See, What Had Happened Was...

I'm a bad blogger. It's as simple as that. Life got crazy... I went crazy... and blogging just fell to the wayside. I had ideas. Oh, man did I have ideas. But I just never found the time to take those ideas and put them into writing. So, many of them are now expired ideas. Like, who wants to read about how we accidentally became a Trader Joe's family because of Pumpkin Spice Coffee, which I bought like 2 months ago? No one. No one wants to read that old shit now. Now it's peppermint mocha everything, so my pumpkin spice story is just... old.

So I can recap. That's about the best I can do for right now, until I get my mojo back, find a little more of my sanity, and force myself to sit down and type away at this computer... which so far, has been quite cathartic... already... after just a paragraph and a half. Hmm... I might be on to something again...

In the past few months:

• The Ginger turned 11. I now have an 11 year old and a 13 year old... who constantly reminds me that in 4 months, she'll be 14. And then I have wine. Because no. Just no. I'm not the mom of an 11 year old and an almost 14 year old. Because that would mean that on my birthday, I'll be turning 35. Nope. More wine it is.
• I went crazy. Did y'all catch that above? I actually did mention it in the beginning stages in a blog post, Being Crazy Sucks. Since then (y'all ready for this roller coaster? Fasten your

Being Crazy Sucks

I believe we're all crazy. Crazy comes in different types, symptoms, quirks, whatever you want to call it, but we're all a little crazy in some way. People who have been diagnosed with a particular type of mental health disorder are crazy. People who haven't been diagnosed with a particular type of mental health disorder are crazy. We're all a little crazy, and I tend to use the word "crazy" as a blanket term. It's not meant to be offensive; it's meant to make you embrace and smile about a subject that normally causes tears.

Amen!

If you don't agree with that statement above, or take offense to it, then it's probably best that you don't read further, because you won't understand my post, or how I view this sensitive subject. That's your disclaimer right there. Take it or leave it, it's up to you.

I was first officially diagnosed as crazy when I was 18 or 19. Adjustment Disorder is what the therapist called it, meaning I didn't adjust well to change. You graduate high school, get married a month later, become a military wife and move to a different state all in the process of one summer, and I'm sure you wouldn't adjust well to change, either. But, unlike most people, who can just bend and adapt to change, I had a nervous breakdown... at work... in a crowded restaurant where I was a waitress... with everyone watching. So I started my first stint in therapy (yes, stint, as in- I'm comparing it to jail... why? If you've been in therapy before, you know that some sessions feel like you were sentenced to attend), which lasted over a year.

Fast forward about 4 years or so, and I felt another breakdown coming on. I entered therapy again,

Perspective is a Great Thing

The reality hit us recently that we are stuck. Hubby has 3 years left in the military, and if he doesn't make the next rank, that's the end of his military career. With 3 years left in his current rank, he lacks what they call "retainability" which means we probably won't get orders out of the desert before his career is through.

See. Stuck.

I went into panic mode. We are used to moving every 3-5 years. Hubby has been here 5 years now, the kids and I have been here for 3 years- that Moving Itch had set in.

And remember how we had orders to Japan last year, and then they were cancelled? Every single person we talked to said, "Oh, just wait. Whenever they cancel orders like that, you always get another set of orders in the next cycle. You're fine."

We waited. And waited. Like 5 cycles have passed now, and no orders. They double screwed us.

So, we're stuck. When that realization hit, I did what any crazed person who feels backed into a corner does-

I started house hunting for a place off base. If the military won't give us orders, then at least we can take it upon ourselves to change our environment to make the next 3 years exciting again.

So let's talk numbers. I'm going to throw everything out there, and before you non-military people

9am, Pre-Vacation Anxiety-Filled Ramblings

I have been a suck-ass blogger lately. I know this. I've been a suck-ass blogger because I've had to be a non-suck-ass business owner, homeschooler, wife, and mother lately. Which means something had to suck ass, and unfortunately, it was blogging. That's just been my reality lately.

