Won't you take me to...

While going through some old pictures I found this video clip featuring my eldest daughter at around 2 years old and her mad booty shaking skillz. Her hair isn't combed (It was just after a nap. I miss those days.), and her shirt is too short. Also, I have no idea why she's wearing her boots in the house. I'm chalking it up to her being two.

She's just so freaking adorable, I want to eat her up and use her little finger bones as toothpicks.

My dog, Fisher, is in it too. He's pretty adorable himself but he's kind of stinky these days so I'll leave his bones alone.

I must have watched this video a thousand times in the past two weeks. It makes me happy on days when I want to chuck my now almost four year old daughter out into the snow.



Funky Town from Chicky Baby on Vimeo.

Just write (and breathe) and write some more

Damn, this getting happy business is hard.

I meant for this blog to be a journal of me trying to shake this funk and instead it's become a lot like my other blog with its sporadic posting and me trying to convince myself and anyone who reads that my shit? It is so together, yo.

I have to just write. I need to write every day to remind myself that even though I may have spent most of the weekend walking around in a fog and sighing a lot, I do still have some good moments. I need to remind myself of my accomplishments as well as my failures, no matter how mundane. Most of all, I need to stop starring at the blink, blink, blinkity-blink of the cursor while saying Well, fuckall. Who the hell cares anyway?

I care. That's important. Nobody is going to get me out of this but me.

********

So, today....

I kept my temper (so far) with my eldest.

My baby, who never falls asleep while nursing, dozed off at my breast. It was all I could do to put her in her bed to finish her nap. That hurt. But it's a nice memory that will keep me warm when she's up again in the middle of the night.

The bathrooms are a mess and I just can't deal.

There's a book next to me that I desperately want to finish.

The sun is shining, it's above freezing and I got the girls out of the house to get supplies to make Valentines.

I did my hair today instead of being lazy and putting on a ball cap.

I just finished off a tub of cheese spread and there are Girl Scout cookies screaming at me from the counter. I won't be able to resist for much longer.

All in all, I'm not feeling as down as I did this weekend. It's not a great day but it's not a bad day either. Tomorrow is another day.

*******

Random picture that makes me happy: Three years ago this week - My oldest daughter, who was around 10 months at the time, and my dog, Fisher.


It made me smile. That's all I can ask for.

Chop therapy

Feeling blue? Down? Depressed? Like you're ready to kick a puppy or punch a loved one in the throat, or maybe stab your mailman with a butter knife because he refuses to get out of his freaking truck and insists on cramming your mail into the mailbox until it resembles something the dogs chewed on? Then might I suggest taking your handy dandy ice chopper and hacking the living sh*t out of an ice covered walkway until all blind rage and pent up frustration is expelled and you can calmly walk back into your home without fear of your children telling their grandparents, "See this hole? This is where mommy sits and bangs her head while she sucks her thumb and hums to herself"?

It's highly satisfying.


You've heard of talk therapy, right? Well, this is Chop Therapy. I recommend this to anyone who is seconds away from heading up a clock tower with an automatic weapon. Or if you just don't want to clean up another broken dish.

As much as it pains me to admit it, I can be downright violent when pushed to my limit. I throw things, punch things... Basically, I just like to hear things crack and shatter. So chopping ice that was at least an inch and a half thick in places was exactly what the doctor would have order. If I actually saw a doctor.

I'm sure I put on a damn good show for the neighbors - lots of grunting and violent stabbing with ice chopper in direction of my feet. About a fourth of the way through, a man and his dog drove up and parked at the end of the street, presumably to take a walk in the woods. If I were a paranoid person I would have sworn he sat there and watched me flailing around for awhile before heading up the trail. Come to think of it, I am slightly paranoid and now I'm pissed because he totally should have paid me for the pleasure of watching me go bat sh*t crazy. Better than the price of admission to see Slumdog Millionaire, I'm telling you.

I would have chopped more but my shoulders were killing me and pieces of skin were starting to spontaneously jump from my hands. Also, my back was screaming, "Cut it out, you stupid bitch." And when my back starts yelling obscenities, I am inclined to listen.

It left me with such a high that, if my kids nap for awhile, I just might go back out there and chop some more. Which leads me to think - what the hell am I going to do when spring comes?

Guess I'm going to need some more dishes.

I bet I'd get an appointment tomorrow if I was about to jump off a building

Part of getting happy is getting healthy, right? It makes sense - if your body feels crummy then it's going to effect the rest of you.

Case in point, all I want to do right now is sit on the couch and eat cookies. I have little energy to do much else. That's not healthy. I should be working out, eating better, taking supplements and getting the ol' bod checked to make sure there's nothing funny going on in there. So my husband and I started working out... And then we stopped due to his work/travel schedule and various plagues that fell upon this house. But we're going to resume working out again just as soon as we can breath through our noses. Very important that, breathing through ones nose. Especially when one is about to pass out after being on the elliptical for five minutes.

