It’s been close to a month since I’ve had a microwave at home. We had an over-the-range mounted microwave before and it obviously had to stay. We bought a new over-the-range to match our new stainless steel appliances (*squeeee*) but it has yet to be installed.

I never thought I would feel so out of sorts without a microwave. I’m not just out of sorts about it, I am damn near homicidal, people.

It wasn’t always this bad.

At first I felt bad that Hudson had freezing cold milk in the morning instead of it warmed as he was used to.

Then, I got irritated because I couldn’t heat left overs on a whim like before.

Now, I get angry because I forget (STILL!) that we have no  microwave (STILL!) and I’ve left the frozen veggies until last and now I have to put them in a pot on the stove.

It’s to the point where I look at my ratty existing hood over the new! shiny! range and I am filled with hatred.

Not to mention the fact that some moron (surprisingly not my husband ) installed a ceiling fan overhead. What’s so weird about that you wonder? Well, nothing. There’s nothing wrong with that.

But what IS wrong is that said ceiling fan is too close to the cupboard doors above the stove and (do you know where this is going?) should the fan be on at the same time as one tries to open the cupboards for spices all hell will break loose and I’m sure my roof would be taken off.

I imagine it would look something like a prop on a boat.

Only not.

Whatthefuckever. It’s Friday. This is all you get.

I *think* someone is coming to install my microwave on Sunday. Right AFTER I have people over for Carter’s fourth birthday. Convenient, no?

I was SHOCKED to see how many of you on twitter don’t use a microwave at all. Then I began thinking I am like, the laziest mofo on the face of the earth. Especially if I am about to go homicidal over not having a microwave. Thanks for making me look so bad. SHOCKED, people. Like so shocked I now NEED to have microwave popcorn and I can’t.

Fuckyouuniverse.

Born and raised in Canada I’ve known nothing different than going to the doctor if you’re sick. Heading to the hospital for emergency care means having my health card with me. Nothing more.

For years, I knew nothing of the American health care system aside from what I had seen on TV: one image that resonates with me to this day is a man shot and left – dying – in an emergency room hallway on a gurney. No one had information about his insurance, or if he even had any and he was left there. Suffering. Overlooked because of a lack of paperwork.

That? That doesn’t happen in Canada.

Hearing that my American friends owe THOUSANDS in health care costs for sick children, surgeries, CHILD BIRTH scares the ever living crap out of me.
The idea of losing my home, having my wages garnished and collection agencies having my number on speed dial for my child’s birth makes me unconditionally happy to be a Canadian; to have this ‘nazi socialist*’ health care system available to me is a blessing.

… read more at Canada Moms Blog as we share our perspective on the American Health Care Reform along side our Silicon Valley Mom Blog friends

My comment:

As a pit bull owner I am disgusted and so enraged that this ‘celebrity’ has furthered the hatred and stereotype of these wonderful dogs.

It’s not *just* what he’s done to the pit bull breed, but the violence he committed against another living being incomprehensible. He’s a vile and deranged person. I would love nothing more than for him to suffer the same horrible disgusting acts he inflicted upon these animals.

I am disgusted, infuriated and down right pissed off to the point where I wish physical harm to him for what he has done. His smug grin angers me to no end.

Read Jurgen Nation’s Open Letter to Michael Vick.

As for the dogs which were affected by this monsters greed and inhumane acts?   The ones that were able to be saved are on the mend. Some have been rehabilitated and living with loving and caring families as they should be.

Do you know what happens to these dogs when they are forced to fight?

Gypsy “The Angel Pit Bull” tells her story. **The images contained in these link are extremely graphic.**

How do you feel about Michael Vick being reinstated into the NFL and playing for the Eagles again? Should he be banned for life? Does he deserve a second chance?

How do you feel about this ‘man’ being a ‘role model’ for so many of today’s youth? (Because really? What pro athlete is not considered a role model to young adolescents?)

Should he be resigned to a life in a cage where he is beaten, burned and battered for not performing as expected?

I think you know which one I’m gunning for.

Things are coming together. I think I’m getting my groove back. You may still occasionally find me huddled in the deep recesses of my new! garage! hiding with my raspberry vodka, but for the most part I think my shit is coming together.