I'm nervously typing this out because I'm anxious as hell right now. We leave for our vacation tomorrow, and while I'm super happy to see family we haven't seen in 3 years, I hate traveling. 6 hours of flights there, 6 hours of flights back, and I'm not a flying person. At all. Yes, I've acquired the necessary meds to help me fly, but it doesn't make the anxiety leading up to the flying any better, because I refuse to take the flying-anti-anxiety meds until we are actually flying. Fun how that works out.

I also have to leave my furbaby, Ariya for the first time since we got her 2 1/2 years ago. This dog is attached to my hip, and I have zero problems with that. That makes leaving her 1,000 times worse. She is getting to stay with some amazing people, who I know will treat her the way I do (like an actual child), but it doesn't make my heart hurt any less to not be around her. It's not even me I'm really worried about- it's her. Will she think we abandoned her? Will she understand we're coming back? Will she be okay? Just more to add to my *lovely* anxiety right now.

They say when it rains, it pours, and lately, you can tell it's been monsoon season here in Arizona, and can totally explain why I've been MIA lately. It started a little over a month ago when Etsy

When the Subject of Religion Pops Up...

When I started blogging years ago, there were two topics I always swore I'd stay away from- Religion and Politics.

Pic Courtesy

I have to break my little rule today.

The Ginger came in last night from playing outside with his best friend (a kid he's been friends with for 3 years now), and he immediately trucked it to the back part of the house. He started doing his chores (on his own, without being told- Red Flag #1), and was putting things away in their places with a little too much vigor (read: slamming shit around- Red Flag #2). I quietly watched for a moment or two, to see if he'd open up about whatever was obviously bothering him, but then returned to my office because I know with The Ginger, he'd have to approach me... and he would.

A few minutes went by, and The Ginger popped into my office and asked, "Mom, are we atheists?"

Whoa. Okay. I knew something was bothering him, but that definitely came out of left field.

Of course I asked the obvious question:

"Where did you hear that word?"

The Ginger walked out of the room. He obviously didn't want to rat out his friend, but I didn't feel

5 Ways to Develop Your Psychic Mom Abilities

"Have you been playing in my office?"

The Ginger stared at me blankly. Slowly, he shook his head.

"Really? You haven't been playing in my office? At my desk, maybe?"

He took a huge swallow. Slowly shook his head again.

"Are you lying to me right now?"

At that moment, he broke. "Yes, Mom, I was in your office. I was just spinning around in the office chair. I didn't touch anything, I promise! How did you know? I did it when you were in the shower."

"Because I'm psychic. All moms are psychic. We know what our kids are doing at ALL times. Got it?"

The Ginger, eyes wide, hung his head and nodded that he understood. Then he ran off to his room.

This is probably one of my favorite parts of being a mom. How did I know The Ginger had been in my office, downstairs, in the front part of my house, when I was upstairs, taking a shower, in the back part of my house? Am I truly psychic?

That time I dreamed the Pick 3 winning lottery numbers would prove yes. And yes, I played them, but they came up in a different order than what I played, and I had played 'Exact Order' like a dumbass. The clerk at the gas station, however, when I told him my story of how I dreamed the numbers, played them 'Any Order' and won $500 bucks off me. Asshat.

Anyway, no, I'm not psychic. The seat height on my office chair is adjustable, so when I sat down on it, and was about 4 inches too high for my desk, I knew the spinning-chair-loving Ginger had been having quite a fun time while I was otherwise occupied.

Am I ever going to tell The Ginger my secret? Hell no. Kids thinking their moms are psychic has

The Evolution of a Super Mom

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The Killer Bunny Story

Last week, my Mom Skills were put to the test, and let me tell you, when you are facing down a ferocious beast, and your kids are near, you learn things about yourself that you never knew prior to that intense moment.

The point of entry for the intruder.

Or something like that...

We have a gap in our screen door. We need to put in a work order with the housing office to have someone come out and fix it, but let me tell you-  fixing a gap in my screen door is not a priority in my life right now, so it's been like that for months.

The kids and I were leaving the house one morning last week, and The Girl and I were both at the front door. She unlocked it, grabbed the knob, opened the door and stopped dead in her tracks. She was looking down at the floor. I followed her gaze, saw a small brown, furry thing curled up in between the screen door and our house door, and...

Took off running down the hallway, shrieking. No joke. Not my proudest moment, let me tell you that.

