Little Voices

I have always sort of felt that my body had betrayed me when it came to food. I never seemed to get that whole "you're satisfied, quit eating" thing. I never really heard a damn thing until it got to the "holy, hanah, are we ever stuffed" point. That whole reasonable portion thing never seemed to work for me.

Maybe it was a childhood with a killer metabolism (I could out eat just about anybody, and still was skinny, pre-puberty), maybe it was just my brain's screwy wiring. You know, the stuff that causes depression, and in some in my family, addiction.

Whatever it was, it never seemed to be there.

So, based on a part of the whole "fat acceptance" movement (oh, I could write a lot about that) I've been trying lately to not worry about every little calorie that I take in, and just listen, really good and hard, to what my body is trying to tell me. Eat when I am hungry, not just because it is "lunch time". Stop when I am satisfied, not stuffed. Eat the foods that I crave, trusting that my body knows what it needs.

So far, it seems to be working. Well, sort of. I hear it. There are however some conflicting voices in there. Namely the one saying, "you're stressed, you deserve the candy". I'm pleased that the good voice is really there. I don't feel like I'm quite so broken anymore. I just wish the other voice wasn't winning out so much.

Going in to BlogHer, to go along with my commitment to running, I'm going to try to let the good voice win out. Perhaps while imagining it as a cartoon dog dressed as an angel on my shoulder. Just to help it out, I'm going to do my best to keep healthier snacks available. If the stress does win out, at least I can give it something better than a Twix for it's trouble.

In the Nick

No matter what you call it, some times things happen right when they're supposed to.

I've been shy on writing posts lately because I seem to keep writing the same post over and over again. I'll give you the Reader's Digest version.

Work is stressful. I like to eat, especially when stressed. Being sick sucks. Exercising is hard.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Some times however, things all come together right when they should, and there is a little glimmer of light. Right before things could have completely taken a turn for the even darker.

Things like finding an awesome true story about love that helps you remember the early days of your great romance. Remember all of those wonderful things that brought you to where you are today. (On the off chance that you are like me and have lived in cave and have not read the true story of how Ree, The Pioneer Woman, and The Marlboro Man met & got married, before you click that link, get a box of tissues and call in sick to work. You will not be able to stop)

The above becomes especially timely when among other things you learn of another divorce in the making.

Things like taking your daughter to her first movie, at a drive in. To hell with commercialism and a sleep deprived kid the next day. It was an awesome Father's Day wish and a fun night out. She has discovered candy and there is no turning back now.

Things like going to the Dr. and having their scale show you lighter (fully clothed even) than your scale at home. (let's be honest, you never get on that thing with clothes on) Which is sort of awesome after you had a thoroughly demoralizing run the night before.

I'm sort of glad I held off on posting all of that woe is me crud. Annie may be right after all. The sun is shining brightly all of a sudden. (no kidding, it just came out as I was writing this)

Which means I may need to mow the lawn more than go for a run.

Naw, I hear the prairie look is totally in.

Fat Girl Running

The whole time I've been doing the Couch to 5K, I've been focused on just making it through so I could make it to the next thing. There was always the next interval to make it to.

I'm here. I'm at the last interval. I can run 30 minutes.

The next part, this part I'm not so sure about.

I need to go faster, and I need to go farther.

I don't know how to get there. I don't know how I'm supposed to do this.

Tonight when I was running, I felt fat for the first time since I started this. The faster I try to go, the more that I bounce. It is uncomfortable and frustrating.

So I think the next thing is to just keep trying to farther. The pace I'm going is slow, but it is going none the less. It is doing what it needs to do right now. Maybe I'll always be really slow.

Who knows though. Maybe the fast will happen some day.

Fitting it In

Honestly, I don't know how I make it through the day some days. No really, I don't.

There is work, two full time jobs, with some after hours work for both adults in the family, getting a kid to daycare, keeping my house at least pretending to be clean, cooking all of the meals, and taking care of the preschooler, while pretending to also not lose my mind.

It feels most of the time like I balance on the edge. I am just barely cutting it at work, at home, as a parent. I know that isn't true, well, mostly. My cleaning commitment leaves much to be desired.

