Bye for the Weekend

Going to Idaho Falls for the weekend to see my bro and sis-in-law and their two little bebes.

I was going to blog more today but got caught up in other writing endeavors.

I'll miss you, love you, and hopefully have more fun than you this weekend!

Bye peeps. :)

Back in the Day Thursday

I am twelve. My body hasn’t yet accustomed to the inches it grew over the past summer, so I look all knees and elbows and awkward. I’m in junior high now, and I am so excited. But I quickly realize that the world is no longer pocket-sized, and no one here lets you have recess.

I don’t know what’s happened to me. All I know is that I’m different, inherently, somehow, and it hurts and is uncomfortable and I feel sad.

I don’t have many friends, either. My two best-friends in elementary school quickly joined the "cool crowd," (wait weren’t we the “cool crowd” in elementary school?) and I seem to have been left behind. The few friends I have left are scheduled for “early lunch,” while I, unfortunately, manage to land “late lunch” with all the 9th graders – who have no idea who I am, and absolutely, unequivocally, DO.NOT.CARE. (about me)

I’m pretty lonely.

And then I decide to try out for the basketball team. Why not, right? I grew up playing sports. Brett and I played basketball all the time outside in the yard. He always beat me, every time, but for a girl, I was pretty good. Yeah. Heck yeah!

I’m scared to try out for the team, but I decide to go for it anyway. How exciting to belong somewhere; to be a part of a team! I want so desperately to be good at something, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Tryouts last four days, and each day, more and more girls are eliminated. I’m making the cuts, and I’m so excited. “I’m good! I can do something!” And I can feel that I’m so much better than many of the other girls who try out. I’m more coordinated than the others; I can dribble without looking like an idiot and I can make a few baskets – which is definitely a few more than others – I know that for sure.

I’m trying out with my old best friend from elementary school, and I’m happy we’re re-connecting. I hope I hope I want I need need her to be my friend – anyone to be my friend. I’m happy, for those few days; sure I was going to make the team.

The night before the final cuts were posted, I am so excited and nervous and I can hardly sleep or eat. The next morning I fumble nervously with my hair and clothes, I just want to get to school to see my name on that paper, my name, along with others, that means I belong to something, and that I’m good at something.

I walk to the gym. Oh good. I’m the only one there. I want to be alone for this. I quickly scan the names…Brie, Brie, Brie…where’s my name? I don’t see it. It’s a mistake, I know it, I scanned the list too fast, let’s try again:

No, no, no that’s not me, let’s move on, no, no, no, not me…

I’m not on the list. I didn’t make the team.

And then I see it. My name!

But instead of looking like this:
BRIE BROWN

It looks like this
Brie Brown

The coach had crossed me off the list. She'd had the audacity (and the cruelty) to somehow let me see it. To see that I’d almost made it. Almost, almost, almost...

I lean my head against that team roster, and I cry. I don’t belong. I'm never good enough.
Almost. But not quite.

I wander away, make it in a daze through my classes, sit alone at lunch. My ex-best-friend-almost-best-friend-again-but-not-quite had made it. Of course. I knew she would, because she was her, and I was me. Never good enough.

I come home, lock myself in my room, close my curtains, and fall asleep. And for a long, long time, I did just that, every day.

And I still do.

But I’m trying to participate in this world, rather than sleep it away.
I belong now. And I’m not alone.
And I’m okay.

[The next year, by the way, I made the team. Starting Varsity.]

Pleasant Does Not Equal Nice

I was talking with M (the T) last night about how I feel like I don’t really have any friends at work – other than my twin bro, of course. I was telling her how I try and make an effort and reach out to people, but no fishys in the big corporate sea seem to bite. I told her that people never like me initially, and I don’t know why.
(She said that people might be intimidated by me. ...The hell?)
I mean, I’M AWESOME.

So anyway, I was telling her all this and I asked her,

“I mean, I’m nice, right? You think I’m a nice person?”
And she laughed and said, “Yes, I think you’re pleasant.”
And I said—
“PLEASANT?! I’m better than pleasant! I’m NICE.”

Right? Guys?

I have assets. (And I’m not just talking about my luscious pillows.)
I’m cool.
I’m funny.
And, dammit, I’m a JOY to be around.

…Right?

I Want to Throw Gummy Bears at Someone’s Face

I got an allergy shot today. And it wasn’t the good-shot lady; it was the I-suck-at-giving-shots lady. I always get her now; it’s totally like a giant B.J. or something. The good-shot lady puts the shot, in, like, the fat(ter) part of my arm so it doesn’t hurt. The I-suck-at-giving-shots lady always puts it like in my bone or something, and it hurts like a bleepin’ mother. Plus, the I-suck-at-giving-shots lady is supposed to screen me and give me a lung functioning test before the shot to make sure my asthma isn’t too bad for a shot, but she never does, and I could go in with horrible asthma, die from her hitting-my-bone-sucktacular shots, and my blood would be all over her hands and bubblegum pink scrubs. So my arm hurts, my asthma’s bad, I’ve got hives, my arm is bruising and itches, and it all really pisses me off.

And you know how yesterday I was saying like “Ooh, I’m sore, and it’s the good kind of sore, and I’m so happy about it, rah rah rah!”

I’m stupid.

I’m now so sore I can hardly move. Brandon won’t rub me, because, in his own words, “You’re too bony and it freaks me out.” So I’m left un-massaged, all tightened up, and very, very unhappy about it all. This morning when I got out of bed to pee, I literally waddled to the bathroom like a retarded penguin. I.HURT.SO.MUCH.

And in general, I think I’m just hormonal and pissy today. I don’t know why. I just want to like throw gummy bears at someone’s face; that always makes me feel happier, no kidding. (Just ask Mr. Big B)

Anyone wanna volunteer for target practice?

My Street Cred Couldn’t Help Me through This

How’s my lovely bunch ‘o hot stuffs doing this morning? Hope everyone’s content. If not, go grab a Diet Coke, come back, and you will be.