Did I say five? I meant 35. No, 55 minutes. Yeah.

I mentioned before that I didn't want to start taking supplements until I spoke with my doctor since the last thing I want to do is start putting things into my body that may end up getting into my baby through breastmilk. When considering this, it dawned on me that it had been a very long time since I last had a physical. Fantastic! I'll just call my doctor and schedule a physical, have all the moles and bumps checked out, have her listen to my ticker and check my cholesterol, and while I'm there I may as well mention this journey I have started on and see what she thinks. Maybe she has some words of wisdom for me.

So yesterday I called to make the appointment.

First available appointment for a physical? April 23. Three months from now.

The opposition to Universal Healthcare in this country always uses the argument of how long it takes to get an appointment to see a doctor in places like Canada, a country who seems to have a very successful Universal Healthcare system. I wonder how the opposition would react if they were on a three month waiting list to get a freaking physical?

Three months for preventative care. If I was eady to stick my head in the oven, I'm pretty sure my doctor would fit me in to her busy schedule.

House of cards

The most difficult thing about getting happy is breaking down the facade I've built to convince everyone, including myself, that I've got my shit together. It's almost like I've carefully crafted a support out of a house of cards and placed the weight of my life upon it. Unfortunately, as it goes higher and higher there is more danger of toppling over and with it everything fragile will come crashing down and shatter into a million pieces. I didn't have an emergency plan for this when I started building, but I know it's coming.

Just thinking of it is exhausting.

I've spent so much precious time on this house of cards that I'll never get back. With every I'm fine and every faked or forced smile I've added another Jack of spades or 8 of clubs to the top. I've gotten so good at it I barely need to think about where to place the next flimsy paper rectangle. I'm so high atop it the view from up here skews the reality of what's going on everywhere else. But every day brings another threat to my fragile structure; a strong wind, an errant charm bracelet. It's time to fortify or rebuild.

But which?

How do I tear away everything I've based my life on so far and start over, and if I do what do I build my solid foundation with?

How do I say, Sometimes I am fine and sometimes I am not. Today I am not. Tomorrow I may be but I'm just guessing?

I've got some pretty strong building blocks - a supportive husband, two happy, healthy kids, and friends I can call on when I need them (if I just let myself).

What do you base your happy on?

Change is good

Today I am happy. Today I am hopeful.

Today we usher in change and change is good.

Today I don't want to be cautiously optimistic. I don't want to wonder how one man will reverse years of damage. Today I just want to believe.

Congratulations to our new president. Congratulations to all of us.

Websites that make me happy - Gone to the dogs

Once upon a time, not that long ago...

(Funny, does anyone else hear Bon Jovi? Just me?)

... I managed a doggie daycare for a couple who eventually screwed me out of a job. But that's irrelevant to this story. The important thing is that once I had a job where I was to care for other people's dogs all day long while they went to work. I even left a somewhat lucrative, if totally unfulfilling job at a Fortune 500 company to work there. For 11 hours, five days a week I played with dogs, gave dogs treats, stroked their soft fur, played catch, and sometimes just sat on a rock in the sun while a pack of canines napped around me. I also cleaned up all manners of their waste but that's also irrelevent to this story.

Bottom line, the job rocked.

Okay, sometimes the work was tough. For instance, some dog owners think their dogs are little human beings and should be treated accordingly, which flies in the face of everything I and every other rational human being believes, and disagreements over care would happen. On the weather front, it doesn't matter if it's 2 degrees or 92 degrees outside, the dogs still need to go out to do their business and I've never been a fan of extremes in temperature. And it's really no fun to break up a dog fight only to realize you yourself have been bitten, in that soft spot between the thumb and the pointer fighter no less, and end up at the doctor's for a tetnus shot. Eh, had to update it anyway.

For the most part, however, I loved that job. I would work all day and well into the evening, transitioning from care giver to trainer, and fall into bed exhausted and I loved it. I would come home wreaking and covered in drool and fur and I loved it. I hope to do it again some day.

There is a peace that comes from being surrounded by other peaceful beings, animals who have no doubt where they stand in the pecking order. There is a top dog (or dogs), some in the middle, and then lastly, but no less importantly to the order of things, the ones at the bottom. And as long as everyone knows their place things run relatively smooth. I was happy in that pecking order. Maybe because I was the top dog in charge. The top bitch, if you will.

This is all a really long way of saying: I really like this guy's Flickr page. He owns a dog daycare. He takes pretty pictures. He has part of the life I want. And one day, I will. Oh yes, I will. This bitch will be on top again.

Make sure to watch the videos, you won't be disappointed. Unless you're not a pet lover. And if that's the case maybe you should just go away right now because sometimes when I'm displeased, I bite.

(found via Dooce)