It is one of those times where the universe conspires to make things even more crazy. Both A and I have major projects at work, that will include evenings and weekends, M is at an age where she is very needy, and has learned to talk back, like a two headed monster, and I'm trying desperately to find a way to stay on top of my health goals. That means exercise near daily and no more eating out, including lunch.

So far, I'm finding only a little bit of success. I've managed to work out in the morning twice, with serious good intentions for the third time. (I was diverted from my goal by a missing sports bra. I only own one.) It seems to work best when I lay out everything I need to wear the next day the night before. That includes socks and that one lone bra. The realization that if I work out in the morning I don't have to again at night seems to drive me to get up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 AM.

Cooking/eating is still hard. I'm starting to realize that M is now old enough where I don't need to feed her five minutes after we get home. I can wait just a bit longer to make something healthy. I still need to figure out how to expand my winter cooking, but thanks to Andrea, I took a look at something other than dried fruit and frozen veggies at Trader Joes and found us some more options. I even tried to make oven baked chicken fingers tonight for dinner. I can make the seasoning choice better, but my yogurt marinade followed by bread crumbs worked pretty well. Small steps, right?

For the local women. My absolute favorite women's athletic clothing store (though it looks like they have a lot more other stuff now) Title Nine, just opened a store in Edina. I found it when I followed them on Twitter while perusing their site for some more bras. I am seriously thrilled about this since I am a long time fan, but I liked their store in Boulder (where I found the best sports bra ever) more than trying to find what I needed in a catalog. I will be going on Friday at the latest, and I promise to report back.

Resolve

Generally speaking, I suck at resolutions. However, I thought I'd try a few goals for the year. You know, easily achievable, but good to put down in writing. 12 of them, one for every month.

1. Move to my own domain. I own it, I own the hosting, I need to get off my duff and do it. It isn't like I have gardening to distract me when it is -12 outside.

2. Finish at least four knitted projects.

• Hat for me.
• Sweater for M.
• Lightweight hat for A.
• Mittens for my sorry frozen fingers that don't fit in to any women's mittens available.

3. Finish some sewing projects, at least three.

• Dresses for M.
• Quilt for somebody.
• Maybe another quilt for somebody else. ( I should have a quilting foot for my sewing machine relatively soon)

4. Keep my house cleaner. This is a goal for the whole family, whether they like it or not.

5. Spend less money on crap. I want to start traveling again, that requires dough.

6. Get back to exercising four to five times a week and tracking what I eat. The holidays were fun, but I'm healthy now and want to stay that way, so I should get to it before I get the death flu again.

7. I'm totally stealing this one from an unnamed friend (you know who you are) but get rid of 365 things in the next 364 days. Not counting the stuff already in bags to go to the Sal Army. This may include the three bookcases I'm trying to give away. I may have to start a blog just to keep track of that, or better yet, a page when I move over to Wordpress.

8. Read at least six books, for fun. I have a lot of stuff I've gotten as gifts I have never read. That's silly, I should fix it.

9. Take better care of my skin. Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize.

10. Wear jewelry at least twice a week. (I'm starting small)

11. Take pictures every day. I have the camera of my small dreams, I will use it. Even if it is to photograph the dust bunnies.

12. Grow an even bigger garden than last year. (there has to be at least one gimme, right?)

PS. Thanks for the amazing comments and support on the last post. Y'all are the bestest.

Funky Town

I seem to be coming out of the funk I am in. Perhaps it was finally paying a bit closer attention to when I was supposed to take the Metformin, the encouragement from Alexa that it will get better, or, I dunno, the sun. (note to self, make sure you get some sun this winter, you'll thank yourself later) No matter what, while my stomach is still far from normal, just a couple of days of paying a bit closer attention to what I eat and when I eat it in relationship to the meds has meant wonderful things, like not getting debilitating stomach cramps that turn me into a witch at brunch with my in-laws. (which I am hoping to heck I hid well)

I'm still a bit spacey from the fumes, or just my general not feeling well, but that isn't anything a few good lists can't solve.

While I'm going into great depth about my stomach, I suppose it is time to admit to not having exercised in a month. The scale is proving this to me. I have not been sneaking out in the middle of the night while sound asleep to work out like I had hoped. It started with vacation, then the three week cold from hell, and then it isn't light enough to go outside and I feel like crap all over again. So, I've been bad. While I haven't had a complete relapse, I need to turn this around, and fast. Schedule willing, I'm joining a gym. I just need to chat with A about what nights he can pick the kiddo up from daycare so I can get my arse to the gym, on the way home. Honey, if you're reading this, I promise to put something good in the crockpot so you barely have to work to feed the kid, promise.

