I’ve been away.  Nothing big has happened and I think I have a tendency to do this for a few months out of the year.  Usually from September to or through April.  Ok, maybe a better way to say it would be that a few months out of the year I’m ok.  Anyway, moving on…

I have a house.  I want to sell it.  I want to build a new house.  We actually have the opportunity to do that.  What I seem to be lacking is time.  It always comes back to time, or the lack thereof.  Even once I have some of that elusive time thing, other people want it and I’m all “leave a bitch alone” in my head.  I think these things but then I hear what is suspiciously my voice saying things like, “sure, not a problem”.  I’m working on it. 

Have I bitched about my inability to conceive?  If not, I need to say I’m having issues getting pregnant.  The issue is that I’m not.  It took 3 years to get pregnant with my son and apparently, at least that many to have the next child.  I’ve run out of ways to explain the roller coaster ride of joy that experience has become.  We’re working on it.  My hubby had his sperm counted, there’s plenty and they’re healthy.  I had blood work done and contrary to popular belief, my hormone levels are indeed normal.  The next step is an HSG.  Look it up.  It involves x-rays and is internal.  Hubby gets to jack off into a cup, I get to spend 15 minutes in pain.  This is fair because? 

I had my brother live with us for a short period of time.  This was because my mother’s home was and still is a dilapitated turd.  I thought we could help.  I was wrong, we could not.  My mother is/was a hoarder of animals but I guess I can say she was a good hoarder.  She tried to take better care of the animals than she did herself or my brother.  But, my brother is 21.  It’s not like someone should be taking care of him at this point.  Over 70 dogs were signed over to the SPCA on Christmas day and we’re moving on from that.  My brother is not here now and I have my office back.  Do you know how hard it is to write a bitch-fest when the second you stand up, someone swoops in like a buzzard on roadkill?  PC does not mean public computer.  It’s personal computer not public. 

So, today I’m just zoning when I shouldn’t be.  I should be washing the hubby’s 3 loads of laundry, packing the house and doing whatever it is that I should be doing.  Yesterday was the memorial service for my best friend’s mother.  It was cancer.  I wish you supposed adults would stop fucking around with that.  Apparently, The Big C does not fool around.  My dad was 43 when he died.  Her mother was 53.  Both of them were scared of it being serious so they ignored it.  Can someone learn a lesson from this? 

That’s all for now.  

Officially, I am a “Soccer Mom”, admittedly, I do not fit this role well.  The Kid is 4 and has limited organized sports experience.  Limited as in, never having played real sports because I don’t think we can count “Sunshine League”.  That is an entire series of posts for another time.  Soccer is what The Kid has wanted to do since Dora wowed us all with her Super Soccer Kick.  Funny enough, when he decided that he was going to be a soccer player he also made it clear that I was going to be a Soccer Mom.  Those are his words, not even kidding.  He begged and pleaded and while I had no issue with him playing, he just wasn’t old enough.  I managed to slip him in past the birthday cutoff this year and was hopeful it wouldn’t be an issue. 

Who was I kidding?  We all have issues in this family.

If ever I wondered about The Kid’s attention span, well, this experience has confirmed that he doesn’t have one.  We’ve spent a few nights hanging our heads in shame as he goes through the Power Ranger imitations, talks to his buddies and runs off the field MID GAME to sit with a ponytailed blonde.  I do have to say, The Kid’s endurance has improved immensly since starting and he does have a genuine love for the game and that has been my only concern.  As long as he continues to love the game and the experience of playing, then I will continue being his Soccer Mom. 

I do have to say that I’ve had some moments of, well, full-on-frustration.  Not so much with him but with other parents.  Since this is his first real go at sports, I figure it’s for fun and since it’s only clinic, that we don’t have to worry about winning.  I wish others felt the same way.  Mothers shouting at their kids to be in position, get the ball, get out there and so on really do ruin the experience.  They also drown me out as I’m yelling for The Kid to stop picking grass, get the ball out of his shirt, pull his hands out of the net and to get out of the bushes. 

I mean, really, you’d think they could be more considerate especially when it’s a given that 15 minutes before the end of practice and games that they’re all picking grass, being chickens and looking at airplanes.  That’s how we know it’s almost time to go. 

Today is the dh’s birthday.  I have nothing planned for him for today.  I suggested he take tomorrow off and we’d do something uber cool with the boy.  It’s going to cost us over $60 to even walk in the doors of the uber coolness that is the MD Science Center but it will be worth it.  His present is getting to spend time with us.  He really doesn’t get to do it enough and the burden of cost was lightened a little by his parents.  They surprised him at his work, took him to lunch and gave the obligatory card but included cash.  I’m happy that they did this, he seemed happy to have spent time with them and talk with his dad.

BUT

I won’t lie, I’m annoyed that I’m sitting here on the couch watching the dog chase her butt and the boy pretending to shop at Walmart.  Let me tell you, I live the life baby. 

Now, dh’s birthday has had me thinking anyways.  For my birthday last year, I was given a karaoke machine.  No, wait scratch that.  I was told I was getting a karaoke machine.  He never actually bought it, claiming that it was such a personal gift that he wanted to make sure I had all the features I wanted.  Ok, so Christmas rolls around and that is about when he finally ordered the thing.  We hooked it up and it was broken.  He is still driving around with the thing in his car, fighting with Ace Karaoke to get the machine replaced.  Some advice, don’t go through Ace Karaoke for your drunken entertainment needs.  I finally told him the other night he should just return it.  I didn’t say it in a mean way, just a “you know what, you might as well just return that thing”.  Yes, I’m aware that I sound like I just walked down the mountain when I compose sentences out loud.  That’s not what we’re talking about right now, so shh. 

I’m not sure how this happens but I always put more into his birthday and occasions than he does.  It’s not a contest and I’m not doing it just to see how it benefits me.  I do it because I want to do these things and I love seeing the smile on his face when he gets something that he’s been longing for.  When I gave him the acoustic guitar for our anniversary, the look on his face as he pulled it out of the box, started tuning and strumming was priceless.  There was no look on my face at any point because I didn’t get anything for our anniversary. 

For my birthday in 2005, he bought me a beautiful cake, pink with roses and my proper name spelled out.  NO ONE calls me by that and EVERYONE wanted to know why he did it.  Our anniversary then?  I can’t even remember.  Our 5th anniversary in 2002, oh that was a treat.  I gave him a stainless steel Bulova watch with a blue dial and he gives me a stack of wood.  He had designed a custom doll case to hold a porcelain doll.  The problem was, it wasn’t finished it in time and still hasn’t been. 

So, again, why do I do it?  Because I care about the man, I love him more than I could ever imagine caring for a person that I didn’t have a blood tie too.  Does this mean he doesn’t aggravate the hell out of me and make me feel like crap when he “forgets” or “run out of time”?  Of course not.  If anything, it gets me more-so.  I’d say that I could stop caring but I worry so much that it would hurt him if I forgot that I could never do it. 

 I suppose one of these days I’ll figure it out.