Predictions for my upcoming week

Based on the many prior weeks I have living my life, I now feel qualified to predict with a certain degree of accuracy, my upcoming week.  It is not so much that my life is predictable, more that my life is dependable.  My first prediction is that I’ll be late publishing this post.

Monday: No one will feel like going to school, I won’t have a clue what I’m making for dinner until moments before I approach the stove, and I will vow to be in bed before 10 p.m. that night. One of the rare times I take a bathroom break throughout the day, I will fall in the toilet because the seat was left up.  Again.  Will have a mild stroke over that.  Again.  A telemarketer named “Mike” from India will call after I put my smalls to bed and try to sell me furnace and air duct cleaning.  He will refuse to answer my questions about his family life, real name or age and he will eventually hang up on me. How rude.

Tuesday: No one will feel like going to school or work today.  One or more child will spill their cereal after the milk is added, one or more won’t be able to find pants to wear and getting out the door will only happen through a sea of mis-matched mittens and lost boots.  I’ll look around at the carnage left behind and vow to be more organized tomorrow.  Breakfast, shower and rush to the library for the story hour program with Miranda.  Still no clue about dinner and will worry that I won’t come up with any ideas for same.  I will vow to be in bed before 10 p.m. and crawl into bed sometime around midnight.  “Jackie” from India will call sometime after 8 p.m. and want my opinion on local consumer issues.  I’ll tell her I have no idea of consumerism in India and to please remove our number from her list.  She’ll hang up on me. Asshole.

Wednesday: No on will feel like going to school or work today and I’ll feel like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.  I’ll scatterbrain my way around the kitchen making lunches and snacks, open the fridge twelve times to find five items, and will put the wrong sandwich into the wrong bag.  I’ll hear about it later from the one who HATES jam.  The one who likes jam won’t complain.  Around noon, I’ll figure out that my people are going to want to eat dinner again and once again, I don’t have an inspiring idea in my head.  I’ll settle on tuna casserole and call it a done deal.  I’ll vow to get to bed before 9 p.m. I’ll also vow to lose 30 pounds, exercise daily and take 30 minutes out of my day to read a real book.  I’ll make these vows while eating a cookie, sitting on my ass in front of my laptop.  The vows are broken in the making.  No one will call me from India tonight.  I think they are getting bored with me. Figures.

Thursday: No one will feel like going to school or work.  I’ll wake up feeling better than I have in days, full of positivity and motivation.  I’ll whip through lunch prep and already be planning the evening dinner. This energy will persist until I walk into the living room and am met with a mountain of clean laundry to fold.  I’ll instantly need a nap, a need which will be unrequited.  I’ll back away from Mount Laundry and close the doors tightly behind me.  I’ll decide to tackle emptying the dishwasher.  Maybe Mount Laundry will shrink down to a hill ‘o laundry by the time I’m done with the dishes.  Finish unloading the dishwasher and will peak into the living room.  Nope, still a mountain.  I’ll come back to it later.  In the evening, “Tyler” from India will call and advise me that my computer has been compromised.  I’ll tell “Tyler” to ‘suck it and fuck off’, ’cause you don’t mess with my kids, my family or my computer.  This time, I hang up on him.  Feels far less satisfying that frustrating them into hanging up on me.

Friday: We all want to play hooky and have a three-day weekend, but we don’t.  Boys to school, Mr. K.B. to work and Miss M off to her library program.  Afterwards, I’ll bribe her with healthy snacks in order to get some of the grocery shopping done.  She’ll undo the safety belt and stand up in the cart, giving me an instant coronary.  She’ll think this is hilarious.  We won’t agree on this point.  We’ll tussle over her car seat, I’ll put her out of the van and tell her to walk home.  She’ll see things my way and co-operate while having her straps done up. I vow that she’ll be in bed before 7 p.m. I use hot glue on the toilet seat and stick a ‘Girls Only’ sign on the door.  At dinner, someone will knock over their entire cup of water and use all the napkins in the house to dry it up.  We’ll have a movie night and eat popcorn and tuck the smalls in the for the night at 9 p.m. just as the phone rings and “Candy” from India calls looking to speaking to Mr. K.B. about windows and doors.  I ask her what she’s wearing and how many kids she has.  I ask her for her phone number and if she’ll email us a picture of herself wearing nothing but assless chaps and a baseball cap.  She threatens to take me off their call list.  I think I hear her wretch.  I’m still not the asshole though, I say please and thank you throughout the call and am only mildly disappointed when she calls me ‘sick’ and hangs up.  Winning.

winter-low-standards-cold-fseasonal-ecards-someecards

So, this is pretty much a snapshot of how my week will go.  I am going to guess that it is accurate to within 75%.  I may fall in the toilet more than once.