Remembering that writing is supposed to be my cheap therapy has been good. I feel more clear headed getting to do a brain dump every night. I guess that going into the stress of the holiday season, NaBloPoMo would be a good idea. From the "where do we go this year" to the photos, to the gift and money BS, it is always stressful. So, I'll be signing up to follow the herd for November. However, anything anyone want to know more about? I know that is terribly narcissistic, but I'm a leo, I can't resist.

Bully Bully

I've always said that while I still think it was horribly wrong, I could understand where the Columbine shooters were coming from. I know how you can feel so helpless at the hands of bullies that all you want to do is do something extreme. Something to make them pay.

I was the weird kid growing up. I had the weird parents, I lived on a commune, I was smart and showed it off, and I was odd. I was a vegetarian when I was in elementary school, I wore second hand clothes, I had a hyphenated last name. My parents weren't married, and I was poor. There was next to nothing about me that fit in. I was bullied by my peers.

I was bullied by my teachers.

Yes, my teachers. I was teased about what I ate, my parents, my name, by the people who were paid to teach me and protect me. The responsible adult in the room was my worst enemy.

These were the teachers that people listed as favorites, that won the popularity contests. The teachers that if I had ever said anything about no one would have believed. Yet they did it. Some of them could still be doing it.

There is no punishment I can think of other than firing and revoking a teacher's license that would be appropriate for the two teachers who publicly bullied a teenager for their perceived sexual preference. The small money that the district paid out is not enough. It will never be enough until it stops.

I don't care if even a small part of it was true. I've been there, I've had a principal tell me that being bullied by jocks was acceptable. I wear the scars of that. It is the emotional baggage that I carry.

I hope that M never has to deal with that. I hope that she has the same great relationship with her teachers that she has now. I hope that she can always respect and look up to the people in charge. The people we trust to take care of her and teach her. I hope they don't teach her some of the lessons I learned.

Mirrors and Self Image

Yesterday I read this amazing post from Julie @ The Mom Slant (formerly MotherGooseMouse, you really should go check out her new site) and it really got me thinking.

As an adult, I have never purchased, nor installed, a full length mirror. Unless it came with the apartment, I have never seemed to need to see all of me at once. Which may explain a little of how I got where I currently am. Well, maybe not, but you never know.

In my office building, in addition to the bathroom mirror that makes me look amazing, there is also a large bank of mirrors on the first floor. I don't go there very often, choosing to enter the building via skyway instead. Today though I found myself walking past the mirrors and taking a good look at myself. I realized that since the last time I paid any attention, a lot had changed.

I liked what I saw.

Other people may see the flabby tummy, the sagging boobs (though I hope I have a good enough bra they don't see that), the recovering stretch marks. I see the thirty pounds I lost. Five to ten pounds on someone with twenty to lose can seem like a lot, but it is hard to see when you have one hundred to lose. Thirty you can see.

My face is thinner, my neck more graceful again, I think I may have lost a chin (I hope). I see somebody worth investing in. I'm putting an effort in to my work clothes (hard when you need to be professional and still crawl under desks). It is time to care enough about how I look to be willing to look at myself in the mirror every morning. It is time to see when the clothes are getting baggy and I need to get new ones that fit better. It is time to see all of the chins go away. It is time to enjoy the gray hair I've earned. It is time to give a damn.

Now I just have to find somewhere to put it.

When my blog grows up...

... She wants to be taken seriously.

I knew I should have figured out how to do this before BlogHer, but that whole damn life thing just got in the way. I knew going in to BlogHer that my intention was to be more serious about what this blog is. Not that I want to write about serious stuff. In fact, since my lifelong dream of being a stand-up comedian is never going to happen, why not pretend I'm funny occasionally on the Internet. That is however beside the point.

I've been mulling over what I want from my blog, and it comes down to a few things.

1. I want Integrity. I took the pledge even. I think it will help me focus on being a better writer.

2. I want my own domain. I've gone through registering ameliasprout.com. I had thought about rebranding, but I heard over and over again this weekend what a cool blog name it is. Especially when you know why it is.

