Archive | October, 2009

Screw saving money. Next time I’m just buying what I want.

27 Oct

Our table isn’t going to fit in our new house. Well, it might fit, but it’s going to be really tight, so Chris and I decided that we needed a new table. So I picked a table from Pottery Barn. The table was $600, which I thought wasn’t all that expensive, of course this could be why I’m not allowed out alone with a credit card anymore, but I was in love. Chris said I could get anything I wanted, which I love to hear. Unfortunately, what I think he really meant is, you can have anything you want until I remember that I’m cheap and will do anything to save money. We went to this wholesale liquidation store on Saturday. They had this pub table, that came with 4 chairs for $150. Before I knew what was happening, Chris was sweet talking the salesman and we were no longer in the market for a table. Chris was all, I know it’s not Pottery Barn, but you have great taste, and I know you’ll make it beautiful. Against my better judgement, and in what can only be described as a typhoid fever-induced haze, I nodded and said (totally getting my Tim Gunn on), I’ll make it work. Obviously I was high. The table is beat to shit. It’s smoke damaged because it was an insurance loss in a fire. The chairs are rickety and the seat cushions look like they’ve been dragged through the mud. But I figured if I give up my Pottery Barn table, I’ll make up for it somewhere else. Maybe a great backsplash, a new living room chair, I’ve got a whole house to shop for. And fixing this table can’t be THAT bad, right?

We get the table home, and Kat and I spent about an hour scraping off the foam shit that they use to put fires out, because it’s stuck all over the chairs. We tightened up the chairs, put them back together the right way (someone put some of them together totally wrong), and we start painting. After awhile, my knee starts stiffening up, so I put my paint brush down to stretch my legs and Kat’s hellbeast puppy steals my paint brush and runs away with it into the living room. Keep in mind that the brush is about as big as she is. So Bella, being the monster adorable puppy that she is, got black paint everywhere. All over the kitchen floor, the wall, everywhere. She finally dropped it in the living room. On the rug. Black paint on my tan carpet. Love it. After spending about 45 minutes scrubbing the carpet, I get the paint out and give up for the day.

Day 2, I start painting again, and Kat’s pain in the ass puppy starts frolicking around, like jumping around and wagging her tail under the chairs that I’ve just painted. Then she starts rubbing all over the legs of the chair like a damn cat. So Kat’s white dog now has paint all over her, and I have to repaint because there’s white beast dog hair on my freshly painted chairs. After another couple times of her messing up my paint, stealing my paint brush and getting black paint on the carpet (again), I finally finished painting. On to step two. Recovering the chairs.

I am so done with this stupid motherfucking project at this point, I cut the fabric completely crooked carefully measure the fabric, and start the recovering. Ok, I don’t know if I’m just a big wuss or if I have the world’s hardest to use staple gun, but I couldn’t staple that damn thing for the life of me. I had to use both hands, which was next to impossible because I needed another 2 hands to pull the fabric tight. Son of a bitch. This is why I hate crafting/home improvement projects. It’s also incidentally why I’d rather just buy what I want than rescue some dilapidated piece of shit just to save money, but I digress. I had to ask Chris for help, which just irritated me more. I only put the fabric on backwards once, which I thought was a major accomplishment.

I’m still not done with this horrible project. I have sheets all over the kitchen, chairs everywhere, one of the tables in like 12 pieces, the other one covered with laundry, I can’t get to the stove, I have shit all over the counters, and it looks like a fabric store exploded all over my dining room. I’m thinking for all this, I’ve totally earned a backsplash.