 

I need a challenge called “post everyday for a week and then disappear for a week and then post again” I think I would OWN that one.

Two weeks ago marked the beginning of NaBloPoMo, and I decided on a whim to jump on board.  Then, I posted like a demented fiend for a week and hit the wall.  The wall of LIFE HAPPENS.  I received an email that my blog hosting plan was expiring and they wanted A LOT more money to renew for another term.  So I left them.  Just like that.  I was GONE.  I packed up my virtual shit and left for sweeter pastures.  So, now we’re happily wrapped in the warm, fully functioning (and really freakin’ cheap!) arms of Bluehost for the next three years.  And I must say, so far, I am loving it.

And I didn’t cry during the migration from GoDaddy.  Not one single tear did I shed.  Oh sure, there was some confusion over databases and backups and there was a loooooong ‘live chat’ session with two separate CSR’s at Bluehost over the period of a few hours (all one session though), but we got it done.  And everyone was nice and civil  and polite, even with the occasional emoticon tossed in for good measure 🙂 :).  AND I don’t think there was more than ten minutes of down time during the entire migration, which is a WAY shorter time than the DAYS of downtime the blog experienced when I moved us from WordPress to GoDaddy.

When I reviewed the options for technical support, and saw that they offered ‘live chat’, I worried, in my over-reactive way that there could be some type of nudity or virtual sex play offered or expected, but alas, my virtue is intact, my marriage vows as strong as the day I made them and my faith in this here interweb somewhat restored.  See?  It doesn’t have to be all sex, violence and debauchery (or douchbaggery as I’ve recently heard someone call it) online.  Sometimes a 🙂 is just a 🙂 and sometimes you actually get the answers and the help that you’re looking for without a lot of frustration and wrong turns.

Because I hate to have a post without a picture.  And because this just makes me laugh.  And because just about anything with Zach Galifianakis is worth posting. ;)

Because I hate to post without a picture. And because this just makes me laugh. And because just about anything with Zach Galifianakis is worth posting. 😉 Team Alan!

P.S.  I’ve done the apple cider and dish soap trick, only caught two fruit flies and made my kids gag in the process.  I think the rest of these things are some kind of robo-fruit flies. They are unreal.  Any suggestions, short of burning down the house to get rid of them?  I know they’re not harmful but they are irritating as hell.  

 

 

When life gets me down, and just keeps dragging me further into the vacuous depths of my mind

I wrote most of the this post about a month ago and just filed it away, hoping that it would be the last time that I felt despair to that degree, but hoping isn’t getting, so since it’s one of my reoccurring life patterns, I decided to hit publish on this today.  Maybe releasing it into the universe will bring some answers my way.

I broke down and cried in the shower this morning.  It was not a ladylike weep (go figure), but rather one of those cries that start from the core of your guts and wrack your whole body trying to escape.  I guess it is safe to say that I am feeling sad.

I breathe better here and hide less, but not hiding in a hidden place really doesn't make very much sense, does it?  No, it doesn't, not even in my wonksie mind.

I breathe better here and hide less, but not hiding in a hidden place really doesn’t make very much sense, does it? No, it doesn’t, not even in my wonksie mind.

I am feeling sad, defeated, stressed out, small (not in a good way, like lean thighs and a trim waist way), insignificant, scared, uncertain and insecure.  This is what happens when the pressure is enough to finally beat the happy out me, drive my smile underground and convince me that there is just no point anymore.

And I hate it.  My heart is saying one thing.  My head says another.  My rational thoughts are in the background telling the rest of me to quiet down, ride it out and wait for it to pass.  My emotional side is telling me that it will never pass.  The only thing that will pass is my life.  Wasted, unappreciated and unfulfilled.  No happy fluffy horseshit here today, huh?

Yes, I know that Depression is a liar.  And yes, I know that I have wonderful kids, five of them, any one of whom I would stand in front of a train to protect and save.  I hate my weakness, I miss my strength, I hate self-pity, I love being a mom, I miss liking myself.  I miss feeling like I’m valuable, worth it, important (again, not in a DIVA way, just in a human being way).