3. I want a new design. I think I want to break up the photo stuff from the writing. I also want a section without advertising. I'm not saying that I want to do reviews, I just want a place that isn't governed by contracts. I will, no matter what, disclose what goes there. See point number one.

3a. About the ads. A domain, hosting, etc, do not come free. Just in case you were wondering, ads don't pay any bills. I'm keeping them because they may some day make a dent in things.

4. I need a better bio. I would much rather be a blogger who has a kid than a mommy blogger. If you've noticed things around here recently, I don't blog nearly so much about my kid as I do my fat (shrinking) ass and my garden. My bio should reflect that. However, I'm still not sure who I am.

5. I want to do things outside of the blog. I've been dreaming of doing those little pieces on NPR for just about as long as I can remember. I've also been dreaming about Oscar acceptance speeches. One of those is attainable. If I am going to call myself a semi-professional writer, I need to actually put some effort in to the semi-pro thing. It could all suck horribly, but then again, maybe not.


So, what do you think? Nuts? Weird? Something worth doing? I'm guessing with the hour or so every other day I have to think about it, this is going to take some time. I've got to find someone who can help me some design stuff and hope to god that the tweeps will be there to answer any questions I have along the way.

The People and the Potato

I have far more social anxiety than I had realized. I swear, this is something that has happened over time. When I was three, I used to walk up to people and introduce myself and ask them to be my friend. This weekend I followed my roomie around like a lost puppy, afraid to be involved in the conversations she was in, and afraid to start my own. I was trying my best to make sure that if I said something, it was something that was worth the air I was expelling. I believe I may have finally hit my groove Saturday night, or perhaps Sunday morning on a cab ride to the airport.

No, I do not think that more alcohol would have helped.

I went up to my room at regular intervals to just relax and breathe. I know more than once I excused myself when I wanted to stay and talk and enjoy. I hope to hell that I didn't offend anyone, and I've kept replaying situations in my mind, wishing that I had done things differently. But I didn't, I did what I did, and I can only hope that next year I do better.

That does not mean that the weekend wasn't without some little moments that still make me giddy.

I met Mrs. Potato Head.

I don't care what you say, she may not have been a Muppet, but that girl makes me look skinny.

I got to hold both of these babies. Including the part where I accidentally hid Amy's iPhone under my purse. I'm still sorry about that.


I sat and talked to The New Girl, more than once, and I'm completely floored by how funny and sweet she is. She made me feel very comfortable. I hear therapists are good at doing that.

I met a famous chef, told him how wonderful his fine restaurant's take on a kid's menu is, and then blamed him for my marriage.

I ate breakfast with a Rookie Mom.


I went and took some pictures to help me relax.


I ate Cheeseburgerherz, talked to a local writer, and made plans to go eat Chinese with her, soon, I promise.

There were so many more people. I still haven't gone through my business cards, I fear for my feed reader, but I am so happy. Things will be changing here, just a little at first, but I have a clear idea of what kind of blogger I want to be, what kind of writer I want to be. And next year, because there will be a next year, I will be at BlogHer, talking to everyone. Just try and keep me quiet.

An Intro to Me, and some free stuff

So, seeing as I am about to leave on a grand adventure, I'd thought I'd do a little over sharing.


I have a really unique first name. No really, my parents were hippies, it was the 70's, I'm relative sure that there were drugs involved. I don't share it here because of it's uniqueness, but I will happily give it to you in person. It is on my business card. I do have some frightening ex's, so please keep it to yourself.

I am an introvert at home (I need my me time) but an extrovert at work (I deal partially with customers, and I'm chatty), but I also share stuff with strangers. I can't make up my mind if I'm an I or an E apparently.

I work in IT with PC's (a job I love) but I have a Mac at home because I refuse to let it be known that I'm really a super geek.

I have tried nearly every craft at least once. The only ones I've managed to keep up are knitting, crocheting and sewing. Sewing is hit or miss, I knit and crochet pretty consistently.

I learned to crochet from my Grandma Marie when I was little. I taught myself to knit when I was living in NYC was horribly lonely. The fall after I learned I knit 24 hats taking the N from Brooklyn to Chelsea.

I'm too loud, to honest and too direct to be a Minnesotan, despite having been raised here. I feel most comfortable with my loud mouth in NY. My love and my life are here, but I feel like an east coaster at heart.