It took approximately 2.5 seconds (and 14 feet of hallway) for my brain to process the image, compare it to the different files in my head, and find a match- long ears, soft and furry, fluffy butt- a baby bunny.

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around. The Girl, still standing at the door, matter-of-factly

I'm Not Screwing Up My Kids for Life... I Think...

Every parent worries at some point if they are screwing up their kids for life.

When you start homeschooling, that fear and worry seems to triple.

Two and a half months now, the kids and I have been trying to find our place in the homeschooling world. At this point, I feel like Goldilocks:

We started out with an online school-at-home program "porridge"- Too Strict
We moved to unschooling- Too Relaxed (according to Hubby)
We started a more relaxed daily online curriculum program- Too Easy & Boring

At this point, I've thrown the homeschool porridge against the wall and am currently pouting in the corner, wondering if there's any porridge out there that's "just right" for my kids and I.

Two months now the consistency has been rather spotty. They do math at Khan Academy everyday, we've found literature and grammar curriculum that we've stuck with, and they write posts for their blog each week, but as far as science and history are concerned, we're just bouncing around.

I'm totally screwing up my kids' lives, aren't I? Why did I start homeschooling in the first place? Why did I think I was qualified to do this?

These thoughts stay in the back of my head like poison, seeping forward every once in a while to drive me bat shit crazy.

Needless to say, I've been stressed beyond belief lately.

My readers and my friends tell me that we'll figure it out. They say homeschooling takes adjustment

Regaining My Nerd Status

I was a nerd in high school.

Pic Courtesy

Ha! Who am I kidding? I'm still a nerd now.

I'm a nerd, though, with a pretty big secret that was revealed to my kids this week. While they didn't fully understand the scope of the secret, Hubby looked at me like I had grown a second head and said, "Seriously? Whoa."

I never read 2 of the books that are some of the top books on pretty much any required reading or greatest books ever written lists...

"Lord of the Flies" and "The Catcher in the Rye." Never read either book.

Yeah, yeah. I know. Every single conversation in the last 15 years or so where either one of these books has been brought up has gone something like this:

Person: You know, like in "Lord of the Flies"/ "The Catcher in the Rye."
Me: Oh, yeah, I understand, but I've never read it.
Person: (blank stare) What?
Me: Yeah. I've never read it. But I know the concept of the story and all.
Person: (continued blank stare) What do you mean you never read "Lord of the Flies"/ "The Catcher

Explosions and Chopping My Hair Off, All in a Day's Work

Yesterday, I lost it.

We are talking full-on, champagne bottle that had been shaken for weeks and finally exploded lost it.

So I did what any woman who fully lost it does- I went and cut all my hair off.

Yeah, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's head back to the scene of the crime beginning.

Yesterday morning started like any other morning. The kids got up, ate breakfast and then around 9-ish, they start their homeschooling. They start out with math, because, let's face it- most people hate math, so if they get it out of the way first thing in the morning, their day can only get better, right? (For the record, I love math. I have this annoying quirk where, if numbers are thrown at me in an equation-like way, I have to compute them. A simple question, standing in the grocery store, like, "Hey, is it better to get the 30 count for $5 or the 72 count for $9?" immediately makes my brain start working to figure out the problem. It gets annoying sometimes.) Both of the kids were on word problem lessons, which compounded their hate of math even more.

I usually work while the kids are on the computer, doing their lessons. So, I headed into the front room to organize my work day and figure out what orders needed to go out. I had barely even walked into the front room (25 feet from the kids), when I heard the first, "Hey, mom...".

I love my kids, I do. I love that they need my help. But I find it very hard to believe they need my help 2.5 seconds after I leave the room, when they've clearly been given directions on what they need

Silver Linings and All That Shit

Tomorrow is the big day for The Girl. Exactly 1 week from her 13th birthday, she's having her braces put on.

Pic Courtesy

And she's excited about it.

WTF, right? So many WTFs right now, it's not funny.

WTF #1- She wants braces. She's looking forward to braces. She's been begging for braces. Not so much because she wants her teeth straightened, but because in this day and age, braces are cool. Which leads me to...

