February 28, 2013

it throbs

sorry for the downer... sadly it's not fiction. inking up with trifecta.

My head.

It throbs.

If I press against the wrinkles embedding my forehead whilst my eyes are closed, the pain lessens a bit.

In my head.

I feel like I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for months now. A sinus infection that won’t quite smack me down just yet. An infection that lurks around the corner waiting to jump out at me at the most inopportune time.


My cell phone vibrates for two seconds and stops. Then it buzzes again. Someone is calling and my heart leaps into my throat.

My head no longer hurts.

I look down and see a number I don’t know, an area code I don’t know. I hit decline and breathe a little easier.

For a moment.

My head throbs again.


The tears bled my eyes yesterday when I picked up Lovie from school. I had just learned Oma has “days” left, they believe (hospice).

So now I really wait. And think of ways to doctor my appearance the next time I’m with Lovie.

“Oma’s very sick,” I’ve been telling her.  “I need you to give her a big hug and kiss when we see her,” I told her last time I brought her for a visit a week ago. “And I really need you to look at her face, look into her eyes. Do you understand?”

She nods. “Oma’s sick?”


How will I tell her she’s gone when she finally leaves us?

My head.

It throbs.

February 25, 2013

These are them.

These are the times I want to cherish forever more.

first ride on a pedal bike. can't wait to see her do this outdoors with more space. like the hair? i love it. also, if you look closely to the image from behind, she's wearing boys (mickey mouse) underwear she picked out. ;)

These are the times I wish to tattoo into my memory.

sleeping beauty loves napping with mama in mama and daddy's bed. who am i to argue?

I know there will come a time when she won't be this... three.

this is my Lovie. this is who she is. right now. age 3. perfection.

I know there will come a time when she won't be so enamored with... everything.

These are the times I cherish...
the times I've waited for my entire life...
the times that make it all make complete sense.

February 22, 2013

No more pullups.

Home today because of the snow. Let's be honest. It's not nearly as bad as it has been. And it looks all fluffy. Still, I'm not a fan of driving in it with Lovie in the car (we have a 20 mile commute to her school), so take advantage of snowing during rush hour I did. 

And we're home.

So far I've made nutella stuffed crescent rolls and eaten a few whilst being on my second cup of coffee. It's not even 9AM. I think I've done more today than during a normal workday.

Not much going on other than trying to potty train the kiddo. That's going ... not horribly. Hoorah. She's not potty trained by any shape of the imagination, but she pees very willingly when I get her on the pot. I started this a week ago when we got home for the day at about 4:30 in the afternoon. I told her there would be no more pullups. And there hasn't been. Well, not entirely.

Friday night and Saturday was a mess. Literally. She never once went on the potty but that's because I wasn't putting her on it. I was leaving it all up to her because I was certain she's been so defiant towards it all because we were forcing her and she was being stubborn. Finally, before her nap on Sunday, I took her into my lap and talked with her about it all and asked if she wanted to go back to pullups.

"No, I a big girl."

"Yes you are baby, but big girl's don't wet themselves."

I told her that for naps and bedtime we would put her into a pullup (we hadn't Friday night or all day Saturday and night), but that she'd still be a big girl. She was OK with this and she was able to sleep longer without getting drenched in pee.

Then I started sitting her on the potty every hour and... no accidents!

Repeated the same thing on Monday with just a couple accidents.

Tuesday I brought her into school in undies and extra clothes. She had only one accident. Ditto on Wednesday. She was still napping at school in a pullup and sleeping at night in bed with one, too.

Yesterday wasn't a very good day. She was in a pullup when I picked her up from school. All of her extra clothes were wet. Her shoes were wet! We stopped for groceries on our way home and, two hours after leaving school, we got home and I put her on the potty and she peed and peed. And she was dry! So off came the pullup and on came more undies. She started pooping in the damn undies 20 minutes later and I whisked off to the potty where she finished. Fun times. Then while bathing she announced that she had to pee. I whisked her out of the tub and onto the pot and PEE.