I hate passive aggressive, since I am horrible at telling what people "really" mean.

I have crocheted at least 20 (still counting) potholders to take with to BlogHer. Am I a dork who could be taking them all home. Maybe. If you see me, ask me for one. Am I a dork who is going to give some away here? Sure.

So, if you're feeling like you could use a new potholder, made out of brightly colored cotton, then leave a comment. I'm giving away at least three, but depending on how many people comment, you could all get one.

The best laid plans

I may have mentioned before that I'm sort of a geek about lists and planning. I had my whole week before BlogHer planned out. Doing laundry, shopping for stuff for the house while I'm gone (making sure that they are stocked up so that there is no need for solo Target runs). I even had my packing laid out, based on what I am taking that I may need to wear to work, making sure it all fits.

Apparently the universe thought that was terribly funny. They decided to throw in a little child illness to really make things fun. You know, something nice and contagious that I am now making ever effort not to get myself. It could be strep*, it is going around daycare, or it could be random virus. (so far, no concerns of "the flu", wrong symptoms)

Sure, I don't have to worry about work clothes, it is 6 PM and I am still in PJ's, but that nifty geeky packing list? yeah, that would be at work, where I will not be before I leave. I'm catching up tonight by packing, seeing as I can spend tomorrow in my PJ's too.

The worst part is, I feel like I'm no longer mentally prepared for the whole damn thing. I'm stuck worrying about what M is sick with instead of how I am going to fit the extra two pairs of shoes I'm bringing for Christina. Maybe it is good, maybe it will keep me from dwelling on the fact that I'm leaving my baby for three days! Or maybe I'll just be a big mess come Thursday night when I get in.

*The first test was negative but she had just gotten sick. I have a 6th sense for these things. I am rarely wrong, but I often bring her in too early. I guess it is conditioning from having her in daycare and knowing the sooner she starts the antibiotics, the sooner she will be back in school. We go back tomorrow if she is still sick.

Because nothing says panic like a handbag.

I was just waiting for it to happen. I knew that eventually, some time before I left for BlogHer, I would completely lose my shit. I guess I just didn't think it would be about a purse. Those of you who know me can stop laughing now. Except Kristen, she totally gets me.

Sometimes, a purse is not just a purse, it is:

• The first time that you have carried something that you had no intention of carrying diapers in, because dude your kid is two and potty trained.
• A purse, like a real honest to goodness adult bag. You're 32, why are you not carrying an adult bag. Still with the messenger bag?
• You're 32, why don't you feel old enough to be 32, holy crap shouldn't you have done more by 32.
• Two? She's two, it has been over two years and you've never left her. Include gestation and we're at almost three. Shouldn't you feel more guilty for leaving?
• Why can't I find a damn purse that looks like a grown up purse, but doesn't look like a granny purse, but doesn't look like you're 25, because dude, your 32!!!
• Does this purse make me look like a grandma? Is it edgy enough, is it too big, is it too small?
• What am I doing, I shouldn't go, I shouldn't do it, I don't have the right handbag. People are going to think I'm a loser. Would I be a bigger loser if I carried my Timbuk2 messenger bag?
• I wish I had an iPhone, or at least an iPod Touch with wifi.
  

Thank god for understanding coworkers who get panic attacks. I'm beginning to wish I had insisted on medicating prior to BlogHer. So, if you see me hyperventilating in the corner, tell me my purse looks great. If you see shopping at Macy's, stop me before I blow the house payment trying to find the perfect damn purse.

*Fine, I'm not 32 yet, but it is like three weeks away (you're welcome to buy me a birthday drink). I'm already feeling 32, in case you couldn't tell.

Thank you FB for taking me back 14 years.

I am positive that in high school I was relatively horrid to be around. I was miserable, unhappy, and I hid a lot of my insecurities with a superiority complex. Not that the kids I went to school with were nice, but I am sure part of it was me. When I left my home town after high school I went to a school no one else did and pretty much entirely wrote off my entire hometown and high school experience. I had minimal contact with one person which ended abruptly for a reason I no longer remember. When I would go home for the holidays and occasionally in summer, I would do my best to avoid seeing anyone. It took work since a lot of people never left.