When trying to talk yourself out of it, convince yourself out of it, eat yourself out of it, wish, cry, sleep yourself out of it and nothing works, what do you do?  I always have just enough to know that quitting is not an option.  I have not yet sunk so deep that I believe that my kids, family, or the world in general would be better off with me.  And I do not think that I will sink that low.  If history is anything to go by, my tormentor and most abusive lover, Depression, never drags me past that line.  Rather I remain in limbo between the sunshine, smiles, light and love and that dark, lonely, terrifying, almost over-powering asshole, Depression.

Drugs are not the answer for me.  Therapy is not the answer for me.  Pretending just does not work and the more that I eat, the emptier I feel.  The fact that I struggle with these feelings makes me feel like a loser for not being able to think or decide my way back to my version of happy normalcy. Hiding sounds wonderful, but my over-inflated sense of responsibility prevents me from ever really hiding successfully.  It always has.

I hold it together for my kids, I talk to, laugh with, chauffeur and cook for, bathe and read with, kiss, hug , cuddle, tuck in at night, and do all of the million other things that my Mommy genes are programmed to do.  Loving them, loving my husband and my family is what keeps me getting up in every morning but honestly, how pathetically weak must one be to take neglecting the self-care (that is so loudly proclaimed to be essential) to the point of not allowing herself any outlets to recover and recharge her mental and emotional strength?  Great.  Another thing to feel like a loser about.  Yay me.

Christ.  Perhaps I should just declare this month my official pity party gala and be done with it.

You know your shit is in a mess when even you are bored by your own tedious whining.

Anyone else reading this ever feel this way? What do you do to break out of it, or do you just ride it out until the feelings ebb away, knowing full well that the darkness will return in the future and take you down again?

 

Okay so Rob Ford smokes crack. Have YOU ever been drunk enough to hit the pipe?

Now, I’m no saint.  Hell, I’m barely teetering on the right side of moral most of the time.  But there are a few ‘biggies’ that I just won’t do, never have, never would, no matter how shitfaced blotto I was.

Never a truer word uttered.

Never a truer word uttered.

1. Cheat – I can’t believe that anyone still does this.  Aside from the immorality of it, the broken trust, broken hearts and shattered families that cheating creates, just think of all of the nasty virus’ and bacterial infections and warts and shit that will be living on or in you.  If you want to be with someone else, leave your current partner/spouse/fwb and move on to the next one (only after extensive medical testing.  Because, well, ewwww).  If, after being, probed, swabbed, poked, and scraped, your intended still wants to get it on, you may have found a keeper.  But still, ewwww.

2. Murder somebody – There are days when I think that I could do this but at the end of the day, I just want everyone to BE NICE and GET ALONG.  I definitely do not want to hear Kumbaya or anything, but wouldn’t be  a pleasant change if people would stop being assholes to one another.  If even for only a day?

3. Hit a crack pipe, snort, shoot up or inject any narcotics.  This one is pretty self-explanatory, but in case it’s not clear, dope’s for dopes, hugs not drugs, crack is whack, you don’t need drugs to do incredibly stupid things (if that’s your thing) and aside from all of the narcissistic reasons to avoid drugs, from a financial point of view it’s a terrible investment.

4.  Wear white jeans – I cannot even count the number of shits that I do not give whether it is before or after Labour Day.

5. Drive under the influence of anything.  I won’t even drive if I’m riding a sugar high.  I watched the YouTube videos, have seen enough mug shots on TMZ to know that no matter what, one way or another, you’re gonna get busted.  And, well, I have my fans to think of.

But, I may be in the minority.  Clearly Toronto Mayor Rob Ford believes that being in a “drunken stupor” excuses his crack usage.  Um, it’s doesn’t.  Straight from the horses’ (ass) mouth: “Yes, I have smoked crack cocaine,” Ford told reporters Tuesday outside his office. “There have been times when I’ve been in a drunken stupor. That’s why I want to see the tape. I want everyone in the city to see this tape. I don’t even recall there being a tape or video. I want to see the state that I was in.”  Calling it “crack cocaine” does not make it better than smoking “crack.”  A rose by any other name and all that, Mayor McCrackhead.