I had a fun weekend, mostly because I’m an amazing ripsticking goddess and I pretty much rock and am cool beans and kick A and take names. It feels SO GOOD to use my body again (that’s what she said) and it was nice to kinda sorta be getting exercise but not really feeling like I was – I wasn’t slaving away on the treadmill or anything; instead I was dropping occasional D bombs and getting all roughed up. And, just so you know, now that I’m an official ripper (the boarding kind, not the farting kind) I’ve got some hardcore street cred. So I’ve got ‘yo back.

So I’m sore and happy that I’m sore because it means my body isn’t as sedentary as I originally knew, and it means I didn’t die from an asthma attack from over-exertion this weekend. The Briester is slowly but surely making non-anorexic steps up in the world! My body is so happy (but oh so tired!). (And I made up for it last night by eating like a ravenous insatiable hellion. Seriously. Ask W or B. I tore through that kitchen. Go me!

So yesterday in church the Big B and I had to give talks in Sacrament Meeting. Me no excited about it, but I did it anyway, even though I really wanted to pout and do a no call no show thing, but okay fine whatever I’ll just do it and get it over with. We were supposed to pretty much take up the bulk of the meeting – we were each scheduled to talk for 20 minutes. So I got to do the fun part of the talk, since we’re new in the ward: introduce ourselves ‘n stuff. So I basically thought I’d do that, end a little early, and make B make up for the time since he had to go last.

Yeah.

So I got up there, and I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I couldn’t see much, and I was kinda thinking, “If I can’t see them, maybe they can’t see me” you know, thinking like a wee child, and it kinda worked, which was good because our ward is full of old people who can’t help but fall asleep in meetings because a) they might be bored but b) they’re most likely just falling asleep because that’s what old people just do and it's kinda weird and sad but oh well. So anyway at least I couldn’t see that otherwise maybe the Breezy might have felt bad? Probably.

But anyway so I was blabbing away, getting into my stories, and I was talking about my mom (the talk subject was on family) and I was talking about how much I loved her, and how tight we are, and in the talk I said this: I’m so glad my mom is serving her mission nearby so that I can still see her occasionally. Because me and my mom are like THIS. And then I did the cross your fingers thing (see pic). And after I did it, I started to panic, thinking did I really do that during a talk? The cross your fingers thing? I’ve never seen anybody do that before!! Yes, I really did do that, in an official, very important meeting, people are listening to me and I’m supposed to be legit and I’m talking like a 14 year old ohmygosh I’m so embarrassed make me stop oh geez I can’t stop because I can’t see the clock I really wish I had my glasses eeeehhhhh I guess I’ll keep going I wish my street cred could help me at church I’m lame okay things are better I think I’m starting to dissociate.

I ended up blathering away for 25 freakin minutes. Holy shat.

So glad it’s over.

FAMILIES.ARE.AWESOME. That’s all I should have said. No finger crossing, no blabbing, no nothing. Three words would’ve sufficed. Oh dear. What a roughie.

And here, just for fun, is a pick of ‘Lil C in nursery. He hated touching the play-doh with his hands, it made him feel nervous, so he’s got a little play fork and knife and was poking away. My poor, sad, OCD child!! What to do, what to do…

Have a great day folks.

(oh and PS I'm so behind on blogs, be patient with me, I'm getting there, I swearsies!)

So this is what the kids are doing these days.

Ripsticking.

Oh, and don't worry. I only fell four times and made myself bleed once. Profusely.

All's Quiet on the Briestern Front

It seems quiet in Blog Land these days. Doesn’t it? Or am I just imagining things?

I feel quiet in general, though, too. So much thinking to do, so much get-off-my-arse-and-just-do-it’ing to do, somuchsomuchsomuch.

Speaking of quiet, Blogxygen might be breathing fewer and farther in between for the next little bit. I’ve gotten a promotion at work and will be working more hours. I don’t really want to do it, but I need to. Still worry (quietly) if B will lose his job due to the economy. I guess it’s my turn to sacrifice for my family just like B’s always done for me.

I’ll do my best to keep up regular posting, but between working more and cleaning the house and cooking (Ha. Kidding!) and decorating and being a mama to the Cster and a wife to my hubbster and going to church and to all my doc appts and just surviving and a f t e r all that, if I can find some quiet time, I’ll sit down and breathe some Blogxygen.
…I need to find the time, though, because if I don’t, I very well may suffocate to death (quietly of course) and I mean that in the metaphorical term, not in the literal term that my allergist uses regarding the fact my lungs are still only functioning at 65%. But shutup I’d totally like to find one doctor (just one!) that won’t tell me I’m going to die for some reason or another. True story.

Holy semi-depressing post of fury! Sad.

Hope you all have a great weekend. Breathe deep for me!

Back in the Day Thursday

It is August 4, 2006, at approximately 5:00 pm. My newborn son has just been put in my arms, and, despite the fact I’m so weak from four hours of pushing during contractions that were 30 seconds apart with little or no medication, (i.e. an epidural) I am in reverent and grateful awe for this miracle in my arms. How can he be so beautiful? How did I push an almost 8 lb vag ripper out of me? And why do I not care that I’m bleeding and in pain and feel like I got run over by a truck?

I don’t care because I see my beautiful boy. The boy I made, the boy I cared for and nurtured, the boy that made me a mother the second he was conceived. As I look at his enormous bright blue eyes, the pain melts away. And I realize that I’d do it all over again. The pain, the nausea, the bed-rest, the trips to the ER, the worry, the incessant worry…yes, I know, I’d do it all again, over and over for him in a flat heartbeat if I had to.

I’m inspecting him now, making sure he has all ten fingers and toes and belly button and ears that aren’t too big. And, as I look at him, I notice his nipples. His cute little button nipples.

And, in my weak, pregnancy/birthing fogged brain, I announced loudly, to the dozen or so people in the room,

“Brandon, Cade’s nipples are BIGGER than your’s!”

Leave it to me to slander a once in a lifetime moment. Yes, leave it to me...