Four years ago when my ten year reunion happened I thought about going. After all, I was married to a great guy, with a house and a dog. Then I thought about how I no longer lived in NYC, how I was heavier than I had ever been, (lighter than that now, yay!) and how I had nothing to rub in that all of the crap I took hadn't hurt me. I had spent a lot of time wondering if they still hated me or if they had gotten over it. However, when it came right down to it, what I realized that I was the one who had stuff to get over. If I was going to prove to them that they hadn't hurt me, then I had missed the point.

I'd like to think I've made advances since then, but damn Facebook has brought it all up again. The class VP had my address and married name from the reunion, and she went and friended mostly unused profile from a class account. I was curious, I logged in. I friended back. I've waited and wondered if anyone would friend me. No one has.

I've realized that I'm doing it all over again. I have a pictureless profile and I haven't reached out to anyone. I'm not even sure who I would reach out to if I wanted to. If I keep waiting for them, it will never happen.

So today I uploaded a photo, and I reached out to the one person I miss the most. I still fear rejection, but if I never take the chance, nothing will ever change.

Invading my little world.

If you're local, you know we're having another big snow storm. Since the ones that hit in the afternoon and run through the evening commute have been bad on the commuters this year, my manager suggested that we all leave as soon as was possible. I chose to leave when M got up from her nap at daycare. Since it was only 3:15 or so, I decided to go to the grocery store. We're running low on a few things since I decided to shop the fridge this week instead of the store. Great chance to get something fun for dinner and some staples.

We took the back streets and made good time getting to the store. I grabbed my wallet, put it in my pocket with a reusable bag, thinking that I would be so good. At some point while shopping, M mentioned my purse. I said yes, people have purses at the store. Lately she's been talking about purses, so we talk. I guess I should have listened to her. When I got to the checkout, my wallet was missing. A quick check confirmed it wasn't on the floor anywhere. It had been stolen.

I am relatively sure I was pick pocketed on purpose, and it didn't just fall out of my pocket. I think the reusable bag made my pocket bulky enough that I didn't notice it was missing right away, and having M with made me distracted. I feel like a dolt.

I apologized for leaving my things, and headed home quickly to cancel my cards. Before I had made it home, my check card had already been used at a gas station across from the grocery store. A common way to check if a card is active, according to a woman at one of the places I had to call. I canceled all of my cards, then filed a police report. (the officer said often people call before canceling anything, I did it in the right order)

The things I can't replace/recover are an iTunes gift card, three fifty in cash as in 3.50), and the wallet. It was a very nice Coach one, a gift from my friend who I performed the wedding for this summer.

The worst part, other than feeling like an idiot for breaking my routine and putting myself in this position in the first place, is that this person has my address. Credit cards have been left at stores, canceled as a precaution. That I can deal with. However, this is the most personal a theft has ever been for me. I had a tape deck (yeah, I know, idiot though it was a CD player I think) stolen out of my rusty Honda when we lived in South Minneapolis, but this unnerves me more. I'm hoping the license was tossed out with the collection of receipts and other junk in the wallet.

Tomorrow I visit the DMV at lunch, replace the license. I just don't know if I can ever replace my feeling of relative safety in my own home.

Sweaters big and small

Ok, so April asked about knitting and since I have been tackling something I never thought I would, I thought I would share. However, if you are my SIL and want a surprise, stop reading.

I have a new niece due in three or so weeks, so I thought I would tackle another baby sweater. I made her big sister a quilt, but that seemed a little aggressive with my own toddler to deal with. This is my second truly successful sweater. The first was for a coworker. I figured if I brought it in half made to her shower I would have to finish it. It worked, and it was easier than I thought. I only wish I had been brave enough to make some for M when she was little.


One for the new baby, and one for her sister's baby doll. Except that one I think will be too small, so I made another. That one fits M's baby doll (slightly smaller than her cousins). I used the Knitting Pure & Simple free sweater pattern with some slight modifications for the buttons. For the little one, I took the same basic pattern and halved one of the larger sizes. I've liked her free pattern enough to actually purchase some other ones, including a couple in M's size. I may be crazy, she's bigger than 6 months.


The knitting is hard on my wrists, and my cyst isn't getting smaller, but the therapy of it all has been worth it. Just see the happy customer above.

