Hubs, “Kia! That’s awful! We live in a $5blahblahblahbunchazerosblah house, we…….”

Kia, “Oh, shut (the feck) up. “

 

We Good Enoughs sure know how to start off a vacay with a bang. Ok, more of a cough until you puke, but you get the picture, right? Big poof then vacay. Without fail.

Last night, several times, actually, Little Man woke up yelling and crying and ska-reaaaammmiiinnggg that his legs, arms, back and head hurt. “Mommy, I think I’m dying and you’ll have to go to the F(alls) of the N(iagara) without me,” kind of hurt, apparently.

Yeah. Little booger is sick. What the feck else is new for HeyZeus’ sake. I mean, really? For fecking reals? Yeah, for fecking reals.

So I thanked God. Yes, it was in a sarcastic, I don’t really mean “THANK YOU”, kind of way, but I did. Thanks God. Mmmm..so much. No, really. A whole bunch (of big, hairy donkey balls).

After a night filled with everything except sleep, we eventually got our asses into the VeeDub around noon and headed for the F of the N. We got here quickly (sincere thanks on that one), were treated like fecking royalty (I was  after all, born to be a spoiled little bitch  princess), came into our suite, and Hubs and I unpacked our shit while Little Man had a swim in the Jacuzzi tub.

So. We’re here. We’re unpacked. Ready to attack the tackiest tourista trap in (quite possibly) the World.

And Little Man is sick as a dog.

What the feck else is new?

…Whatever the feck that means, but we’ll get to that in a bit.

So.

My lovelies.

I’m so glad to be “back.” I’ve missed you all so much.

I’ve missed her because she posts about things such as her hairy nips (really?!) and her loose, flappy vag.

I’ve missed her because sometimes I think she’s the only one who gets  it when I say I need to run away from home or at least sell my kid to the highest bidder. We’re actually trying to draw up plans for a “Buy One (kid) Get Two (kids) Free” package on FeeBay. Oh, and also because she’s going to come to T.O. one day and we’ll party like it’s 1999.

I’ve totally missed the hellz out of her. She blogs and curses with an accent. Need I say more? Oh, and she gets what it’s like to live with someone(s) who has OCD because she lives with herself  every fecking day.

I’ve missed her because she loves herself some Coach and would never judge me for the money I throw away spend on arm candy. Also, she’s just really sweet and wonderful.

******************

I was putting Little Man to bed tonight. We did our usual routine where we read, we sing, he hops into bed and then I tell him how much I love him.

It usually goes something like this:

Kia, to Little Man,  ”I love  you very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very  much. I love you to infinity.”

Little Man, “Oh yeah, Mommy? Well…I love you very (x1000), very  much. I love you more than you  love me.”

Kia, “That’s impossible, doooooood. I love you to infinity. There’s nothing bigger than infinity.”

Little Man, “Yes there is. I love you to a disASTER!!!”

Ahem.

(WHAT THE FECK??!!!)

Kia, “Um, sweets, what do you mean you love me to a disaster?”

Little Man, “I love  you to a disASTER. Like, duh, Mommy (insert Valley Girl drawl).”

Kia, “But babe, um, that doesn’t make sense.”

Little Man, “It does make sense. You just don’t get it.”

Kia, “That’s true. I don’t.”

Little Man, ” Mommy, just say goodnight. It’s too complicated for you to understand.”

Fecking right.

Does anyone know what my kid means?

****************

Anyhoozly-doozles, we’re heading out of town tomorrow for a few days. Five, to be exact. We’re going here. It’s kind of weird because we live so close to Niagara Falls (it’s only a 2-hour drive) and yet Little Man has never seen the Falls. So we’re off to see ‘em.

Neither Hubs nor I are that interested in the touristy-trap that is known as The Falls in these parts, but we just felt like we wanted to get away for a few days and feel like we were on vacay again. Little Man is a nightmare in the car for more than about 30 minutes, so we knew we couldn’t go too far. Tomorrow’s drive shall be innnnerestin’, though we do plan to stop for lunch halfway through our travels. We figure that by taking LM to The Falls now, we’re good for at least another 20 years until we take him again. Thank Hey Zeus.

I’ll be taking my schlap-top with me to the big F(alls) of the N(iagara) and therefore am hoping to do some bloggity blogging and such.

So tell me: have YOU seen The Falls? When? Who with?

Gads, peeps. I’m sorry it’s been so fecking long since I updated you on my annoying little life. I’ve missed you. Oh my fecking gee have I missed you.

So it turns out that it’s still easier to gain weight than to lose it. Who fecking knew and forgot to tell me? Since I went on vacay in May, I’ve managed to put back on most of the weight I lost pre-vacay. And dooooods? That’s only the beginning.

