Quitter

Do you ever have moments where you think, "I just can't do this any more. Fuck it. Fuck it all. I'm done."??

And then you get better and feel bad for wasting all that time swearing and being down?

But most importantly, does it make you a quitter to quit quitting, or were you already a quitter to begin with?

Hair Pricks

I got my hair cut...finally. It has been since I donated it in the Spring of '06. (Luckily, my hair stylist can't add well and only scolded me for waiting a year.)

I had to cut off quite a bit in order for it to be really healthy again. At least four inches.

I was ecstatic that my hair was finally healthy again. It finally looks GOOD again. I can finally STYLE it again.



Not one damn person noticed.

No one at my mom's house Sunday night.

NOBODY at work over the past two days.

Not my daycare girl.

Not even my kids.

JERKS.


I have no camera for "after" pics - or any "Before" pics for that matter. But you can tell me it looks nice anyway - just to make me feel better.

Prayers

I hope you can all find the time today to say a little prayer for WhyMommy. (Find my post about her here.)

She's going in for a double masectomy today.

Just the next step in kicking this cancer's ass.


We're thinking of you, WhyMommy! Show 'em how it's done!!!


(Thanks for the heads up, Judy and Amy!)

I'm Coming Out.

My secret identity has been compromised.

I leaked sensitive information about my family two posts ago.

Sure, Worker Mommy pointed it out and I got it fixed up. But I have no way of knowing who saw the information before that.

I had to make a choice. I could track the IP addresses of anyone who visited my blog from the first publishing time to the second and blackmail them to keep quiet (or, you know, just kill them). OR! I could just not do anything. Or I could come clean.

I have decided...The jig is up.

To tell you the truth, I was getting a little sick of the Blog Names, anyway. I had reasons for each one of them - the main being to protect my family from any weirdos that might want to come steal my babies in the middle of the night. But the more I think about it, the more I convince myself - they're never going to find them solely because they know our names. Because, really, we all have extremely common names. Not like my mom or sister - whose names will never be mentioned on here.

Without further ado, I give you the Butrfly Family Breakdown:

The Man = Mike
Sunshine = Alyssa
Ninja Boy = Nicholas
Butrfly = Amy (Me) (Oh, wait, you knew that one.)*

From here on out, we give up our Uber-Secret Identities and will stick with not letting our last names out.


So. There you go. Merry Late Christmas. I got you Information! Hope it fits.


*(Or did you? How would you feel if I told you that was NOT my real name??)

I'm Locking Her Up.

The first time, it was cute.

But if I see one more love letter come home from school, I'm locking the girl up and not letting her out until she's thirty five.

CPS be damned! My baby is being courted in first grade!!

BY MORE THAN ONE BOY!

Daddy's on the verge of a breakdown himself. I just hope Shane and Austin know to stay far away from this house.

Rambling, Ranting and Making Excuses

Or…the origin of my SR.

When I replied to my Brilly-Poo’s (;p) comment yesterday, instead of quick email back, I ended up with a whole blog post.

Brill said that she used to be very outgoing but now she’s more of a homebody.

And guess what…I used to be that way, too! I used to HATE sitting at home. I worked retail and LOVED my job. My favorite part (besides the free or very cheap shoes) was interacting with people all day long.

As I moved from my “Party Girl/Single Girl/Hot Shoe Store Girl” persona to the “Mom/Office Worker/Wife” persona I’ve taken on, my need for that interaction faded. But it wasn’t until Bella that I began to dread meeting people so much that it actually prevented me from leaving the house.

Because any time I have a conversation with someone new, the subject of kids comes up. “Do you guys have any kids?” I usually explain that The Man has two kids who live with us. I used to "avoid" this situation by saying "we" have two kids. Then I wouldn’t have to explain the custody thing. But then, the subject can turn to, "So the kids with Grandma?" I could LIE (most of the time, sometimes they are with Grandma), or tell them that they are at their mom's. [Weird look] Then explain that they are The Man's kids and not “mine.”

Inevitably, the conversation always turns to me. Or, more accurately, my baby-making. It's either, "So do YOU have any kids?" or "Are you guys ever going to have kids together?"

And in that absolutely inevitable moment, I have to make the choice: Do I lie or tell them the truth? If I tell them the truth, the conversation - and the 'relationship' - go sour. Always. It goes a little something like this (these are actual things people have really said to me!):

"So do YOU have any kids?"
"Um. Yeah. We had a baby girl in 2005 who was stillborn."

The Idiot:
"Oh. Huh. Well...you'll have more."

The Prodder:
What happened? Are you going to try again? Why NOT? Oh, don’t worry about that! Being a mother is the greatest thing you can experience! Giving birth, that’s the most beautiful moment of a woman’s life. [Me: I HAVE given birth!] That’s not the same! It’s not the same, you see, that baby did not live. It’s just not the same. [Note: Conversation aborted, Prodder’s life depended on it.]

