Tuesday, August 20, 2013

The jankity ass peg

Most of the time I feel like I get up when I get knocked down. I take the hits and I get up and try to be the bigger person. I try to learn from the really crappy parts like sharing my kids with people I never wanted to share them with. I succeed and grow and take pride in that. I try to see positives and create opportunities and live life and accept the circumstances. I genuinely feel happy and I can see good in things and people (even those people) and fully enjoy life and living. I mostly think of myself as really strong. As someone who has been to hell and back and has survived and is still able to be optimistic and have something to offer.

And sometimes I just say “Fuck it” and I get angry and sad and cry about it.

One of these nights when I was in one of these moods, I was venting to my husband. Let me explain the ridiculous amounts of patience he has to be able to listen to me break down about my old life as frequently as he does. I know it isn’t fun for him to hear about my sadness and my hurt and my anger over the past events, but he listens and often he says some amazingly poignant things. The man is a saint. You know, if I believed in saints.

So my analogy was that I was so frustrated and so angry that I spent all my life as the square peg trying to fit into the round hole of my ex life. And I was hurt at how easily someone else seemed to fit into that round hole. I told him that I know I shouldn’t have been trying to fit into that round hole anyway but it still sucks so hard core. I told him that I know I have always been too stubborn to be anybody’s round peg  and I know I’m better off and stronger for it. Other people can be round pegs. Not me. I told him that I didn’t even want any part of fitting into it but it feels like failing because I couldn’t.

I told him that I don’t know how long it takes to recover from the emotional injury. How often am I allowed to fall apart? I don’t always do it, but how many times is too many? How do I pick myself up when I’m not even a square peg anymore? I feel like my square peg was smashed with a sledgehammer and now I’m not fit to belong anywhere.

“Now I’m just a fucked up, splintered, jankity ass peg.”

“Well, the good news is that I was looking for exactly your size and shape of fucked up, splintered, jankity ass peg. Your fucked up, splintered, jankity ass peg will fit right here without you having to be anything that you aren’t. or anything you don’t want to be.”

And after that, I was able to get my shit together and be strong. Just like that. Be your own fucked up, splintered, jankity ass peg. You will fit in just fine.  

Sometimes you go to school with poop in your hair. It happens.

Yesterday was our first day back to school! 2nd grade, 4th grade, and me back behind the piano and hanging around high school kids all day trying to remember not to curse or say inappropriate things. Yay! Excitement!

I quite literally couldn’t sleep the night before. That happens sometimes with us crazies. I was just awake. So finally at around 5 I decided to get up and go for my run….

            ****RECORD SCRATCH****  [Yes this is something I do now. I started with walking and then gradually got faster. I also can kick some ass with my muscles. So that’s happening now.]

…I had forgotten the difficulty of getting ready in the dark since Dual was still asleep and I didn’t want to wake him up. I stumbled around for like 15 minutes before I finally collected everything I needed. And I set off on my regular neighborhood route. Because I started doing this running thing at the beginning of the summer when I wasn’t working, I usually went out after the sun came up but before it was freaky balls ass hot. So, when running in the dark I was able to get repeatedly startled by all of my neighbors who have automatic sensor outside lights. And I almost bit it about 6 times over the half way corroded speed bumps in our neighborhood. But all in all…good workout.

When I came in I noted that the dogs (Isis has already outgrown the crate and stays in the official dog room now) were being awfully quiet and in my mind I thought “well, Isis must be doing really well because she didn’t cry to go out last night. Good for her! I’ll let them sleep a little longer.” That was stupid.

After my shower, still in my towel, I decided to go ahead and let the dogs out really quickly. I could smell it before I could even see it. Shit. Everywhere. Big fat liquidy piles. One of the piles was actually in front of the door so when I swung it open I made a beautiful poop rainbow across the floor. And the river of pee was all around the piles. It was like an excrement moat protecting all the dogs in their cuddly blanket fort on the opposite side of the dog room. I had to step over the poop river and actually pick up the damn dogs and force them to wake up and go outside.

Still in just a towel and wet hair, I somehow decided I better clean it right then. So with my one free hand I’m scooping up poop by the massive fistful (with T.P. of course) and trying not to drop my towel in it with the other hand. The first huge handful of poop actually clogged up the toilet when I tried to flush it. So I ignored that and put the next 4 handfuls in the other toilet. Dual discovered the clogged toilet a couple hours later when he woke up. He was super happy about it. After the scooping, I did the soaking up with shop towels from Dual’s work. These towels are meant to clean up auto mechanic type greasy heavy-duty messes. And this dog piss was just dissolving them. I made several trips to the outside bin with the soaked rags while I was still holding onto my towel with one hand and my wet hair dangling everywhere because apparently the running and the not sleeping had made me too stupid to realize I should probably just get dressed really quick.  

Much floor scrubbing and Lysol later, I was pretty sure it was at least clean enough to be OK until after school and could be properly mopped. Finally I was able to wash my hands multiple times, and get into actual clothes and not keep holding up my towel with one hand.

The rest of the morning was fine. Everyone dressed. Everyone feed. Lunches made. Excited kids. Pictures in the front yard. Yadda yadda. Dropped them off and got them all settled and got in the car to head to my school.

I kept smelling the shit storm. I figured it was residual trauma and it was just burned into my nose. Once at school, I still kept thinking I smelled it. I started smelling my hands and my hair. I thought I smelled it but never could be sure. Finally I just decided it must have just been that bad and I can’t get rid of the idea of the stink.  I went through my whole day. I picked up the kids after school. We went home. We had a snack. We played outside.

