So, surprise, I’m going to vent.  But you know what?  This time, I’m not sorry.  It’s a not a boo hoo venting, it’s a why are people so fucking stupid and I kinda rock type of venting and it’s been a while since I’ve had the energy to kick ass, so let’s go!

***My reunion is THIS WEEKEND!  I have worked my ass off on being far too detail- oriented, but I think it’s all going to go off without a hitch. (This is where I bloat, I already did that, I mean, gloat – which is so not me- so deal with it)  I, LITERALLY, came within TWO DOLLARS on my budget!  $8000 worth of hall rentals, open bar, DJ, I made programs, came up with a theme and hired a graphic design artist to implement it, had a vinyl banner made, ordered Koozie cups as favors, had T-shirts made as awards, made personalized name tags with senior pictures, hired a photographer and last week, just for over-achieving shits and grins, I wrote letters to local companies asking for donations for door prizes- I got 4 gift certificates!  BOO YA! And that’s just for Saturday!  Not to mention, finding a dress (took 3 times to find the right one online) that would hide the fact that I’m concealing a beach ball in my belly and the most fab shoes, getting my haircut, and a pedicure.  I think I will sleep all next week.

***Next project- oh yeah, I’m having a freaking baby in 2 months that has a Baby Bjorn that was left anonymously (THANK YOU SO MUCH WHOEVER YOU ARE!) at my front porch- that’s it!  No room, no diapers, no clothes,  no nothing.  If you know me- you know that by this time with my others, I have had a fully decorated and stocked room- ready to go- God help this poor kid!

*** I am a liberal.  It’s true.  I live in conservative hell.  It’s true, as well. (this is a liberal rant, if you are conservative and read me- just skip this part- we can still be friends, it’s OK) The other day as I pulled into a parking spot at the gym, I had my radio on shuffle.  Before I turned off my car, I fidgeted with my phone a bit to get my music going for my workout-  NOT realizing that my car radio had stopped on Fox News Radio!  As I get out of the car, the girl parked in the spot next to me says, “Were you listening to Glenn Beck, too?”  My first instinct was that she was human and would mock it like I do, that was before I remembered where I live (where Ultimate Fighting and deer hunting are “sports” and they’re trying to repeal the Health-care Act simply because someone at a Tea Party told them that it would lead to “Socialism”- which they, in turn, went to look up in the dictionary- that they borrowed- and believed.)   I looked down at the ground and nodded my head, with painful guilt oozing from my pores.  She says, “We REALLY tried to arrange our schedule to make it to that rally, I thought we might be able to make it, but we just couldn’t do it.”

A fucking Glenn Beck rally?  Seriously woman… you are barking up the WRONG tree.  And that’s when I realized why I don’t have any friends here and I walked my fat ass as fast as I could to get away from her and onto my elliptical machine and ran for 35 minutes.

*** I received a telemarketing call.  They asked for my husband.  1.) he was sleeping, but 2.) he has no backbone and cannot just say ‘no’, so I take all the telemarketing phone calls and tell them where to shove it.

In an Indian dialect…

May I speak with B?

This is his wife, can I help you?

This is … with …

Sorry, we’re not interested and please put us on your no-call list.

(I shit you not, this is what he said next…)

Then I will call back every 10 minutes.

WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY??

I will call back every 10 minutes until I get a hold of B because you will not even listen to what I have to say.

First, B is sleeping, but second, I deal with all of the finances and household stuff and when someone I do not know calls me from a company I am not familiar with, I do not want or have the need to have any dealings with you!

If I could have punched him in his Foreign balls- I would have!

You ever get to that point when you really think you have a handle on stuff and think, “I got this.”  Then life, Karma, God, whoever kicks your ass to the ground like  “bitch, lose the cocky, you’re not in charge!” This is my life lately.   One step forward, two steps back, indeed.  Some of it brings me to nervous breakdown stages with hysterical crying, some, luckily, I have the ability to laugh  off.  Let me catch you up because you give a damn.

*** The other day, I went to bring the kids to school and my car battery was dead.  I’m quite certain that I did not turn the car off all the way the night before… shhhh, that’ll be our little secret- I told my husband one of the kids left the door open.