She's so proud of herself. And she should be.

Again, she's not potty trained and will very rarely ASK to go or just go on her own... but she's well on her way, I think.

There's just no stopping her.

Time just will not slow down for anything.

February 19, 2013


I'm not digging this state of limbo I'm in lately.
I'm lacking in patience.
And energy.
It's just so draining.
The waiting.
Thank god I have this sunshine to brighten my day.
Even if she's part of the limbo.
Even if she's leeching away at my patience at times.
The older I get, the more I truly do understand.
But the waiting game still... it's just SO tiring.

February 15, 2013

33 words: Hyperbole

If not for the intense, infuriating mood swings
or the indubitable desire to drown in crap food,
the killer cramps and horror show scene in the
toilet will reveal: I have my period.
Heh sorry for being so graphic but man does this feel good to get out. Thanks Trifecta!

TILTW: 2.9-2.15

* Saturday dance classes are going wonderfully well. I'm so glad I signed her up.

* Bedtimes are not going well. I introduced a chart the other night and thought that might help but I don't think it is. She just doesn't want to go to sleep. And she wants to play "I'm mad at you and will act like a brat until you give in and scoop me up into your arms to give me hugs and kisses and lay with me and tell me story after story until I fall asleep" every night. And when I try to interject the "I'm mad at you" part she just gets more upset and defiant. I think I might try extending her bedtime a half hour and see what that brings.

* I feel less ... annoyed (for lack of a better word) since staying off Twitter. I just can't keep up with it all and not even trying is such a relief.

* These are AMAZING and so incredibly easy.

February 14, 2013

YOLO rolo cracker sandwiches

it honestly doesn't get much easier (and yummier) than this. can't even recall how i came about this easy recipe but wow i can't wait to make these again.

February 13, 2013

bedtime by a 3 year old

I threw it on the ground and burst into tears. If she wants me to go to sleep without her laying with me then I would do all I could to make her mad so that I could start crying and tell her how sad she makes me feel and then she will hug me and try to shush away the crying. I just love when she hugs me. When she wraps me into her fluffy arms and boobs and tummy. I love when she’s nice and she’s nice most of the time but then she tells me to get into the bed and I just don’t want to. Not without her. And she won’t lay by me because the chart says I must stay in bed by myself. With my stuffed bear. So I thew the bear on the ground and burst into tears. I want her to lay with me. I want her to tell me stories. I want her to lay with me until I fall asleep. And if she won’t then I won’t let her go in peace.

“I want you to leave!” I shout, looking down at my bear and the sticker sheet lying beside it. I could stick those on my books and my dresser and my pajamas and mama’s pajamas and my hand and mama would look nice with one on her forehead and in her—

“Honey, it’s time for bed,” she coos.


“But what are you going to do if I leave?”


“Honey, it’s time for bed.”


She shakes her head at me and turns off the closet light and turns off the light to the room and opens the door of my room and sits down on the floor in the doorway so that I can’t go in or out. Her back is to me. She won’t look at me. She won’t talk to me.  And now it’s my turn to cry.

“You make me sad,” I tell her.

“Honey,” she says, turning toward me and touching me. “It’s time for bed sweetie, and you tell me to leave you alone instead… Do you want me to hold you?”

“Yeah,” I sniffle. “And I need a tissue.”

“Ok, love. All you have to do is tell me you want me to hold you.”

She stands up. It’s still super dark.

“I want you to hold me.”

“Of course, love,” she giggles and scoops me into her arms.

She kisses me and kisses me and squeezes me into her and kisses me some more. She holds the back of my head with one hand as my butt sits in her other. She lays me down and tells me to get under the covers and then she lays next to me and tells me a story. And now me and my bear can finally go to sleep.
fiction (kinda sorta) for the yeahwrite speakeasy peeps.

i love

i love watching her when she doesn't know i can see.
i love that i signed her up for something she absolutely loves to do.
i love that she tries so hard to follow along.
i love her hair and should do it more often.
i love that she's so Lovie.
i love feeling so blessed to be her mama.
i love.