Rage in a parking lot

I was asked to write about this before, and I think I am finally ready to. If nothing else than to maybe try and get over my fear of that particular parking lot.

Late August, after a fun state fair visit, I took M to Target to do our grocery shopping. I usually take her with, since it is time together that I would rather not waste. I was incredibly distracted. My tooth was not remotely securely in my mouth despite spending three hundred dollars the day before to have it put in. (after the dentist didn't respond to his page). I was also incredibly stressed. I love the extra writing I am doing, but it is a lot more work than I thought it would be. I was already on edge.

I stopped, no one was walking in the cross walk (there were people, but they weren't doing anything, I didn't know what they were waiting for), there were vehicles stopped in it. I went through. I got stuck behind some people and was blocking the cross walk for longer than I wanted to. You need to know that I am the person that stops for the person in the cross walk. I yield to pedestrians.

I was distracted to say the least, and doing what I needed to. When I got out of the car an old guy asked me if I always go through cross walks when people are crossing. He scared the crap out of me. I lashed out. He lashed out back. I said horrible thing, I swore, I went to get M out of the car, and he kept coming at me. And I got way more mean. I don't entirely remember what I said, but I know I asked him why he was doing this to me when I was there with M. I called him an asshole, well, fucking asshole. And other horrible things.

He and his wife asked me if I always am so mean to people with artificial hips, people in their 70's, etc.

Some stranger came and started attacking verbally as well. Said they were taking down my license plate. That was when I started really crying. I broke. They left. I pulled it together enough to get into Target.

I got M in, I got her in a cart, I called A. I made it to housewares. I tried to tell him how horrible I had been. How I wasn't being myself, how ashamed I was. He couldn't understand what I was saying, he came to help me. While I was crying M reached out to hug me.

My 16 month old daughter had to comfort me.

I tried to shop, I tried to be normal.

A security guard came to me, I tried to explain I wasn't nice to the person, that I was scared, that I was mean. I just cried. In the middle of the clothing section of Target. I told her A was on the way. I went to the front door, I tried not to cry more. I tried to keep M calm. She brought my water. She was an angel.

A showed up, we did the grocery shopping.

I wish it was a funny story, but I'm pretty sure it isn't. I know I have a mental illness. I know I have to be careful, to medicate it when I need to, to take care of myself. I know that I will need to tell M about it, watch her and make sure that if she needs help she gets it. I will not repeat the past and ignore it, and let her think that she is less or weak because of it. I hope that she does not have to deal with it.

I was not prepared for her to have to comfort me before she could talk. I was not ready for that. It is why I took a break after it all happened, why I walked away from the extras in my life. It's why I needed to write this out despite the breaks to wipe away the tears.

There is another commentary I have on this, but it will have to wait. Life goes on, the laundry needs doing.

A knew I was crazy before he married me, and he still married me. We fight, we struggle, we make it work. He never fails to be there for me. It has been seven years since our first date today, and he is always there for me.

PS - I wouldn't have the courage to put my crazy out there if it weren't for Catherine. Show her some love, let your crazy show.

There's three grand in my mouth.

Before I write about my nervous breakdown in a Target parking lot, I figured I should write about my tooth drama.

To write about my tooth drama, I should write about my first dentist. So, here is goes.

My first dentist was a crazy old many with horrible breath. His name was Dr. Stanley, I think. He was my dad's dentist. My dad's crazy, and he like this guy, that should have been the first sign of trouble. His solution to my buck teeth was for me to spend time every day pushing them back in place. The way he showed me what the drill did was to drill a little hole in my finger. He also didn't know what laughing gas was. The first time I saw a pediatric dentist, I'm pretty sure that I skipped and swore up and down that I would be good if I could go back there.

When I was 11, I was in a bike accident. The short story is that I hit the ground with my face and slid. I was out of town at my aunt's graduation from college, and had to go to the local ER where I waited for hours for the local oral surgeon to show up and sew my bottom lip back on. I also broke off most of my front teeth. (bye bye buck teeth) The consensus was that I was lucky to escape without a broken jaw or wrists (I did try to stop myself) They sealed my teeth because I had exposed nerves, and sent me home with major pain killers.