I fell asleep before the kids were in Mike’s recliner on Saturday night; the most sleep I’ve had since prior to BlogHer. Holy shit! Was that three weeks ago already? I can’t believe how fast time has been flying. Two weeks and summer will unofficially be over as the kids (not mine, but yours) are gearing up to go back to school.
The school which Carter will eventually be attending is a stone’s throw from my new house. Seriously, *I* could hit it with a stone. I can see it from my front windows. I’ve been contemplating – again – the idea of sending Carter to Junior Kindergarten. I mean, the daycare has a program there and I only have to suffer through one pick up and drop off, but the money….even the mere two hundred dollars we could save would be beneficial (especially when daycare fees are the same as our mortgage. 1840 big ones. Per month. Yes, that’s right.)

The Incident in Carter’s class has somewhat dissipated as the offending person has been removed from the daycare. They will not be returning. Ever.
Thanks to you and your comments, I realize that you’re right. I didn’t fail my child but the person in question failed me. I can’t help but still feel that twinge of guilt in my pit of my stomach: I should be home caring for my children. I should be their primary caregiver. I don’t know that that will ever go away.

Aside from that, I feel a little more comfortable about the whole thing. Still uneasy, but better.

Except. By process of elimination I am fairly certain I know who the victim was (is).

My heart breaks for them. Their whole family. I wish nothing more than to be able to do something for them. To take away that pain and worry and heartache they are certainly feeling.

CAS has someone going to the daycare to talk to children whose parents have concerns and aren’t sure how to broach the subject with their child. I am leary about having a stranger talk to Carter about such a sensitive issue. We’ve had a number of discussions which lead me to believe that he understands what private parts are and who can touch you. He hasn’t exhibited any signs which we’ve been instructed to look out for, so we’re pretty confident that we’re on the right path to educating him. But! I worry that I’m not taking every aveune available to us by declining the interviews at the daycare.

Can we ever win this mental battle of Parent Guilt?

P.S. There’s pictures coming. I swear. I have to try and locate my camera.

P.S. Who’s coming to help strip wallpaper and paint? I have a pool and margarita mix!

I always wondered what it would feel like to cheat. Is the thought of being caught as exhilarating as one says? Would one be so invested in this other relationship that it really wouldn’t matter should ones indiscretion come to light ? How could someone ever cheat worry ALL. THE. TIME.?

I now have my answers.

I never thought I could be one to cheat. I don’t think I can lie that well – but, apparently one does not have to be able to lie: well, in my case I don’t.

When I first cheated I was in a bad spot and needed help. I wanted nothing more to fix things but as stresses mounted I was put in a position where I felt compelled to rely on another.  Completely unavailable to me, at one of my weakest points, I left – hand in hand – lead away, not only by my lust, but the volatility of our relationship which brought us to this crossroad. I push buttons, we’d push and pull, then sooner or later one of us would end up overheated before turning our back on the other, moving our separate ways. Occasionally we’ve found our way back to each other, but it’s not the same as it once was. That lust is gone. That strong sense of desire; gone.

Before I cheated, I was certain we would work things out. I was certain it was a phase and we would once again, find our way back to each other. Now? Things are different. The attention I get elsewhere is undeniable. The attention to detail, the precision of our movements; together as one. As cliche as it sounds: we were made for each other. Being together – as one – is magical and perfect. It’s everything it should be.

I just don’t know how to tell my beloved that it’s over. I’ve found another and I am moving on. I just don’t know what else I can do. There is nothing left. There’s nothing that binds us as it once had.

How do I tell my beloved Bissell I am leaving for a Dyson?

Okay, so I’m not REALLY leaving. I’m just dreaming of leaving.

I borrowed my step-mom’s vacuum cleaner; her Dyson, while we were moving and can I just tell you I thought I would love them before because – well, who wouldn’t? Shiny, pretty and they are said to have amazing suction, right? But they come in purple!? Purple, people.

I am planning my escape to be with this wondrous beauty. I am hoping to let my Bissell down gently, but I just haven’t found the words. It’s been so faithful over the past few years that I can’t bring myself to throw it to the side of the road, wiping my hands as I turn my back on it.

But dude? DYSON.

Or….

A violent death could make my dreams a little more conceivable. Maybe a fall down the stairs? An unfortunate meeting with a pool wet spot – I could tell Mike: “Well, I didn’t know it wasn’t able to suck up liquids” and shrug as I slyly disguise my grin with a shoulder shrug and a slight toss of my hair.