Eating Like an Insatiable Hellion

OMG I finally have some good news. Well, it’s not entirely great or anything, but at least this post isn’t going to be BORING or about how much I SUCK (or, at least, I’ll try to tone some of that down a bit, haha) so you’re in for some Blogxygen yumminess.

(Oh, but first, a quick aside: I was thinking about the title of my blog, BLOGXYGEN, and it made me laugh, because it’s all about breathing, right? I find it cruelly ironic that I actually CAN’T breathe. Just ask my allergist – you know, the one my son fondled? Yeah, that one.)

So. Back to the Blogxygen yumminess:

I saw M last night, first time in almost two weeks. I was really nervous, (just ask the toilet there that received all my colonic anxiety) because I honestly thought that I might be going in for the last time; that she was going to fire me and say I hate you and you suck and you never gain weight and I’m bored and frustrated with you so peace out you better bounce now you’re soiling my sofa that my “good” patients sit on.

She didn’t say that.

Instead, she said that I was understanding the whole treatment contract wrong. She said that the deal breaker for ending therapy and dietary wasn’t based on if I got a tube or not, it was pending on weight gain. She said that if I could actually, really and truly gain some weight, that’s all that mattered. She said that with how bad my allergies are, she understands (and maybe hopefully kinda sorta agrees) that the tube probably isn’t the best option for my sinus orifices’ right now. She said she just wanted me to commit, NO MATTER WHAT, to eating like a little insatiable hellion and drink Boost like it was Diet Coke (as if THAT amazingness could ever happen!) and that I have a loooong way to go weight gain-wise, but if I could even gain 5 lbs, they’d stop thinking I might die at any time or whatever.

So when I got home from the sesh, high as a kite, happy with our compromise, I emailed H, the D, and said sorry I no called no showed today, but I didn’t want you to fire me and also all the fake rubber food in your office scares me (especially the peas – they look like blended up boogies) but I’m re-committed to doing what you say and I’ll drink as much Boost as you want because I really truly want to gain weight, I really do, I don’t want to be lame and non-compliant and I think you’re rad let’s hug wait I’m just kidding about the hug part but everything else I said was true, especially the pea part. Sincerely, Brie.

So I’m not fired, I’m re-committed to gaining weight. Yay for Breezy!

(Well, that is if I don’t die first from my asthma.) Keep your fingers crossed on that one.

Severe Asthma

Saw the allergist again today. I received two allergy shots and also a freak out on his part because my asthma is still far worse than it should be, considering I’m on max doses of Advair and Singulair to help it. So, for a few weeks I have to take Prednozone (a steroid) every other day, and also he wants to start giving me injections of a new medication called Xolair (along with my other allergy shots) that is specifically used in treating people who have severe asthma who are resistant to the regular courses of treatment. He said that out of all his many patients, I'm only the 8th of his to need Xolair, because 99% of the time, the meds I'm taking "knocks the socks off asthma." I love being special.

It’s given every two to four weeks, depending on your weight and IEP or IEG or whatever levels. I’m heading to the lab to get my blood drawn soon to assess said levels, and it has to be pre-authorized by my insurance since it’s new and expensive, but I don’t think it should be a problem, seeing as in the past two or so years I’ve gone to the hospital about ten times and the insta-care a couple dozen for treatment of asthma attacks. I hear it’s a pretty amazing drug ‘n stuff, so here’s to hoping I get approved and can use it. I hear breathing is really fun.

I had to take Lil C with me to see the doc today. He was happy at first, flipping through his Spongebob book, but he started to get pretty restless after half an hour or so. When the doc came back in after leaving for a bit, C was trying to weasel past him and run out the door, and Dr R said something like, “You can’t leave yet!” and C cocked his arm back and clenched his fist, and I’m thinking, PLEASE, DEAR LORD, DON’T LET MY SON PUNCH MY ALLERGIST IN THE WIENER. But at just the last second, his fist relaxed and he, like, awkwardly patted him in the groinage region. Whew. A brief fondle is waaaaay better than a sore sack. Well, I hear that, anyway.

So I’m off to the lab and then to take C to a doctor appt.
Have a fun day!

I’m Boring, I Suck, I’m a Nerd

I’m boring:

I’m in one of those funks again where I don’t have much to write about. I want to blog, but I also want to say more than Hi Friends! I’m bored and I’m going to bore you with this post! Yesterday I fed my cats and did A and B and Q and Z. And then I was sad, and then I was happy, and then I put extra salt on my fries and dipped them in ketchup. BYE!

Eewwwy.

So.

Like my boring weekend posts said, V day was lame (But my sweetheart the Big Bster IS NOT) and so was the weekend and I was sick and bah ho hum. Hope your’s was better than mine. This week promises to be better. Today I’m meeting the madre for lunch, and tomorrow I have THREE doctor appts, all of which will suck. A D appt, a T appt, and an allergist appt. I’m actually looking forward to seeing my allergist because he’s going to do a bunch of lung functioning tests and see if things have improved, and if they have, I get my first allergy shot. Yay to not being slowly murdered by my furry lovers! But it’ll be a busy day fo sho. Wednesday will be a shining star of a day because Whit’s FINALLY coming back from Florida. She’s only been gone, oh I don’t know, A MONTH, and I miss her and her ability to do the dishes! (haha.) So it’ll be fun to see her and frolic with her. She’s such a floozy, and I love it! Also work is boring because our network is down and I have nada to do. Boo whine lament rent clothing want to perish cry.

I suck:

I stenciled a fun design on the cupboards you saw me painting in the prior post, but I’m concerned it looks like a GIANT blood clot. The last time I looked like a blood clot was when I was pregnant and wearing a red dress. I cried for like 3 hours before I could even make myself put it on but I'm now digressing in a painful regression so I must stop!!

…I’ll post pics and let you decide. But if you do say it looks like a blood clot, I’ll hate you forever and you’ll just ruin me. I’m kidding.

I’m a nerd:

Wanna know why? This weekend I bought the Batman Lego game for the DS. Usually I don’t like games where you punch and kill people (well, they’re technically legos, so it doesn’t count) because it gives me anxiety attacks and makes me curse like a sailor, but I just can’t get enough of this batmazingness. It’s totally wild.

