mornings to myself and Ladybug liked it. She liked Sunday school. She liked church. She came home raving about what she learned. I listened. I encouraged. It was hard. Because I don't believe. But it became obvious that she was enjoying it. But when my moved away. So did church. I can not go. I just can't. When we move closer to my mom again she can go with her again. I have no investment in raising her to be an atheist.

This year I enrolled Ladybug in the YMCA after school program. I know there is a religious aspect to the program. But I also know it is a good program. And it was in my budget. She has earned her first bandanna -- purple, which is faith in God. That is the first thing she has learned?

About a month ago I was putting her to bed. I crawled in bed with her to read a book. I looked over at her. She had her eyes closed and and was mumbling to herself. I asked her what she was doing. "Praying." That's what I thought.

A few weeks ago I was talking to Ladybug. She told me about her dream the night before so I told her about mine. Unfortunately mine had been a dream where someone had taken Ladybug away from me. When I told her she just looked at me and said...

Ladybug: God would never let that happen.
Me: Really?
Ladybug: No.
Me: How do you know? Do you talk to him?
Ladybug: Of course. And God told me you were meant to be my mama.
Me: God talks to you?
Ladybug: Of course.

So I may not be a believer but she certainly is. I guess it is possible to be raised by an atheist and still believe.

Mean Mama

turning a turkey into a butterfly

We have received the first of what I fear is many art projects for school for the holiday season. Meet the turkey.



He looks a little worried. Why? Because in 2 weeks he will be cooked and served. Unless he can be disguised so that nobody realizes that he is a turkey. The mission -- if she wants a good grade -- decorate the turkey so he no longer looks like a turkey.

So I asked Ladybug what she wanted to do. She wanted to make him look like a shark. She has a strange fascination with sharks lately. But I am not creative. I am not an artist. A shark??? I can't figure out how to turn a turkey in to a shark.

Cue Mama Loca yelling at me...she thinks that I should have let her make a shark.

We talk. We decide she can make him look like a princess. A dress. A crown. How hard could this be? So I skipped out of work yesterday and stopped at the craft store. And I discovered that turning a turkey into a princess may not be so easy. I look. How? What do I need? As I look up and down the aisle I manage to keep following a young couple who is arguing about a sign they want to put on their lawn. Poster board? How high? What color? Lettering? They agree on nothing.

I don't know how to turn a turkey into a princess. But then I see a wooden butterfly. I can turn a turkey into a butterfly. I hope. I buy some glue, some beads, some glitter, and some flowers. I can do this.

Now I need to convince Ladybug that this is a good idea. Cue Mama Loca yelling at me again -- this is her project. Not mine. I know. But I gotta help.

She comes around after a brief conversation. So tonight we started the process of decorating the turkey.



I supplied the tools. She did the design. I helped her but she did the work. She decided where the beads and glitter go. She puts down the glue and pours on the glitter. I clean up the mess.

After a while she gave up -- Dora was coming on TV. But we have all day tomorrow to finish it. We are getting close to being done.


Ladybug is not happy yet. She says she can see it is still a turkey. Because it still has a waddle. We will continue to work on it tomorrow.

Mean Mama

basic communication skills

When did we stop listening? Or stop paying attention? I mean, in general.

I ran into 2 situations today. First I was waiting in line at the post office to pick up a work related package. I hate waiting in line at the post office. And since the open precisely at 9:05 am every morning (I have no idea why) there is always a long line of people. I was near the front. An elderly man was near the back. I heard him ask another person in line, "What street is this?" Pointing out the front door. And the person replied, "X Street." At which point the elderly man shook his head and asked another person. Because even the elderly man knew it was not X Street. The second person gave him the same answer. And so did the third person. I was too far away for it to be considered even remotely polite to yell out the answer so I didn't. Finally, the elderly man went up to the postal worker and asked. And the postal work gave the exact same answer. How can so many people be wrong? The elderly man argued it this time. The postal worker -- sure she was right said, "Sir, if you turn right out of the parking lot and go up to the light you will be at X Street." At which point the elderly man said, "And what is the name of the street that I would be on as I drive up to X Street?" Oh! Basic listening skills.

