And I loath the days I feel like this.

——

I stay away from blogging on days I feel emotionally charged, which is the real reason I haven’t been blogging lately. Although I want to write something because writing makes me feel better, all that comes to mind and threatens to escape through my finger tips is the irritability, anger, guilt, and negativity that brews in my chest.

But maybe to not write about it isn’t making it right. And these two (w)rights are making a wrong.

So here it is..

The years of solo-parenting have been coming back with an ugly vengeance recently. When Saad was away for months at a time, things were undoubtedly difficult. With him back, things aren’t as better as I thought/hoped they would be.

My kids are not a problem.

But being with kids 24/7 for days that extend into weeks that extend into months at a time is a problem.

Not getting the break I need is a problem.

Not having an outlet when I can’t get a break is a problem.

Sleepless night after sleepless night followed by demanding days is a problem.

Being trapped in a cycle of frustration, outbursts, and guilt is a problem.

School (or lack there of), parental, and several other personal nuances add tons of shit to the problems.

And make me feel broken.

——–

Sometime last month I experienced one of the most intense breakdowns I’ve ever had. During one horrible week, I broke. Not broke down, but broke. Whatever was holding me together stopped working and the whole system came crashing down. The things I remember most vividly are this overbearing feeling of inadequacy on so many levels and going from dangerously enraged to heavily sobbing in a span of five minutes over triggers.

A few days after that breakdown, I had the first break I’ve had in months. What was this “glorious” break? Two solid hours to myself, which felt like nothing. What can I do in two hours that will alleviate the last few months? Nothing, that’s what. So I moseyed through a bookstore, bought two new books, and read the first two chapters of one of them. Then it was time for everyone to go to work, go study, go, go, go somewhere, anywhere from home and time for me to go back to hold down the home front.

I wasn’t ready to go back. I didn’t want to go back. In fact, running away sounded awesome.

I really missed my therapist that week.

———-

When I start feeling like the only purpose to my existence is to mother, it depresses me.

When a shower is the only “me time” I get, it’s pretty damn pathetic.

When even that shower is interrupted because I’m the only person the baby will calm down/got to sleep for, it’s so irritating.

When I think about how many times I’ve had to postpone my school/career plans, I feel hopeless about ever getting there.

When I’m too moody and stuck in ugly ruts, my relationship with my kids suffers.

When I know things are getting out of hand, but don’t have the resources to take care of them, it’s overwhelming.

———

I never expected or planned on being a stay at home mom. At some point, it just happened. Within months, I knew it wasn’t for me. When six months extended to a year, I really craved having other things to do. Then a year and now almost two years, it feels like I’ll never get out of this…experience, we’ll call it.

This morning I realized that what bothers me most about this experience is that you do so much –so damn much– yet it feels generally unproductive in the bigger picture. Maybe because the fruits of your labor don’t blossom until years, decades from now, or maybe because society doesn’t give the same value to child rearing as much as other “real” jobs, or maybe because child rearing in my personal case has been heavily laid on my shoulders and I’m starting to crumble under its pressure.

Or maybe nature is one seriously fucked up mechanism that makes me want to rip out my own ovaries, yet keep them in place because even under all of this headache, I still want more offspring.

———

Daily headaches. Occasional migraines. Random nausea. Cramping. Full-body aches. Those are the fun things happening to my body on a daily basis for the last two weeks. There is nothing inhabiting my uterus, so don’t tell me I’m pregnant.

I’ve also lost most of my appetite. That’s hardly worth a mention because it’s not so much a “bad thing” as it is a good one. Although my double-chin probably doesn’t think so. Mentioned it because I know it’s related to my nausea.

Passing out by 10pm is also a recent happening. I suddenly can’t stay awake past 10pm for anything, which is the complete opposite problem I’ve had all of my life. 10pm used to feel like noon; now it feels like too-late-pm.

———-

I’m tired of being moody. Tired of being tired. Tired of lashing out; feeling horrible; apologizing again; being riddled with guilt; fuming with resent and anger at/about things I can’t control or people.

A bad night, like last night, exaggerates crappy days. Every.single.time I finally fell asleep, I was woken up. This kind of constant interruption to my sleep gives me a migraine; I started the day with a headache and had a migraine by the time we dropped Saad off this morning.

I remind myself to change my attitude since I can’t change much of my situation. That works sometimes. Other times, I just tell that part of me to shut up and leave me the hell alone.

