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    Friday, November 28, 2008

    Now That It's Over

    I hope your Thanksgiving was blessed, full of laughter and good times spent with loved one...and good food. We were spoiled on all counts today, and are grateful as we lay our heads down to rest tonight. Tomorrow the Christmas tree awaits and all its trimmings, too...

    So now that it's here, Happy Holidays, my lovelies. May we all remember the reason for and the spirit of the season from now until 2008 bids us farewell.

    At which time I will tell it (2008) to eat a dick, straight up, to kiss my ass, to go to hell and die, and I will then welcome in 2009 with open arms. ;-)

    Sunday, November 23, 2008

    Sunday Sum Up

    How come I never just say what day it is and get on with the update? Why with the clever titles all the time? Oh, yeah - cuz it's my blog and I can do what I want. Now I remember. Anyway, I have been unblogged this week while Jackson and I feel like complete ass, and we're still not out of the woods yet, with Jackson's cold having moved into BOTH eyes and giving him oodles of goop spewing from both, and mine having settled in my lungs. But I have crawled from my place of rest to blog a blog this fine Sunday, and so here is an update from the land of me.

    The Netflix Curse
    See, here's the problem. Netflix has unlimited online viewing of thousands of your favorite stupid, retarded, low-budget, poorly done films of which my husband is a devoted fan. And now that we have a router, his PC is online right along with mine...right next to me here in the ole' office. And while that is just jim-dandy-dee in and of itself, Netflix has made it just a wee bit unpleasant for anyone who has to sit next to Greg while he views his crap-film-du-juor. Today's masterpiece? Grindhouse: Planet Terror. The particular scene he keeps wanting me to watch centers around a girl whose right leg is a machine gun, and apparently she's doing some major damage with said leg-gun. And he is operating under the delusion that not only do I care, but that I would love to watch it...repeatedly. This never happened before Netflix. And he'll never cancel it now. He's seen more campy, awful horror flicks since this summer than he's seen his whole life, and shows like this make him giggle. Don't ask me why. I am thinking of making him put up nosy-neighbor books or one of those brown cardboard box things they used to put around my...uh, I mean other kids' desks who couldn't mind their own business in grade school. I'll do it, honey, I swear to god...

    Some Family Business
    Dad, it's time to review the rules again. The last time we went over the rules, my favorite was "Blind people don't shoot shotguns - it's one of the rules". That was a long time ago, and I was certain the list of rules had become more clear. Yet it seems I was wrong. So please be advised that there are two more rules to be considered and followed. Please know they are for your safety and health, and for my sanity.

    I know your phone is not working, and they won't come until Monday, and you were out of cigarettes, but BLIND PEOPLE DO NOT HITCHHIKE. It's one of the rules.

    I know you want to get that outlet in the back hall closet fixed, and I know you were sure you could just get it handled and make the neccessary hole yourself, but your assistant said there was quite a lot of blood around the place when she got there. BLIND PEOPLE DO NOT USE SAWS. It's one of the rules.

    Turkey Day's A'Comin'
    Short week coming up with preschool being off for Thanksgiving break starting Tuesday afternoon. We are "counting the sleeps" until Friday around here, when we will be "allowed" by Daddy to decorate the house with our Christmas cheer. He refuses to "let" me do it any sooner. Scrooge. We will do the usual turkey, etc. back home on Thursday, eat entirely too much and drive home entirely too late, and then Greg gets to work on Friday.

    Gosh, am I boring tonight or what?

    The hardest part of said movement sits behind me. It sits, whispering behind me, reminding me that it's still there every time I trip over a box or seven every time I walk by. And I have NO motivation to finish. To do the most tedious of tasks, and file it all. It may turn into TGPMo2009 at this rate. Oh, and I already have a new box of crap upstairs that needs sorting.

    OK, hold the fucking phone.

    Dear sweet merciful God - he just turned on a fucking DEVO concert video on Netflix, and giggled with joy as he started it, and looked at me with great pride and excitement as though I should want to join him. It's not even in English for fuck's sake - it's from Japan, I think.

    I am SO moving my computer.

