I'm Gonna Have Sex.. lots and lots of it.

Let me start by excusing my brother from having to read any further. It’s okay dawg, I understand. You may proceed at your own risk, and I will attempt to warn you in the very beginning if and when my post switches over to the sex talk. We really need to work out a code word… until then, I’ll just blatantly let you know.  I’m starting now.

After watching a spot on NBC’s TODAY about a husband and wife that had sex for 101 days, on purpose, I ran across an article in Women’s Health describing some of the benefits of a fairly active sex life. Now, I’m not quite sure which universal force controls the amount of sex that happens in the den of love (it had only been working part time, who or whatever it may be), but I think I’ve had an epiphany. The TODAY couple stated that they had never been closer. I want to be even closer to Leonidas! There are also many health advantages for those that shag (and I ain’t talkin’ about beach dancing) often. I want to be healthy! We’re also talking about reduction of stress, headaches, all around bitchiness (that comes SO naturally for me), not to mention the 200 calories burned during a naked sweaty love session. You KNOW I’m looking for any way NOT to go to the gym at dark thirty. Another part of my wanting to do this involves my awareness that my spawn have zapped my I wanna be your sex goddess time with my man. Not on purpose, mind you, but the “tie me to the bedpost and pull, don’t tug my hair” girl has been gone for about 5 years now. It is truly difficult to feel like Angelina Jolie when you’re acting like Mrs. Edna Garrett from “The Facts of Life” all day long, snotted on t-shirt with spaghetti sauce included at no extra cost. At the end of my day, I tend to favor a bottle of wine and an early night night over sexy time with my hot honey. In an effort to right those very basic wrongs, I proposed this to Leonidas on Friday, and he seemed quite supportive of my efforts, after he came to. Imagine that. *Please note that I am doing this on my own, free will and everything. I have not been forced, pressed, convinced, bribed, threatened, etc.* This is MY idea. 101 days of sex with my husband, starting tonight. It’s legal and doesn’t cost a dime… unless you count the hot lingerie I will be purchasing around day 30.  It’s time to get my mojo back. Yeah, baby!