You can shun me now. Shun me, I deserve it. I’m so lame. (And boring, and sucky, and nerdy.)

Worst V Day Ever

Total grossness friends and people I don’t know who read this blog alike. Yesterday, Valentine’s Day, was anything but romantic.

We woke up, ready to go to Bear Lake. Everything was packed, ready in suitcases. But then we looked out the window and it was snowing. Hardcore. And it was snowing everywhere, and our beautiful car, Stella, just wouldn’t be able to make it through the snowy canyons in all her 2-wheel drive amazingness. So, great. We decided to stay home instead and work on the house.

So Big B and C and I headed to Home Depot, and bought a whole bunch ‘o stuff we still needed to make our little house on the prairie perfect. One of them was a mirror. A LARGE mirror that was going to be mounted in the master bathroom.

Brandon started by putting up a cupboard in the master bath, and I went to paint some storage cupboards we’ve got in our kitchen. (Blue collar work seems to suit me, by the way. Well, in 3 minute increments anyway, but whatevs.) After B had finished putting up the cupboard, he asked me to help him hold the mirror while he put it up. So at the same time, I was talking to the twin, trying to explain to him over bad reception (Bear Lake’s kind of in the middle of nowhere) that we weren’t going to be able to make it, when Brett hears

CRASH
SHATTER
OH MY GOSH
OH CRAP
CRAP
SHATTER
BRETT I GOTTA GO I’LL CALL YOU BACK.

Yeah, our really expensive mirror we’d just bought broke.

So we decided to head back to Home Depot to purchase another one, and on our way we were going to go grab some lunch at the Rio and just chill. But then B got a phonecall, a lame phone call, and unfortunate phone call, and that was just the catalyst of, like, the whole worst v day ever thing.

So then there was a bunch of family drama.
And then some more.
And more.
And, yeah, a titch more.

We finally make it home Depot, but instead of a good lunch at the Rio I settle for cold, rubbery chicken nuggets from Wendy’s.

We put up mirror sans shatterage.

I take a nap because v day blows and I need to chill and recuperate from the suckage of it all.

Wake up.
More family drama.
AAAAHHHH BAH GRAWR RAWR BOO DOUBLE BOO.

We decide to forget about that all and head to (finally!) the rio for a nice romantic dinner.
(Well, as romantic a dinner can be with your two year old on VALENTINE’S DAY.)

We head home in a slightly better mood, full of Mexican food goodness.

Yay, time to put C to bed so we can do romantic valentine things.

He’s in bed.

Time to get to the romantic part: watching recorded shows on our Tivo. (Woo woo!)

Cade wakes up.

AAAAAAHHHH BAH GRAWR RAW BOO DOUBLE BOO

We put him back to bed.
Wakes up again.

We decide to watch Snapped (recorded since Thursday, great show guys) with him anyway.

Put him back to bed. (Third times got to be the charm, right?)
No, that’s just a fable. A lame, lame, fable.

He comes out, climbs on my lap, and promptly falls asleep on me.

By now, the headache I have is monumental.

I’ve decided romance sucks and sleeping rocks.

So that’s what I do.

And then I wake up this morning to this:
Who is in this picture that shouldn’t be? (look closely)

Yup, my cat. Soiling my jeans. But I can't even be mad at her because I have no idea how she got all the way up there. That's amazing!
Life rocks.

Valentine's Weekend

Good afternoon cool and maybe cute people alike! Hope you are having a better day thus far than Breezy. I’m a sicky. I’m not at work, which you’d think would be great, right, but when you’re legitimately sick you always wish you were well enough to go back to work anyway. Totally a giant bag of sucksicles.

B, C, and I are planning on going to Bear Lake this weekend with the twin brother and his weefay. What’s more romantic than spending Valentine’s weekend in a beautiful cabin with your husband – and oh yeah wait YOUR TWO YEAR OLD? Yeah, I know. It’ll be interesting. Fortunately, because Somebody loves me, there’s internet access there. So I’ll tote my laptop along, and who knows – I may bless thee and thy posterity with another post. :)

Well, here’s to hoping I feel well enough to enjoy my trip, and I hope you have a great weekend full of love or single-awareness or whatever. Bye peeps!

[thanks to Laura for the e-Valentine!]

He Was in my Nightmares Last Night

Meet Dr. C, the mascot of M______ Healthcare, Inc. As an employer of this company, that makes him my mascot. By default. I’m sure Dr. C is a nice cat, a cool cat. But he’s also a creepy cat. He’s always either a) freaked me out or b) really, really freaked me out. And…I’ve never seen him here, at the company in Utah, frolicking with us. Yesterday as I turned the corner, innocently walking back to my desk, I saw him. And I turned to run – literally, RUN – because situations like this always make me feel weird and uncomfy inside, and W, who had a camera (HE HAD A CAMERA!) saw me and told me to STOP and come take a picture with Dr. C.

So there I am. As he awkwardly wrapped his arm around my back, groping for a comfortable place to rest his large, overbearing paw, I had to refrain myself from saying, terrified, “Is this a rape, murder, or robbery? Or perhaps a mauling?”

And look at his whiskers! They’re all bent and untidy. And that stethoscope isn’t even real! And S, my coworker, looks legitimately freaked out, too. At least I was good at hiding it, though I couldn’t muster the courage to touch The Thing, but S wrapped her arm around him and squeezed him tight. Gross.

Large stuffed things do not mesh with the Briester. Taking that picture was approximately 0% fun.