———

It’s not solely motherhood that’s bringing me down, but it’s the one thing that I can’t put aside like the other things I’m having trouble with. Until things are fixed –until I’m fixed– I just want to my kids to be happy and laugh more times in a day than cry.

I want that for myself too.

It was news I prayed really hard I’d never have to hear. Prayed really hard that the agonizing ride she’s been on for the last two years would come to the stop she longed for –that her husband beats cancer and their family finally enjoy life without the bearing weight of the illness. For himself, herself, and their infant daughter.

It’s heartbreaking.

I’m astounded by the incredible grace, humility, and patience she shows in light of what’s happened.

She’s such a beautiful person, inside and out.

He leaves behind his wife of three years and their eight month old daughter. I’m glad that his daughter looks like him so that whenever Sabiha lays her down to sleep or makes her smile or watches her become an amazing young lady, she’ll have a very real and physical piece of her husband in her arms.

May God keep her steadfast, strong, and continuously shining like the true gem she is.

Her husband is laying in peace and I pray that Sabiha and their daughter have their peace too.

Three days ago I saw her again and this time, she came straight towards me. This is the part where I admit that I was tense and very nervous about A PUPPY coming at me. I was getting out of the car and getting ready to let Aiman out of his car seat when I see this little, yet pretty muscular, puppy coming right for me.

Background/Relevant Tangent: Once, my dad was dropping me off at school and let me start the car (I was in 9th grade or something so it was sort of a big deal). So I went out to do so while my dad put his shoes on. Just as I was turning the corner of the pathway to the driveway, I saw our neighbor’s crazy German Shepherd standing right there. Sweet mercy. That dog was NUTS. He’d randomly go wild barking at nothing in their backyard and would get out from time to time and then come back filthy. Occasionally he’d attack-play his owner, which the owner always laughed off as “that silly dog” and I nervous-laughed off  as “no, he’s just terrifying.”

They loved him. I did not.

Well that dog was less than three feet away from me when all of the blood drained from my face. He was so much bigger than I realized right at that moment. Well, let me tell you right now that the second he starting coming towards me, I completely lost my shit. I had absolutely zero composure or sensibility and RAN LIKE THE WIND down the street. Just dropped my stuff and took off.

Good thing I was a track runner and in great enough shape to feel like I could outrun him.

Bad thing he’s a GERMAN SHEPHERD and instinctively trained for running after criminals or something and can easily catch up to me because he’s running on four while I’m running on two.

So at 7am our neighbors were serenaded by my lovely ugly scream-cry for help. SWEET LAWD, SOMEONE HALP MEH!

I made it down the block and briefly thought about climbing a tree or something, but hearing his panting made me feel like he was RIGHT THERE and in another jolt of adrenaline and panic, I took off even faster back towards our house.

By this point, several of our neighbors were out leaving for work, so they noticed this rather loud and petrified girl zooming by, trying to keep her hijab/scarf from blinding her vision and a happy, crazy dog running along for fun or not for fun and maybe for duty.

I got to our house panting and hid behind my dad who, I kid you not, literally just stood there as the dog ran up to him and climbed him. He was easily almost as tall as my dad when he stood on his hind legs. I don’t even remember what my dad did, but the next moment I remember is sitting in the car trembling as involuntary tears streamed down my face.

So since then, my cardinal rule about dogs has generally been: If I can’t outrun it, then I can’t get comfortable with it. And let me tell you that I am no longer a track runner or in shape to run much, so …this means I usually stick to small dogs, short dogs.

And naturally, Saad, my loves-to-mess-with-me dear husband, really wants a Great Dane whenever we decide to get a dog.

Sure! Let’s all ride it to work and school! It’ll save us so much gas money if I ever get out of fetal position.

So back to the puppy trotting over to me. She was small, but she looked strong. I momentarily tensed and froze remembering the German Shepard incident, but aside from awkwardly clearing my throat, I didn’t run. Besides, I didn’t want to freak the kids out and then they be utterly embarrassed by their mother madly running away from an innocent puppy that she’s hallucinating is the German Shepard of many moons past.

She came up and enthusiastically licked my shoes and waged her tail so hard that her puppy-fat belly was swaying. She was practically dancing. I looked around for anyone who might be looking for her, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

The next day I found her my car door and gently shooed her aside we got hurried out with our morning.

Two days ago she was there again and after I got back from grocery shopping, she was lying down in my parking spot.

This mysterious puppy was just undeniably different.

I got out and gave in to her sweetness and totally baby-talked her in that incredibly annoying high-pitched voice. After taking a bunch of pictures of her, I figured she’s be hungry so I gave her something to eat.