ADHD and Me

my wicked little friend

You can blame this one on the hormones that accompany my "this means you're not pregnant even though I don't need you to tell me that because I know it for various other reasons" friend that is visiting this week. All my LAYYYdies....you feel me? (That last line SHOULD have been read using the sing song voice in your head, so if you didn't, try again. Thank you.) I am here today to talk about my one and only flaw, which is my inability to have one single day, with one single organized thought in it. I have two reasons for writing about this. I was growing a bit tired of all of you thinking that I am perfect ALL the time, but most importantly, I needed to capture the topic in writing before a certain best friend of mine beat me to it via a blog entry based on her visit to my circus house of horrors yesterday. (Love ya GUUURRRL!) I am mildly exaggerating. VERY mildly. I was diagnosed with adult ADHD at the age of 28. This diagnosis came after several attempts to name "it" something different. There were doctors who treated my symptoms of ADHD as the main issue. By products of this, such as depression, impulsive behavior, aggression and anger were thought, by several, to be my "sickness", when in fact, they occurred as a direct result of the as of yet undiagnosed ADHD. In an attempt to combat any and all of the above mentioned issues, doctors doused me with drugs left and right, adding and subtracting like bad mathematics when yet another failed to do it's job. Antidepressants left me feeling soul-less. Instead of extreme highs or amazingly extreme lows packed with crying and long periods in bed, I felt nothing. I cannot imagine I could have continued that way for very long. I never discussed it with my parents, and I still haven't to this day. This is partially because I believe this condition, or variations of it, run in my family. Around the age of 13, I remember us driving home from Sunday lunch in order to make ready the house for my grandmother's visit later that afternoon. As we pulled into the drive, the entire family was surprised to see my grandmother crouched over on the front steps of our house, silver head bowed, sobbing into her Sunday dress . Thinking that something was terribly wrong, my mother rushed to her. I will recall her words for the rest of my life. "I thought you all were never coming back. What would I do if you never came home again?" She was 3 hours early. My brother and I had a lovely childhood, given almost anything we wished for. I know that we were both loved (and still are) deeply by my parents. The only sadness I can really recall came from my mother, and usually from the front seat of our car as my brother and I sat, not so quietly, on the drive back from church. We would cross a bridge that arched over the cemetery where my grandfather had been buried over 20 years before. I soon came to silently accept the tears that ran down my mother's cheeks each time we made that journey, though we weren't exactly sure what they meant. I now think she was weeping for the childhood that ended when her father and grandmother died in an automobile accident when she was only 13. My mother was in the car. This could also explain why my grandmother lived the rest of her life afraid that people she loved so much might never come home. This knowledge leaves me wondering if I was born unable to accomplish ordinary tasks that come so easily and naturally to others, or if I learned it (or didn't) due to the fact that the women in my childhood did not model those behaviors for me because they themselves were too busy suffering. Whatever the reason, "it" has plagued me for as long as I can remember. I didn't know how to explain the frustration, simply because it had always been the way I "worked"; I just thought everyone operated on the same level. I liken my brain to a television that is continuously on, though changing channels at a maddening pace. Sometimes I am paying attention to things that I don't even care to pay attention to, all while ignoring something or someone very important, right in front of me. I do not do it on purpose, though I sometimes come across as snobbish or unconcerned. I often interrupt others in conversation with a seemingly unrelated comment or topic, though in my mind it has relevance and should be shared immediately. I have had to learn how to think about how my actions impact not just myself, but everyone around me. Note: it is not a good idea to take credit card to MAC cosmetics counter. My organizational skills are non-existent. If I do not make a list before going to the grocery store, I may come back with two packs of vacuum cleaner bags and no milk, or peanut butter and not jelly, though they're right beside each other, and we've been out of jelly for 2 months. I know that people forget things at the grocery, or buy two of one and none of another, but this is an every time sort of deal. I have not mastered the "I know what goes in everything I cook, so I don't need a list, let's go shopping with a purpose" method. Without a list I will spend $800 on food that looks cool. Truffle butter and frozen ostrich burgers, anyone? My mother didn't raise me with "instructions" on how to do household chores. OR, maybe she did and I just missed it. I don't see a natural order in how ones house should be or look, and I can spend an entire day trying to clean one room. The majority of this surfaced when Leonidas and I (bless his big heart) first started dating. We lived together before we married, and he would "bring to my attention" the fact that, should I start trying to help clean our apartment around 11am (before kids wake up time), at 6 pm, things just looked "moved around", due to my inability to focus on anything for longer than 2 minutes. Start laundry in one room, walk to another to put away said laundry, spray Lysol on bathroom counter. Go begin another load of laundry (that I will remember and have to rewash tomorrow) then decide to clean out the pantry as I walk past... get it? He wasn't complaining, just commentating. He is a master laundry doer. My frustration at knowing I was a fairly intelligent individual (I always did well in school without ever having to study) who was incapable of completing everyday tasks finally led me to seek help from a psychiatrist. After diagnosis, I was put on Adderall for the attention deficit, Valium to lessen the aggression that resulted from the Adderall, and a couple of other drugs whose names I don't remember anymore. After starting the Adderall, I could focus SO well that I was up at 3 a.m. scrubbing the baseboards of my house with a toothbrush. I folded my underwear. One might say I became obsessive. At 5'9, I went from 170 lbs. to 109 lbs. in 5 months. I was happy to be shopping in the pre-teen section of stores for the first time in my life. I would move my food around on my plate during meals to disguise the fact that I wasn't eating it. My heart raced each time I stepped onto the scale, only to find I had dropped yet another pound. I argued and resisted every time Leonidas suggested I may need to stop taking this medicine, or at least get a 33rd opinion from a different doctor, one not so willing to dole out drugs to a walking skeleton every month for my $20 co-pay. I avoided my parents and brother, who were all, at the time, still in South Carolina. Then I cracked. One day, irritated that my toddler wouldn't sit still and my infant would not stop crying, (go figure), I put them safely in their cribs, walked to the kitchen and proceeded to remove all of my plates from the cupboards. I carried them to the enclosed patio out back and methodically smashed them into the concrete floor. I then took a pair of kitchen scissors out of the drawer, walked to the bathroom, climbed into the sink, and began cutting my hair off, bit by bit, until I felt I could breathe again. I believe that fate intervened at that point, in the form of a phone call from my father. I calmly told him what was happening, at which point he instructed me to stay put. They were four hours away, so he called my husband who was home in what seemed to be under 3 minutes. After checking on the babies, he swept up the glass, brushed my hair, and put me to bed. My parents and brother arrived not long after. I underwent a quickie intervention and unwilling detox, thanks to my husband and family. My brother took me home where he and his wife force fed me for a week, allowed me to paint, draw, write, go for walks in the woods and be silent. When he told me one day that he was afraid I was dying, I told him I was. I hope that he knows his love saved my life. A week later, my husband held my hand and brought me home. With clear eyes I looked at my children for the first time. It was at that moment I decided, that no matter what I had to deal with in regards to ADHD, I would do it drug free. I have managed this condition with humor, tears, and lots and lots of support. In a selfless gesture of love and support, my parents sold their dream home and moved to North Carolina to be with me and to help with the babies. My family has made sacrifices that I will be forever grateful, and alive, for. I make lists that I never complete, but at least I have a starting point. I still leave my coffee somewhere until it's cold, then reheat it in the microwave only to forget where I put it. I bake muffins for my children and forget they're in the oven until the tops are burnt because I forget to set the timer sometimes....like this morning. But now, instead of smashing things, I cut the tops off and add sugar free whipped cream and berries. Now, I can laugh. And I do.

