How not to wax your floor

Edited to add: My comments seem to be fucked, along with the bathroom. If you want to mock, commiserate or send virtual glasses of wine, email me at book _ ish at yahoo dot com. Anyone know what this error code means?


And how do I contact blogger to fix it? Twenty minutes perusing the site and I can’t find a way to get this sorted.

No, I didn’t slaughter the doll. This is not a snuff film gone bad. This is When Candles Attack

I’m never going to win the Harriet Homemaker award. Not gonna happen. However, I’m pretty sure there are ways in which one is supposed to wax ones floor. And I know this ain’t one of ’em.

What happened? Well, let me tell you.

TCBIM has a thing for scented stuff. I don’t know if it’s a thing for the scented stuff or a desire to make sure that things don’t smell bad. He does have a point – two babies in diapers and a cat, not to mention his hockey gear, things can get a bit stinky around here. So he likes to use scented dryer sheets and will sometimes light one of those mondo Yankee candles in the glass jar.

Last year, for Christmas, my mother gave me a candle warmer. It’s a little electric gizmo that you plug in and it warms the candle (or your coffee). I thought it was cool – your candles lasted longer and you didn’t have an open flame to get black soot all over the candle’s glass jar. Nifty.

Nifty until you decide that your bathroom should be the locale for said candle warmer. Not only the bathroom, but the back of the toilet. The toilet that is a little unsteady, due to a house that’s sinking or tilting or whatever thing it’s doing that I’m desperately trying to ignore.

Cue me and Boo, Tuesday night, bath time. She’s in the tub with her little tub dolly and a wash cloth, having a gay old time. I’m sitting on the (closed) toilet seat with my nose buried in The Lightning Thief (excellent book, by the way). Out of the corner of my eye, I see her fill a little cup with water. I watch her pour it over her dolly. I watch her wash the dolly. Then I watch her fill the cup again and start to empty it over the side of the tub. This causes me to leap from the toilet (now there’s a phrase I don’t say very often) to snatch the cup from her hand.

Said leapage caused the toilet to rock a bit. Said rockage caused the candle warmer to slide off the back of the toilet, spraying hot, red wax into the toilet, all over the floor, walls, lovely white bath mat and tub. A little bit got on Boo, mainly in her hair. She was fine – the wax, at that point, wasn’t hot enough to do anything to her.

My bathroom, however, is fucked.

This is after 20 minutes of scraping. Notice the brand new spatula. And the knife. They didn’t do shit. I have to go buy a flexible paint scraper, apparently.

I dunno, this picture has me at a loss for words. Wax puke. Caption that one, people. I need some amusement right about now.

Sleep? Sleep is for pussies

This is the fourth night in a row that the Bug will not sleep. Five minute increments, that’s all I get out of her. And she screams her fucking head off when she’s not sleeping. She has no fever, she has no cold, no poopy butt, she’s not hungry, she has no fucking reason on earth why she’s not sleeping. She won’t sleep with me, she won’t sleep alone, she just won’t sleep. I’ve had about 7 hours of sleep, total, since Wednesday night. I’m starting to lose it.

I can’t even turn my back on her without her shrieking the damned house down. It’s making me crazy. I just want her to stop it. Just stop.

The few moments that she did spend dozing tonight I spent shoving TCBIM. trying to get him to turn over and stop snoring. Between the two of them, I’m going to die from sleep deprivation.

It’s 2:20 in the morning. I haven’t had any sleep yet tonight. I’m starting to think it’s not going to happen.

Better make it two units.

Lesson learned

I was unceremoniously forced to switch to the new blogger. Fuckers.

Thanks for all the comments on my last post. O does get special services thru her school. She has an IEP and they make accommodations for her and give her extra help where and when she needs. It’s been good.

I just worry. And the other night, I was worrying more than usual. I shouldn’t stay up late like that because my brain goes into overdrive and I veer towards morose. Maudlin, sometimes, even.

I figured out why, though. I quit taking the Paxil. I know, I know, it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have done it on my own and I am paying the price. I feel like ass. I have vertigo. My eyeballs feel like they’re being squeezed. My throat is killing me and my fingers feel like their operating with thick gloves on. This is quite unpleasant.