    Hope your Thanksgiving is wonderful, full of great food, great family and great fun. For a deeper thought process on the whole idea of thankfulness, see here. It's from last year at Thanksgiving, and it still pretty much applies now. Happy Thanksgiving.

    Saturday, November 15, 2008

    That's What I Get

    Really, it's my fault. It is. I should know better.

    Go out, have a blast, spend a little time in Happy Schnockered Land, where I NEVER go, and then when morning comes, and the little man wakes up and Daddy brings him down, and then runs to work for a short while...I go back to sleep. After all, it was 2:30 before the room stopped spinning enough for me to lay down. So, we snuggle in, I turn on his fave cartoon, and doze off.

    The child...does not.

    It wasn't that long, if memory of my last glance at the clock serves me correctly. But he works quickly. And thoroughly. Apparently Playhouse Disney did NOT hold his interest as usual.

    It's actually the smell that wakes me, and nothing else. He's like a cat-burglar, this one - not a sound while he does his evil deeds. I wake to see him standing next to me, on Daddy's side of the bed, holding his instrument of choice for destruction on this fine morning. He smiles at me as he works, until he sees my expression change from curiosity at what I'm smelling, to HORROR as I realize just what I'm smelling...


    How he got it out of the cabinet in my office yesterday, I will never know. Why we didn't put it up HIGHER after he got it out yesterday but narrowly avoided catastrophe, I will also never know. (And why the fuck do I still have this shit? Who uses White-Out anymore? Certainly not me, as far as I can remember...wait, I used to use it in my check register...then I pulled the stick out and just started crossing out like everyone else on the planet...)

    So. Exactly what DO I see as I open my eyes and look upon my beautiful blue-eyed baby boy?

    Both hands: white.
    Both legs: white.

    Left cheek veering towards mouth: white.

    Pajamas: white.

    Daddy's alarm clock, night stand and night stand cover: white

    Damn - how much is IN one of those tiny bottles?

    And do you know what does a really, good, thorough job of taking White-Out off of skin, clothes and small electronics?

    NOTHING. NO-FUCKING-THING. That shit is like house paint.

    The Bug and Tar Remover did the best job, but we can't use that on the kid. (Trust me, I thought about it.) He'll be soaking in a long soapy tub after breakfast, after already having sat through my scrubbing session on his face with a warm wash cloth. We may try baby oil first.

    God, do I HAVE baby oil? That's as obsolete around here as White-Out!

    See, it's mostly off his face now. Ugh.

    Oh, and as an added bonus, when we walked out of the bedroom and into the office, we saw that he had done a number on Daddy's computer tower, too.

    As we cleaned the mess, Samantha very calmly walked in my office, sat down and said "Mommy, please don't sell my brother because he did this." We assured her that White-Out covered little brothers don't go for much these days, and we'd be hanging on to him.

    Greg said I shouldn't feel bad. But I do feel bad - it's my fault for assuming he'd stay put like he generally does when Playhouse Disney is on. It's my fault for dozing off when I should have stayed awake, no matter how tired I was. It's my f---


    Come to think of it, it's really Greg's fault. Jackson BEGGED him not to go into work this morning. Begged him - pouty lip and tears and all. Did he listen? No. Did he leave tired, sleepy, Mommy to wrangle the child early in the morning? Yes. Yes, he did. Clearly this was Jackson's retaliation for Greg's refusal to grant the boy's early morning request for his company! I think I'm in the clear here!

    Geez, Greg, way to go, hon. Nice one.

    "....I swear, Officer, my husband just fell under the bus, I promise I didn't throw him..."


    OK, fine. Back to reality - MY fault. My bad. Totally. But, that's what I get. The White-Out is in the trash, the mess is mostly cleaned up, and the new rule is no more lounging around in bed in the morning with Jackson. Period.

    Monday, November 10, 2008

    Things I've Lost Along The Way

    I'll just put it out there.

    I miss being hot.