Allow Me To Introduce….My Breakfast

Today I had breakfast in bed. It’s not my birthday. I did not bestow upon my husband any “unusual” favors in the wee hours before a.m. inside our den of love. It was just morning. So imagine my surprise when I heard the fridge open, packages rattling, microwave humming, and all of the beautiful noises that go along with “I don’t have to make my South Beach Diet spinach and eggs today!!! Hot damn!” Big Papa’s in the kitchen…..

Not wanting to spoil the surprise, I waited. I mean, I know that I am completely awesome. I know this because not long ago, I completely sucked. My mommying was tolerable, but the wife part, you know….not so much. HOWEVAH, since I came to the decision that my life has been beautiful for such a long time and I had just needed to take my dumb ass bitch goggles off, I’ve been pulling my weight around this place. Dinner and all. This is why I assumed I deserved this blessed breakfast in bed. Add to that the fact that I just finished a school year with 90 crazy children that I love, only to jump back into full time SAHM duty, without a day off in between for eating bon bons while sitting on my just tanned ass, a 3 hour mani/pedi, a massage with Sven, and 2 bottles of rare red wine with my 100 famous friends. ( You ALL know that’s what teachers AND SAHM’s do, right!?? Bite me.) I could not WAIT! So what if it was made with the same shit that’s been in our fridge for a week. Who CARES!? I ain’t cookin’ it! I snuggled back into the pillow that was still damp with my drool, dreaming up the nice words I would shower upon Leonidas as he hands me my gilded breakfast tray laden with morning presents. Then he walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Him. Leonidas. Out of the BATHROOM. Huh? Wha…. He does recon in the kitchen after hearing the same ruckus, only to duck back in a moment later. He wasn’t splattered with blood, and there was no dead body to bury in the backyard Mr. and Mrs. Smith style, so I assumed that we knew the person creating the kitchen noise. He is smiling. He tells me to lie down and close my eyes. Now keep in mind, those words, coming from his mouth, can never be bad, but this time was a little different. And it was daytime. Early. You pervs…..Geez.

The door opens slowly, and I peek because I can’t help it. Freddy the five-year-old creeps in silent ninja style, wearing his little white drawstring pajama pants that I love so much (I think it’s because they’re spotted with black and white TVs) and a smile. He is carrying a single white plate. “I made you breakfast, mommy! I did it all by myself! I didn’t have the fish sticks and chocolate sauce with cheese like the last time I made it, but I think this will be okay for your south diet on the beach.” My heart freakin’ melted. In my life I have never had a sweeter breakfast than that mini whole wheat bagel sprinkled with 2% cheese and a ripped off corner of Canadian bacon with the fingerprints still on it. He even nuked it for a perfect 20 seconds. I swear to God, Wolfgang Puck couldn’t have done it better….

Rain Rain Go Away

in a minute....

There was a storm at our house last night. No, that isn’t code for family squabble or mommy erupting at spawn. There was thunder, lightning, water from clouds... the whole business. See, I like a storm, especially when I’m inside and there are no tornadoes or flying rabbit parts involved. I like night storms. I thought I always had. Until last night. I put the kiddos to bed a little later than usual, partly out of my desire to NOT unfold myself from my husbands lap, and also because they were being normal and I like them more that way. Anyway, as usual, I digress. Approximately 3 minutes after tucking said wee ones in, the house was rocked by thunder and some really cool blue lightning. The sound of sheets of rain washing the house soon followed. I turned the last of the lights off in order to enjoy the display for a moment, as I find peace in nature doing what she does so well. The rolling thunder was soon overtaken by the sounds of whimpering from the staircase. Dora was crying. Dora was afraid. I walked over to find her huddled on the stairs, blankie of life wrapped around her head. I picked her up and she twisted her arms and legs around me in a grip that would rival an anaconda’s. Asking her what was wrong (yes, I knew, but I like to allow her to communicate her feelings), she told me, with tears streaming down her face, that the thunder “scared her ears.” She doesn’t like loud noises of any kind, and I found myself wishing I had put her to bed 20 minutes earlier. But had I done that, I would’ve missed the chance to walk her over to the big bay window in the “diamond room” and dance with her to the sounds of the storm. I would’ve missed the chance to tell her the story of raindrops and what life there is in their arrival. Most importantly, I wouldn’t have been able to explain to her, that when I was a small girl afraid of storms, I would pretend to be a blue fairy with see-through wings, and that my house was a giant but delicate flower that protected me from all that raged outside.

