Small Victories

I have been in SUCH a funky mood lately---and not funky as in, "Let's all go out dancing!" but as in, "I am miserable and determined to make everyone else that way too." Hibernating, biting James' head off for looking at me funny, and just altogether grumpy. Why? Well, at the risk of divulging all of my secrets to the whole planet (Who am I kidding? All 3 people who read this?), which I am NOT prone to do (Yes, even I am asking myself, "Then why'd you start a blog, you moron?"), here goes---with the understanding to those who know me that I do NOT, under any circumstances, want to discuss any of these issues with you. They aren't for talking about, they're for letting fester inside until I'm over it. That might even include you, Shmoopy. This is the down-and-dirty list, without elaboration, and in no particular order. Those who care will know why these things bother me.

1. Our continued financial struggle has reached near-crisis point. The stupid replacement engine for the Kia took our tax return check, which was supposed to pay the heating oil bill from the winter. So, the heating oil people understandably want their money---we have no choice but to send them our entire f-ing economic stimulus check (The ONLY thing I have to thank "W" for is that check---while I don't think it did a damn bit of good for the economy and was flawed in theory, we personally needed it, and I'll take it. I'll still be glad when he's gone, even though we'll be paying for his presidency out the wazoo for a long time, I'm afraid.)! And yes, all of that punctuation is in the right place. So, instead of using the stimulus check to pay down credit cards, which might have actually done the economy some good, because then we could have used them some more, it's gone, just like that. Meanwhile, I'm figuring out how often I can sell plasma or bone marrow or something so we can get caught up before it's time to heat this damn house again. To make it worse, our savings is piddling along---this is the time of year we usually put money in and leave it alone, but we've taken some out, and not as much is going in because of the stupid furnace we had to have put in this monstrosity last winter. Ugggh. Okay, enough said. No, not enough said--and I'm sick of this house needing so much done to it and me not being able to do it. Everything needs to be painted, and I can't buy paint. Everything else needs tools, and I don't have them either. There, now I'm done.

2. I'm fat and sick of it--and for the life of me have no idea how it happened. Okay, yes, I really DO know---but there really is a skinnier person inside, and I can't figure out how to get her out.
I have a treadmill in an unusable place---and I'd use it, except for the room I want to put it in needing to be redone, which I can't afford. I'd join a gym---can't afford that either. Whine, whine, whine---I'm even annoying myself at this point.

3. I'm sick of people who don't want to be pregnant getting pregnant acci-fricking-dentally. How does that happen? And why does it always happen to completely dysfunctional or unfit people? James is going to give me hell for this one, because I made the mistake of even looking upset the other day at the news that a colleague (who's NOT dysfunctional OR unfit) is accidentally but happily pregnant (and I'm happy for her, really I am, but JEALOUS as all hell, and woman enough to admit it), and the response I got was, "Oh boy," as in "here we go again." Multiple issues here--can't get pregnant, even on purpose. Can't afford it anyway, so should be happy with what I have (and I AM--he's a "miracle" --if you believe in that sort of that thing-- and the light of my life). And I'm too OLD at 36, soon to be 37, to be having babies anyway, so what difference does it make?

Well, I do feel better for having vented---until some well-meaning dumbass (probably a parent) tries to talk to me about this, which I explicity said NOT TO DO.

Now, on to our small victory, which I unfortunately do not have a photo of, but you'll probably thank me for that. Andrew's potty-training--he'll be 3 next month, and I've been working really hard with him this summer while we've been home. Diapers=money, y'know? He's really good about peeing in the potty--some days we even go without a Pull-Up, because they're just a temptation to pee in, especially when Andrew knows he can make the Piston Cup disappear if he pees. That's supposed to be a deterrent---hah! Anyway, he's been perfectly content to poop in his diaper, although I've been planting the suggestions (hopefully they grow better than the garden is)...yesterday he announces, "I wanna poop in the BIG POTTY!" and tears off for the bathroom. I'm thinking this is a good thing, because I won't have to worry about dumping the little one. So, he's perched up there on the throne, and I'm holding his hand because he's afraid he's going to fall in (which WOULD be a good photo op!), and he farts. Well, something struck him wrong---I think the IDEA of it---and he starts to gag. Uh-oh. I get him down off the potty, and he turns around and looks in it--it's completely EMPTY other than the usual water--and gags big time. Then he pukes-on my arm, no less. So, great mother that I am--more worried about getting him to puke in the potty than about his feelings/gag reflex--turn him around, hold him up and over the potty as he continues to retch. So, I'm positive at this point that he's going to have such a bad connection to this that he'll never poop in the potty. I had already bribed him by saying James would buy Mr. the King (from CARS) if he pooped in the potty, so I continued with that throughout the day...as he held it, and held it, and held it. He never did poop. BUT---this morning, first thing, he announces he has to go and he wants to go to the big potty. Fearing a repeat of yesterday, but optimistic nontheless, we repeat the process. And lo and behold---HE POOPED IN THE POTTY! First time EVER! James has already been to one of the -Marts and procured Mr. the King so the bribe can be complete. And that has been my bright spot of the day.