I know, it’s been days. So unlike me, but also different, this holiday season. Why, with a toddler, a husband that’s never around, work and trying to shop since I royally fucked up by waiting so long how could I possibly find time to write about it, when I have little time to even complete said tasks.
Yes, I’ve FINALLY finished, as of 10am this morning I had the last of my stocking stuffer items and presents (Thank you WalMart).
Yesterday was spent driving around the entire day trying to locate a Construction City for a spoiled rotten much loved toddler.
This fuckin’ thig weighs about 80lbs and I struggled with it, ALONE, since I had depended on someone else to pick it up waited and waited until the last possible moment to get it. After driving around to three different Costco it was located and nearly left behind as I fought with it for better part of an hour trying to get it in my car. Twisting, pulling, pushing, stopping and swearing, then twisting, pulling and pushing again. Cursing children, their toys, their fathers and even Baby Jesus.
Best part? I had my passenger door open, therefore blocking the parking space beside me. You know that people would sooner drive past the spot and find a further one before helping someone OBVIOUSLY having trouble.
Fuckers.
Too bad I just look fat instead of pregnant otherwise (I’m hoping) I would have had some help or could at least justify my screaming and swearing.
But my spoiled brat beloved wonderful toddler will be so excited to see his wonderful gift come Christmas morning. Dammit, he better be after that friggin’ episode.
And in 5 days it’s off to Sin City to find me some good sin.
Thank you for the encouragement on my last entry. As you can tell, I’ve been more then a little emotional over the past week, give or take, and it’s getting to me. The stress of Christmas, sick child, absent spouse, and being pregnant and TIRED! has taken a lot out of me.
I know I am not cut out to be a single parent. I have more and more respect for my mother, who raised to little children with little help while carrying the brunt of household duties as well as working full time. It’s no easy feat., and I really look up to those that have it in them to do it all. It’s not so much the physical toll as it is emotional. There are so many ups and downs throughout the day with a toddler, THEN to have household and marital stress on top of that is a little much to bear some days. It’s something ALL us parents tend to deal with at one point or another.
Yet, sitting home three days straight, without leaving the house – with a sick toddler who’s been pissing out his ass about every hour – tends to blur your perception of being a parent. The good times are forgotten and dwelling on the bad takes the forefront. Personal outlook creates the situations, and I just have to clear my head and remember that THIS isn’t forever. I. Can. Do. It.
As for today, we are keeping warm inside as we are hammered by this snowstorm. I woke to a relatively empty driveway and light flurries, a little disappointed by all the hype of this “Storm of the Century” only to have it hit an hour later; now, it’s relentless.
I just hope Mike’s home to shovel us out so I can get the hell out of here tomorrow.
And you’re wondering why I’m sitting here rather then attempting the mall, aren’t you? Well, Carter’s sick. We were home all day yesterday with a high fever and diarrhea.
[Him. Not me.]
[Be right back, he just filled a 2 minute old diaper. Again. *gag*]
So, while he’s in this condition, it’s a little hard to leave the house for fear that we’ll have a poop emergency in the middle of the mall, MILES from the nearest available washroom. But, you don’t need any further explanation.
Where’s his father? You wonder. Well, with the Christmas season so close, there is work that requires finishing prior to the break, and his site is one of them, therefore he’s out of town all weekend.
While I’m home with a sick little toddler, three days straight. Cabin fever anyone?
I’m not resentful in the least. No, no. I mean, he’s just gone all day, laughing with his friends at work, enjoying a hot coffee, meals with no interruptions, and a hotel stay with a peaceful shower and to relax and watch what he likes before falling into a peaceful slumber unaffected by snoring and kicking all night. (Hi. My name is Sam and I am addicted to run-on sentences.)
Not. Resentful. At. All.
(Okay, you caught me. I am a little resentful.)
In fact, I am filled with hatred. Hatred because I work too dammit. Since returning to work I have turned down 3 high profile projects because of the traveling required. I feel as though I am the only one making sacrifices for this family and getting slack from my husband for it. He calls me lazy incessantly because I come home, tired, and don’t feel like cooking. Yet, he comes home and expects that dinner is on the table waiting for him, requiring no work on his part.
Need I remind you that I am also nearly 5 months pregnant and tired. I am so tired. Yet, he thinks I am using this pregnancy as an excuse for my laziness.
He hasn’t always been this way. We used to have fun. So much fun. We would laugh, joke and take care of each other. We would look out for each other; and be there when needed. Now everything feels like a chore. I love him, always have, yet I feel this intense hatred for the way things have transpired in our relationship. I take that hatred out on him; and I take it out on Carter: The only person that is completely and utterly NOT at fault has bore the brunt of my anger.