February 12, 2013

radiohead's creep was/is about me.

I was a loser in high school. A loner. A lost loner perhaps? I went to four different high schools in three years (mom was busy evading collection calls) and pretty much gave up on making friends a couple weeks into the last school I attended my junior year.

I remember buying a new pair of shoes that I would wear to that last school. My "school shoes." I couldn't tell you what they looked like today- even if they were sneakers or what- but I just know I bought new shoes specifically for that school year. And I remember wearing them to school those first couple of weeks and realizing that I was never so alone in all my life.

OK so I was only 16, but do you remember how you knew it all at 16? Like you'd lived all these years?

Everyone at that school looked the same. They all wore the same fucking ugly brown loafer shoes.

They all looked so pristine. Not a hair out of place. Makeup. Jewelry. Expensive looking handbags and backpacks. There I was with my new shoes. I'm pretty sure I bought them from Payless. Have you ever bought shoes from Payless? Have you worn them? How about when you were in high school?

Everyone at that last school knew each other and it was quite clear that I was an outsider. If they couldn't tell by my appearance--flannels, concert shirts, ripped jeans (it was the late 80s and I was all rebel-like), men's shoes (because I couldn't afford the Dr. Martens I wanted so badly),

image from etsy.com, heart bokeh from picmonkey.com

men's sport coat from a thrift store (I like to think I was Hipster before Hipsters were a thing because man oh man I'm not a fan of today's Hipsters)--they could tell by my lack of matching shoes or giggly friends by my side.

People stared at me and if ever eye contact was made, a sneer was tossed my way.

image via darkhorizons.com

I quickly learned to walk with my eyes avoiding all others.

I tried at first, I really did. I went with an open mind, hoping and praying that this school would be different. That because I was starting in the beginning of the year opposed to middle of the year, it would be easier. I never even considered the fact that the school was in a much smaller location than I'd ever lived- 50 miles away from the last one. I never even considered that everyone would know everyone else and not even be open to saying a fucking Hello to someone new.

Stupid, stupid me.

All that said and done, that fourth school helped shape me into who I am today: fiercely independent and generally not really giving a shit about what others say or think of me. So for that I can say thank you to all the motherfucking assholes and pristine bitches from my junior and senior years of high school.

Thing is, lately whenever I'm on Twitter, I start to feel like I did back in high school... like an outcast, a loser, a loner. Those icky feelings are creeping back in again and I don't like it. Not one bit.

Fortunately now, I don't have to go to school anymore; I can drop out without it being frowned upon.

So that's what I'm doing. I'm dropping out of Twitter High School.

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
I don't belong here

February 11, 2013

Sticker Chart for bedtime

I get up before 5 AM during the week. I wake Lovie up at 5:30 AM. It's not easy, but doing so allows us more time together after work/school before she has we have to go to sleep. That said, bedtime for Lovie is 7 PM. Yes, that's early but did you see what time I have to wake her?

Anyway, we've always been pretty strict with a bedtime routine... but that doesn't make bedtime always fun. In fact, the older and more defiant she gets, the harder and longer the routine lasts. And mama needs her sleep!

Enter the Bedtime Routine Sticker Chart:

It's absolutely nothing fancy, and it's only been part of her routine for three nights but if all goes well, it may stick around for some time.

I threw it together in minutes and it's cheap, cheap, cheap.

* Poster board
* Clip art printed on regular paper
* Washi Tape
* Marker
* Stickers
* Reward (I got a package of Princess erasers)

I picked up the poster board, stickers, and erasers at the Dollar Tree on my way home from work. Then I searched for Toilet, Wash Hands, Brush Teeth, Bath (wash face), Pajamas, Clothes (picking out clothes for next day), Bedtime Stories, Sleep in a Word document clipart. I printed each one out, cut, then taped (with Lovie's help) onto the poster board with Washi Tape ($1.99 a roll from Downtowntape.com). Then I made rows and columns with more tape. Then I wrote the days of the week on the left column. This all took maybe 10 minutes tops.