Top Ten Reasons I Love Big B

In honor of Valentine’s Day…
(and In no particular order)

1. He has cute spermies:

2. He’s insanely witty, and on the spot, too. He’s not one of those people that are only funny when they have a few minutes to mull over it before cracking a joke. An example: just last night, Big B and I were chillin’ on the couch watching American Idol. Hairy, as usual, was sprawled in between us, snoozing away. We had tivo’d AI, so when a commercial came on, I said, “F.F. babe.” (meaning fast forward) And he looked at Hairy, and said, “It looks like Mom wants me to Fart on your Face. Lucky for you, though, because I’m running on empty, sweetie.” I totally BWAHAHAHAHA’d on that one. ;)
3. He’s an insanely hard worker. For months while our meth house was transforming into magnificence, he worked full-time, went to school full-time, and then, even after all that, busted his cute cherry shaped bum-bum even more by working on the house. And he did it for me and C. Even now, he’s working at a job that he may or may not have much longer due to the economy, but he stays positive, keeps working hard, and we pray that it’ll all work out – and it will – I KNOW IT WILL – because I know Big B, and I know he’ll always provide for me and my shopping addiction, haha.
4. He’s ridiculously, endlessly patient with me. And hopelessly devoted, too. And I still scratch my head on that one, but instead of wondering why, I just thank God that he is.
5. He’s a great father. I wondered about his daddy abilities, but from the moment I pushed the dude out of my vag, I knew I’d never have to worry again. He’s amazing with him, and C adores him.
6. He rolls with it when I say he looks like an autistic person with vertigo, and sometimes I tease or poke fun at him on my blog. I’m glad he’s secure enough to let me do that.
7. I truly believe I have my sense of humor because of him. Before I met him, I never laughed. I honestly didn’t. But then he came around and showed me how to laugh again, to crack jokes and find the humorous side in life. I couldn’t make ya’ll laugh if he didn’t make me laugh.
8. He devoted a blog to me. Granted, he only wrote two posts, but still. They were fabulous posts that made me cry. :)
9. He likes to try new positions: ;)
10. He’s willing to do gross things for me, and I have two excellent examples, and I’m warning you now that you can stop reading if you have a weak stomach:
a) After I had Lil C and was still in the hospital, I bent over and made him examine my bum-bum for hemorrhoids. After a good, long, face-inches-from-my-arse scrutiny, he straightened up and announced that I DEFINITELY did, indeed, have the ‘rhoids.
b) He throws out my pee for me. Before we had plumbing, sometimes (okay all the time) I’d pee in blue plastic cups, and fill up like, two, and as I’d finish with one, I’d give it to him, and then he’d dutifully throw them outside. I couldn’t even do it, because my own urine scared the hell outta me. Pee air, you see.
Isn’t that amazing?! ;)
And thus concludes (just a few) of the reasons I love my husband.
Way to be a shining star, champ.
LOVE YOU!

The Mama Bear in Me

I can’t stand judgmental people. Or tactless people. Or mean people and people that like chocolate covered bananas.

See, I was talking to an *acquaintance the other day, and she saw a picture of my adorable man child. She said, and I swear this is a direct quote because mothers don’t forget stuff like this, “Cade is so cute. BUT he’s so mean.”

And I said, “What?” (Did she say what I think she just said?)

And she said, “Yeah, he’s mean. He has a REAL ATTITUDE. You should work on that.”

And I said, “No, he’s not mean. And he’s TWO.” As in, really little and bi-polar and moody. That’s the very definition of the terrible two’s, ya giant bucket ‘o yuck.

Who says that? Who basically says your kid is mean and it’s your fault because you haven’t fixed it? Dude, she met him ONCE, and yes he was in a bad mood, but who cares? Who’s the adult in the situation?

And, it’s not the first time she’s said something like this. Next time she does, the MAMA BEAR in me will come out and I will RIP HER FACE OFF.

Seriously, maybe I’ll xerox a picture of my middle finger and email it to her.

And then hope she has crappy babies.

Cade’s a good boy. Anyone dare say otherwise?

*So not even going anywhere near revealing the identity of this person

It’s Just another Mundane Monday

Hello peepcicles! Hope you had a great weekend.

And myself? It was great! Big B and I went and saw a movie for the first time since November when I dragged him to Twilight. (Oh Edward! I want you I need you oh baby oh baby...)I was all excited and felt like we were young and dating again, and I put on gobs of makeup just to go in a dark theater, but it felt SO.GOOD! We saw Push, which tickled my fancy well enough.

I also sewed more (Yes, more. Always moremoremore!) curtains for the house, and I’m still not done, but when I will be, my house is going to rock America’s face off. The curtains will be fab and so will my self-esteem for creating things full of coolness and creativity.

Random photo:
I took this picture yesterday while Brandon was teaching primary to the CTR B’s (the seven and eight year olds). I was in there too, helping out, but Cade swam major laps around the anxiety pool in nursery when I tried to leave him, so you can see him there, parked in the chair, with the older kids. In the pic, he’s holding his Mr. Krabs and learning about Jesus as if he were 5 years older like the rest of the kids. It made my heart ache to see him want to be a big kid. I just want to hold him and squash him (by sitting on him, if necessary) and make him stay little forever!

…I took the photo because I wanted to catch B when he was kneeling, because he was doing such a cute object lesson, but my camera on my phone sucks and he started to stand right when I took it, and now in the pic he looks like an autistic person who has vertigo, and it makes me laugh. But he’s an amazing teacher. I’m in awe of his abilities. He's the most amazing MAN in the world! Love you, Lover!

Again, I’d like to thank ya’ll for your words of encouragement regarding what the H bomb I should do about therapy and the tube ‘n stuff. I’m still a ponderin’ away. I think I’ll make a more concrete decision once I talk to my D tomorrow and my T on Thursday.

Hope you allsies have a great Monday. I get to take Cade to the pediatrician (in other words, HIS FAVORITE PERSON IN THE WORLD…HA!) to talk about his constipation issues that have turned into like this mental fear/phobia. Every time he cries and screams because he knows it’s coming, I’m like, “Oh child, NO.” I hate that he has to go through this! I’m hoping my doc can give me some magic sprinkles that will make it all go away.

…And I still am so happy with my custom blog template. Be patient while Rachel works out some kinks, but it’s so glorious and I want to make love to it!

BYE!

A Glorious New Look

As you can see, Blogxygen's looks have gone from that of a D-list celebrity to a TOTAL A-lister, thanks to my good friend Rachel the Graphic Designer, who happens to like guacamole.