Or I could be smart and ask him right after sex. That always wins.

Regardless. I have a new mission.

A mission which I assume will take many months of planning to execute just so.

A mission that will have to be coordinated to the very last detail so not to upset the other appliances or my husband.

After all, it would be dreadful if they were to stage a coup; revoke my right to cook boil water, have clean clothes or marvel at their beauty as I admire myself in their reflection their lustrous shine.

They all deserve their time to be shiny, right?

In time my friend. In time.

You will be mine. You will be mine.

Falling apart at the seams at the moment. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in four years 2 weeks. I am like the walking dead these days.

We’re installing our dishwasher for the fifth time.

We still have working dryer or microwave (but they sure are pretty!).

Hudson’s been sick with diarrhea, throwing up AND teething. Kicked out of daycare on Thursday for barfing on the teacher. (Okay, so it wasn’t because he barfed on the teacher but instead, just because he barfed.)

Carter has been just one big clusterfuck of MELTDOWNS. He’s acting out for attention I’m sure and because his whole world has been turned upside down. (Still concerned about the whole situation, but there’s been no updates as of yet. These meltdowns have been fucking with my brain too. Now I keep thinking is it because we’ve moved? Please let this attitude be because we’ved moved.)

I’ve been told that I am probably one of the worst housekeepers in existence; a that’s a story for another day because I am too hurt and upset about the whole thing right now. I wouldn’t want to say something hurtful and mean while I am angry. That would just be irresponsible now wouldn’t it? Ahem.

I have no internet, cable or telephone until approximately between 8am and 5pm tomorrow and I could really use some anonymous blogging at the moment.

I have no air conditioning and it’s hotter than The Gates of Hell in my house. Furnace is being installed on Wednesday, along with my new air conditioning unit. I was able to swim for about 10 minutes last night before a colossal downpour and thunderstorm struck finding us relegated to the house, again.

Found leaks in my laundry room with the rain and realized that some of it may just be condensation because it’s SO. FUCKING. HOT.

IZ NEED SUM TYME.

I’ve been without internet for the past 4 days. It literally feels like 4 weeks.

We’re in the process of moving into our new home – which unfortunately (but not really) needed all brand new appliances after we had a chance to try everything out. The dishwasher leaks all over the floor, the oven requires pliers to turn it on; even then you have to guess the temperature at which you’re cooking. So it’s really a hit and miss with that one.

The fridge doesn’t fit. Apparently the previous owner was more than happy to open the fridge LESS THAN HALF WAY for the past ten years. I? Am not. (There is a counter perpendicular to the fridge which prevents the door from being opened in its entirety. Therefore, I had to go with french doors and a bottom mounted freezer. DAMN. I know. You feel bad, right?)

I had no idea shopping for appliances would be so exhilarating. The hunting, the comparing, the bartering? AWESOME. We were able to decrease the cost of the six appliances by $2,000 at the end of the day. Not to mention the 5 year service plan tossed in at 1/3 or the price AND a year’s worth of laundry detergent.

Yes. Laundry detergent.

For my new front end loading high efficiency machines.

No. Not The Electroluxes.

But! They are LG ones. Beautiful shiny LG.

Because Life’s Good, yanno?

*snicker*

I’ve been cleaning, moving, packing, unpacking, washing, scrubbing, vacuuming, limping and whining for the past four days.

It’s been mad fun, people. Mad fun.

We’re still preparing our old home for sale as we move into this new house. There’s TONS of painting and cosmetic fix-ups to do and I have no idea where to start. I need someone to come and organize my brain.

HALP!

I have no internet at my house for ANOTHER WEEK. I am using wifi at the local coffee shop to send off some work for clients and catch up on the mess that is my inbox. My push-a-button-four-times-to-type-one-letter proves to be quite inferior when I try to read and reply to email on that shit.

I think I’m now getting The Stink Eye from the barista telling me to buy another coffee or get the hell out.

(Are they still baristas if it’s not Starbucks? Because if not I’ll just call her My Coffee Bitch.)

((If you are My Coffee Bitch instead of a Starbucks barista, please do not take offense. You’re still JUST as important to me!))

I’ll try and check in again if I can manage to part the sea of boxes (yes, just like That Dude who parted the sea. The Red Sea? Moses? I have no idea) and can break away for a bit.