I guess I should call the psychiatrist. I still haven’t done that. I don’t know why. I’m a wuss, I guess.

I can’t even crawl off and die today. I have to go get car insurance, go to story time, go to the registry and re-register the car, go to the bank and the market and take care of a crabby, cranky 12 year-old, a two year-old who is two in every. fucking. sense of the word and a baby who will not let me out of her site for a nanosecond. That little trait is getting really old. Oh, and she’s also not sleeping. Which is fanfuckingtastic.

I can’t wait for this New York trip. My god, I need a break.

I need worry beads

I’m going to have to switch to the new blogger. I don’t want to. I hate change. I hate trying to figure out new stuff. Fuck you, blogger. Go away, leave me alone. I don’t like you right now. Hmph.

On to other things.

It’s late. I’ve had a couple of drinks so I’m feeling talkative (aren’t you glad you don’t live with me? Don’t answer that. In my head, you all love me.) I’m listening to Nightswimming, by REM, a song guaranteed to make you introspective. I’m thinking about all kinds of crap, and you, lucky you, get to read it.

I didn’t post about it when it came, but O’s a1C went up to 8.2. She’d gone from a 9.4 down to a 7.7 and I was hopeful that she’d go lower again, but alas, no. I hate that I see that reading as a judgment of my care of her. (huh. Judgment doesn’t have an E in there. Who knew? Spell check, that’s who.) And you know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of thinking about it. In September, it will have been 10 years. Ten years of thinking about this shit. Ten years of blood sugar checks and constant, never-ending worry and I’m sick of it. And I know I’ll never be free of that worry. It’s not like she has a finite illness. That I can say “In six months” “In three years.” I don’t have that luxury. And I worry about what’s going to happen to her down the road. I know people like Nicole and Kerri have it all together and have wonderful, wonderful men who care about them, who watch over them, but what if my O doesn’t have that? How do I let her go? I don’t think I can just let her walk away, find her own apartment, be on her own. I really don’t.

O has some, to me, serious learning disabilities. She can’t seem to retain things she’s learned in school or at home. Her spelling is atrocious. And it’s not for wont of trying. She works so hard at her lessons, spends so much time on her homework. I read it and I cringe. She’s in the sixth grade and her spelling is maybe at a third grade level. And I worry. What does that mean for her in the long run? She wants to go to college and I have done nothing to discourage this, but how is she going to manage that when she can’t spell? When she has trouble comprehending what she’s reading? These are things that I haven’t discussed with anyone except TCBIM. He’s just as concerned as I am. We have seriously talked about adding a little apartment on to the house for her, once she’s old enough to be on her own. We’re both afraid for her.

Is this stupid? If you had a child that seemed to have so much trouble with book learning, what would you do? Street smarts, I’m not so concerned about. She’s older than her years sometimes, in that regard, which will probably stand her in good stead.

I hate it when this stuff creeps up on me. I try so hard not to let it, to hold it at bay, to deny, deny, deny, put my head in the sand. But every so often, I get a long, dark, tea time of the soul and it just wrecks me. It’s just that now, I get to share it with the blogosphere.


My posts are pretty scattered these days, but then, so is my brain. Stands to reason that I’m all over the place, I suppose.

Can anyone tell me why Boo insists on putting every. fucking. thing. she finds into her mouth? Play-Doh? In. Dust bunnies? In. Cat poop out of the cat box? In. It is really disgusting, not to mention potentially harmful. Cat poop? Ewwwww. How do I get her to stop? The second my back is turned, she’s eating the crayon/play-doh/dust bunny/cat poop. I can’t keep my eye on her all the time.

The Bug is crawling. Really crawling, not just scooting herself around. She’s so tiny – only 15 lbs – that it looks funny. She’s also only 6.5 months old. I’m a dead woman.

I had an interview with an agency yesterday. Hopefully they can find me something good. Hopefully I can find some in-home day care – I’m having no luck at all. I can’t find anyone with infant slots and all the centers I’ve called want $400 a week for two children. That’s steep.