There are still some tweaks and twiddles that need to be made, but I absolutely adoreadore it, and even though I had to give her my password and run the risk of identity theft, it's fo shizzle worth it.

Thanks Rachel!!

Blogxygen.

Thank you to so many of you who supported me regarding my last post. At this very moment, Courtney, your comment really stuck out to me and frankly made me cry – but in a good way – because there were some “bad way” cries, too. So, I really appreciate you and so many others who care and who support me.

Last night I was crying to Brandon regarding my last post. And somehow, our conversation evolved into not just regarding that particular post, but to my blog as a whole. And I’m not sure why, but all of this poured from my mouth:

I began to tell him how much I love Blogxygen. How it’s become a passion. How, because of it, I’ve met so many freaking cool people out there who have become some of my best friends. How, through my blog and writing, I’ve found my own creative, funky, and goofy writing style, and I've rekindled my love for writing. I learned to embrace my passion for writing, instead of fighting it or not writing because I didn’t believe in myself or believe I could ever write something that anyone would ever want to read. I learned that people do like what I have to say. And, amazingly, I’ve helped people. Blogxygen took some of the selfishness in me, and transformed it into goodness.

I found that the time I previously spent worrying about stupid shit things like my weight and how many calories I ate that day, instead went to wondering about what I should blog about; what I could say to give my friends a chuckle or a lift. Blogxygen is my baby. Blogygen has been a huge part of my beginning and continuing recovery.

It’s a huge part of not just my life, but me. My heart and soul and accomplishments and humiliations and silly inane things about me are all on this small little address I’ve been blessed to have on the big world wide web.

So, even when I write posts like yesterday that garner some hurt and pain and controversy, I’ll never stop blogging, never stop writing, never stop being me and unapologetic for who I am.

And I thank you all for being a part of that with me. For sharing in my life, and loving me for it (or maybe in spite of it) and not judging me. Thank you for keeping Blogxygen alive. Because I truly feel that Blogxygen has kept me alive by teaching me to LIVE.

[cue violins]

Scenario Sucks vs. Scenario Sucks, Too

Scenario Sucks:

I permanently discontinue use of the feeding tube (whether it be the NG/NJ/PEG). I do what I’m essentially doing right now: I continue to eat three meals a day and at least two snacks. My weight more or less stays the same, but I eat. I more than likely am fired by my treatment team for not using the tube. But I have the support of my family (namely, my husband [who rocks America's face off] and amazingly fab mom) who believe that I am eating and doing better than I ever before have, and are okay (and really, prefer) the fact that I am not being tubed. They believe in me.

Scenario Sucks, Too:

I place the feeding tube again (whether it be NJ or PEG, I’m not sure). I suffer serious physical consequences that include but aren’t necessarily limited to: severe sinus and allergy problems, stomach issues, skin rashes, etc. I eat less because I’m not near as hungry due to the ridiculous amounts of Boost and/or Jevity being pumped into me. My skin breaks out in a painful, embarassing, hard-as-hell-to-get-rid-of rash. I hang my head in public, and am too embarrassed to look people in the eye. I am able to continue treatment with H and M, but I resent them a little. I gain only a small amount of weight, despite the high amounts of cals being pumped into me.

----------------

These are my choices. M and I had a really good talk about it yesterday in our session. It was a very “adult-like” and respectful conversation. We seriously talked about my options, and she said she’d respect and support whatever I decided to do, re: if I decide to not do the tube, and I’m fired, (she hates the term "fired" by the way, but it fits because I truly feel that's what's happening to me) she’ll respect that and believe that I can try it on my own. So I have a lot of thinking to do. I vowed a year ago when I started seeing M that she would be my last freaking therapist. I don’t want to keep trying, keep starting over with someone new. So, if I’m done, then I’m done. You know?

On one hand, I truly am doing quite well. My family has never seen me happier and more productive and able to survive on my own before, like, ever. I’m eating, and not just eating to barely survive, but to enjoy it. I've discovered that I love maple bars and chocolate bars with toffee in them. I allow myself to drink OJ, which before was a no-no because it had cals in it. I eat cookies and ranch and put butter on my toast. I even, dare I say it, like to eat.
…But if I do choose this path, I’m essentially telling myself (and the world) that my low body weight is okay. –But isn’t it okay? If I’m eating and taking care of myself, I shouldn’t have (and do not, presently) anything to hide or be ashamed of.

But if I go the route of the tube, it stops being for me. It turns into a power struggle, because I’m so angry I have to have this funsuck taped to my face. I eat less because I’m too full, and I hate that I want to eat and can’t. I have diarrhea more. I throw up more. My stomach hurts more. My face breaks out in a rash that makes me look like a pubescent teenager. But, then I can stay in treatment. Wait. Do I even want or need treatment anymore? I think a little, yes. But I also think I’d be okay if I didn’t have it, either.

M says that she doesn’t think it right if she continues to see me if I don’t gain weight, because by seeing her I’m essentially saying I want and need help, but if I don’t get the tube to gain, then I’m also saying I don’t want help.

Or something.

It doesn’t matter that she’s seen how hard it is for my body to gain even a pound. It doesn’t matter that she and my D look at my food log and are thrilled with how much better I’m eating.

All that matters is that damn number.

I thought the number on the scale wasn’t important. Isn’t that we’re always told, over and over?
So what gives?

I have a lot of thinking to do.

Graffiti and Google Analytics

Okay, first off: an insanely short update on how the T appt went: ooookaaaaay. I’m not fired. Yet, anyway. (It went actually really well, though, for seriousies.) I want to write a bit more in detail about my thoughts that have been spurred by my sesh, but I’ll save that for another post – perhaps tomorrow.

Okay. So here’s a few pics:

Mommy and Cade decorating for Valentine’s Day.