Then I got back in my car and started to drive to work -- on X Street. Which is under construction. I saw a big orange construction sign. "LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD" Poo. I need to be in the left lane. Then I saw the big orange construction sign that shows you needing to merge to the right. So I did. Only one problem. The RIGHT lane was closed. Not the left. ALL the signs were wrong. And the sad thing is that this is not the first, or even the second, time I have seen this on this particular construction job. Pay attention!

Mean Mama

gorging

When I first met Ladybug she was almost 21 months. She was almost 21 pounds and 28 inches tall. She was tiny. TINY! In her short life she had learned something that no child should ever learn. She had learned that food and water were not always available.

That first week in the agency guesthouse she would pick at food if it was offered to her. It didn't occur to me that she never asked for it. I was a first time mom who was sleep deprived. I was clueless. Once we were home we fell into a routine. I made breakfast. I made lunch. She had water whenever she wanted it. I made dinner. And she ate. A lot. She ate bananas, eggs, and oatmeal for breakfast. It was months before I learned she hated eggs and oatmeal. Why? Because it was food. If it was provided -- she ate. Because she had learned food wasn't always available.

At one of her doctor appointments my doctor asked how much she drank in a day. I said 8 or 9 full bottles (usually water). The doctor thought I was insane (well, actually she always thinks I am insane -- and not in a good way). What baby drinks 8 or 9 full bottles a day. I didn't know that was unusual. She peed a lot too.

When she was home for about 5 weeks we went to visit my parents. One night I made her a plate of spaghetti (another food it turns out that she hates). My father scolded me. He said a baby can't eat that much. Really?? Watch this. Not only did she eat that but she ate 3 full plates -- before I stopped the food production line. My father sat at the table in a state of shock.

I went under the theory that once she was secure and out of a growth spurt (catch up) she would slow down on the food. And I was right. Sort of. After about 6 months home she stopped eating everything in site. She became a picky eater. I discovered foods she won't touch (like the ones previously mentioned and tomatoes, chinese food and mexican food).

She continued to grow. The average child grows 2 inches in a year once they become a toddler (so I read somewhere that I can no longer remember). She grew more then that. She has been home for just over 4 years. She has grown 20 inches. That is 12 inches more then the average child. She went from being a shorty to being an average child. She went from being 21 pounds to 56 pounds. Yes she is a chunky girl and she carries it all in her butt. She went from wearing a size 9 months (at 21 months) to 6X -- but not jeans (they don't fit over her butt).

But I see the long term affects of her early months. She went to a pool party with a friend and the mom called and said she wasn't feeling well. Said she threw up. I asked what she ate. She started listing off things. It went on...and on... Why??? Why would you let her eat like that? Stop her. Don't let her gorge.

A couple of weeks ago we went to another party. Every time I turned around I found her grabbing food off the buffet table. I would redirect her and send her off to play. And then I would find her there again. Finally I told her she was done. No more food. She had had enough. Another person -- a friend of a friend I did not know -- stepped in and said "She is hungry. Let her eat." Why why why do I always find myself justifying my parenting decisions?

She was not hungry. There is no way the girl could have consumed the amount of food I SAW her consume in one day and be even slightly hungry. There is no way I would feel hungry. Her need to eat had nothing to do with hunger. At least not physical hunger. She is my child. I do watch her (not just let her run around unsupervised). She was not eating because she was hungry. And I shouldn't have to justify that.

But the problem is... I don't know how to resolve this. She has an issue. But do I let it ride and hope it resolves itself? Do I try to deal with it? And if so, how? Does this require professional help? Is this something she will struggle with her entire life?

Mean Mama

parent teacher conference

So I had my first parent teacher conference last week. And the result is -- she can talk. A lot. And I mean the teacher -- not Ladybug.

What did I learn about Ladybug?