O and I are going to NYC at the end of March, to meet up with some OC people. It’s only for two days, which doesn’t give us much time to do anything, but I plan on making a pilgrimage to Murray’s Cheese Shop. We’re also going to the Natural History Museum, Central Park (if the weather is good) and Times Square. I don’t want to do the Empire State Building – it takes forever and I’ve done it a few times already – or Statue of Liberty, but if anyone has any suggestions for things to do in NY, I’d appreciate them. There will probably be a bunch of us – 8 or 10 people, at least, and there will be some children along. So as much as I’d love to wander thru the Met for the day, that’s definitely not on the cards on this trip.

We’re going to eat at a place called Tony’s DiNapoli, which I’ve never heard of, but the prices look decent and it’s probably pretty family-friendly. Again, any other suggestions are welcome. Everyone is on a budget, so no Daniel this time.

But there WILL be cheese. Oh, how there will be cheese.

Hey, it’s Pancake Tuesday today. What kind of pancakes are you having? We’re doing blueberry. Mmmmm. Blueberry pancakes.


  • TCBIM finally made it home around noon yesterday.
  • He’s called the doctor for an appointment. She can’t see him until Thursday.
  • I think he may have celiac. Or a really bad ulcer.
  • He also seems to have developed some sort of disGUSting foot issue. I can smell his feet WHILE he has his shoes on. That is some powerful stank.
  • I went to my sister’s ex-girlfriend’s house last night. There were a bunch of us there. We played Trivial Pursuit and something called Jungle Speed (which was fun, but dangerous) and drank beer and ate chicken wings and then C and I soaked in the hot tub for a while. It was good.
  • I have a headache today, though.
  • And finally, go read this blog entry from Anthony Bourdain….Oh, how I love that man. Love. Him.


TCBIM just called me from SC. He claims that it’s freezing down there – it’s 50. So, y’know, shut UP, bastid. ’cause up here? Ice. Snow. Then more ice and now, freezing rain. I can’t get out of my driveway and even if I could, they haven’t plowed the road yet, so I’m stuck. Fun.

In addition to puking up blood (still), he now has a numb right leg. He says it feels like it’s asleep. Great. I made him call the doctor. I’m starting to get really concerned.

No Valentine’s Day stuff for us this year. He’s out of town and I’m too tired. I bought him a card, which I’ll give him tomorrow when he gets home. I may try to do a nice dinner for Friday night, since he’s not getting in until later tomorrow. I might even attempt to bake something. Maybe cheesecake. Chocolate swirl cheesecake. Mmmmm. But we’ll see how adventurous I feel. Right now, not at all.

Boo’s bg was 90 this morning, so it looks like that was just a blip. She thinks it’s hysterical to check her blood sugar. She was walking around earlier, saying “I tek my shuggah.” She laughs when I stick her. I’m going to keep an eye on her because I do worry about it. More than is probably healthy, in fact.

I really wish TCBIM had skipped this conference. I’m worried about him. A lot.


…for all the nice comments the other day. It did help, although I am still pretty down.

I don’t know if I need to change medications or if this is just me, just the way I’m going to have to live, cycling thru these crushing days to come out on the other side, tired and sad, but better. I’m afraid, a little bit, of the medications. They make me tired and fat(er) and they make me feel like I have no emotions at all. I don’t like that. I want to feel happiness and joy as well as sadness. I don’t want to be a zombie and some of the medications make me that way.

I skipped my last psych appointment. I didn’ t mean to, but I did, and now I’m nervous about calling the doctor. I don’t know why – he’s a nice guy and I doubt he’ll yell at me, but it’s been two weeks….

TCBIM is out of town on business until Thursday afternoon. He’s so seldom around that the babies haven’t really noticed his absence. The last time he was home for any stretch of time was over a week ago and that was in the evening, so Boo only got to see him for half an hour. Every single day last week he worked until 7 or 8 p.m.. Saturday, he worked from 8 a.m. until 9 p.m. and Sunday, from 3 p.m. tp 2 a.m.. He’s exhausted. And yesterday, before leaving for his trip, he started throwing up blood. Of course, getting him to not go on this trip was fruitless. He claims he’s fine now, but I have my doubts. I’ve managed to get him to promise that he’ll go see the doctor when he gets back, but again, I have my doubts.

He’s so wrapped up in work. I know he loves his job, but really, if I were throwing up blood, I’d call my boss and tell him I wasn’t going, that I needed to get this checked out. This isn’t the first time he’s thrown up blood either. I get so angry with him about this – his attitude is “I’d rather not know.” Mine is that I rather would know, would rather get it sorted out now than wait until it becomes something serious.