Worried something might happen to her, I put her in out backyard, but left the door open for her to leave (and return to her owner?) if she wanted to. Well, for the rest of the day, she didn’t budge. Aiman loves her. He calls her Annie, My Annie, and tells everyone who’ll listen that she’s his Annie, his new dog.

Long story short, as I’m in my parent’s house, whatever my mom decides ultimately goes. And she’s not too keen on taking in a puppy right now or any animal for that matter, which brings me to the litter of six kitten I found about 15 minutes after letting Annie into the backyard.

The mom cat is “our neighbor’s,” but only in that they leave food out for her and her many offspring, but the cats are pretty much exclusively outdoors. So she’s familiar with us and our backyard and this is about the third litter or so that she’s had and the first in our backyard that I know of.

She found a great spot for her litter and I decided against moving the kittens lest she rejects them or something. I was worried about Annie eventually finding them and possibly doing something not-so-nice to them, but thought “she’s just a puppy; is she already anti-cats?”

Well that was very clearly answered last night. After the mom cat stalked Annie all day, making sure she didn’t get too close to her litter, she had to nurse them eventually and slowly made her way to her the patch they were hidden in. Annie noticed and immediately starting crazy-barking and hopping all over the place. MomCat did that fur-raised, hissing stance and they had a serious showdown. I held Annie back and my sister cleared a space for MomCat to get to her litter.

The kittens are insanely, insanely adorable. Sooooooo itty-bitty-teeny-weeny and helpless and all sorts of pweshouuuus.

Saad suggested we let Annie go out in the front yard incase she’s eager to go back to where she came from; again, she may have just gotten out of her own backyard/someone may be looking for her. But she didn’t go anywhere. She trailed me down the block and back again. I tried to sneak away and she always found me. I ran into another neighbor who said that he’s pretty certain she doesn’t belong to anyone in the neighborhood as it’s been weeks since he first saw her. He was going to take her in the other week himself for his nine year old son, but was waiting to see if she did belong to anyone.

The thing is that she’s pretty healthy and clean for a “stray”…even her all white coat wasn’t the least bit dingy, much less dirty. She’s a mystery

Eventually, I carried her back to the house and set her up in the garage. I was worried for the kittens and MomCat, but didn’t want to leave Annie out in the streets, so it seemed like a win-win for the night.

She was such a good puppy! She didn’t have one accident the whole night and did her business outside for a good while, which leads me to believe she’s been trained to a degree.

I want to keep her. My kids love her. I love her. After researching for hours, I found a way to take care of her medical expenses, so that’s not a huge hurdle anymore. Unfortunately, with Houston’s intense humidity and generally deplorable weather, I think she’d fare better as an indoor dog and that’s definitely not an option for my mom.

And the kittens, goodness, I want them all. Kittens and cats have been a part of my childhood and I haven’t had one since I was ten, so it’s tempting to keep them all and become that crazy cat lady.

But again, I’d like them to be indoor cats and that’s not an option.

So I’m asking friends, neighbors, and my friends to ask their friends and neighbors if anyone’s looking for a well-behaved, sweet puppy and tiny kittens.

The animal agencies I spent all morning calling either didn’t answer their phones; are at full capacity and no longer accepting animals; have a waiting list for appointment slots to drop off animals (which means it’ll be no less than a week before I find a slot); or generally route me to different numbers that lead ultimately lead to nowhere.

I found a shelter that’ll take Annie, but they euthanize after X amount of time. Thankfully, as a puppy, she’s got a decent chance. And with her personality, I think she’s got more than a decent chance. However, they said that they’d have to euthanize the kittens because they dont’ have the resources to care them as they’d still need either their mother’s milk or kitten formula.

There’s no way in hell I’m handing them over. At least Annie’s got a chance, but the kittens? They’d have to die before even getting a chance, so I’m going to let MomCat do their MomCat kitten rearing and try to give them out to friends and such when they’re older.

I’m going to hold out for a day or two and hope someone can take Annie in and others to take a kitten or two. At least the kittens have more time in that they still need to be with their mother, so they don’t need a home right away.

And THAT, kids, is how I became the carer of entirely too many animals. The animals in addition to my own children? Someone upstairs is trusting me way too much.

via designrelated.com

Friday night I stayed up until 6AM reading The Hunger Games, but don’t worry, this isn’t a post about what a greatly addictive book it is or how I haven’t been this excited about a book and the movie that brings it to life in far too long (Yeah, this means I’ve never read Harry Potter, BUT I do plan to one day).