1. She is smart. Wait...I already knew that. By the end of the year (I mean school year) she must be at level 3 of reading. She is currently at level 2. Her language comprehension is at the level of a first grader. Now if I can get her to use that comprehension instead of calling everything a "thing" or saying "um" all the time.

2. She manipulates. Wait... I already knew that too. However, it was nice to know she manipulates people other then me. She likes to play dumb so others will do for her what she can do for herself.

3. She really has started to learn to read. GOOD!!!! I thought she was but she played dumb. See above.

4. She really can't count higher than 39. I thought she was manipulating but she was being honest.

5. Her behavior has improved since starting school. I know. I know. And I was so happy. And so proud. It was working. But 3 weeks ago her teacher decided she was doing so well that she could go back on the general behavior chart. I was afraid. And so was Ladybug. Week 1 back on the chart I only got 1 note home from school. I had hope. Week 2 of being back on the chart I had 2 notes home from school. Anxiety rising. Week 3 of being back on the chart I have already received 2 notes homes this week -- and it is only Tuesday. Pushing, making fun of her friends, being bossy, not listening. She can multitask.

Mean Mama

new kitchen

Some of the blogs that I regularly visit have these theme days where they show pictures of their living spaces. I get the look through beautiful dinning rooms, kitchens, and living rooms. And I think -- no way am I showing my living space. My living space (despite the fact that I am an avid watcher of HGTV) is not fashionable.

Some of my lack of fashion is normal. I like to believe I am fashionable but I think I might be delusional. The other part is that I have not decorated. I am still hoping to move so when I moved into this place I did not hang pictures. As a matter of fact, most of my art work, knick knacks, and decorations are in storage -- in a different state.

When I moved to this state I moved into a small house. Small. Let me define small -- 750 square feet. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. Small. My kitchen was tiny. My friends use to think I was joking about the size --- and then they would visit. If I stood in the middle of my kitchen floor facing the stove -- I could cook. If I did a quarter turn clockwise -- I could do dishes. Another quarter turn and I could chop and fix meals. Turning only required. No steps necessary. Another quarter turn and I would walk out of the kitchen -- only about 3 steps -- between the stackable washer and dryer and the fridge. If I opened the fridge door all the way it would hit the washer and dryer.

I lived there for just under 5 years. I made it work. But when I moved to that house I needed a new table and chairs. I wanted round. So I got a small round slate table with 2 chairs. I was single. It worked. And it still worked when Ladybug came home. And when I moved in here -- the table came too. Here is my kitchen when I moved here a few short months ago. Keep in mind it is a rental and I plan on moving again.



And then about a month ago I did something stupid. When my family was trying to decide about Thanksgiving, I made the suggestion that I host it. What was I thinking??? I have a table that sits 2. My parents are coming. My sister and her daughter are coming. I don't care how creative I am -- there is no way I am sitting 6 at that table. So it was time to get a new table.

I spent time on craigslist. A lot of time on craigslist. I discovered that a lot of people own really ugly furniture that they are trying to get rid of. I also discovered that the good stuff goes in a blink of an eye. I would email and get responses back that it sold 5 seconds ago -- literally. I also discovered that some of the people who sell on craigslist are slimy. I was on top of it one day. A new table popped up and it was exactly what I wanted. Well, almost -- only 4 chairs. And it was only $75. I got an email back that it was still available and I could see it the next morning. About 1/2 later I got a second email from the seller. He said he made a mistake on the price. It was really $100. How do you make that mistake? I didn't respond. Was it worth $100? Probably. But I didn't like this tactic. You don't raise the price on a used table because someone bit so quickly. About 1/2 hour later I got another email. This time it was from his wife. Saying he was a jerk. The price was $75. But it just left a nasty taste in my mouth. So I emailed her back and told her that I would not be looking at the table and she should feel free to show it to other people. She immediately emailed me back saying she was holding the table for me and that I was obligated to come look at the table because I said I would. Whatever! I didn't go.