WTF #2- Braces are cool? Since when? 15 (cough)... 20 (cough)... Okay, fine... 25 years ago when I had them put on, they were the devil. No one wanted braces. Braces were a necessary evil your parents forced you to go through; a rite of passage into the teenage years; another horrible part of puberty, as if the pimples, greasy hair and weird ass hair growth (sorry, not weird ass hair growth, like weird ass hair growth... maybe a hyphen is needed for that? Weird-ass hair growth. Better? Fuck it) wasn't horrible enough, your parents threw in braces. And for me? A lovely head gear. I'm just

My Love Affair... With a Computer

I might be having a love affair with my kids' computer.

Yes, I have my own laptop. Hell, I even got a tablet for Christmas that I carry around with me pretty religiously... so much, in fact, that at the homeschooling group last week, I went to grab my phone, thinking it was my tablet, to show another mom a book I have downloaded on my tablet. First world problem, I know.

We bought the kids a desktop computer for Christmas because The Girl wanted to play The Sims, along with 37 of its expansion packs- something I did NOT want clogging up my laptop. The Ginger wanted to edit his stop-motion videos and research how to make more realistic ones, again, something I didn't want my laptop taken hostage for.

So Hubby and I bit the bullet and bought a desktop for the kids. We figured, a computer that stayed put in the kitchen desk area would be better than one that could disappear into the abyss that is each child's room, and would also teach the kids how to share. Meanwhile, I would have my laptop back to myself, and with my laptop, the freedom to do whatever I wanted, wherever I wanted.

Only... something strange happened between Christmas and now. I seem to have taken over the kids' computer.

There's something nostalgic about sitting in front of an actual computer, the clickety-clack of the

I'm Done Being a Military Wife

I think I'm done being a Military Wife.

Oh, no, Hubby and I are fine- I'm not that type of done. I'm still the proud wife of a military member (and trolls, spare me the "there's no such thing as a military wife" bullshit- I got enough from y'all on my Dependa youtube video; apparently humor is lost on trolls...), but I'm getting so done with how military wives treat each other, that I'd like to withdraw my connection to most of them, please.

Is there a form to fill out? Can I go to Family Support for that?

This morning I woke... early... insomnia is still majorly screwing with me with Hubby not here right now.... so I grabbed my phone and started checking my facebook updates and whatnot. My news feed was filled with pictures, articles, questions asked to various groups I'm in, and then a post from a deployed military member to the base yard sale group, suggesting that maybe extreme couponers could take their stockpile extras and donate them to care packages for deployed military instead of selling them on the yard sale site.

Amen, military chica. Amen.

I'm an extreme couponer myself (need to get back into it, actually, as I've strayed in the last few months), and it makes my eye twitch to see people sell their stockpile items. I understand it might be a way for a military spouse to make some extra money, but they clear the shelves in the grocery store just to sell the items, and when I get to the store to get my items my family will use, there aren't any left. Plus, I'm really proud of my stockpile; we may never use 127 cans of shaving cream, but dammit, I acquired them for free. If I ever needed to get rid of them, I'd just donate. I have sold stockpile items in the past, when I first started couponing years ago, and I felt dirty about it. So, I never did it again.

Anyway, I digress- back to the post. Most of the comments supported the original poster. Of course, you have to have your troll- and the military lists are FULL of them.

Never mind what her negative comment was, the point is she made it. On military wives lists, or yard sale lists, or mom lists, or school lists, or whatever, there's always someone who makes that comment- usually you'll find quite a few of these people. I understand there are trolls everywhere, but there seems to be an unusually large number of them on military-related lists and groups.

I haven't quite figured it out, and I'm not sure if I ever will. Of course, I have many different hypotheses:

1. Military bases have a high concentration of people from all walks of life in a small area. Statistically speaking, there's

Today, at 34...

Today, I am 34.

Birthdays have a crazy way of making you think WAY too much. You think about where you've been, and what you've accomplished, and you think about where you are going and what you've yet to do.

A birthday post wouldn't be complete
without Ryan Gosling... le sigh...

You think about the million things you've done wrong, and the few things you've actually done right.

Birthdays are just crazy like that.