Okay…so I just took the following beavers about 20 minutes ago. See, some smelly ball sack sprayed some graffiti on our garage. It happened before we moved in, and it’s really no surprise seeing as the previous owners were hardcore meth users. I’ve been so embarrassed about it, but since it was on brick, Big B and I were a bit stymied as to how to get the, you know, gang symbols off. I felt like we were marked or something…like targeted for a home invasion or something. No bueno.

...And randomly, if Big B and I were in an argument, I’d tack on AND CLEAN UP THAT STUPID (fill in the blank “angry” word of your choice) graffiti off our house!! YOU SAID YOU’D DO IT 17 BILLION DAYS AGO! YOU NEVER DO ANYTHING YOU SAY YOU WILL! And then, inevitably, the anger (because it always, yes sadly, ALWAYS does) will turn inward and it’ll go something like this:
…I DID MY BEST! (Insert sobs) IDIDMYBEST!IDIDMYBESTIDIDMYBESTIDIDMYBEST! (They are now racking.)(Hiccup.)(And then, softly, i did my best...)

So, Bran decided we were going to try to sand it off. Not with weenie little sandpaper, but like a big time power tool thing. So B started sanding, but I decided I had so much pent up anger against that reputation (and potential marriage) ruining graffiti that I needed to take a wizack at it. And I did.

And it felt gooooooood.


So it looks better, (like, exponentially) but it’s still not c o m p l e t e l y gone. I’m not sure what to do. Boo. Double boo! At least the big sign that essentially said YOU’VE BEEN TAGGED, HOMIE is no longer there. Or, at least harder to read…

Okay, moving on: I was looking at my blog’s stats on Google Analytics, and I must say the month of February (thus far) has been a good one for Blogxygen. 1,700 site visits in just under 5 days. I was looking at some of the things people search for at Google or Yahoo and somehow find my blog, and some of my favorite are:

-Fear to pee phobia (must have brought up my Pee Air post) – another one from that post is my pee smells like oat bran. Eeeewy to the max!
-Bobbi’s hummus sucks (love this!) Bobbi’s one of my furry lovers, and I recently blogged about hummus, but I didn’t mention them both in the same post or anything!
-Nose piercing related death – okay, I cannot even tell you how many people find my blog by googling something about the dangers of nose-piercing. Since Feb 1st, I’ve had 90 views alone by people pulling up my nose-piercing post. It must be a disappointment for them seeing as I was being a major baby freak about it all… (and entirely not helpful...)
Let’s see, another good one is: does tube feeding cause weight gain, which is like a big-time no brainer. What else is tube feeding for? FUN? Hmmm…
Another goodie is “pregnant you bastard, you did this to me!” I think it came from this post.
and
Would you live in Floyd’s Knobs? I believe it came from a brief mention on the unfortunate citizens who have to live in a town with a name that has so many dirty connotations. My dirty mind cannot handle the overload of them all!

Anyway, looking on it is eva so fun! You should try it for your blog...

Okay, that’s all for now. Maybe I’ll write something deep or whatever tomorrow.

Some Silly Shenanigans

(alliteration: 3 points!)

Hello my friendcicles! Hope everyone is doing swell.

So, here are some little tidbits, here and there:

· I’ve begged hired my DDF Racher who owns my most favoritist store ever, GrÜn, to re-design my blog! She’s a graphic designer who kicks A and takes names. It’ll be fab when it’s done, methinks I can’t wait. So stay tuned for the Blogxygen Amazingness to come. It’ll be muy fantastico.
· Now that I’m pretty much a bad A seamstress and, like, homemaker, I’m getting all into the Valentine spirit. I even decorated! For those of you who know me, know that this is very odd indeed. I also bought supplies to make homemade valentines – and – hold your breath – I might even make valentine’s cookies. Where has Brie gone? Methinks she’s been replaced by a seamstress (who does kick some ass, though) who also COOKS (okay, the word ‘cook’ might be s t r e t c h i n g it, but whatever) and MAKES THINGS. Cool things. I feel weird about this, but mostly because I’m actually okay with it. Who knew I’d be one to embark on creative adventures? I’m blossoming into something amazing, I tell you, amazing. ;) (But I hate the word 'blossom'. It gives me weird tingles deep within that aren't the good kind.)
· So Brandon and I went to Ikea yesterday, which was fun, but also un-fun at the end because we got lost in the maze of alluring junk we didn’t need and Swedish food (no joke there, peeps) and couldn’t find our way out. We bought a cute 3 drawer dresser for ‘Lil C that we’re going to let him paint all by himself. It’ll look like grade-A shat, but he’ll have a blast. We’re going to do that this weekend, and I’ll post pics.
· I have an appt. with the T this afternoon at 2:00. I’ll keep you posted – however vaguely, haha.

Okay, well that’s allsies. Hope you have a day filled with happiness and much frolicking.

LOVE YOU!!

Oh, and PS: Is this not the smallest scale you’ve ever seen? I saw it at Ikea yesterday and was just in reverent awe for for this teenie-weenie wonder. I’m still debating on if it’s for either a) for a fetus or b) a small animal or c) perhaps a small individual. PLUS it was only $7.99 and I would never trust something that tells me what my worth is (KIDDING) that was that cheap.

(And NO, I swearsies I didn’t weigh myself. Brandon wouldn’t hear of it. ;)

A Confusing Correspondence

I got a totally random absolutely out of the blue email from my T last night at, like, 9 pm. (As in, very late at night.) I had to read it like four times to try to figure out what the H bomb she was even trying to say…and I’m still not sure. Here’s an excerpt, but really, I feel like she wants to fire me or something. Liability schmiability.
Whatever. At this point, right now, I don’t even care:

Hey, I know when you left last week you were mad. My perception was that you felt like I was not validating your progress enough. And I did get a bit defensive when you made a comment about the peg tube being a joke. I can't remember your exact phrase. You were being sarcastic and I was tired of trying to convince you that you are still not completely medically stable and still underweight. I'm sure you could hear the frustration in my voice when I told you to get a second opinion if you disagree. There could have been more that you were reacting to that I'm not aware of.