    I used to be hot. OK, not Playboy-centerfold-hot, not stop-all-the-traffic-for-5-blocks-hot...but I could stop a fair number of cars in that traffic back in the day, on my best days as a young, not-fat, curly-headed brunette with a kickin' set of calves and a rack that was a fine piece of God's work if I say so myself. That story in my profile is true. Greg and I attended a winter formal dance together in 1992, and we stopped at a convenience store afterwards. Several members of the basketball team from our college were there, as well, and when I walked in, they all stopped dead in their tracks. Then they proceeded to go up to Greg, congratulate him on being with such a "fine woman" and shake his hand. Every one of them. Does that happen when the girl's a bow-wow? I think not.

    But that was then, and this is now. I don't want to oversimplify, but let's just say no one has stopped us in any store lately to say anything other than "Excuse am, sir? Here - your son dropped his binky."

    To put it bluntly, the hotness has left the building. And I am sad. It sucks to be pudgy, saggy and scarred by childbirth, with wrinkles creeping in and hair falling out, with no end in sight that looks like anything that resembles the hotness that once was a possibility for me with an average amount of effort on my part.

    Wait. I should clarify something. This is not a reflection of how I feel about me, on whether I love Cathy or not. I do. I like who I am, and I accept the spirit inside me that I project to the world. Cathy is just peachy keen happy with Cathy as a person. The body housing Cathy is not-so-much peachy keen any more.

    What do you mean, Cathy? you ask. How bad could it be?

    Well, let me break it down for you. Grab a snack if you like. Wait, maybe not.

    1)Childbirth gave me stretch marks. Yes, they are a scar to remind me of what I got as a result of childbirth, and yes, I know what they represent. I am eternally grateful for my children, and would endure stretch marks all over my entire body to have my children. But they are still ugly and gross, and short of surgery there is no getting rid of them. (The stretch marks, not the kids.) I can lose all the weight in the world, and frankly that will just make them look worse. It's like trying to fix the run in your panty hose -not gonna happen.

    2)The rack is now sad. Sad, sad boobies. They have NO lift of their own. The girls used to sit high and tight. Why I didn't show them off more, I have no idea. They were some fine breasts. Seriously. But breastfeeding for more than two years has done irreparable damage. Even the cleavage is not right anymore, and they cannot be coaxed by even the most determined bra to look perky or youthful anymore. Poor sad, sad boobies. And it's another thing that more weight loss will NOT help.

    3)I am losing my hair. Quickly. And somehow, the better my diet is, the more hair I lose. It's slowed down substantially since I quit eating like I should. Figure THAT shit out for me. So on top of having fine, thin, basically MAN HAIR, it's now fine, thin, man hair that's thinning, too. Don't make me show you the close-ups of my scalp. Just take my word for it. The shit is f-a-l-l-i-n-g-o-u-t. Oh, wait - except for the hair everywhere ELSE on my body. That hair is going strong, thankyouverymuch, with no sign of falling out. Those hairs must be forced out, excommunicated with instruments and waxes and blades, only to grow back heartier and stronger. Maybe I should wax my head about four times.

    4)My weight. It's uh, NOT where it should be. You know the rest. We've discussed it.

    5)My skin. This is all my fault. I am HORRIBLE about washing my face at night. It gets scrubbed every time I shower, with a lovely apricot scrub, but the day's dirt and makeup stays there until that happens, because I can count on one hand the times I have washed my face at bedtime in the last ten years. Hell, two hands would probably take care of my adult life. Just not in my routine, and for whatever reason I have never gotten in the habit. And now my face pays the price. Big pores, bigger than they ever were, that will not shrink. Little dry patches and age spots are creeping up, and little remnants of the melasma I got during my second pregnancy have stayed around as well. During the new hotness phase*, I got complements on my skin on a regular basis.

    And my eyes.

    And my smile, my ass, my hair and my lips. But that's another story.

    There's more. Lots more. I could go on. But I think you get the picture.

    Anyway, so I'm whining about it. Yes, fine, I'm whining. I know. And I know that I have legs that work and arms that work, and I can talk and read and write, and I mostly have my faculties about me. I have a house to live in, and a husband who loves me just as I am. Deb and I were talking today about embracing an attitude of gratitude, about appreciating what I have and focusing on that...and that is all coming. It will be part of what I attempt to take with me into 2009.

    But it's not 2009 yet, is it? No. So back up off me for now, would'ja?