*** The husband’s car broke down last week.  He replaced the battery (he’s the opposite of a mechanic- so even this, was a stretch.)  Only to break down AGAIN last night.  Alternator.  $500. (**UPDATE**just got a call from the shop- more doo hickeys are fucked and the total is up to $700- SO FAR!)   It’s now at the shop, he took my car to work, so I am like a trapped animal on a Saturday with 4 kids in the house dwelling on the repair bill.

*** Moving on to the Tween Category- ugh!  My 11 year old has come down with an epidemic case of black raccoon circles under her eyes.  Or so I thought until my mascara kept coming up missing.  Yes, we’re at “that” stage.  Make-up.  Specifically, sneaking my make-up that she has NO clue how to put on.   She has just started a middle school and apparently poorly applied mascara is all the rage.  In light of this, my hand was forced to have a little impromptu lesson that included eye make- up remover and her very own waterproof mascara.   I’m not ready for this yet!  She’s begging for the leg shaving lesson- I know it’s about time, but I’m REALLY not ready for that one!  Also, that will become a domino effect since my 9 year old carries my particularly hairy gene.  She has already asked to get her eyebrows waxed!  Which, could CERTAINLY be effective- as she has somewhat gorilla type brows, but how young is too young for that kind of ladyscaping??  Considering she IS self- conscious about it?  I’m glad I grew up in the 80’s where my Brooke Shield’s unkempt eyebrows were acceptable (now, I’d die!)

*** I had tears running down my face earlier.  Not the usual suspects, my life, kids, husband, overall instability and overwhelmed feeling, nope, it was nose hairs.  And I wasn’t crying because I found them (though it WAS highly disconcerting when I looked in my car mirror this morning to get what I thought was a black smudge from my nostril!)  Nope, the tears were from  plucking them and were beyond my control.  And how weird is it that I plucked them from the left side nostril and only my left eye teared up?

*** I wish I could be paid for the amount of times that I have cut bright green gum out of my dog’s beard (or the amount of times that I’ve told my kids “no more gum in the house”- clearly, I’m failing at follow through on that!

*** On the pregnancy front.  I’m fat.  House-like.  It’s mostly in my mid section, but the bloat has set in.   I have always had gestational diabetes as I do this time, but my will is not as strong this time to live on salads and I am a miserable failure who is fearing one of those obese 18 lb babies.  I have only gained 5 lbs which I don’t how that’s possible from the size of this belly!  (As I was composing this, I planned on adding a picture of my ginormous belly- and lo and behold- my email, where I have the picture, does not work! Yep, that’s the way things have been going!)

***UPDATE- my cousin is a GENIUS and I drive him crazy with my idiotic computer questions and concerns constantly, but he fixed my email.  My one step forward.

Why haven’t I written, you ask?  Because anything I’d have to say would be a downer.  Depressing as hell, and who wants to hear that?

Then I get comments from old downer posts where people empathize, say they get it, that they are going through similar struggles.  As cliche as it may be, misery does love company.  I don’t wish will ill on anyone, but when you know you’re not alone, there’s an oddly masochistic connection there.

I tend to be the giver of too much information.  Which, in most cases, ends up biting me in the ass.

I exchanged e-mails with an old friend this week.  In the email she asked how I was feeling.  The anxiety, worry, fear, and depression has gotten so deep that I don’t have it in me to say “fine” anymore.  I can rarely fake a smile or cordial conversation anymore.  Who knew that sadness drained the ability to cover up or be fake, but it has.

So, regardless of the fact that I’m not really close with said person anymore, I shared, shared that I was depressed, shared that things were tough, and I hit send.

Within minutes, I received a response from her.  She was in a similar place.  Having struggles financially and in her marriage.  Her children were driving her nuts and her escape was, regrettably, her work.  I felt a sigh of relief in her e-mail.  A need to not put forth perfection- a virtual fake smile.  A desire to just get the truth out and hopefully move on from there.