Then Dual came home. He knew all about the horror of the poop event because I kinda had to tell him after he stumbled into the clogged toilet. Anyhow, he came home and gave me a hug. Yay! Husband hugs! But immediately he pulls back away from me…

“Ew! What is that!? Did you get some of that shit in your hair?”

So, yes. Apparently I was smelling it all day. Apparently I somehow transferred poop to wet hair. And it dried. And it stayed there all day. I spent my first day at school with dog poop in my hair.  

Friday, August 9, 2013

My name is Isis and I'm going to be bigger than you.

We have another dog. This brings our grand total of dogs to 4. And OCD me wouldn't have it any other way. I can't do an odd number of dogs. Or an odd number of kids. And besides...who can resist this face?! Her name is Isis and she is a Great Dane. Yes, I am aware that this is crazy. But that's kind of what I do. I collect mouths to feed.
2 days old. My daddy fell in love with me instantly. He's a big 'ol softie.

Then I got bigger. I am 2 months old here! And Shiner is 2 years old. Pete and Lexi decided not to have their picture made.

Then I got bigger...I gained about 3 pounds that week.

Dad LOVES this. He acts all like "Don't do that!" But then he's secretly all "this is great!"

And still I get bigger. Sometimes Shiner is all "Don't do that!" But I know he loves it.

We are totes besties.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

I do not like it in my house, I do not like this stupid mouse.

We have a damn mouse.

Most likely we have mice. But it’s hard to tell.

The mouse showed up when I was at the piano one day. That little rodent just took off right under my feet and ran under a cabinet. I didn’t freak out. Those sorts of things generally don’t bother me. But it is a little creepy and gross.

A few days later, me and Dual are in the kitchen and that damn thing shoots out from under our fridge and goes under the dishwasher. Damn it!! Still not that concerned, but entirely irritated at that little shit.

And so we arrive at a few weeks after that. All is quiet(ish) in the Doran house when a scream of horror movie caliber comes out of the girls’ room. I think one of them has probably shanked the other one so I got in there fast(ish). They are huddled on the bed as if the floor is the ocean and it’s Shark Week. It came out of their closet and went under the dresser this time. Now I’m trying to figure out how in the hell is this little thing getting all over the house. It is showing up everywhere.

This mouse is obviously getting to be quite at home with us and seems to know its way around pretty well. A few more days later and this time the screaming happens as all girls run from the room. Why? Because the damn mouse is just sitting on one of their beds. Granted, the beds don’t sit on frames because they kept shoving crap under there when it was time to clean their rooms so I took away the under bed option, but still…it was just kickin’ it on the damn bed.

So now I have freaked out children, and dogs too worthless to notice a mouse. I was also informed by my kids that mice are only disgusting unless they are pets. Because their cousins have pet mice but that is totally different because those are cute and don’t sleep in beds. OK. Whatever. I finally consent to traps but only if they are humane, no kill traps. After the squirrel fiasco I just wanted to get it out of the house.

Now this mouse is under the impression that it lives here apparently. We were sitting in our kitchen one morning, just minding our business when that damn mouse sort of strutted out from under the fridge and just walked under the dishwasher. I half expected it to stop and have coffee with us, or maybe I should apologize for waking him up so early.

 Dual finally overruled my no-kill traps and set up the real deal. So now we have basically just set up a nightly buffet for it. I think we have given up trying to kill it. Right now I’m just giving in and building him one of those fancy mouse holes like on Tom and Jerry. I’m kind of starting to respect the little guy.  

Are we all angry, or is it just me?

I haven’t quit writing so much as I’ve just quit posting. I write it down then I think it’s all angry or sad or just generally boring. This week I had another one of those experiences that reminded me why I don’t always post things anymore.

I get that I’m totally not easy to get along with all the time. I like to think of it as passionate or fiery or unpredictable. Apparently other people see that as “unpleasant” “difficult” and a little bit of bat shit. I was trying to communicate with my ex-husband. It wasn’t working. It is really difficult for me to accept that someone I used to be able to say anything to, sometimes without even using words, is so damn difficult to talk to.

Sometimes I just want to scream that I'm not really that angry. I'm not mean. I'm not that bad. I'm not like this with everyone. I'd like to think I'm OK really. Hurt comes out like anger. Hurt comes out like bitch. Hurt makes me mean. It's not an excuse. But it's the truth.

It’s been a couple years now. But some days it feels brand new. It sucks that when we talk about our kids or schedules or anything, I can’t really trust what he says. And I probably won’t ever trust him ever again. It sucks that I’m not sure if I should be able to. It sucks that it has come to this angry, bitter, name-calling, exhausting, emotional mind fuck of conversation.

Remember that part where I have OCD and bi-polar. This immensely complicates things. I need constant reassurance even on my best days from people I trust. That is an obsession with being heard and understood. It annoys the hell out of people close to me. I ask the same question over and over. I repeat my point over and over. I used to do it to him and it drove him nuts back then too. I also rapidly shift up and down in my emotions. Basically I’m just a lot of fun. So I don’t know if the hostility is me, or is it my stupid disease.

I get really angry when I know I should be over this by now. I need to be done with how bad they both hurt me and my kids and my family. I need to grow the hell up and deal. This is our life now. It’s not fair to my awesome husband and kids. But what is the time limit on anger and pain and recovery? What is the acceptable way to communicate with someone with so much bad blood? How do I do this? When does this get easier? When will dealing with him (and her) stop making me feel like a big piece of shit? When do I stop allowing myself to let this break me down? When do I start kicking ass again?

It turns out that I have no idea. All I can control is me. And I’m pretty awesome. I just need a little more practice. And we’ve got a long way to go.