I ended up finding a table with 7 chairs -- yea, everyone gets to sit at Thanksgiving dinner! And the previous owner even fixed the 2 chairs that were broken. So here is my new kitchen.





Mean Mama

near death

I don't understand aggressive driving. I mean, I think people drive stupid all the time and it pisses me off. But why do you drive in such a manner that puts your life or the life of someone else in jeopardy? Are you in such a rush to get where you are going that it is worth a life?

Last week after work I had to pick up Ladybug and then go to the neighboring town. Maybe I didn't NEED to go but I really wanted to get some cute gold beads for her hair to match her Halloween costume and I haven't found any stores in my new town. So I went back to my old town and my old store.

I knew this was going to be a hard trip. Pick her up around 5:30. Drive to town and be there a little after 6. Find the beads and whatever else I was tempted by. Stop for dinner. Drive home. Hope to be home by 8pm -- which is her bedtime. Not exactly a great evening for a kindergartner but I felt it had to be done.

On my way to town I took a business highway. This is 2 lanes in both directions but there is no center divider. And there are stop lights. It was rush hour time but luckily we were going in the opposite direction of most of the traffic.

I was in the left hand lane. I went down a hill. I headed back up a hill. I knew at the top of the hill was a stop light. I noticed a long row of cars in front of me. I noticed the brake lights. I braked. I glanced in my rear view mirror. I saw a little run down sports car coming up on my butt fast. I glanced back at Ladybug. She was sleeping. I glanced in the rear view mirror again. He was still coming fast. And there was nothing I could do. There were slowing and stopped cars in front of me. There was traffic coming toward me to my left. There was traffic going with me to my right. There was nothing I could do to protect myself. Or Ladybug. I kept my foot on the brake and braced for impact.

That all took about 3 seconds. If that.

But he didn't hit me. I don't understand how. He slammed on his brake at that last minute. He swerved to his right. The car in the right hand lane swerved to their right into the break down lane. He pulled past me, blared his horn, flipped me off as he passed me by, and kept going.

I gathered my wits and kept going. And I watched him go. And then I saw him do the same thing about 1/2 mile down the road. Again missing people.

His life may not be worth being careful. But mine is. Ladybug's is. And the other people that he scared that day also is.

Luckily Ladybug slept through the whole thing.

Mean Mama

delayed update

I know I am way behind on my weight update. It is not entirely intentional. A little. But not entirely.

On the last Sunday of my diet -- October 24th, I think -- I weighed myself and I wanted to throw the scale out the window. But since I rent, and I can not afford to fix a window, I did not. I was disgusted.

266.

Yuck!

So I decided not to do an update. Maybe, just maybe, I could get down to 265 (or lower) by Thursday -- the last day of this round of my diet. I was hopeful.

It didn't happen.

That week I bloated. Serious bloating. I am fat. I am use to it. I don't notice bloating most days. My pants don't get tight when I get my period -- they are tight all the time. But I tried to put my rings on and they would not go over my fingers. Seriously. The same rings that I could wear on the same fingers when I was nearly 30 pounds heavier. And they hurt.

I lived with it for a couple of days and then I bought a diuretic. Yeah, those things don't work.

So by the end of the week I had gained another pound. 267! Oh that is not good.

And then I went away for the weekend. Over Halloween. That has bad written all over it. And it was bad. I ate. A lot. Of bad things. At one point I looked at my friend and said, "I think I have been here for 30 hours and I think I have put on 30 pounds." It felt like it.

But I was wrong. On Tuesday morning I weighed myself and it said 270. Yuck. Good. I mean I was not suppose to be 270. But at least I did not gain 30 pounds.

I have worked hard this week and I am now at 268.8. Not great. But good. I am working slowly to get back down to 265. Hoping by Thanksgiving.

This portion of the diet I am suppose to stay within 2 pounds of my last weigh in. 265 is the goal. And I am starting exercises. Just mild stuff. To firm and tone. So that I don't have a ton of sagging skin at the end of this.

I will keep you posted.

Mean Mama