You never know when you might need it

22 Oct

The other night when I was sure I was dying from the plague (I’ve been sick since I got home from Georgia. Gotta love air travel), we were watching Hoarders on A&E. Have y’all seen this show? They’re crazy. They live with wall to wall clutter, but it’s way worse than clutter. They save everything, or buy too much, or just give up and don’t clean at all…ever. Anyway, we’re all watching it, and the guy on it was explaining how he was a hoarder because when he was little his dad gave him a train set that he loved, but they didn’t have any money and had to sell the train set. He was saying that he felt like he had to hoard things because of the fear that someone might take them away and he’d have nothing. I scoffed and paused the tv. I looked at Chris and said, what a load of bullshit. My biological dad decided he couldn’t deal and left me and mom to be gay. I was a drug abusing alcoholic after my bad taste in men left me bruised, bloody and beaten. I got my shit together. You don’t see me acting like that. Chris raised his eyebrows and says, no? You don’t think you do that? I’m totally offended. Uh no? What the hell? I’m not a hoarder. I was like, I’m not crazy. Davey snickers and says, you kind of are, mom. I was like, for real. Why do you guys say that? So Chris starts to explain to me that my obsessive need to keep can goods is hoarding. Hmm.

Ok, maybe I have a need to have no less than like 50 cans of random things in my pantry. That’s not crazy, that’s good planning, isn’t it? You never know when you might need it. Shit. That’s what the people on hoarders said, “You never know when you might need it.” Alright, MAYBE there are some similarities. When the kids were babies, I was so hungry and so damn poor I had to eat ketchup on crackers for some kind of nutrition (the kids were still on formula at that time). Yes, I felt completely abandoned by everyone. All of my friends were gone, off to college having fun or just busy not being a mother, my family was…well we had issues. My marriage (to the kids’ dad) was rocky at best, plus my ex was working constantly, so he was never home. Basically it was just me and the kids. It was at the point I realized how screwed up I’d gotten my life and decided then and there that this would never happen again. Ever. I’d made too many mistakes, I’d lived in the past for too long, it was time to toughen up, grow the hell up and take charge of my life. So ate my ketchup on my crackers and vowed that I’d never be hungry again, and I’d never look at the kids again and wonder how I would feed them. When I said I’d never go hungry again, I didn’t think it would mean that I’d gain 100 pound to compensate, but that’s ok. At least I’m not hungry. So yeah, I keep extra cans in the pantry. But you know what, when y’all are starving because there’s no grocery stores left because the aliens blew them up (this is in my post-apocalyptic world, of course), I’ll be sitting happy with my cans.

Yes, I get that it’s maybe a little crazy. But I don’t hide food (anymore). Chris made me stop that when he moved in. And I don’t buy cans in bulk (anymore). Chris made me stop that too. Now I just don’t let them get below a certain number. Once Chris tried to use a can of cranberry sauce (part of my stash), and I was like, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! YOU CAN’T EAT THAT! I NEED TO SAVE IT! He was like, why? It’s a fucking can of cranberry sauce. What are you saving it for? I was like, you never know when you might need it. Alright, I get it. That’s crazy. I don’t care. There’s very little that gives me more joy than looking in my pantry and seeing a shelf full of cans. It’s just comforting.

Anyway, I told Chris and Davey to shut it. I wasn’t a hoarder. Then the doctor on the show started explaining how hoarding is sometimes a symptom of OCD and can be linked to impulsive buying. Chris and the kids looked at me with their raised eyebrows. I said, I know, I know. I need medication. Leave me alone.

I am one pathetic loser

16 Oct

My mom has finally joined the 21st century and decided to create a Facebook account. I’ve been bugging her about it for months. A lot of times I’d do my daily updates (which include anything from nonsensical ramblings to what’s going in our lives) on Facebook and then forget to tell her about stuff. Or she’d be like, oh, so and so is moving and I’d be like, yeah, I know, I saw it on Facebook. It was just a pain in the ass. So anyway, she joined Facebook, and the other day we were talking about how it’s going to be an adjustment for me to move to a place where I don’t know anyone, and she says, in a way that only your mother can, you know, you’re a lot nicer on Facebook than you are in person. I was like, ehh, what? She clarified that I’m just more open on Facebook, and more friendly. In person, not so much. I’d like to be really offended, but I think she may be on to something there.