I feel like an absolutely shitty parent.
I feel like a failure as a wife.
Whenever I attempt to tell him how I feel, it turns into a fight as he assumes the defensive position and feel as though he’s being attacked; so now, I keep quite. I bottle it all up; filling myself with this intense rage.
I just hope that this vacation at New Years – sans children – will do something positive for our relationship.
Do you think I still have time to shop online? Damn, I am so screwed.
Mike usually arrives home from work around the time that Carter would take a bath, so instead of running water for both, Carter typically takes a shower with his daddy while I do the after dinner blog reading kitchen cleaning . It’s a compromise that’s worked for us since I dread bath time with a passion.
Last night, Mike was home later then usual, and I – like normal – avoided giving Carter a bath. I figured it was the night that he didn’t need one. You know, to keep the schedule flexible so that it’s not a necessity in order to get him to sleep. Break up the pattern a bit so they don’t lose their shit when something doesn’t go as scheduled. *cough* BULLSHIT *cough*
Shower time used to be a nightmare ever since Carter was accustomed to swimming in the tub; having water rain down on him while he sat on slippery porcelain was typically met with shrills more like screeching monkeys in heat. Now? He can’t wait to strip butt naked and jump in the shower with his dad ever since Mike taught him how to spit water like a fountain.
Don’t ask.
Where was I? Yes, Mike home late.
He jumped in the shower while I cleaned Carter up after dinner; once clean, he waddled his way up the five steps to the washroom level. Assuming that he may be trying to get in the shower with his dad, I kept on reading blogs cleaning the kitchen.
I then heard this little squeal as Carter came tearing from the bathroom and Mike whining from the shower.
Mike: Huuuuunnnnn.
Me: Yes?
[Thinking he may have forgot to bring his towel into the bathroom again, I went up the steps.]
Mike: Carter was peaking at me in the shower.
[Holy fuck! Did I just enter a time warp or something?]
Me: And?
Mike: He looked at my penis.
I suspect the world, as we know it, will spin off its axis and cease to exist should Carter ever reach out to yank on it.
It’s not often that people do unexpected things for me. I rarely have people offer me help or hand me downs, I don’t get very many compliments (and even if I did I would probably be oblivious since I don’t usually take well to them), I don’t get gifts (except if it was yesterday) unless they’re from family, and I never ever, have had Secret Santa.
Until today. Though she wasn’t entirely a Secret Santa, because the sender’s name is Susan.
Yet, I’ve been racking my brain and scouring my emails and comments for said Susan, but have come up with nothing. It could be my mommy brain or an alias that I don’t know, or even a lurker that I have yet to ‘meet’. (Please be the later because I’ll feel like a complete ass if it’s someone that I’ve been in contact with many times before.) I am so grateful for the kindness of ’strangers’, yet, I feel that this person is not a complete stranger because her accompanying card said:
Many Many Thanks! Samarama Ding Dong
You make me laugh pretty much on a daily basis, thanks so much.
From,
Susan
And even though I was a little skeptical that it was legit (because she called me Samarama Ding Dong) I checked it out, and it’s the real thing.
Where are you Susan? Come out, come out where ever you are! I want to let you know that your note and generosity means the world to me (and even made me tear up a little). I wanna say THANK YOU!!
So, as mentioned yesterday, I had my second prenatal appointment with my doctor. I found her when I was pregnant with Carter and absolutely adore her. Since I moved just before having Carter, I now drive a good hour to get to her, monthly, and wouldn’t change it for anything. I have even decided to drive that hour to the hospital where she delivers.
I’d say we’re pretty close. As close as a doctor patient relationship could be, I guess. I mean, I guess you’re usually pretty close with someone who sees your lady bits on a regular basis.
So, the appointment. This is where any squeamish male readers may want to go HERE rather then continue.
Alright ladies, now that the men are gone…
So, I had my yearly pap during this visit. As we’re shooting the shit, while she is randomly prodding me with the samples, she nonchalantly asks if I’ve been itchy. Down there. I said once and a while it does get itchy, that’s normal, no? And she says that it looks as though I may have a very mild case of psoriasis. Down there. I was like: There’s a cream for that, right? Which yes, she gave me a script for.
[Why does it seem all these aliments start appearing after child birth? Seriously, it's like I'm contracting every aliment known to man. Or woman.]
Then we went over blood test results and I don’t have AIDS or syphilis. Good news.
Arriving home, I mentioned my visit to Mike. You know, I thought he may be happy to know that we’re AIDS and STD free.
Me: Dr. M said that we don’t have AIDS.
Mike: Well, that’s good to know.
Me: But I have syphilis.