    The subject for today is how Cathy used to be hot and now she's just nearly middle-aged, kind of frumpy and slightly dumpy. HUGE efforts and great expense would be needed to find a way to return to any level of the hotness that once existed in my world. The expense I cannot handle, and the effort I am working on. Meanwhile, having little other option, there is a part of me that is working very hard to embrace this middle-aged woman I am becoming, to accept her more readily than I was able to accept the much-hotter version of my younger self. Because THAT's the really sad part - that I never truly enjoyed and embraced how beautiful I was, always comparing myself to others and finding flaws where there were none. So I think it's an important part of moving toward the second half of my life, and it's a valuable thing to teach my daughter - to love her body in whatever phase of life she's in. I hope to wake up one day and find acceptance in my heart for what my body has become.

    But let's don't kid ourselves. Self-aware and confident or not - being hot was WAY more fun.

    *By the way, if back then was the "new hotness phase", this is the "old and busted phase". Think Men in Black II. Old and hotness.


    Friday, November 7, 2008

    No More Groping the Cops In Nebraska, No Sir

    This morning on the Cox home page...nice typo folks...think they meant "Fleeing"? Me, too.

    Feeling Officers Now A Felony In Nebraska

    11-07-2008 3:47 AM
    (Omaha, NE) -- A new law has made running from the cops more than a misdemeanor with the possibility of jail-time, now people could go to prison for leading police on a reckless chase. A measure was passed by Nebraska state senators making it a felony under certain circumstances to flee from officers. KETV reports Marty Conboy says the old law used to send violators to jail for up to a year depending on the circumstance. Now there's the chance of a minimum of one year in a state penitentiary. Conboy says the law applies to violators who injure people, who drive recklessly and injure people or if they aren't first-time violators. James Wallace could be the first person to stand trial under the new law. According to police, he fled when they attempted to pull him over at 30th and Sprague but he crashed a couple blocks later. Five to ten officers are injured in police chases each year.

    Wednesday, November 5, 2008


    That's what killed her. Sepsis.

    Full report to follow, but the death certificate is finally typed up, and that's what it says.

    Aimee Lynn (McKinley) Bunger, cause of death: sepsis.

    I didn't expect to feel better when we found out.

    I was right. I don't.

    It's as though the wound has been ripped open once again, and I am grieving her loss, second-guessing my own actions, and the actions of the hospital, all over again.

    The Week After SUCKS

    I don't get it. While I admit that I generally feel a little weepy and slightly "off" the week before Aunt Flo rears her ugly head, it pales in comparison to how I feel the week after. The "P" in "PMS" does not mean pre- to means post-. Seriously. On top of the headaches I get to have EVERY day for a week after she's gone, the roller-coaster of emotions and the sad, sinking feeling is a little much these days.

    This morning I have already bawled three times, and my grumpiness apparently rubbed off on Jackson who was such a bear by nap time that we didn't even rock-a-bye, I just laid him down, tucked him in and he went to sleep. I wish I could do the same.

    Fuck. I HATE days like this. Relatively normal, but generally passing, emotions seem to "stick in the chute" and create a sick, sad bottleneck of garbage in my heart. I just want to sleep, but that's just not possible right now, so I sit. And feel like shit. And think about smoking. And eat more candy that makes my ass bigger.

    I am disheartened by the election (spare me if you disagree), I am afraid for our children's future and for country (and would have been no matter who would have won); I am sad that our nice weather is on its way out (snow by the weekend, they say) and we can't afford the new tires we need, so soon I'll be driving with my kids, on ice, with shitty tires; I am sick about the blog I read this morning talking about kids not being about to make friends and being lonely and sad in school; I am anxious and angry at how long Aimee's autopsy results are taking; I am broken-hearted that she is still dead; I am pissed that my elbow is not healing and I still can't fucking straighten it despite having followed doctor's orders; and I am missing my husband, who it seems I never get to just be with anymore.

    I am irritated about choices people are making in their lives, I am sickened by how some mothers treat their children, I am worried that if I don't get back on the beach soon I'll be one of those "cut-the-wall-out-of-my-living room-so-I-can-go-to-the-doctor" people. Not that I have ANY motivation to get back on the beach today. Hardee har.