This isn’t something that I would normally advertise, but since I’ve talked about everything else on the internet, I’ll just go for it. I don’t have any friends. Now before you say, oh, of course you do, everyone has friends! Let me say, no, I really don’t. I used to, I used to have lots, but high school was a long time ago. Those people are more of acquaintances, or old friends that I rarely get to talk to. I have lots of people that I talk to all the time, like this super kick ass chick that I met at Kat’s cheering. We talk like everyday on Facebook, and she would totally be my BFF (yeah, I said BFF. I have a 10-year old daughter, what do you expect?) but she lives far away from me, like North Carolina far. I don’t have anyone that I can get a cup of coffee with and have girl talk. Well, I have Chris, but he sucks at girl talk. I have people that I’m friendly with, but no real circle of friends, or shopping buddies or BFFs. Before you go thinking I’m some kind of colossal loser, I should tell you, I kind of dislike people. They make me nervous. I just don’t know what to say when I’m with people. Like, if they read my blog, they think I’m funny. And I’m not really funny, I’m just a smart ass, and in person, that comes off bitchy. And although I kind of am a bitch, I don’t mean to come off bitchy. So my mom was right. Who knew I’d admit that in public either?

So this whole moving to a new place thing combined with my mom telling me I’m not really nice in person got me thinking. I’ve been telling the kids how this is a great opportunity for them to make new friends and shake off any of those old stigmas. They can be anything they want to be, no one knows anything about them, etc. Maybe the same should apply for me. It would be awesome for Chris and I to have a couple that we could hang out with, or a girl that I could go have coffee with, or someone to walk around the block with. But new people scare me, and I’m such a hermit. I’d rather be home steam cleaning the carpets than out being social. So what do you think? How do you even make friends as an adult? There have been many instances that people have been making plans and stuff and even though I was standing there, they didn’t invite me. And it’s not like I can be all, wanna go hang out with me? That’s just dorky. So internet, what’s a wall flower/smartass/bitch supposed to do to make new friends in a new environment? How do I pull the real me (which is the the way I am here and on Facebook, by the way) out and let go of this shy crap?

Winner, winner chicken dinner

16 Oct

Ok, you can’t really win a chicken dinner. BUT you can win $100 Visa gift card with which you could buy several chicken dinners. Check out my new review site at Miss Merrittocracy Reviews for the rules. I reviewed the Sonicare for Kids toothbrush, and I know you want to know what I think, so go look.

Go.

Why are you still here?

Oh, the joys of air travel

15 Oct

Hey y’all! I’m practicing my accent because…we have a house!! The offer has been accepted and we close in November! I’m so unbelievably relieved. It would’ve really sucked to move in January and have no house. We actually flew down this weekend to do a walk through, sign the papers and start the list of stuff that needs to be done, which is why I’ve been ignoring my blog. And you thought I was just being lazy.

Chris and I left Saturday and it was really cool because we’ve never flown anywhere without the kids. It was really nice to not have to be paranoid in the airport, looking around frantically for your children who can’t seem to grasp what stay right next to me means. Try playing that game in LaGuardia. Super fun. Anyway, it was a pretty big plane, 3 seats on each side. I took the window seat, Chris in the middle and someone else in the aisle seat. On the first flight, that someone else was a very, VERY drunk man. He reeked of liquor. During the takeoff he kept taking his shoes off and playing with his feet, which also smelled. Then as soon as we were in the air, the guy reached in his bag and pulled out a fifth of vodka. I can’t even get a Diet Coke through security and this guy has a fifth? Whatever. Maybe he bought it in the airport, which would be even worse because it was almost empty. So anyway, this dude kept getting up and stumbling down the aisle to the bathroom, where the poor stewardesses were like, Sir? Sir, we need you to take your seat. Then he’d stagger back to his seat, drool on Chris a little bit and drink some more. Right before we landed, he wiped the drool off his chin and PULLED OUT HIS TEETH. For real. Then he fell back asleep. Chris was like, next time I’m NOT sitting in the middle. I hate you. I found the whole thing hilarious until we were actually in the terminal. Chris and I were standing in front of one of those big maps looking for the best place to eat, and the guy walks buy and grabs my ass. I was like, that drunk guy just grabbed my ass! Chris says, yeah, try sitting next to him for an hour and half. Sucks doesn’t it. Fair enough I suppose.