I asked Lovie what she saw in each picture and told her that after she did each of these things before bed, she would get to take a new sticker and place it in the box under the picture for doing a good job. If she fills a whole row with stickers, she gets to choose a reward (and I showed her the princess erasers).

She got super excited and kept asking, "OK now what's next?"

It's only been three nights but so far, it's going OK I think. It's really helped with the stall tactics because she's got visual prompts to guide her. And it's helped with her staying in bed while I read and hopefully getting her more comfy and relaxed. But it's far from perfect, of course (she has yet to get a reward).

February 8, 2013

33 words: Reading challenge

The sound of the saw is steady, competent, unhurried, stirring the dying
light so that at each stroke her face seems to wake a little into an expression
of listening and of waiting

As soon as I saw this weekends Trifecta Challenge, I knew what book to go to: William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying. One of my favoritest books ever.

TILTW: 2.2-2.8.13

Lovie built her first snowman the other day after we got a couple inches of snow... finally. She hasn't really seen much snow since Snowmageddon 2011 when she was only 13 months old. We didn't really play much in it then; in fact, we spent the first couple days of Snowmageddon indoors.

But at three, it's very clear this little chica loves her some snow. Who could blame her really? It's beautiful and fun and pretty damn cool if you think of it. And you don't have to sweat your balls off to have some fun!

I wish I could've would've recorded Lovie's reaction yesterday when I picked her up from school The snow was coming down something fierce. The sweetest smile was plastered across her face. Giggles emerged from her entire being when big snowflake after snowflake smacked her in the face. "Why is the snow keep hitting me?" she squealed as I got her into her car seat.

I'm really beginning to detest bedtimes. Not quite as much as I detest potty training, but it's getting up there in comparison. Oh well, I'm pretty sure these are the things that will matter not down the road so no biggie really, just something else to not in my TILTW.


February 6, 2013


The other day we were Play-doh’ing (Lovie-ism) when Taye dropped a small ball of yellow Play-doh that rolled just under the stove.

“Ohhhh,” I taunted. “You’re fired!”

“Quick, mom,” Lovie chimed in. “Get the hose.”

Three is… intense. It’s awesome and amazing, but it’s also so very trying and draining at times.

But I’m beginning to truly grasp that it’s primarily the good times that will be remembered. I mean, yes, I’m pretty sure I’ll remember Lovie pissing her naked bottom while sitting in her chair because she was too darn mesmerized by the TV to sit on the stupid froggy potty chair placed right beside her, but more than that, I think I’ll remember Play-doh’ing and the urgent request to get the hose after telling her daddy he was fired because he dropped the Play-doh.

The good outweighs the bad with most memories. It must. It just must.

My grandfather’s been gone now for seven years. And what I remember most about him is his firm handshakes and hugs. His big rough hands. His bald, shiny head that sometimes sported a bandage or bruise from bumping it. His warm smile. His glasses. The fact that he had two pieces of white bread toasted every morning, slathered in butter and honey. The way he’d slam his hand down onto the table to get a point across. The time he told me to use only one square of toilet paper to avoid getting the toilet backed up. The stories he told every single time we saw him. His stubbornness.

Mostly I remember his adoration for his beloved wife—my Oma.

He was a strict man who believed what he believed and couldn’t really understand how others believed differently. But he was amazing. And strong. Yet gentle and warm. Especially with my grandmother.

Oma’s eyes were flooded following Ota’s passing. All of our eyes and hearts were. He passed away after waving to Oma on his way to bed when he tripped, fell to the floor, and hit his head against the corner of the wood bed frame. Just like that he was gone. There was no warning other than him telling my mom one week prior to his death that he was happy she moved in so that Oma wouldn’t be alone. One minute he was Ota, strong and sturdy and opinionated. The next minute, he was just gone.