I would like to talk to you about where therapy is going and discuss your needs in relation to what I can offer…

So there it is. Suffice it to say I’m going in to see her tomorrow, as unoriginally planned. The thing that’s interesting about it all is that when I left last week, I wasn’t mad or frustrated. Just TIRED, hence the self-prescribed (short) break from treatment. I have no idea what’s going on now, and I feel so anxious about it I can hardly think of anything else.
Eeewy, gross. Make it stop! Any mind readers out there wanna take a stab at what she’s trying to say to me?
This sucks balls. Why does it seem I'm always doing something wrong? I'm a naughty girl.
Yea verily.

Fixing You

I woke up this morning to a persistent tap tap tap I could hear coming from down the hall. I rolled over and stretched as far as I could to look out the bedroom door without getting off the bed. And, in the distance, was Cade, kneeling on the floor, single-mindedly hammering at something with his new toy hammer. He looked up, and caught my eye. “I’m fixin’ it, Mommy! I’m fixin’ my Spongebob!” I smiled and replied, “That’s so good, Baby! Keep going!” And with that, I rolled over, and tried to catch a few more Z’s before I’d have to get up for good.


[a few minutes later]

I can feel a tapping on my feet and toes and legs. They’re mostly soft taps, but there are some quick raps in there for good measure. I look down, and there’s ‘Lil C, banging away. He looks up at me, eyes bright, all smiles and lashes and dimples. “I’m fixing you, Mommy! I’m fixing you!” I laugh and give him a hug and a kiss. “Are you all better now, Mama? Yay! ALL BETTER!”

And then I think. And it hits me.

I am all better. I woke up this morning for the first time in weeks without a headache, and without a dread for the day ahead.

So, ‘Lil C, thank you. Thank you for fixing me, time and time again.

I’d Like a Timeout, Please

Do you ever just want to take a break? Say, TIMEOUT, PEOPLE, walk to the sidelines, grab some agua, and just chill for a minute?

Life is sofast. At work this contract needs to get created or these people need help and at home C needsneedsNEEDS and recovery is an ongoing, never-ending lifesuck, andandand…

I’d like a timeout, please. From everything. I’d like a day filled with no obligations or pressure. I’d like a day where I don’t worry and wonder if every morsel of food I put in my mouth is going to be enough.

So I kinda called one.
A timeout, I mean.

From recovery. Wait, scratch that. That’s not what I mean. Maybe I mean I took a timeout from all the hard work of it so I can just pause and catch my breath again. I cancelled therapy today, and I cancelled dietary tomorrow and therapy on Thursday, too.

Not because I want to be sneaky and lose weight. Just because I want, for a short period of time, to not think or analyze or freak out. Not to hear I’m in denial ONE MORE TIME, or that it’s not enough, it’s never enough, or if you don’t eat enough you’ll be tubed or we won’t see you anymore because you’re a liability and I know you say you’re working so hard but why aren’t you gaining more faster whywhywhy?

I’m tired. Please, give me some time. Some de-freak time.

And then, I’ll start the game again. It’s just a timeout. I’m not forfeiting, I swearsies. I just need a little break. I'm tired.

So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to grab a comfy chair, and a relaxing book, and not worry, and not think. And I hope that’s okay.

Weekend Recap

Good morning lovers! Guess what? I had a good weekend! Much better than last, that’s fo sho. I’d ask ya’ll what you thought of the superbowl, but I can’t, seeing as I didn’t watch any of it (not even the fun commercials!) but instead had a really fun and super interesting convo with my mama and some of my sisters and hubby and twin. (Think the possibility of expressing brown milk meets the likelihood of a human “doing it” with a chimp.) Fun times! Hope ya’ll had good times and refined conversation like myself. :)

A weekend discovery: I’m also allergic to SMOKE. Smoke of any kind, including the burnt popcorn kind. Last night I had a whiff of that and it just ruined me. The asthma came back, the sniffles…all because of a little burnt popcorn. I’m a hot, allergenic mess again today. Thank you, Oroville.

I’ve decided that I actually like working with the small children in church. They’re so hilarious. In nursery yesterday there was this adorable little 3 year old, B, who just loved me. Of course, I couldn’t pay her much attention with Lil C there, watching her like a hawk. Any time she’d come near me, he’d yell, GO AWAY. MY MOMMY! But they’re all so sweet and just humble and I absolutely adore how carefree and unapologetic they are for just being themselves. Big B said that in primary, there was a little 5 year old during singing time who was SO UPSET because the singing teacher kept saying after every song she’d pick whoever was the most reverent to help her with an activity, and this poor 5 year old just wasn’t getting chosen, and after every song he sang (and he gave it his all – just belting those songs and folding his arms to demonstrate his knack for reverence) he would scream HEEEEEEEY! I SANG THAT SONG THE MOOOOOOOST REVERENT! THE.MOST.RE-VER-ENT!!! They’re so silly. I loves it! It seems to be good for me to be around them. Yea verily.

I’m so in love with these. I bought 5 of them this weekend, and I’m totally going to embroider my shirts and shades and a pillow or two and hey yeah let’s throw an apron in there and maybe some hand towels. These aren’t your grandma’s embroidery patterns, people. I can’t wait for them to come!

So, I was looking through some of my posts, and last year on the superbowl I wrote a sad post about how sick Lil C was, and then the very next day was the day he went into the hospital. I was looking at him sleep this morning, and at the way his superlong lashes fanned his little cheeks, and the way his dimple shows even in his sleep, and I just had this great, swelling feeling of gratitude for this sweet, angelic baby man. PLUS I’m so glad he’s here today, healthy, and not where he was last year at this time. Having to watch your baby be horribly sick, and there being not a thing you can do about it, is the most horrifying and helpless feeling in the world. Love you, mini man. Way to be healthy!

And, I’d like to welcome my newest niece into the world, Brooklyn. She was born on January 23rd and I’ve been waiting all this time for my cute sis-in-law to post pics on her blog so I could yoink some and put them on mine. Anyway, you can now all partake of her adorableness. Welcome to Life, Brookie!

Have a great Monday! (And happy Groundhog Day and birthday, Mom!)