So after our whole weekend extravaganza, Chris and I were looking forward to going home, sleeping in our own bed, seeing the kids, all that good stuff. Just wanted a nice, restful flight back. I was really tired and wanted to take a nap on the plane, which was a great plan until the big dumb animal sitting next to me spilled Diet Coke all over my leg. He didn’t do it once, but twice. Oh and that big dumb animal? Yeah, that was Chris. At first I was really mad because my leg was really cold and I was getting a little travel weary. I was like, what the hell? Would you pay attention to what you’re doing? He’s like, I’m sorry, I hit it with my arm. I didn’t mean to. So I said, well are you going to do anything about it? He’s like, what do you want me do? Now all I really meant was that I wanted him to get some napkins so I could mop up the puddle of Diet Coke in my lap, but because I’m a total smartass and kind of a bitch, I said, you want to make it right, why don’t pour the rest of that on yourself. And you know what that fool did? He picked up his Diet Coke and dumped it in his lap. He was like, now we can be wet and miserable together. I was like, aww, you’re the best travel buddy ever.

So even though we had to brave the crowded seats, drunks and laps full of Diet Coke, we had an awesome weekend. And did I mention we have a house? Hell yeah, y’all.

10 years

8 Oct

When I was younger, I never wanted to be a mom. Some people just aren’t cut out for parenthood, people like me just don’t have kids. When I found out that I was pregnant, I was terrified. I didn’t know how to be a mother, and I certainly couldn’t be a mother to two babies at the same. I didn’t know how wrong I was, I never knew that a human being was capable of loving two people so much. I remember sitting in the NICU after they were born, watching them sleep with all the tubes and monitors hooked up to their tiny bodies, bargaining with God for their lives, praying (even though I’d never done much praying) that they’d be ok. The first time I held Kat, she looked in my eyes and I knew that she was my daughter. I looked into Kat’s crystal clear eyes, I knew that she was strong, I knew she was a fighter. When she ripped out her feeding tube twice in the first 24 hours, and I knew she would be ok. I wasn’t allowed to hold David for the first 24 hours because he was too sick. When the nurses finally let me hold my son, I sat in a rocking chair, the tubes and wires making a pile on the floor beside us. I rocked and rocked for hours. I sat whispering in his ear, telling him that he needed to be strong, that he was beautiful and wonderful and needed to fight harder. As I rocked, the doctors and nurses worked furiously to save the life of the baby in the incubator next to David’s. He was another baby born too soon, like mine. I’d had dinner with his mother in the cafeteria that evening, we’d traded war stories of the NICU, she told me about the nice nurses and the ones to watch out for. As I rocked my own son that night, willing him strength, tears rolling down my cheeks, that baby died. I don’t know his name, but I think of him often. I think of how easily it could’ve been my son. It was the first time I truly understood how blessed I was, and how maybe, just maybe being a mother was exactly what I was meant to do.

I remember vividly their first steps; Kat taking one fearless step after another. When she’d fall, she’d stand right back up again, each step more determined than the last. David hung back, anxiously watching, taking everything in. He never took that hesitant first step. He wouldn’t be rushed or talked into it, he had to do it in his own time. He waited until the time was right, until he was ready, and he ran. As I look at them today, I still see a girl who refuses to fail and who is so strong and determined. She is beautiful and fearless, and never ceases to amaze me with her strength and conviction. I still see a boy, so perceptive and inquisitive. He wants to know how things work, he makes calculated decisions, making sure that he fully understands what he’s up against. His strength doesn’t come as easily, he works at finding his courage, but he has a steely resolve and when he’s ready, he’ll do it better than you’d ever imagined possible.

Even though I’ve had no idea what I was doing, when I looked at them I knew that we would figure this out together. They didn’t need perfection, they didn’t care what the parenting books or talk shows said. They just needed me. They have taught me so, so much. I learned who I was. I learned that life really wasn’t a constant string of people waiting to hurt you. They’ve taught me that real joy and true happiness is all around you, you just need to open your eyes. No matter what has happened, ups and downs, it has always been the three of us against the world. I’ve needed them just as much as they’ve needed me. We’ve grown up together, learning together how to do this whole whole life “thing”. It may not be perfect, it may not be pretty, but it is pretty fantastic.