I appreciated her openness.  My perception of everyone else’s life being nirvana while mine feels like it’s crumpling around my feet was corrected.

So, I guess, it’s not always a bad thing to share my depressing crap.

If you’ve read me for a while, you may know my struggle with my kid’s schooling.   There is a resolution.  It’s been such a long road…

They have only attended Catholic school.  It started as a necessity since we lived in a less than stellar school district.

Then we moved.

We moved to a great school district, but part of us felt this obligation to keep them in the Catholic school system.  We are not overtly Catholic and this particular parish was, so from the get go, we were the black sheep.  Once the kids were in, our feeling of obligation grew, and was exacerbated by a concern of uprooting everything they knew and putting them into, yet, a different school.  So we didn’t.

We had problems at that school.  Lots.  The class sizes were very large.  My kids were nameless numbers.   We were unhappy.  The school’s cost kept rising and our ability to pay it kept dropping.

Last year, my son moved onto high school and was our guinea pig public school tester.  He loved it.  We loved it.  The simplicity of it amazed us.  They weren’t constantly asking for money, there was a BUS, activities were free, they weren’t judgy about our church going habits or how spiritual we chose to be and I was not needed to volunteer 10 times a month.  Why did I not know about this and why did it take me so long to take advantage of it???

So registration rolled around and I got stage fright.  I worried about the change- for them and for me.  Worried about our level of comfort and security being gone.  I registered them back into the Catholic school.  I payed the registration fee and had immediate regret and remorse.  Had I done the right thing?  Is this benefiting our family as a whole- being financially strapped for a school that we don’t love and don’t feel part of the community?

I had one starting Kindergarten and one going into 6th grade.   If there was an ideal transitional year, this was it.

I swallowed my pride.  It was time to make a change for the better and what we had been doing wasn’t working.  I worked up the courage.    My nerves a wreck, I made the call.  I told the principal that, financially, we just couldn’t do it anymore.

She responded in a way that I didn’t expect.  She said she wanted to help us out and that they don’t like people leaving for financial reasons (I didn’t mention our issues with the school.)  At first, I felt relieved.  That she seemed so open, caring  and willing to help.  I was glad that we didn’t have to make changes.  That everything would be able to stay the same.  That we all wouldn’t have to go through the first day, new school anxieties again.

Then it stewed in my brain for a while and in the pit of my stomach, I knew I was making a huge mistake by accepting her offer.  The fact was that NO ONE was happy- financial or otherwise.   It WAS the perfect time to make the change.  I should have stood my ground and gone with my gut.  Regret was eating me alive.

Months came and went.  Summer break was well under way.  In the back of my mind, I kept thinking how I should have followed my instincts.

Then, Monday, without any notice at all, a $600 tuition payment was withdrawn from my bank account.  An account that, well, did NOT have $600 in it.   I panicked.  I scrambled.  I was angry.  I was afraid.  I was told that the payment was supposed to be $800 and this was the help they gave.

This was the sign.  Oddly enough, the sign that sent me away from the Catholic school.  I could no longer do this.  Whether they fixed it or not, this was the message that I needed- loud and clear.   It was time to make the change.

For the last 3 days, I have been registering kids in a school that started 4 days earlier- not only would they be the new kids- they’d be the new kids 4 days late- all by themselves!  I was ridden with guilt about moving them, springing it on them in such a compulsive, last minute manner.    Trying to convince my 11 year old drama queen (the only one that wanted to stay) that her life is not ending.   Hoping I’m making the right decision- a decision that I’ve contemplated for 5 years, but ultimately expedited in a matter of 24 hours of madness,  tears, and hope.

Today, two of the kids started.  I walked them in with bags of supplies in my hands and a lump in my throat.

My 9 year old was shy, but in great spirits.  Nonetheless, it pained me to drop her off in a new place with everyone around her socializing.   When I went to pick her up, she was sitting by herself- a sight that immediately sent my stomach turning and my eyes watering.  Please Dear God, let her have had a great day! When I asked her what she didn’t like about the school, she said, “nothing, I really liked it all.”

The relief I felt was summed up by my Kindergartner’s synopsis of her first day of school…   “It was the bestest day EVER!”