Oma, on the other hand, is slowly dying.

I try to visit once a week now and every time I do, it gets harder and harder to watch. She’s pretty much starving and drowning to death thanks to Congestive Heart Failure, no appetite, and wanting to die. She’ll be 89 in May and she’s lived a long life, she’ll tell you. But she’s tired.

Right now all I can think about is her current state of life when I think of her. And it hurts so much to think this way. She’s so much more than skin and bones and oxygen tubes running from her person across the room to a big pumping tank of air. She’s so much more than a shaky old lady on her last leg.

She’s art, she’s beauty, she’s woman, she’s amazing and good.

I pray that once she finally passes and finds peace, my memories will be full of the wonderful times I’ve had with her. The hot chocolate she’d make us kids when we visited after allowing us to choose which Disney cup we wanted to drink from. The honey butter toast she’d serve us on mornings after we slept over. The schnitzel. The sparkle in her eye. The most adorable smile which will live through in my Lovie.

I know I’ll remember the good because she was just SO good, but right now it’s just incredibly difficult.

But that’s Life sometimes.
Maybe I should bring some Play-doh with me during my next visit…

Linking up with the fine folks at Yeah Write.

February 5, 2013

posting to post just because i'm feeling needy & want some comment love

check out my new Facebook page header:

while you're at it, why not like my page? it doesn't cost anything. you can always unlike if you feel the need.

it's official. i'm a Dance Mom.

isn't she darling? she loves ballet. it's a bit crazy to me how unlike me she is, but i absolutely love it so much. she's Lovie and that elates me so.

Lovie's been sleeping in her sleeping bag since the weekend.

on the floor. her choice. it's kinda odd but hey, she's sleeping. she's also been fighting us less since i started laying down with her every night after our bedtime routine. i tell her stories with the lights out and usually fall asleep. she says, "tell another story, mom" and wakes me. i tell another story or two before drifting off or sneaking out for the night. a part of me wants her to just go to sleep without me laying down with her but guess what? this her needing me bit won't last forever so i'm milking it for all it's worth right now. and in the mornings the past couple of days, rather than wake her and get into a fight about what to wear, etc, i wake her and scoop her into my arms and let her snuggle into me for a minute or two. she burrows right into me and it's absolute bliss. i can't even really put it into words. just so peaceful and such a welcome change from fighting about hurrying up. sure it would be great if i could just snap my fingers and have things happen but that's not reality and, again, it won't last forever so may as well enjoy the bliss while i can.

this last bit comes with no pictures... just a reason for some silence around here? i've been getting headaches every single fucking day now for weeks. since the new year really. i'm not dealing well with stuff going on. my grandmother mainly. watching her die is incredibly difficult. i just want her to experience some peace already, yet i don't want to never be able to see her again. see? INSTANT HEADACHE after typing that out. and there's other stuff, too. that's life, though i suppose. and i'm just grateful to be here another day for Lovie.

February 1, 2013

Closing time: Dialogue via text messages.

I can’t stop crying. It’s so bad. She’s sooo tired.

"I’m sorry, I know it’s no fun."

This’s so much worse than when Ota died. It’s downright cruel.

"Is she talking or anything?"

33 words of dialogue. Prompt via Trifecta.

TILTW: How the hell is it February edition.

I can't get enough of Mumford and Sons.
* *
I feel like I've had a headache every day now for weeks.
* * *
Three year olds are intense.
* * * *
It's insane to me that it's February already.
* * * * *
My dad is going to be 80 this year. Not sure why I just realized this but damn. 80.
* * * * * *
My grandfather would've been 98 tomorrow. Again, damn.
* * * * * * *
I absolutely despise the waiting game life deals at times. I've gotten real good at letting shit go in life that I can't change, but there are some things that are just impossible to let go of... and waiting for the change to happen, because it's inevitable, sucks big donkey balls.
* * * * * * * *