So happy 10th birthday to my babies, Katherine and David. I love you more than you could possibly imagine.

Yeah, I’m a pretty kick-you-know-what mom

7 Oct

Monday night we took Davey to the KISS concert in Boston for his birthday. I know, I know, I’m a kick ass mom. Or as Davey said, a kick-you-know-what-mom. Let me start by saying, if you’ve never seen KISS in concert, you’re really missing out. They put on one hell of a show. I’ve seen them once before and I was afraid it would lose some of the appeal the second time around. It totally didn’t. It was seriously awesome, even if you’re not a big KISS fan. If you ever get a chance you should go, you won’t regret it. This morning Davey told me that his throat hurt from screaming so much. He said, I screamed my guts out. I screamed so much I have gut stains on my teeth.

Anyway, here’s our concert experience. In pictures.

Davey, pre-makeup. At this point he’s seriously doubting my ability to do the Gene Simmons make-up correctly. Honestly, I was too.


No worries. I have mad skills, yo. I did it freehand. Apparently if my writing career fails to take off, I can always fall back on my face-painting skills.

Yep, he likes it. Hell yeah we’re ready! Rock and roll, baby.

Seems like forever when you’re waiting. Poor kid looked out the window just about the whole 3 hour train ride. I suggested he take a nap to pass the time.

He’s most decidedly not napping. He’s too busy making mean faces at me. He looks a lot scarier with the make-up on.

We had fantastic seats. Buckcherry opened, they were pretty good, better than I’d expected. This is right about the time when Davey looks at me and says, they’ve said the F word 10 times, mom. They need to watch their language. I kinda laughed off, then they started singing Crazy Bitch. Have you heard this song? Check the lyrics. It’s a great song, just really, REALLY not kid appropriate. Good thing the lead singer was really hard to understand. Unfortunately “fuck” was about the only thing Davey did pick up on. Then the lead singer went on some tangent about how much he loved the first time he did cocaine before he started singing Lit Up. Ooops.

He’s about to explode with excitement, we told him that Gene Simmons was behind the curtain. Had to do the horns again in celebration. Apparently Chris is pretty excited too, since this picture is so blurry.

This is one of my favorite pictures. That’s Davey standing there on the left with his arms up. He’s standing on the seat so he can see better, literally jumping up and down screaming. This was right before he turned around and yelled, Mom this is AWESOME!!

Gene Simmons above the stage singing “I Love it Loud“, my favorite KISS song. This is of course after his whole blood spitting thing, which prompted another, this is SO AWESOME!! from Davey.

This is about the time I thought Davey was going to need hospitalization. Paul Stanley flying across the stadium. Davey’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Because he was about 10 feet in front of us. It was pretty kick ass.

We smelled a strange smell…vaguely familiar…oh yes. It was pot. Very close to us. Hoping Davey doesn’t get a contact high.

Massive confetti storm during Rock and Roll All Nite. It was a blizzard of fire and confetti. Looking back, probably not safe, but definitely kick ass.

They did a 45 minute encore, and we got to see the whole thing. We were pretty concerned that we wouldn’t be able to because our train was scheduled to leave at 11:20, and if we missed it we’d be stuck in Boston all night (it was the last train to Maine for the night). We were done a few minutes before 11, so it worked out perfectly. Davey walked away with a $40 t-shirt (that incidently is about 14 sizes too big) and a $30 pair of signed drum sticks (even though he 1. doesn’t play the drums or 2. doesn’t know who the drummer is). I’m a sucker, I know. I can’t help it. Looking at his face, seeing how excited he was, watching how much he enjoyed this whole concert experience, it was totally worth it.

The last thing he said to us before totally crashing was, thank you, SO, SO, SO much guys. This has been the best birthday present EVER. You guys are awesome. You’re pretty awesome too, buddy.