If it is released, I may watch the video of him smoking crack, just out of morbid curiosity, like I watch Hoarders or Intervention, but I promise you this: when his sex tape hits the market, I will NOT watch it.  Even my curiosity is not that morbid.  Vivid Video, get your cheque-signing hand ready, because if you thought the Kim K tape made bank, I’ll bet that you ain’t seen nothing until you see how this dude rolls (or this dude’s rolls?). *gag*

I have no sympathy to offer Rob Ford or his brother, but anyone who has an insufferable, selfish, ignorant, racist, drunken crackhead for a dad, like his kids appear to have, my full sympathy.  His wife and the majority of voters of Toronto chose him and could choose to quit him, his kids and the rest of us got stuck with him.

 

 

How quickly I forget. No really. I actually totally forgot.

It’s only Day 2 of NaBloPoMo and I had already forgotten about it.  So comfortable in fact, that I settled into our Saturday routine without a second thought.  And then it hit me.  I said (only yesterday) that I would try to blog everyday this month and if I do not even open up the page then by definition, I’m not trying.  I maybe am thinking about trying, but not I’m actually trying.  So, here goes nothing, Day 2.

Actually.  That is a word that is thrown around my house with surprising frequency. For example:

“What are you crying for? You actually hit me first and I didn’t even actually do anything to you even after you actually punched me in my back and actually broked my spine. Thanks a lot !” (crying child actually required an ice pack while speaking child did not require a body cast or traction, or actually any type of medical intervention.  Hmmmm.)

“No Mummy, him did actually hit me in me tummy for purpose and hurted me.”

“She was actually really bugging me and I wasn’t doing anything at all to her.  She’s just crying for no reason.”

“No <insert name>, that’s actually not a cool car, it’s just a Sunfire, ha!” (no offence to Sunfire owners, I live with car snobs – they are eight years old and under though, so just about every car is better than what they drive – hee hee hee).

“I’m actually almost 10, only 14 more months.”

“Mummy, I don’t actually like this dinner. It is actually pukey and makes me sick. What’s for dessert?” (Totally didn’t throttle the speaker of this one, but man, it took restraint. Where’s my medal?  Oh right, no medal, I’m just a mom).

“Are we actually crazy for not drinking in this madhouse or just kind of crazy?!?” (Me.  Often.)

Completely off topic, this nasty little slugs or slimely whatevers were actually eating one of my trees last month.  Anyone know what they are?

Completely off topic, this nasty little slugs or slimey whatevers were ACTUALLY eating one of my trees last month. Anyone know what they are? Because I hate them.  Even though they are living creatures and everything has a right to live and blah blah blah, if they show up again next year, I need to know how to annihilate the legless vultures.

Day two.  I think I’ve owned you.  Checkmate.

So apparently November is some kind of blogging cult ritual month that I guess I’m ready to join. Now pass me that kool-aid

It’s the first day of the eleventh month today.  Last night was Halloween and besides the glaring absence of Tootsie pops, it was a good night.  My smalls ran like demons from house to house, my butterfly not even breaking a sweat to keep up with her cow, vampire and mortal combat Spiderman brothers.  That girl was made for trick or treating, I tell you.

IMG_2868But, today is a new day.  The costumes are (mostly) put away.  I can’t pry the butterfly costume off Miss M. so I’m calling it a new dress-up outfit.  She’s been asking for a ‘dancing dress’ and this fits the bill fairly well. 😉

The WordPress blog today informed me (and probably a couple other people) that today was the beginning of “NaBloPoMo — National Blog Posting Month”  and the idea is to blog each day for the entire month.  Anyone who has read The Keswick Blog more than twice (all three of you), know that I have issues with blogging consistently.  So this NaBloPoMo thingy may be just the thing for me to break my non-blogging habit, blow off the mental paralysis that prevents me from blogging with any kind of predictability.  Of course, I have an excuse.  I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, right?  My excuse is being too busy, and by too busy I mean that I let myself get bogged down with stupid shit that doesn’t matter, make me happy or add real value to my life, at the expense of doing something (blogging, sleeping, walking, playing, reading) that actually does make me happy.  I’m an idiot.  Go figure.  I didn’t see that conclusion coming at all.

I hate that.

So this month, I’ll make every effort to blog something everyday.  I’m not promising that I’ll have much to say a lot of the time, or that what I do say will be terribly interesting, deep or amusing.  It would appear that my sparkling wit takes time to formulate appropriate readable prose.