The Suicide Promoter
Oh, my God! Seriously? That must be TERRIBLE! How do you go ON? Oh, I just don't know how I would live if one of my kids died! No, really! I would just KILL myself! Oh. My. God!

The Weired Out Person:
"Oh, really? That's really...bad." [silence]

Those are the basic reactions. Somehow, the conversation always turns to this and ends with someone (or both) feeling uncomfortable. Or sometimes they really upset me and sometimes no matter how hard I try I can’t hide my newfound hatred for them and their giant thoughtless mouths.

But as painful as it is to drudge it up every time I meet someone, it’s a thousand times more painful not to. Because as easy as a “No.” would be to throw out, in my mind and in my heart saying that is denying Her. It’s lying about almost a whole year of my life. Pretending that a child never existed. A child that grew from a microscopic seed into a six pound baby girl in my womb. Who I spent twenty minutes pushing to see. Who I held on to as long as I possibly could. Who I’ve cried over for two and a half years.

As easy as it would be, I just can’t do it. Rather, I choose to stay home – away from new people who want to know how my ovaries are working.

But, like I said in the last post, I’m working on it. I’m trying new things with my “Conversating Skillz.”

Saturday night while we were out, an old friend whom I haven’t seen in years, asked The Question: “So do you have any kids?” I smiled and said, “The Man has two kids who live with us.” And she smiled and ended the conversation. So, thank you, J, for knowing your personal conversational limits. Thank you for not needing a status on my uterus. Thank you for letting me enjoy my evening and thus, allowing yourself to enjoy yours.


Click HERE for a Public Service Announcement (aka “a rant”) from The Butrfly Garden (well placed in the Complain Room).

Overcoming SR

Some of you may remember that I am inflicted with SR.

Social Retardation can come in many forms. Common symptoms include: inability to RSVP, fear of the telephone, diarrhea of the mouth or sudden loss of speech, telling horrible jokes, other speech impediments, fear of crowds and much, much more.

Mine is not the most severe, but it does cause problems in my daily life. I don't hang out with friends very often - sometimes I even wonder if I really have friends (you know, "I.R.L."). When I DO actually push myself to set up 'dates,' it takes every ounce of my being to make me follow through. Or sometimes I just cancel at the last minute. If my phone rings and we don't know who's calling, there is often a quick Paper, Rock, Scissor game between The Man and I to see who has to answer it. If someone comes to our door, (after our initial shock wears off) we downright argue about who has to answer it and then chant on our way to the door, "Be for the kids, be for the kids, be for the kids..."

It's not that I don't like people. I just don't like interacting with them. And about half the time I do push myself to "interact," I'm reminded of why I don't. The other half of the time, I go home with a smile on my face. Not only because I had a good time, but because I'm proud that I pushed myself to do something that scares me and it turned out well.

This weekend can all be chalked up in the Good Half. Since The Man had to work Saturday morning, we spent Friday night at home eating pizza and wishing we were Jason Bourne. Saturday, I played Grinch and walked through my house tearing down my Christmas decorations. Sunshine was at a party down the street from us so after the party, she came home for a bit before we dropped her off at her mom's again. Then we headed to my old stompin' ground, where we went out for dinner and then met friends.....AT A BAR. And even though The Man felt out of place, we hung out there for over an hour. Add an impromptu visit at another friends' house and I have THREE HOURS to check off on my "GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!" list.

Sunday, Kristina and I battled CROWDS (another SR trigger) - Crowds of BRIDES (something anyone should be scared of) - to visit vendors at a wedding fair.

So despite the fact that I'm really tired today (when your idea of a night out is going to Chili's for dinner, actually going out really wears you down!), I'm proud of myself for getting out there "making" myself have a good time. Because I needed it more than I knew.

Social Retardation: [roughly] 700

Amy: 1

(Hmm, well, it's a start.)

Adept

I don't really care much for most of the guards at work. They seem either too crabby or too self-important or both. But there is one older man, Leo, whom I've always liked. He's friendly and has a wealth of stories. He took this job in retirement to give him something to do after working at the brewery most his life. We usually exchange pleasantries as I head out the door three nights a week.

As I was leaving last night, I couldn't shake the feeling like I was forgetting something.

Did I leave my cell phone on my desk? No, I had that. I went over my mental checklist and couldn't find anything missing.

I passed the guards' desk and turned to say good night to Leo.

"You look like you've forgotten something!" He warned.

"I feel like I forgot something!! How did you know that?!" I replied.

"You just have that look on your face like. Bill, in there, he always has that look because he forgets his cell phone. Do you have yours?"

"That's what I thought I was missing, but I grabbed it!" I was astonished.

"Well, you just make sure you didn't forget anything and have a great night!" Leo said with a wave.

I waved back and told him to have a great night, too.

Either he can read minds, or he's really good at his job.