Anyway, the point is that I stayed up all night reading the book — something I wouldn’t have even entertained the thought of doing two to three months ago.

Not with my MCAT exam at 8am, sharp the next morning.

So instead of staying up all night trying to fall asleep the night before such an exam, I deliberately refused to go to bed until I finished the book or passed out on my own. Well, at 6am, an hour before Manaal would be up, I thought it would be slightly smarter to at least nap two hours before Saad heads out for the library.

I woke up around 8:45 and chuckled at the sheer panic and terror that would’ve course my veins if I had woken up at the time to take an exam that started 45 minutes earlier.

9:50 — “They’re (the test takers) either taking or just ending their first 10 minute break right now” I said nonchalantly as we drove to meet my dad for our family’s bimonthly breakfast out.

11: 30 –”I’d be half-way through the exam right about now.”

1:00 — “So close to the end!! I wonder how many have fallen over by now.”

3:30 — “Woohoo! They’re done! They’re probably driving back home and so relieved to have it behind them!”

Although the day was full enough to keep me busy, my mind was occasionally occupied with my ex-fellow test takers.

By 5pm, I imagined the simultaneous relief and worry I’d be riddled with had I taken the exam.

Instead I was riddled by a serious fit of laughter as Saad, my sisters, and I came up with ridiculous lyrics to songs we made up. And then tried make up lyrics in our Ethiopian dialects.

My husband’s got skillz.

Saturday, March 24th, was a highlighted, bolded, and underlined date in my calendar book. Bright yellow and red, glaring the time 8:00AM on it as a constant reminder to be ready, be rested, be confident, be proud to move forward with this particular goal.

As it became obvious that I wasn’t going to be ready, rested, confident, or proud by that date, I learned to ignore the ridges my pen made along the March 24th box in my calendar. The same ridges that made such deep grooves in the paper that I could feel its outline in the pages before and after the date, much like this test was making its mark on my plans in the months before and after my application.

Now I’ve simply ripped the page out because it’s ugly. And because the tinge of hesitation and frustration I used to feel looking at it are no longer there and ripping the page out has made my calendar more attractive, a little lighter just like my feelings about this magical date that was once do or die to me.

It’s still important, of course, but I accept that where I am in life and when I’ll get to cross things off in my career goals can’t be contained to one overbearing, colorful box on a page.

Now, flipping through the pages of my calendar, I welcome my new timeline.

And then after the person slowly backs away from me, I’ll yell at them to know what they’re talking about before making such comments because by saying they “slept like a baby” to imply they slept really well they’re a) lying, as babies don’t sleep well at all. In fact they’re probably the worst sleepers of the human species. B) they’re perpetuating the lie, which is just even more lying; and c) making parents, perhaps namely mothers, all over the planet laugh-cry in resentment because SHUT-UP, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT SLEEPING LIKE A BABY.

2) My loathing for cooking is well documented here, and then in my total flip-flop fashion, my ill perceived confidence in the kitchen, here. When I’m not thinking they’re crazy, I admire people who love to cook and are good at it. After all, the world would be one boring peanut butter-and-jelly-all-the-time place if chefs/cooks didn’t exist. Somehow, I’ve totally missed this particular gene in the evolution of man (notice there, I didn’t say woman) and find a part of my soul erupting in annoyance whenever this necessity of life is, well, necessary.

However, please don’t confuse my disdain for cooking with disdain for eating of the cooked food. I don’t have an iota of disdain anywhere in my jiggly body for that.

I’ll admit though, that watching shows like America’s Worst Cooks does wonders for my ego and that using intagram to take pictures of my culinary happenings have made cooking slightly less annoying.

Behold!:

Homemade stir fry noodles

Meatball army, forward march to the oven!

3) Last night Aiman said “Hey mom, come here; I need your help with something.” Because I often find the most inane things amusing, I was amused by this statement. It wasn’t long ago (a little over a year ago to be exact) that he was only saying “come” as a toddler. I distinctly remember the time I was standing next to the stairs as he sat on the steps, calling my sister to “come here.” Just like that, he added “here” to “come”. Just like that, he added direction and magnitude (a vector! physics!) to his plain, vague, scalar (physics again!) command.

BOOM. Language development just happened in front of me.

And now, he’s added more elements to his language than I know how to translate into physics terms.

4) Something indescribable happens to my spirit whenever I see the amount of laundry haunting our room. And by haunting I mean unmercifully taking over. I’ve given up folding long ago. Home clothes, PJs, the kid’s stuff, and most of Saad and my clothes are usually (always) tossed in drawers or lightly folded to be put onto the closet shelves; the rest is hung.