I talked to my Mom yesterday, who called to give me my birthday present early, and just check up on me since I've fallen off the face of the earth this year (this is my first blog post of 2015, and it's January 20th- homeschooling and my store are kicking my ass this year so far, but in good ways). She informed me that when she was 34, my sister was only 1 year old.

Nope. Not me. I see people my age with little kids, or pregnant, and I'm personally extremely happy that I pulled off the bandaid in my early 20s. Now, with my kids at 12 and 10, I can have decently mature conversations with them... if you call debating whether it'd be worse to have your nose above your butt or toes for fingers "mature conversation." (I'd totally go with toes for fingers, by the way.) I couldn't imagine changing diapers, or potty training, or not having any idea why my kid was screaming their head off because they didn't actually speak words I could understand, at my age. I applaud people who are my age, or older, with small kids, because it's something I just wouldn't want to do at this stage of my life. I applaud you, but I'll totally have you in the back of my mind while I'm sleeping in on the weekends, or watching a creepy PG-13 movie with my kiddos instead of "Frozen" for the umpteenth zillion time.

So, my birthday has made me think about what life would be like if I did have smaller kids. And y'all think I'm crazy now...

I've thought about where I've been, and how that road has led me to my life today.

Today, at 34, I've survived a three-year separation from my husband and an almost-divorce, moved about a dozen times

'Twas the Night Before the Night Before Christmas...

'Twas the night before the night before Christmas, and all through the house, 

The kids were playing video games, and so was Tatted Mom's spouse.

The stockings were all hung, apparently, as play things for the felines,

The presents all lacked bows, as these were also in the cats' beelines.

The children were all bouncing, due to an abundance of Christmas sweets,

And I was seriously regretting baking all those treats.

Tatted Mom lay on the couch with wine, trying to regain some sanity, 

While Hubby shot evil aliens in the video game "Destiny." 

When up on the second floor, there came a huge crash,

Hubby and I just knew something was broken, so we made a quick dash.

We arrived at our bedroom door, out of breath and panting,

To find our kids facing each other, raving and ranting.

The Girl wanted to be lazy, and watch some TV,

While The Ginger wanted to continue his mission on "Assassin's Creed 3."

The struggle for the television grew, when suddenly Mom went off like a gun,

"THAT'S IT FOR YOU TWO, I'M SERIOUSLY DONE!"

"It's almost Christmas, and here you two are fighting,

Hell Week Post #3: Zombie Virus, Anyone?

It's been established that last week was one of the worst weeks in a very long time for me. Monday kicked off with Hubby and I making one of the largest decisions ever for our kids, and Tuesday will forever be known as The Day We Crushed The Ginger's Innocence.

Now, we're going to mosey on over to Wednesday. And for the record, I seriously thought these events were more spaced out; they felt more spaced out. I didn't realize until I started writing the Hell Week series that they were back-to-back-to-back days. I can't believe I'm alive.

Before I can fully get to Wednesday, I have to backtrack somewhat to Tuesday. I woke up that morning with my throat hurting... again. Since I've lived in Arizona (2 years now), I've had strep throat about half a dozen times. Then, I've had something that tested negative for strep, but they gave me the strep meds anyway, about 3-4 times. So, Arizona is trying to kill me.

Back to Tuesday. Woke up with a sore throat, which was compounded by hot flashes followed by cold spells as the day went on. I was weak, shaking and just felt like general ass (as opposed to major ass- General Ass is much bigger... ha! I made a military joke...). I had a crap load to do that day, though, so I trudged through my day, and collapsed that night in bed.

Woke up Wednesday and couldn't ignore it anymore. On top of every symptom from the previous day, I now had a raging headache and some hella sinus pain and pressure. The back of my throat looked like a zombie's face, and the lymph nodes in my neck were the size of shooter marbles, and quite tender. Time to head to the ol' doc.

Let me pause for a second to tell you about how I never really see my actual doctor. He's never seen

Hell Week Post #1: We Aren't Trying to Ruin Our Kids' Lives, I Swear

I am officially labeling this week as "Hell Week," and it's only Thursday. It's been so amazingly, sweet-ass awesome (can you sense my sarcasm?), that it's going to warrant 3 posts from me.

My mantra right now...