I am happy that I remembered. It seems that all we go through in our journey to “here” is what is needed so desperately from others (sometimes family, sometimes not) in order to make this life ride a little less bumpy.

My Life (this weekend) in Pictures

I decided to haul my camerrrAH around with me just to see what I might find. This is what found me:

This is my cat....she doesn’t KNOW that she’s a cat, and I’m not tellin’ her. She assumes royal bloodline, and I roll with it. I would like to be her in my next life.

This is my cat watching Dora at the window. Dora thinks she’s rockin’ royal blood too...except....

this princess does windows.

While Freddy has the chosen the “this should’ve been trash, but us kids are gonna keep this box for dress-up and torture until you die, mama” box for a nice game of “Sniper in the Trees in Our Front Yard, Look Out Neighbors.”

Leondias gives me his super secret sign for “I love you baby you are the best damn wife in the whole world, and MOTHER?!? These kids couldn’t have a better mother. Your mom’s shoulda named you Teresa.” I then gave him my super secret sign for thank you, but you can’t see it in this picture....for those of you worried that this salute was done in front of the Fredster, his head was buried in the blanket, so BACK OFF! :)

It took Dora only 25 seconds to perfect this librarian hooker make-up job after she ganked my purse without my knowing it. That would be mascara on her forehead.

After taking a “girl’s shower” with mommy, Dora decides to coat her face with shaving cream and shave her “gear” (cute baby word for beard). I supervised. No replies necessary from anti-girlshower crazies OR pervs, as I will not so kindly tell you to mind your own business and shove it up your ass....if I’m feeling generous. Thank you.

This is me, taking a picture of them, on a merry-go-round. I don’t DO merry-go-rounds, as I would promptly yak up my Starbucks skinny vanilla latte extra hot all over my shoes. No round and round. EVAH!

This was my weekend. Please enjoy. (That’s me channelling my inner Top Chef, doncha know?)

Kid Funnies

My week has been full of crap. I stepped in cat s@#t this morning, while I still had only 1/2 an eye open. There is nothing more vomit inducing for me than the squish of something between my toes. Heck, it could be chocolate and money, but if it squishes, between my toes, NASTY. Hopefully that didn't dictate the tone of my day. I'm thinkin' all positive right now to try to coax the universe to come back over on my side. I'll keep you posted. For today, a couple of funnies from my chilluns:

Dora: "Mommy! Look at dat funny lady. Da one with the yellow hair on her big head! Over DERE! Her car doesn't have a lid on it!!!! How does she close it?” Insert mommy guffaw here. It was a convertible in case you didn’t get it., and she DID have a big head.

While playing the rhyming game, Dora introduces the word deep. “Deep, sleep, meep, leap, fleep, beep, steep, peep....peep...peep....Hey mommy! You’re my peep!” Whaa....”Why, what does that mean, darling Dora?” (I’m thinkin’ my little bird has gone all hip on me.) “It means dat you’re a marshmellowwwy pink rabbit wid weally long ears and a giant head that I’m gonna bite off during the next Easter time!! I’ll put you in my basket! Heeeheeeheee! I make me laugh, mommy peep!” Note: She is wicked. I do NOT have a big head, and I will be steering clear of the Easter basket of death. (Re: Rabbit in my Kitchen, in case you missed the bunny saga!)

The last part of today’s rant is a “WHAT WHAT!” I would like to shout out to my hubby Leonidas. Dude, you’re a fantastic daddy (with other amazing attributes, wink wink). The things you let these kids do to you.....

Worth every second.....