    Fucking hormones bullshit. Ugh. This is all me just having verbal diarrhea via blog, dear worries. All is well overall and I truly have nothing real to bitch about. We have a (humble) home of our own, food in our (big) bellies, friends and family who love us, and (for now) a free country to live in - we are lucky, and next week when my hormones level out, I'll be able to operate under that knowledge again. For three more weeks, anyway.

    How soon does menopause start? I think the absence of hormones will be a welcomed change for me. Vaginal dryness, hot flashes, whatever - bring it on. Just get me off this roller-coaster!

    Tuesday, November 4, 2008

    Who I Voted For Is My Business

    And I went out and took care of business this morning.

    Who you vote for is YOUR business. So make sure you mind your business today. It feels good, and Starbucks will give you free coffee if you do.

    I had mine, with a little cream, sugar, and cinnamon; and the sweet taste of satisfaction that comes from doing the right thing, along with a sprinkle of pride at how perfectly my kids behaved while we went and participated in such an historic day in our nation's history. They really were perfect, I was practically giddy when we left. Even Samantha the Wondermouth managed to stand there the ENTIRE time without speaking to voters or poll workers. It was more surprising than the mere 1 minute wait!

    We all got "I Voted Today" stickers, and Samantha is wearing her pink and silver "FUTURE PRESIDENT" t-shirt today. Very fitting - if any girl can grow up to be president, it'll be her. Jackson would gladly run as her VP, I'm sure. Anywhere she goes, he wants to follow.

    OK, enough Election Day rambling, it's time to get Samantha to school. So, I'm giving one more reminder, despite my certainty that you've heard it enough and may have already done the good deed: GO and VOTE! The longer you wait, the longer the line will be, I'm guessing.

    Oh, and one more favor to ask - leave a comment after you vote! Samantha was wondering who else was voting today, so let me know and I'll pass it along to your future leader! Happy Election Day!

    Monday, November 3, 2008

    Monday Memorandum

    Oh, reader, it's Monday. Just your average Monday. Thought I'd pop in and give you the poop. Maybe the Monday Memorandum will become a usual feature. Maybe not. Time will tell.

    TGPMo2008 is on hold, needing to be completed. Unfortunately I committed my #1 cardinal housewife sin on Friday, and left for the weekend with a messy house, complete with dirty kitchen. That is the BEST way to make sure my Monday sucks ass. Kitchen STILL a COMPLETE mess, rest of the house not far behind, suitcase from our weekend travels yet's a SAHM's nightmare in here today. Couple that with the constant, irritating, overwhelming begging for Halloween candy, and I'm on the verge of insanity at 4:15.

    Everyone's hours are still screwed up from the END of DST, or Daylight Savings Time (it is the end, folks, not the beginning - I keep hearing people say they don't like it now that we are "in DST", but in fact we are now OUT of DST...check your calendar, I'll bet it says "Daylist Savings Time ENDS"). So while the kids were plenty bitchy and grumpy last night by 6:30, it was not bed time yet, and putting them down then would have resulted in kids who thought it was time to get up at 6 AM the next morning, and Mommy don't play that. I acknowledge ONE 6:00 per day, and THAT ain't it, folks. (Gosh, that was a lot of intentional improper grammar, wasn't it?)

    So, house is trashed, no supper made, and I am as motivated as a rock to get anything done. But I'd better start figuring something out soon before Greg gets home; the man is starving when he comes in, understandably, and I have nothing to offer at this second.

    Tomorrow is Election Day. The anticipation is almost palpable in the air everywhere you go. No matter what happens, tomorrow is an historic day for all Americans. May we all be guided with widsom, good intentions and most-importantly, intelligence as we go to the polls tomorrow. It will be a helluva thing to watch as it unfolds.

    It's November, folks, and we'll be talking about gratitude and thankfulness here at FMFO this month. We're all due for a shift in attitude, I'm pretty sure, so I'll be doing my best to focus on the good. Maggie gets the credit for motivating this (see previous post).

    That's the scoop around here. Hope your Monday is prosperous and wonderful and all you want it to be. Check back soon, m'kay?