My apologies.   I’m not crazy busy, as many would assume.  I spend most of my days sitting around watching TV- on the verge of that day’s breakdown.  My recent inability to cope is not something I’m proud of.

It’s tough.  Life’s struggles are getting me down.  I worry every second of every day about what’s on the horizon.  I take it day by day and consider waking up in the next morning a success. That’s pretty much all the positivity that I can muster.

There are still a lot of tears and a constant lump in my throat (not to be confused by the acid reflux that I’m certain is a sign that I’m morphing into a fire breathing dragon.)

The value of medication and its benefits are glaring at this point.   They are missed greatly.

I avoid things and people as best I can.

I pray.

I hope for things to get better- for me- for our life.

I feel lucky to have distractions.   The pregnancy, planning my reunion, my kids- they all help the hours go by till I wake up with another, hopefully, better day ahead.

High school was a lackluster time for me.   I had many acquaintances, but not close friendships.  My boyfriends were always from other schools and I didn’t really fit in with many of the cliques.  I believe I was friendly with most everyone, but not great friends with any.  I was a cheerleader, I did drama, I was a straight “A” student, but I didn’t feel like I fit in with any one group in particular.  I just never really made the right connection with people- probably due to the walls that I had up.

My husband is very confused how I could have been so involved and not been “popular”.  At my insistence to him, I was the opposite of popular.

I graduated 20 years ago.  I have taken on planning my high school reunion.  This baffles people as to why I chose to do this.

I went to my husband’s 20 year reunion.  He was a self-proclaimed nerd and slacker who barely graduated.  I had to twist his arm to go because the anxiety he had of going and no one remembering who he was, was a huge hurdle to cross.   He has often regretted his time in high school- not having applied himself in his studies, not making good enough grades to play in the sports to display the athlete he INSISTED he was.  I wanted him to get over this regret- to be able to have some kind of closure, move on and realize that it was a life experience that taught him things that brought him to where he is today- whether it’s the way he would have scripted it or not.

He went.  People remembered him.  “Popular” people talked to him.  Then jocks had gotten fat and bullies had gone bald, but cliques had dismantled and everyone was in a different place.  It was a healing experience for him.  He was invigorated.  He realized that he wasn’t invisible, as he thought he was.  He realized that success in high school didn’t necessarily mean success in life.  He let go of some of the regret and made peace with a bit of his past.

I, too, have regrets from those days.  Regrets that I didn’t put myself out there.  I didn’t take the chance to let down my barriers and let people in.   I was guarded- too guarded.  I missed out on making bonds.

Watching my husband release a little of that regret was refreshing.  I wanted the same.  I wanted to take the chance and reach out- something I never did before.  I wanted people to know that I wasn’t a weirdo or a bitch, just a regular person protecting herself from rejection.

I decided to reach out to my classmates in the only way I felt comfortable doing so- by using my strength of organizational planning with a touch of OCD- and planning the reunion.  Ideally, I would have liked to show up looking like the day I graduated.  Being pregnant has made that an impossibility.  Sun spots on my face from a reaction to my blood sugar medicine has given me another reason to be insecure.

I’m 2 months out and having nightmares.  Nightmares of people crashing the party.  Nightmares of people not showing up at all.  Nightmares of my dress falling off.  Nightmares of a Liz Lemmon reunion.    I’m wrapped up in the details of the event.  I work on it night and day.

I’m beginning to second guess myself.  What was I thinking again?

I have tried to put on a good face.  I try to carry the weight of things and not let them get to me- too bad.  It’s usually superficial little crap, but sometimes those little things add up and create big things.   Take this weekend…

Saturday morning, I naively walked outside to check how wet the grass was to see if we would have my daughter’s ballgame.

Imagine my surprise when my gutters and fascia are lying in my yard- storm damage from a storm that I didn’t know we had.   The house was still standing, it was only a small portion that had fallen and it was not damaged so could probably just be put back up.  <See how I tried to stay positive, there? It’s all bullshit- I was freaking out.>

My husband had just gotten off work a couple hours earlier, so I tried to remain strong and deal with the issue myself by calling my insurance agent (who wasn’t in the office, OF COURSE) to see if it was worth a claim.