Mike: *blink, blink* (mouth agape)
Me: It’s not a big deal really, she gave me cream. (As I shrugged and kept on with preparing dinner)
Mike: (raising his voice)You have an STD and it’s not a big deal?
[I think at this point he was ready to accuse me of cheating or something as his breathing got deeper and faster.]
Me: Oops, sorry. Not syphilis, psoriasis. *giggle*
It’s a simple mistake. I mean anyone could confuse the two. Geez.
:::
Since embarking on my online obsession life about, oh, 4 years ago I’ve been lucky to meet quite a few wonderful people. People that have been great friends and wonderful companions, even though we may have never met in person, and though we’ve never met, there’s still a connection between people that is unmistakable. A confidant, a partner, a friend.
I’ve been lucky to find a few over the years.
And one still sends me Christmas cards. Brenda and I have know each other online for about 3 years now and every year she takes her time to think of me and my family and sends us a Christmas card. I cherish them, hang them for all the see and even place her family photo on my fridge. And though I am absolutely horrible at reciprocating – because I never remember to do Christmas cards before it’s too late – I am forever grateful for her generousity.
Then yesterday, another dear bloggy friend who has gone through one of the roughest years has taken her time to do something fabulous for me. Karen (aka Trollbaby, Vodkarella) – who I’d link, but I don’t know if she wants one – bought me a Flickr upgrade to Pro so I could share my more of my photos since she thinks I have talent!
[She's so mistaken, but I love her for it. LOVE!]
I was so taken aback that I teared up at her email; it caught me completely off guard.
[That's me: completely HORMONAL!]
So, yeah.. these two ladies completely brightened my otherwise doom and gloom day and I love them for it.
I’ve been struggling with all this behind the scenes blog business since I started reading your blogs. As many others have, I’ve struggled with the comparison, the need to feel loved, as well as the overbearing need to succeed at this thing that was mean to be just a hobby – for fun.
I too have fallen victim to the sitemeter, Shortstat and just a couple weeks ago, decided to monitor my feed counts with Feedburner.
It’s easy to say that for us writers (or wanna be writers) the written word is what should matter; but most of us want some kind of validation that our written word mean something to someone; that someone is reading and enjoying what we have to share with Teh Internetz. It’s hard not to speculate how other readers compare to ourselves. It’s human to feel a little dismayed when seeing the feed counts of other bloggers, or their comments, which overcome your own by leaps and bounds.
We overload our sites with sitemeters, stat counters, feed counters, etc. in hopes of seeing a trend, an increase in readership, validation for our written work. So, even though many may state that they aren’t interested, it’s hard to believe one can write and not care – maybe it’s just my needy personality, I just can’t see how it’s not important to a writer.
I stumbled upon this ProBlogger article while debating whether or not to include my feed count on the site and the wheels started turning.
The interesting thing I find about all these gadgets we use to validate our self worth in the blogosphere is that it’s all kept shamefully secret. I’m under the impression (by other bloggers and blog information sites) that it’s faux pas to discuss behind-the-scenes blog information, only writing is fair game. It’s like we’re terrified to share our stats for fear, that once again, we’ll be put in our place by the bloggers with a larger readership. Yet, it’s a catch-22 really. Does it mean we’re ashamed of the readers we do have because we don’t have as many as another blogger?
Some sites share the number of guests they have had, the number of feed readers they’ve acquired or even how many visitors they’ve had in a day. Others? Nothing. I am a nothing. I try to keep stats under wraps at the moment, but have no explanation for my actions other then the fact I’ve been under the impression that it’s a blogingy don’t. There’s some sites that have even eluded to the suggestion that it may be arrogant to share you stats and it’s best to be hidden in the backend of the blogs never to be discussed. Some suggest we shout it from the rooftops and be proud of each and every reader we share our writing with – whether we have 5 or 5,000 readers, they are nothing to be ashamed of.
I’m kinda leaning in that direction; I want to share and I want those people who read this site to know that I am absolutely and unequivocally elated to have each and ever one of them take time out of their day to come to this little wee blog and even more so for those that take an extra moment to contribute.
Yet, I am hesitant because I am a chicken. I am needy, always comparing myself with others and wondering what they’re thinking of me. It’s my personality: can’t change it, just have to embrace it. So you may see a feed count show up, then disappear – there’s nothing wrong with this blog. It’s just me.
So weigh in. Tell me what you think about sharing stats:
Should we be more public with them? Should we show our gratitude for each reader by baring all our statistical information with the blog world?
Is it something that you’d prefer to see kept off the blogs? Do you feel it’s arrogant to flaunt your traffic information to readers?
There is no right or wrong answer, so let’s discuss.