At home I went back to school, two weeks before it let out, and then spent my summer out of the sun, trying to keep the scar that was my face from discoloring. I was so proud I could talk without moving my lips (immobilized), and that I got to eat refried beans and milk shakes, that I honestly don't remember being teased much, but I know I was. My teacher suggested that I not be in school for fear of scaring the other students with my hideousness (I am sure she spun it as being for my own good, but she was a bitch so I know better).

Over the course of the summer the soft tissue issues healed (I still have to explain why my bottom lip looks funny to any dentist/hygienist who sees me), and I had many dentist appointments. First to do root canals after my teeth started to die, and then to rebuild them with composite. Crowns would be done before graduation, since my mouth wasn't done growing.

Other than the composite teeth (one slightly discolored to match the tooth that got the root canal too late), the only other visible scar I had was a bluish mark on my upper lip from lacerations that healed oddly. Those scars have since healed, but it took me 16 years to get the crowns. My parents could never afford them, and I finally saved up enough before I got married. I had the composite build ups break off a few times and get rebuilt, even better than before.

I know that the visible scars that stayed (the teeth and upper lip) had an effect on me. I know that kids teased me, even if I can't remember the specifics. I never thought that they would stay with me this much. I thought I was over it. Until two weeks ago, I was sure that I was.

The prospect of having to spend any time publicly without a front tooth, especially with a discolored stub of remaining tooth, left me a mess. Especially when it looked like the recementing measures taken (the next to last step before major surgery for an implant) would not actually work and I would be left with issues before vacation. I have had multiple panic attack/break downs. Of course, there is other stress in my life, but this seems to be the major trigger. The thing that had made it hard to keep my shit together.

So, before I write about the parking lot drama, just know, my shit, so not together.

*I went in today to have them look at it again, and it was determined it is very solidly in place, I just needed some adjustments since it doesn't fit as well as it once did. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. We shall see. Chicago dogs, here I come.

Back, sort of.

I'm back, and slowly getting over having my life disrupted. One more day, just one more day. The bus stop situation turned out to not be nearly as bad, but still not good. I'm annoyed, but I'll live. If you want a laugh though, the Lifetime fitness in the Target Center closed at 4 because they were afraid the Rage Against The Machine concert goers were going to riot. Um, that is pretty close to daycare, looked pretty mellow to me, just scalpers.

I'm not sleeping much, a combination of a cold, maybe some allergies, and ongoing worries about my tooth. I'm sure I'll get to writing about that soon enough. Just need to figure out how much of my somewhat irrational fear of people judging me based on my teeth I should put out there. There is also some work stuff going on, nothing horrible or earth shattering, just lots of thinking keeping me up. Thank goodness for benadryl.

M had a good holiday weekend, she saw her Nana and Grandpa in Red Wing, and her momma went and got plastered for a good hour or two with her girlfriends. She's getting a new word every few days or so, which is fun, funny and terrifying all at once. Especially since the new one is shirt, and well, it doesn't come out sounding quite like, shirt. She's also learned her first color, and it shocked us all that it is purple. Damn is it cute, if I wasn't so intent on keeping her face off of here, I'd upload the video.

Breaking Point

My usual way of dealing with stress is to just keep forging forward. Because everything is OK, everything has to be OK. People are counting on me, and I need to just deal with it. Except, it isn't OK. Eventually, little cracks start to show, things start to slip. I start getting paranoid, I start forgetting things, I start having trouble focusing. I usually deny it until the little cracks become a massive festering split.

Sunday, I split. The stress of the tooth (I'll write more about that later, I'm sure), the constant need to be writing, all while doing the day job, keeping the house somewhat cleaned up, and chasing around a toddler who refuses to sit still finally came down in what I can only describe as the worse case of parking lot rage to ever been seen in happy passive aggressive Minnesota. (OK, maybe not the worst, no one was hurt or anything)

I would explain, but I can't, I don't remember half of it. I wasn't me, I wasn't all there, and thank god for nice Target employees and a husband who knew I was crazy before he agreed to marry me.

So, I'm taking a break, because if I don't, they may need to cart me off to the loony bin... again. (yeah, I'll explain that too, Dooce ain't the only one baby) I'll be back after Labor Day, don't forget about me or anything. I'd line up guest posts but umm, I'm not that important... unless you count how important I am in my own head.

I've got all kinds of good stuff on DVR that needs catching up on post Olympics. Eureka!, here I come! See you in a week.