I walked around to the backyard to look for any more damage.  My favorite part of my yard- my wrought iron arbor with lovely wisteria flowing all over it- was on the ground- with the roots of the wisteria plant broken.  Deep breaths.

Nothing I could do about it right now- so just relax- that’s what I kept telling myself, but myself wasn’t listening.

That afternoon, I noticed that my once beautifully green, manicured lawn was turning BROWN.  I am a lawn Nazi.  I spend lots of time working on my lawn and in my garden- making it look perfect so I can enjoy it.  Until recently, I did all the treatments and fertilizing myself (control freak), but considering I was brewing a baby, I thought it best to hire someone to deal with the chemicals and poisons for a while.  BAD IDEA, apparently.   Clearly they killed my grass, BUT they were closed on the weekend- OF COURSE THEY WERE!

I had birthday parties and ballgames all day to keep my mind off of my house falling apart- it didn’t work- it’s all I thought about all day.

After a full day of worrying, I came home and picked up my mail.   There was a bill for some blood work I had done last month- not covered by insurance for some reason- to the tune of $394.

That was it.  I lost it.  I couldn’t take anymore bad news for one day.  I had myself a good cry.  I don’t know if it was the hormones or the fact that all these places were closed on the weekend and I couldn’t get any answers or the fact that every time something else happened all I saw were dollar signs, but whatever it was, the crying  was necessary.

And the next day wasn’t nearly as bad.

I’ve been a total downer.  I get that.  I’ve sounded all introspective, depressing, and conflicted.  Then, because of that, I feel guilty.  So, I’m done.

I’m trying to move on.  Bear with me.

I’m slowly getting the energy to hold my head up again.  However, the hormones are still racing and I have no control over them.    It’s actually kind of funny.  Lots of tears- for no apparent reason.

Unless you count finding a black sock in my white clothes hamper as a legitimate reason for crying.

Or searching for a formal maternity dress for my class reunion- which is, surprisingly,  not as fun as it sounds.

I cried while reading a story about Josie Duggar in People magazine at the gym on the elliptical.

I cry during most TV shows, including CNN’s coverage of the oil spill,  America’s Got Talent, and iCarly.  Yes, I did.

I cried during the Real Housewives of New York Reunion when Bethanny stood up and showed off her post baby body (less than a week!) and she was about the size of my 11 year old daughter!

Pregnancy is fun.

Sugar and spice and everything nice.

I was raised one of 5 girls.

For 11 years, I have mothered girls- 3 of them.  I’ve been able to play dress up with them.  I’ve braided their hair and painted many nails.  I’ve negotiated appropriate ages to get ears pierced and am currently bargaining for the right time to shave legs and wear make-up.  I’ve dealt with hormonal ups and downs and tantrums that can only be fueled by estrogen.

It’s not that I preferred a girl, but it’s my comfort zone.

My comfort zone was shattered with a pregnancy at 38, so why should the fact the I’m having a boy be any different.

Yes, I do have a son.  He will be 16 just after this baby is born.  That was a long time ago.  When I had him, my life was so different than when I raised my girls.  Looking back, a boy suited me at that time in my life.  He was a low maintenance, agreeable, easy going baby and kid.   He was my starter child and he warmed me up to the idea of being a mom- my daughters really should thank him.

This time around, I guess I’m at that familiar place I was when I was about to become a 23 year old single mother.

Unplanned.  Shocked.  Nervous.

Still trying to accept that my life is going in a totally different direction than I had anticipated.

Life throws you things that you don’t expect.

Deal with it.  Cope.  Do what it takes to get through to the next day.  And survive.

Take a deep breath and pray for resolve.  Hopeful for the light at the end of the tunnel, only to find a dark detour.

Choke down the tears and fears.  Fight back.  Have hope.

Try to stay positive and be grateful for what works, but how long before a good attitude tires and expires?  How much can one person take?

They say God only gives you what he thinks you can handle.

He has far too much confidence in me.