Just thought you should know the extent of my domestic apathy/rebellion. Thank goodness I have a husband who’s neater, but also tolerant of my shenanigans. Also, it helps that our clothes don’t end up wrinkled much; it’s like the universe is encouraging me to never fold again!

5) After staring at these curtains for a long, long time, wondering what else the flowers looked like aside from bunnies in a fancy collar from afar, I find that I’m taken by them. Granted, this is my parent’s home and my mother’s taste to have these particular curtains hanging on her backyard glass door, I still say “nice curtains, Mom.”

And in a particular light (thanks instagram; I’m obsessed!), they have a timeless look to them. I imagine I could find these hanging in someone’s backyard glass door early last century and now, in the new millennium  (because, duh, they already are –PAY ATTENTION).

* I lied, there are six.

6) Thank you for stopping by to read my ramblings. You guys are like the sisters (and brothers?) who I pretend to not know read my diary — just like I always imagined this experience to be.

And I love it/you all!

I bet you can tell when Saad is back (hint: some virtual space of mine gets neglected).

He came back almost three weeks ago for what was supposed to be a week’s visit, but it turned into nearly three weeks. He left yesterday morning and we’ve been chugging along business as usual since.

In unrelated news, I’ve decided to give up sugar, salt, and to an extend, caffeine. Saad has been encouraging me to do so, just for general health, for the entirety of our marriage. He doesn’t add salt to anything he eats, drinks his tea and coffee plain (this is all sorts of gross to me), considerably limits his sugar intake in general, and rarely has caffeine. For the most part, his motto is “everything in moderation,” which I believe in as well, but please don’t ever give me plain tea or coffee. In the last few years, we’ve deceased or eliminated salt/ sugar in almost everything we purchase or make, but there’s room for improvement on my part, we’ll say.

Nonetheless, he’s been a big advocate for giving up both as completely as possible and encouraging me to join him in this regard.

Well, there’s been a breakthrough; this is the conversation that occurred this past weekend.

Me: Babe! So, guess what? (I never really wait for him to answer) I read an article on how sugar becomes an addictive, silent killer and linked to [this disorder and that syndrome blah blah blah], and so I think I’m going to try giving it up.

Saad: You don’t say…

Me: While I’m at it, I read a few tweets from this doctor about blood pressure and salt intake. So I think I should give salt up too.

Saad: *nodding*

Me: Also, I don’t like the way caffeine completely annihilates my sleeping pattern. A cup of coffee or too many cups of tea keep me up and I’m a little grouchy and moody the next day (read: become medusa). I kind of feel like everyone suffers when that happens.

Saad: *nodding*

Me: So I should probably give up caffeine, or at least tone it down to decaf (which still has traces of caffeine and differs from caffeine -free) to wean myself off.

Saad: *nodding*

Me: HEY! We can do this together. Maybe you can teach me your ways Oh, Wise and Bland One. I just wish I had come to these realizations a little sooner.

Saad: *head bang to wall*

The first test was my breakfast this morning — tea and a bagel. Plain bagel and god-help-me, plain tea. I doubt I have ever had a more punishing cup of tea in my life.

So then I cheated and added honey.

But I rebounded and ignored the glorious slices of cheesecake left over from Saad’s birthday. I longingly gazed at them, maybe mouthed I Love You’s to them, but I was a big girl and said No, not this time. Instead I had fabulously thick and creamy greek yogurt with fruit.

We’ll see how long this lasts, but I figure better health is worth a shot.

And now that I’ve committed blogging sin and talked about what I ate instead of something interesting, I will conclude this post with these sugar monsters:

via lifewithcake.com

P.S. If the “old” sugar-loving me were eating these deliciously scary little critters, I’d have to eat their eye first so that my food isn’t look at me as I eat the rest of its cakey body. I’d spare it the gore and eliminate its sight first, you know? Have a little kindness in my devouring ways sort of thing.

via starryeyekid

Today has been a humbling day. Within the span of about 24 hours, there’s been news of everything from separation, divorce, recurring illness, and death from friends both online and off.

When there’s a tornado of heartache swirling around people you care about, you want to break through the shatterproof glass and take them to safety, but the thing about shatterproof glass is that it’s shatterproof. So all you can do is help them weather the storm and pray it doesn’t rip them apart and spit them out.

I have tons of pictures of all the fun we’ve been having lately, but the post I intended to have up doesn’t seem right for today.