I’ve also managed to have several mental meltdowns, mostly thanks (as always), to my spawn, aka Little Man. Holy feckers and mothers of gees. I really wish that LM’s psych(ologist) could see the OC(fecking)D insanity while it’s taking place, instead of just hearing it from me, after the fact. The rituals and the hoarding (of garbage, mostly – though not exclusively) are through the roof. The inflexibility is making me consider suicide multiple times daily. The fact that we’re hot-damn-in-the-middle of summer break from school is going to fecking kill me sideways.

God, I’m negative.

Did I mention that my kid is killing me? Oh, ahem. Right. I did.

He’s killing me.

On a happier note, we’ve registered him at a karate club and he’s loving it as only an OCD’er can love something. In other words, he wants to go every day of the week and wants to do it perfectly, right from the beginning. Thankfully, he seems to have some talent that coincides nicely with learning a martial art. Now if only it was a karate fecking camp and I could drop him off at 8am and pick him up at 4pm. If only. But. Digression…it happens to the best of us. Oh, and me too.

Karate. Fecking loving it. Thank gee.

See? That’s positive. I can do positive…occasionally.

So, back to me. Really, it’s all about me anyway, isn’t it? Huh? No? Wha…da…feck???? It isn’t? Shut up. It is so too.

It is.

I’m feckered up the arse with my drugs again. It’s weird, ’cause for a lot of people, depression/anxiety is worse in the winter. Me? Not so much. Summer always seems to bring on a strong gust of the big D(epression) and knocks me out of my big fat socks. This year is no exception.

I started having headaches around mid-June. Not just (finger quotes) “headaches” (end finger quotes). HEADACHES. Every day. All day. Advil didn’t help much. Tylenol didn’t help much. Nothing helped.  So I went to my doc and demandedrequested something to get rid of the headaches. He told me my blood pressure was high and asked if I was stressed. I said no, then proceeded to tell him all the shit that’s going on. He frantically scribbled a script for some Ativan and told me to come back in two weeks. Right fecking on. Thank you, doc.

So the Ativan (as always) helped a little, and gave me that permanent state of doo-doo-doo-doo-wha-da-feck consciousness. But there was a problem. Let’s call it My Life. You see, My Life didn’t go the feck away. It just got a little blurry thanks to the doo-doo-wha-da-feck feeling.

I went back to the doc. He suggested switching anti-depressants. I agreed that we should try it. So I went off the Sinequan and onto some Paxil. Stayed on the Paxil for a couple of weeks, didn’t sleep more than a few hours per night during those couple of weeks, took myself back off the Paxil and put myself back on the Sinequan. Sinequan is the ONLY drug I’ve taken that helps with my insomnia.

So now I’m sleeping but I’ve got headaches again. Love a fecking duck. I hate being so fecked up.

Know what else I hate? I really hate it when my kid figures out that I need time away from him, mostly based on the fact that I keep yelling, “I just need a gee dee break! I just want a break! Give me a gee dee break, for the love of Hey Zeus, give me a BREAK!! Oh, right! I forgot! I don’t GET breaks! Breaks are for daddy!”

To which Little Man replied, “Mommy, why do you need a break from me? Don’t you like spending time with me?”

God, I’m the world’s shittiest mother. No, really. Can you beat that? Try. Please, try. Leave your World’s Worst Mother  moment (a recent one, please) in the comments. Consider it charity, but I won’t be writing any receipts.

Love and cuddles and all that shit,

Kia

Gads. Who the FECK thought up the fecktacular concept of summer holidays? Oh, right. The teachers. It’s a good thing I love my teacher friends or else I might be in my basement cooking up poison and bombs and shit.

I think school should be mandatory 12 months per year. Also, I think there should be the option of enrolling one’s child in 24-hour school. If WalFart can do it, why can’t schools?

It’s week 3 of summer “vay-cay.”

I want to die.

Between babysitting my senile father and tying my hands behind my back so that I don’t harm my selfish, bratty, insanely NEU-FECKING-ROTIC  kid (Why the FECK can’t the grocery stores make GD sure that there are enough of those GD barrier thingies at each checkout?!!!!), I’m spent. Oh, and I’m bitchy. As hell.

Headaches? Still here. Sharp pain, almost permanently, in the left side of my head. Kind of interesting. Interesting in that it makes me want to saw off an arm to distract me from the head pain. Ok, not quite that interesting.

Must go watch Canada’s Next Top Anorexic  Model. I keep hoping they’ll inspire me to eat less due to stress. Instead, I eat more because I feel like someone should consume all the food in the world that’s NOT being eaten by the models.