Yes, 3 posts. I can't cram all of this week into one post. It would look a lot like a busted can of biscuits if I tried, and I don't like to make my readers' heads explode.

I will, however, give y'all a teaser of what my week has entailed, and then we'll just jump right into the first part of my week.

This week, Hell Week, started off with Hubby and I making one of the largest decisions we could possibly make for our kids- The Girl is still barely speaking to us because of it. Mid-week, we crushed The Ginger's innocence forever, and just after that, I contracted what can only be a precursor to the Zombie Virus. That's my Hell Week thus far, and please knock on some wood for me that the remainder of the week does NOT warrant a fourth post in this series.

So now that you have an overview of this week for me, let's just head right into one of the biggest decisions I've ever made as a parent, shall we?

Monday morning, as the kids were getting ready for school, The Ginger opened up his homework folder (keep in mind that last week was Thanksgiving, so the kids have been out of school since the Wednesday before this), and threw his head back. Tears started filling his eyes.

The Ginger: Mom, can I PLEASE stay home from school today?
Me: Nope. But why do you ask?
The Ginger: Because my state report is due today and I forgot all about it. I didn't work on it at all this weekend.
Me: Nope, sorry. You didn't do your homework, so you need to fully understand the consequences to

Surging My Kids into My Past

I ordered a 12 pack of Surge last week.

Yes, the heart-attack-inducing, tastes-how-I-envision-ghosts'-ectoplasm-tasting, colored-like-something-from-a-nuclear-waste-site Surge.

Shipping details say it will be here today.

I'm like a kid on Christmas Eve right now.

As a parent, will I be sharing Surge with my kids, aged 12 and almost 10?

You bet your sweet ass I am.

I'm the Mom who forces the 80s and 90s on my kids. They've seen "The Goonies," (The Ginger liked it more than The Girl), "The Princess Bride" (didn't like it), "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" (liked that one), the TV show "All That" (they loved it), "Sabrina the Teenage Witch" (The Girl adores that show), and countless other fave movies and shows from my childhood ("Camp Nowhere" and "Newsies" are next, and I was totally bummed to find seasons 1 and 2 of "Blossom" available, but due to legal rights of songs in the show, no more seasons of "Blossom" will ever be released on DVD. Super saddening...).

I'm not quite sure why I introduce so many things from my childhood to my kids. I've talked with other moms; I seem to be the biggest 80s/90s Dealer of them all, offering my kids episodes of "Saved By the Bell" like they are crack. ("Here, just try one episode, please... We don't have to watch any more if you don't like this one, just give it a try.") Most moms I know just let their kids watch what

Change is Upon Us (Working Title: My Chocolate Boob Life)

I've spent a couple of weeks contemplating whether or not I should write this post. No, it's not about a controversial parenting topic, or my opinion on a headline-making subject.

It's simply about me, and sometimes that's scary, putting yourself out there to the world.

Pic Courtesy

I'm going through a change right now (no, not the change; I'm only 33... though I wouldn't mind not being a raging bitch having a period once a month), and it took a conversation with a friend of mine yesterday to make me realize that it was time for this post, time to word-vomit it all out and see what happened.

So let's just jump right in, feet first. I'm really good at doing that in life...

5 years ago, you all would not have recognized me. 99% of you would not have liked me. If I had a blog back then, I can probably guarantee that any readers I had were just there for the drama. I was an extremely negative person, drama-filled, addicted to causing strife in people's lives who had wronged me.

Far cry from the meditating, positive, tree-hugging, respectfully opinionated and eloquently-spoken person I am today, huh? My friend told me she couldn't picture me that way. I told her she didn't want to.

Hell, I hated myself back then. But you fall into these destructive patterns, and it's like a huge, negative snowball rolling after you, that you have to feed with fire and rage to stay 1 step ahead of it or else it will crush you. I chose to stay ahead of the snowball by trying to make everyone around me just as miserable as I was.

Then I woke up one morning and I had no idea who I was. I had no idea who my kids were, and I saw my life for the crumbling heap that it was. I didn't want to be that person anymore; not for my sanity, not for my kids, not for my future.

So I ran away. Most people would say that's not a healthy option, that you need to stay and face your demons. Not for me. For me, running away allowed me to clear my head from the negativity in my