So instead I’d just like to remind everyone to stay safe, work it out, and hug your loved ones.

Everything is temporary.

Some of the things I miss about undergrad:

Waking up and getting dressed for a day outside of the house. This means that I had an excuse to buy new clothes.

Putting my driving skills to test by getting through horrendous traffic, parking,and sprinting (figuratively, of course!) to class to make it there at least 20 min. before class (read next point/”memory”).

Finding the perfect position/seat in class. Although there aren’t assigned seats, once I find my spot I don’t exchange the seat with anyone for anything. And if someone is in my seat by the time I get there (which is why I try to get to class super early), then I stare at the back of their head and laser beam mean, angry thoughts at them.

How acceptable it was to stalk prey in the parking lot. This means that it was perfectly normal to cruise the campus parking lot(s) until you find someone (prey) walking to their car and then slowly trailing (stalking) them to their vehicle for their spot. For some reason, this never worked non-campus lots.

What was that? You didn’t stalk prey? Are you telling me it’s creepy?

Whipping out my notebook and pen/pencil, the only two things on my desk –nothing more, nothing less. Highlighters, sticky notes, erasers, flashcards —NOTHING ELSE, I SAID.

Cracking open my notebook and gently caressing the clean new page before I tattoo it in notes.

Listening with genuine interest to the lecture; sort of listening for leisure, but noting for knowledge. I think the only classes I involuntarily zoned out in were Calculus II and III because they were Calculus II and III. Nearly four years later, I am still traumatized from these two classes. From the times I was paying attention/awake, at least.

My hidden study spots in the library and other buildings.

Stopping by the campus Einsteins or Starbucks to grab coffee and a snack before going to study.

Sitting in front of the water garden or under the shade of magnificent trees.

Dodging bike riders. And scooter riders. And roller bladders. And golf-cart drivers. And unicyclists. We were a transportation-diverse campus, obviously.

Seeing the campus swarm with students in between classes sections.

As stressful finals time can be, I love the atmosphere. Looking like the living dead with coffee in one hand and clenching last-minute notes in the other. More than anything though, it’s the high of completing an exam and walking out of the room momentarily burden free until the next final.

Running into old classmates/friends and professors. And sometimes avoiding them.

Being with my boys (Saad and Aiman) at the end of the day.

The smell of angst that filled the waiting room at the pre-med advisor’s office. Sadly, there was no antiperspirants for this.

Making difficult decisions:

I didn't make this; it's a meme floating around the internet.

Except this illustration should include mother/wife duties for my experience, but let’s not get technical (although we should definitely get technical about that major detail).

***

College flew by, as did the last 24 years of my life. I’m beyond ready for the next phase of school and look forward to increased coffee consumption, protectiveness of my seat, burden-free highs, and general anxiety in medical school.

OH, MEDICAL SCHOOL.

Are my angst-stained armpits showing?

Do you find that you’re too graceful? That you can walk and chew your gum at the same time and look fabulous while doing it?

Being perfect is such a bore, isn’t it?

Well, have I got good news for you!  Below is instructional wisdom on how to be fabulously uncouth.

This guide, studied and tested by the clumsiest and most awkward scientist in the world, is here to help you disgrace yourself and fall into imprefection. Who wants poised and functional when you can have blundering and hazardous?

Involved parties:

• Mother, awaiting post bedtime freedom
• Two young children, 3 years old and 7 months old

Supplies:

• Sharp, loud child’s toy
• Dark, floor-boards-need-oiling children’s room

Instructions:

1. Begin bedtime routine with children, not forgetting to repeatedly wrangle 3 year old up the stairs and into the tub while 7 month old helplessly dangles along.
2. Complete bath and story.
3. Now, the hardest part: getting children to doze off and sleep.
   • 3 year old, accustomed to routine, settles in and goes to sleep
   • 7 month old, not as accustomed and in a distracted phase, finds smallest, most random thing in room (ie. small speck in the middle of the wall) extraordinarily exciting and fixates upon it. Seven month old fights sleep, delaying mother’s freedom other chores.
4. After much nursing, swaying, willing child to focus on sleeping, child finally (FINALLY) sleeps.
5. Mother, assess your environment and calculate every movement between your position in the room and the infant’s bed.
6. Mother, use your ninja skills (acquired via older child’s sleep sensitivities when he was an infant) to move stealthly through room.
7. Mother, gently settle infant into bed and calculate plan to exit room.
8. Mother, before leaving, look at both children and smile warmly. The think about all that sweet precious independence that awaits you downstairs and smile even harder.
9. Mother, gently turn while smiling, to get out of room.
10. Mother, begin creeping towards door –RAAAAWWWR! You just stepped on 3 year old’s very pointy and stupidly loud, flashy dinosaur toy he snuck into room.
    • Duck and clasp dinosaur toy, trying to muffle the noise.
    • Lick the wound of your injured foot (not really, but you know).
    • Stand to check on children.
    • Lean forward to check if infant’s eye’s are open (for whatever reason).
    • While leaning forward, press on injured foot, underestimate the pain AND FALL.
    • Try to salvage fall by grabbing rail, only to miss it completely.
    • Instead of grabbing rail, tangle yourself in random lamp cord and take the lamp down with you
    • Crash of lamp and few knick knacks falling off stand
    • Involuntarily make ugly noise while falling.
    • Land on stupid dinosaur again —RAAAAWWWR!
    • Try to muffle stupid dinosaur again.
    • Sit in silence…3,2,1
    • Infant crying
    • 3 year old awake, asking “Mom? Mom? What happened? YOU’RE PLAYING WITH MY DINOSAUR??”
11. Mother, momentarily sit there and hate yourself.
12. Mother, calm children down.
13. Re-sway, re-bounce, re-hum to get infant to sleep again as extra punishment.
14. When children are back to sleep, Mother, do not smile and sure as hell do not think about anything but army crawling out of room because you can’t step on a stupid flashy, loud dinosaur when you’re army crawling, now can you?

And there you have it –it really IS that simple.

*Sound effects not included unless personally projected.

**Dignity not a part of this package.

Happy Self-Disgracing!

CAN YOU HEAR ME  ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

As I clean off the cobwebs and dust all over this blog, I notice it reeks of abandonment and neglect.

But fear not, for I am here to tidy up this mess!

Where should I start? Should this be one long (long, long, long) update post in which I tell you more than you care to know? Or should I only highlight the important aspects of the last ten or so days? Should I , oxymoronically, shut-up and talk the talk already?

I’LL DO ALL THREE without knocking you over, hopefully.

The important part(s)

Since the last post:

• We are still fighting THRUSH! Oh my sweet God of mercy and sanity, WE ARE STILL FIGHTING THRUSH. We completed the entire treatment course and were good to go for about a day or two until I noticed the white spots in the back of her throat again, after which I may or may not have sat there cursing the overgrown yeast partying it up in my baby’s throat. I so want to call the cops and complain of disturbance of population control on their ass and squash their party. Just as I figured, it’s probably because of one thing that I forgot to boil or sanitize that reinfected her/us. So anyway, we’re halfway through round two of treatment for this forsaken THRUSH!
  

  Baby girl is clearly SUFFERING. Good thing I bribe her with sweet potatoes -- that she inevitably gets all over her face.

• Saad was here for two whole months and like all good things, it came to an end last Thursday. That’s also partly the reason this blog has withered away. You see, his departure date sneaks up on us –here we are just minding our own business and soaking up his presence when BAM! There’s only a week left until he goes back. We try to do all sorts of family fun stuff/ lounging around in each others’ company during that time, which also means little to no distractions, ie news reading (for him) and self-delcared important internet browsing (for me), including blogging. So essentially, YOU CAN BLAME SAAD and his cruel, cruel departure date attacking us like that.
  • It’s always the worst part of the year whenever he has to go back, but hopefully we’ll be smelling each other’s morning breath in two (if we’re lucky) to 10 week’s time. (You can thank Aiman for this morning breath reference since we’ve watched the Shrek trilogy umpteen +1 times in the last few weeks. He LOVES the movies and we are all completely Team Ogre, so morning breath is the Ogre way to express that sentiment. Just FYI, is all.)
  • It’s been hard playing catch up since he left. In the previous post I mentioned he would come home for dinner and bedtime every night, so going through the bedtime routine along for both kids literally left me out of breath the first night after he left, although it could have something to do with those demonic cookies (scroll down).
• Another excuse legitimate reason this blog was thrown to the curb is that there was a bigger bully on the block who goes by the name, Medical School Personal Statement. He was fierce and totally kicked my butt. I had him under control at first, back in November, and had him all written beaten up. Then! Then that jerk came back with a vengeance and a low blow — my pride. Yeah! He took my pride and spat on it as he said “THIS ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH” and then ran away to the desktop trash can. So I worked out (my only “workout”) and battled him in the last few days, ending this feud once and for all last night. So you see, I had to invest what little writing fighting power I have and get this little “problem” taken care of.