Boo is worrying me, too. Her blood sugar was 158 the other day, which is a bit high. She’s been peeing and drinking a ton, too. I’m going to check her tomorrow morning, before she’s eaten anything, to see what she is then. Hopefully it was just a once-off thing.

The Bug is so constipated. I feel so bad for her. I’ve been pouring prunes down her, laced with crushed flax seed, to no avail. She grunts and strains and poops a little rabbit pellet. I don’t know what else to do for her. I don’t want to give her a laxitive (if they even make such a thing). Maybe mineral oil in her prunes. I tell you, if I ate the amount of prunes she’s eaten, I’d have to set up camp on the toilet.

And, I cut off all my hair yesterday. I haven’t had it this short since I was in the 6th grade and got a Dorothy Hamil haircut. Want to see? I can’t take a picture of myself to save my life, but here you go.

Wow, that’s pretty bad. Anyway. Considering my hair was almost to my waist, and then to the middle of my back, this is very, very short. I kind of like it. I think. But jesus, my face looks fat.


So the diet thing? Not going so well. Want to know what I had for dinner tonight? A bowl of Doritos and a couple of Ring Dings. Lunch, you ask? Chinese food, leftover from last night. Breakfast was a couple of eggs and some bacon and toast.

I don’t know why I can’t do this. I have the best of intentions. For weeks, I ate egg white omlettes and carrots and fruit. And this last week, I’ve eaten crap. Crap, crap and more crap. And I feel horrible, so what do I do? Eat more crap.

I also bought a pack of cigarettes. *sigh* I haven’t smoked in over three years. TCBIM and I got into a big fight the other night (another post, maybe) and I decided to take a walk. I walked right down to the convenience store and got a coffee and a pack of Parliaments. I only had three, but still. They’re sitting there in the drawer and I know I’ll probably have a couple tonight, after O and the baby go to bed.

I feel like I’m not being a very good mother, either. What the hell is it with that mother-guilt stuff? I feel like every other mother out there has their shit together, or at least more together than me. I don’t take the girls out every day. I hate going out. I don’t like seeing other people (because I feel like a fat slob) and I don’t like the outdoors all that much, especially when it’s cold out. I make myself go to play group and story time every week, but that’s it. I go to the grocery store with them sometimes, but that’s hardly educational or stimulating.

I let Boo watch too much TV. She’s only 2, for god’s sake. She shouldn’t be watching so much. I should be playing with her some of that time. I do, I mean, we do play together and sing songs, but I need a break, too, some time to just sit on the couch while she putters around with Sesame Street going in the background. I always swore I wouldn’t be one of those people who always had the TV on and guess what? It’s always on. Always.

And let’s not even get started on the state of my house. It’s dirty. There are dust bunnies that could swallow a small dog. I swept the back hall for the first time in 6 weeks today. It was disgusting. Dis. Gus. Ting. My floors are gross. There is clutter everywhere.

I’ve been beating myself up about all of this for days. The voice in my head is vicious. It calls me names, names like fat and pig and disgusting. I don’t need anyone else to tell me how awful I look, what a terrible mother I am, because I can do it to myself. I just feel like such a failure all the time, over everything I do. I can’t seem to follow thru on anything, even on things that I really want, like losing weight. This sucks. Really sucks.

Why do I do this? Why do I do it to myself? I sabotage myself all the time. I second guess myself all the time. All the fucking time. I’m so sick of this. I’m so sick of beating myself up and making myself feel so bad. How do I shut off that damned voice? Because I’d like to fucking shoot it right now.

I hate this.

Reason # 8,947 why I love Keith Olbermann

Remember this post? The one where I got all irate about Bill O’Reilly suggesting that Shawn Hornbeck was having fun with the pedophile who kidnapped him? Bill had been scheduled to speak at a $500 a plate fundraiser in Naples, FL, at a chapter of The Center For Missing And Exploited Children. Finally, after much outrage in the blogosphere and on Keith Olbermann’s show, Countdown, they have uninvited him.

Go, Keith, go Keith, go Keith!

I love that man. Love. Him.

God, this is three posts in one day. I think that’s a record for me.

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