Lost My Little Girl

I Need a Drink

Ok. So before we panic, I found her. This should be painfully obvious, because had I not, you would be seeing this particular fat chick I know (me, dummy) on the evening news right about now, ripping out my hair and pulling a vocal cord left and right. My 5 year old son, who, from this point on, and due to his secret government job, will be known as "Freddy", has soccer practice every Friday around 6. I say "around" simply because parents of 5 year olds are incapable of being on time, in a designated place, at the same time. Freddy plays for a church team, at a church we do not attend. In this particular league, all kids get game time, and learn the importance of teamwork. They also give them a little "God-lesson" which I'm hoping will counteract all the damage my liberal ass does during the week. At the practice field, there is a slide/play area for the children who regularly attend this church, and those (like mine) whose parents are attempting to squash their own guilt by involving their babies in church-centered activities. Even better, this "slide" is shaped like Noah's Ark. I don't know if this is intentional. I had assumed, since I am so good at it, that it was on purpose. I mean, it IS a church. Even better than that, on top of said play area, are two swingy bars that seem to be hanging from what looks like a cross. I am not being blasphemous. I do fear God, as I was raised Pentecostal, South Carolina-style, meaning I don't really have a choice in the matter. Before you all freak, I haven't been to a camp meeting on purpose in close to 15 years. So, to look up during soccer practice, and see my baby swinging from the cross had already put me in a state of something close to panic. I was watching Freddy practice and "Dora" (her nom de jour), play on the boat of the Lord at the same time. This is not an easy task, except that I am gifted with what my husband refers to as "lizard eyes", enabling me to see things that normal people cannot. When Freddy takes one to the head, I busy myself with coddling for a moment, looking away from the ark. Damn it. It was the end of practice, which calls for a round of parents vs. children, or what I like to call, "fat, lazy moms and dads making themselves feel better by cheating in a game of soccer against 5-year-olds." Great fun. I ask Freddy to fetch Dora from the ark, so that she could piggyback during this romp. He promptly returns and informs me that she is no where to be found. Being an unaccomplished hide-n-seek player, who promptly gives out her whereabouts if you ask, I knew she wasn't doing this on purpose. Suddenly, in my demented, twisted, watch too much "The First 48" brain, I envisioned all of the things that had just happened to her in the last 30 seconds while I wasn't looking. I charge, drill-sergeant style, up to the ark, screaming "Dora!" "Dora!" Freddy is trailing behind me. Every male I see is one step away from pulling out his privates and molesting children in front of all of North Carolina (this is no laughing matter, I'm just trying to explain the panic that has turned these soccer dads, in my mind, into the next dude with a "Sick Sex Offender" sign in his front yard). I begin to walk toward the bathrooms, when I hear, "Mommy! Mommy! I went pee pee! I pee peed in the paaahhhhtttyyy!!!" Yeah for Dora!" After puking in my mouth, I grabbed Dora, squeezed her until she pulled my nose to make me stop, and told her three things: 1. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER go anywhere without mommy knowing where you are. 2. Mommy isn't angry with her, just scared because I would shrivel and die without her in my face on a minute by minute basis. 3. Way to go, girl! You pee peed in the paaahhhhhtttty!!!!

Rabbit Parts

So there was so much wind and stormy stuff outside last night, that I totally expected to find dead rabbit parts hanging from my trees this morning. Seriously.

Let me set this up for you. I had enjoyed two glasses of wine, and was comfortably passing out on my fluffy couch watching “Top Chef”, because I can’t cook. It was the best of times. So you can imagine my horror when hell came knocking via some big ass thunder and lightening! I am, admittedly, a chickenshit when it comes to storms. I have no control over them, and they have all control over me. That makes me very uncomfortable. I mean, seriously, what do you do when the sky comes at you with ice bullets and flying cows at speeds of 3,000 mph!? Hide in a COAT CLOSET?!?! It holds coats. Coats. They don’t really “do” basements in this part of North Carolina, which is a topic for another time, so if you live here, you are left to sit, glassy-eyed, staring at the meteorologist who is now wetting herself because she finally got the call at 12am that it is “her turn” to tell us all in “living room land” that the end is near. I bet that station has a basement…..

In proper form, I poured another glass of wine, listened as my husband sucked his nose cartilage up into his head (as he had fallen asleep long ago), and waited for little Miss Sunshine to tell me it was time to grab my sleeping children, throw them like sacks of potatoes over my drunk ass shoulder, and hide in the coat closet.

Thankfully that moment never arrived. When I came to, a.k.a., woke up, I was relieved to note all walls were standing, and there were no airplanes lodged in my ceiling. My husband and children woke up soon after. I found it almost amusing when my angelic three-year-old walked over to the window, peeked out to find the sunshine, then turned her sweet little head to me stating, “Mommy, it wained! It wained! That was weally quiet wain. Yeah for the flowwahs!”

Took the words right outta my mouth, little bird. Yeah for the flowwahs!