The Extraneous Part(s):

• We rung in the new year with a late night barbecue and our good family friend, Bukky, over. We’ve known Bukky and her family since our Sunday School years and she’s essentially my sister, Sieda’s, “Summer.” We love that girl and we love her in-law-school-brain, which came in handy because (next point):

• Someone drove into our backyard on new year’s day. Sieda, Bukky, and I were on our way to go paintballing (OMG! NEXT POINT!) with a group of girls, and right as we were leaving, we heard a crash in the backyard. My mom looked out the back door and screamed my name — a scream that still makes my blood stop and my heart pound right through my chest. That’s when I knew something serious just happened. When we got to the site, we were all like, “Well, look at that. There’s a freakin’ car in the backyard” and the driver was unnaturally calm about it. My guess is that she was exhausted from work and simply dozed off because no one ran into her and it’s unlikely to just lose control of your vehicle unless it’s possessed, but then who keeps/drives a possessed car, you know?

• Paintballing. I love it. Wait, no I LOVE IT. That’s more like it. Now, you have to understand that I take it very seriously. The group I went with were all newbies, including myself, but it was obvious none of them had ever prepared for a Zombie Apocalypse and were far too forgiving to the other team. Also, you have to respect the fact that once you’re out of ammo, you’re vulnerable, and effectively OUTof the apocalypse. Would you forgive a zombie? I DIDN’T THINK SO. STAY LOW AND RESERVE YOUR AMMO.
  • Paint ball shots hurt so much, I just can’t describe it. My sister and I were on opposite teams, so you know we had to get each other first. It was mutually a personal objective and just plain personal. Well, she got me in my right arm while someone else shot at my left. She doesn’t know it, but in the midst of fire, I played mean, but behind the barrels? After she and someone paintballed me in the arms? I nearly cried in pain, hugging myself as I waited for the adrenaline to numb the pain. Paint balls hurt so much, people. So much.
  • The next day, I was not only branded in six solid bruises, but sore beyond my mind. Because I play hardcore? Perhaps. Because it was the only thing close to a workout I had in a very long time? Perhaps-Perhaps.
  • We went to Ci-Ci’s for a quick and easy dinner afterwards and I was leaking breast milk through my shirt, visible for all the restaurant to see. Did I care? Covered in dirt, paint, and god knows what that giant smudge of green-ish brown gunk on my thigh is? NO, BECAUSE I JUST SURVIVED A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. I sure will have an entire pizza and all of my dessert because I earned it, thankyouverymuch.

That concludes the update blabber, but wait THERE’S MORE.

More of my cynical conspiracy-theory wrapped rambling, that is. What did you expect, now?

So in an explanation worthy of another post, I’ve laid of coffee for a few weeks. I’ll go ahead and admit there are personal benefits so far, one of which is the ability to Just Say No. Like the way they teach you in school to Just Say No to drugs, only I’m not addicted, but I won’t refuse a good cup done right and fancy –perfect blend of creamer, sugar, and whipped cream with a sprinkle of cinnamon or chocolate. Who says no to that?

Luckily, only Starbucks does it as fancy as I’d like or care to do myself, so it’s been easy to refuse the “plain” variety, without any of the above.

But I cheat. I’ll drive up to Starbucks and ask for a DECAF something or another and feel so clever. I just enjoy the taste! It’s only for the taste! And maybe the placebo effect, even if I know it’s decaf.

credit via jasonlove.com

So anyway, I always have a secret fear that they forget to make it decaf and I chug back a fully-caffeinated beverage, which will make me stay up to odd hours of the night and between the kids’ sleeping patterns and my accidental caffeination, I’ll never experience sleep EVER AGAIN.

Today I got a venti iced coffee with the works –whipped cream and all that jazz — in decaf, of course. But it’s 3am and I am WIDE AWAKE (when I drafted this post, at least). Totally wired, even. I mean, I could even work out or something right now, but I’m not fooling anyone; I definitely won’t workout.

No, I’m not obsessing over the possible caffeine coursing my veins, fueling my insomnia. It wouldn’t be that venti iced coffee with the works. No. NO. The barista wouldn’t do that to me.

It could be PMS-induced insomnia, which I will gladly take because at least my PMS comes in a grande or less*.

*That’s a lie; my PMS totally comes in a trenta (Starbucks largest, ginormously gross-sized 31-oz size). That was the part you’d probably not care to know, but welcome to the risk of reading my blog.