Oh, right. The diet. I’ve made much progress, actually. Have managed to gain back about half of what I had lost before going to Eff Ell Eh in May. Making short order of it, poste haste or something like that. If you’d like me to forward you a copy of my Just Released diet book, let me know.

Toodles!

Kia

I was wrestling with Little Man this afternoon (mother of the year!) and he pretended to eat me. He proceeded to cover me with several blankets until I was in complete darkness. Then he stepped back from his work, sighed with his hands on his hips and declared:

“There! Now  you’re in my belly, mommy. Is it dark in there? I bet it’s dark in there. Don’t be scared. It’s just my belly. My belly will keep the parts of you that taste good and   rest of  you will go through my intestines and bowels and stuff then you’ll be my poo.”

To which I calmly replied  whined, while scrunching up my nose, of course: “Doooooood! I don’t want to be poo. I’ll stink! Ew! Poo stinks!”

He rolled his eyes. “Mommy, you already stink anyway.”  Sigh.

To think I do this without getting paid. It’s ludicrous.

 

Headache Update: Still getting them every day, even with the tranquilizers. Fun. I am personally keeping both Tylenol and Advil in business, given my daily pain-killer cocktails. I’m considering a head-ectomy. Or is it a head-otomy?

Wheeeeeeeeee!!! I’m back, bitches!

Well, not entirely and not exactly the way I’d like, but bitches beggars like me can’t be choosers, can we?

So I’ve highjacked my bro’s extra laptop which just happens to be the same make/model of my own beloved feckered up the arse laptop. Apparently I whined about my lack of puterism just enough that my bro practically threw his extra at me in an attempt to shut me the feck up. It worked! Wheeeeeee!! Ten  years ago, I would have put on a huge production, acted all offended and such, but now? Shame? What’s shame? Feck the shame, ’cause I’ve got a puter that works, babes and babelettes!

Let’s pretend it’s Tuesday and we’ll just go with the random theme, shall we?

Little Man has met with the therapy dog (Buddy) twice now. He has gone from squeezing himself into the smallest, furthest corner of the room when Buddy enters, to eventually putting his hands on Buddy’s tail and back. We still have to check for dogs within a 2-km radius here at home when we leave the house, but the idea is that eventually his ease with Buddy will translate to less stress around unknown dogs.

Have I told you how much I’m loving all over our psych for Little Man?? ALLLLLL OVERRRRRR, dooooods. It’s a good thing I don’t swing in that direction (though my hair stylist does – have I told you that before? I must tell you about her – she’s a hoot! Wooo hoooo -tangent anyone?), ’cause if I did, our psych would be my, well, um, first, shall we say? Not that she’s particularly hot or anything, but she’s totally helping my kid and I HAVE to love all over anyone who can help my kid.

All of this said, I “fecked” and “Geedammit-ed” several times in the car today because I am in a constant state of walking on eggshells. This kid can rage with the best, babes. RAGE. Fecking rages. We’ve had a bunch of those lately. Basically, not enough sleep equals way too many upsets and bullshits. Aye.

That said, I went to my doc this afternoon in the hope of finding some relief from the headaches I’ve been having every day for three weeks. In my best Arnold Swartzagoverner voice, “it’s not a tum-ah.” Well, not yet, anyway. I’ve got some tranquilizers (up to 6 per day, baby – wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!) and if I’m not better in two weeks, they’re going to do a head-o-botomy. Ok, not really, but it sounds like I could be in for some innnnneresting tests. I went through this back when I was a young teen. Headaches that wouldn’t go away and wouldn’t be relieved by Tylenol or Advil. Just another way I’m fecked up, basically. Whatev’s. It’s all good.

Little Man is registered to attend our local private Christian school in the fall. I say this with a tinge of relief and a heavy dose of anxiety. I’ve been stressing my ass off (ack, I wish! more like stressing my ass astronomically large) about the decision and what full-day SK will mean for LM, but our psych (hi there!) has a great plan and I’m going to try to roll with it. Ok, you’re right. Kia doesn’t roll with ANYTHING. Let’s pretend I do though, ok? It makes me sound like I’ve got my shit together.

So yeah. We’ve been interviewed by the principal, a board member and presented to the entire board and they’ve decided that we’re just the kind of feckered up individuals they’d like to take thousands of dollars per year from, all in the name of education under God’s eternal light. Or some shit like that. Oh? What’s that you say? I sound cynical and not at all spiritually sound enough to send my kid to a Christian school? I know! It’s crazy. I even came out and told them that I have no idea where I stand (though I’m leaning toward Bitter Sister of Christ) spiritually right now and they still want our money  me. I’m guessing they’ve found out about my fantastical craftiness and my aura. I’m pretty sure that’s it. Yeah, it’s the aura. Even though I talk thru my ass 90% of the time, I’ve got a rocking aura. People like me. Poor feckers. They have no idea. (Or, if I’m being more realistic, they probably think they can A) save my ass  or B) extort  lovingly extract more money from my in-laws, who are founding members and already throw lots of money at the school. )

I’d love to update you with every little detail of my life. You know, the mess in my family room, the yeast infection, the books I’ve been reading, the sex I’ve been avoiding, etc. But I can’t! I’ve promised myself that I’ll try to visit some of your blogs tonight and actually return some lovin’ for a change.

I’ll leave you with this: Little Man’s latest project is to load up the shelves in his room (which happens to be decorated in an insect motif, because he actually LOVED the fecking bugs 2 years ago) with animals (fake) and reptiles (also fake) who EAT insects in the hope of somehow driving the (fake) bugs from his bedroom. Is it wrong that I find this whole exercise entertaining and HIGHlarious?

I promise (thought my fingies might be crossed behind my back (yes, I can type with my tongue, in case you’re wondering)) to get my act back together and post regularly again. I’ve missed you all, my lovelies.

 

Kia

Spacebar

still

feckeredupitsarse.

Mettherapydogyesterday.

He’scalledBuddy.

Rubyhasapparentlytakenasabbaticalorsomeshit.

Buddyrocks.He’saspectacularlylazy,laid-backlittlefecker.Loveshim.

LittleMan-ism:

LittleManmadeHubsaFather’sDaygiftatschool.

On

it,

hewrote,”Mydadishandsome.He’s93yearsold.”

Onthewayhome,LMmused,”Mommy?Isn’tMrs.A(histeacher)superold?”

“Howoldissheexactly,Mommy?”

Me,”Ithinkshe’s77,honey.”

LittleMan,”Oh.Ibloodygotdaddy’sagewrongthen,didn’tI?”

Me,”Yes.Youbloodygotitwrong.”

Ahem.

Myapologies,dearlovelies.

Myputerstilldeadandhubs’shitboxhaslostitsspacebar.

ISOmissyouallandhopetoreturnsoon.

Lotsofbusy-nessaroundhere.

Registeringforschoolinfall,interviews,householdstuff,etc.

Threemoreschooldaysleftandlonglongsummerahead.

Pleaseprayformyputer.

Boyhasbeendemon-likeforanentireweeknow.

He’snotgettingenoughsleepandispushingallofmybuttons.

Ihavethreatenedtoslitmythroatdaily.

I’mhopinghedoesn’tcallmybluff.

Let’s just pretend that I haven’t fallen off the face of the blogiverse, shall we? Mmmm thanks.

Little Man has entered the world of kid-dom. Like, over night. While I tried to kiss him like crazy tonight on his delicious little cheeks and on the back of his scrumptious neck, he defiantly proclaimed, “EW! Mommy, STOP IT! Just stop it! That’s gross.”

To which I replied, “Enough of that. I’m your mommy and I’ll kiss your beautiful little self as much as I want. So there.”

His new outlook reared itself as such, “…and STOP calling me ‘beautiful.’ I’m not ‘beautiful’ (he spat out the word like it was poison). I’m a MAN.”

Gads. WTF?

The last I’ve heard from my bro in law is that my computer seems to have been corrupted. Do you think perhaps it’s all the “fecks” and “shits?” How is it that I’m powerful enough to (insert finger quotes) “corrupt” my computer and yet, no matter how hard I try, I can not, for the LIFE of me, corrupt my child?

Gads, if I didn’t succeed last weekend (visualize: lots of rages and melt-downs (Little Man) + lots of sobbing and swearing (Kia) = tumultuous environment at chez Good Enough) in corrupting the boy man, I don’t know how I ever will.

Lastly, as I still hate the hell out of this Kia-forsaken piece of shit that I’m typing on and thus want to keep it short, I’ll leave you with a reminder that Hubs, myself and Little Man, will be meeting with a therapy dog on Thursday morning. Should be interesting. I’ll try to update after the fact, but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for said update if I were you.

Love and cuddles and shit,

Kia

It’s bad enough that I had to use Hubs’ shitty laptop while on vacay. It’s WORSE when I come home, excited (probably moreso than is normal and sane) to use my own ‘puter, and find out that the fecking thing is being an asshole and won’t even boot up.

I promise I’ll be back as soon as my asshole ‘puter allows it. Pinky swear.

Kia

P.S. Hubs’ laptop used to be his mother’s. It fecking smells like her, I swear. Must go disinfect fingertips. Stat.