Making Charlton Heston Weep With Pride February 4, 2010

I’ve mentioned it before, but we’re gun people.  We have to be.  We live in Oklahoma and it’s a law that you must own guns if you’re going to be a resident.  You also have to own at least one pet and one broken down car.  (We don’t have that last one, so don’t tell anyone or we’ll be excommunicated.  You know, if Oklahoma were Catholic.)

Shane’s birthday is today and he wanted a new handgun for his birthday.  I have a cute little 9mm that I have for those nights when Cam and I are here alone (and for those times when I feel like taking out some aggression at the “shooting range” aka the river bottoms).  He wanted a .40 caliber.  So Tuesday I set out to do some shopping.  I strolled into the local sporting goods store and made a beeline for the gun case.  I lined up behind some rednecks in flannel shirts who were sporting wood simply because they were in the vicinity of shotguns.  Of course all eyes were on me because I was at the gun counter and I don’t even have a penis.

Once it was my turn, I announced which gun I was there to purchase.  I filled out a ton of paperwork and then was handed the gun to look over before I actually paid for it.  Once it hit my hand, I was in love.  It wasn’t bulky like my little compact gun.  I debated putting my old gun in the case and giving it to Shane and keeping the new one for myself.  I then made a fool of myself.  The guy at the counter asked me to read off the serial number.  Up to this point, I had tried to act like a total badass.  I knew the number was under the barrell but it was like all communication between my brain and body was lost and instead I stared blankly at the sales guy.  *blink, blink*  With a sigh that said “of course you don’t know…you don’t have a penis”, he flipped the gun over and handed it back to me.  Feeling like a fool, I quickly read off the serial number.  I felt like I should ask the guy for a pinch of snuff to regain my status as Cool Chick Who Buys Guns and Other Non-Feminine Things.  Instead, I kept my mouth shut.  See?  I’m learning.

While the paperwork was filed and called in and my background check was running and my DNA was sent off to the CSI lab (ok, I might be exaggerating), I continued to look around at the array of firearms.  Two elderly gentlemen encouraged me to buy them guns while I was at it, stating they would even take the pinks guns if they were free.  I did my polite, you’re-not-funny-but-you’re-old-so-I’ll-humor-you laugh.  Then some amazing creature walked up, a creature I’m pretty sure lives in the burned-out trailer house down the road from us.  He wanted to know how many shells a particular shotgun held.  The clerk told him that it depends on blah, blah, blah and the guy actually had the balls to ask if he could go get some shells out of his truck, load the gun, and see how many it held.  Ummm…..NO.  Even in Oklahoma, we draw the line somewhere.

I lost interest in the rednecks, so I moved over to the airsoft guns, some of which happened to be loaded.  It took everything I had not to start shooting passers-by.  Instead I fired off a few rounds into the gun case aisle, then abandoned my toy to check the status of my purchase.  Apparently we were waiting for a manager to come review my paperwork and check me out.  And then I would have to go pay.  *snort* Get it?  Yeah…I know, not funny.

While I continued to wait, I started questioning the sales guy about the vast collection of tasers.  I made fun of the leopard print ones, clearly made for women.  Don’t get me wrong, tasers are cool, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to be caught dead with a leopard print one.  I really wanted to try one out but I guess there are some kind of rules against that.  By now I’ve developed a case of ADD and really just want to get out of the store.

Finally, they determined that I am competent enough to own a handgun (heh) and walked me to the door with my purchase.  Once I was outside on the sidewalk, they relinquished my purchase and I swear to you, I skipped to my truck while swinging the case holding the gun.  If they weren’t scared of me before, I wanted them to be now.

Even though I really wanted to skip town with the new gun, I took it home and wrapped it up in — what else? – camoflage wrapping paper.  It’s now in the possession of Shane and I’m stuck with my clunky gun that isn’t nearly as shiny or fun-looking as his.  I’m betting he never lets me shoot it.

Happy birthday, babe.

Housekeeping February 2, 2010

Things have been slow around here because any and all of my creative energy is going to other things.  School, exciting new things over at Room 704, work, and pointless Skype chats that may or may not have ended in a vagina starting a Twitter account have really put a monopoly on my time.  I promise I’m not doing a disappearing act on y’all.

I’m currently in the works with a designer to rebuild this hideous site and give me something shiny, awesome, and new.  I’m throwing around the idea of losing the Sleepy New Mommy name, but I can’t decide.  For one thing, I’m not a “new” mommy anymore.  Also, this blog isn’t so much a “mommy blog”, but a catchall for all of my random thoughts, some about parenting, some about fish poop, some actually serious.  So why am I telling you guys this?  I want feedback.  I know most of you fools don’t comment, but feel free to shoot me an email or something so I can get your input.  Should I change identities?  Should I stay Sleepy New Mommy? 

So to sum up:  boring post today.  Name me.  The end.

Possibly the Funniest Picture Ever January 28, 2010

An outtake from this photo shoot.  It needs no caption.

Fish and Chips and Monster Poo January 27, 2010

We bought some new fish for Cambry back in July (after our previous fish met their untimely death when Shane cleaned their tank with dish soap).  She named them Fish and Chips.  I would tell you more about them to build up the story, but there’s only so much you can say about fish.  They eat, they swim, the end.  Or so I thought.

A few weeks ago, one of them (I can’t remember which one’s which…that’s Cam’s department) started to act a little weird.  I would often find him floating vertically, head down in the corner of the tank.  I was just going to chalk it up to another fish casualty and plan another trip to buy a replacement fish.  Shane, however, was concerned.  Perhaps he feels guilty about killing the other two and has some sort of protective feelings about these.  I, being the responsible fish owner I am, ignored his concerns.

The nighttime routine at our house involves Cambry feeding the fish before being tucked in.  She’s been using the upside-down fish thing as an excuse to call me in her room when she doesn’t want to go to sleep.  After growing weary of the nightly fish update, I decided to turn to my old friend Google for some answers.  When I entered the symptoms, I kept reading something about a swim bladder, so I began a new search.  I couldn’t believe what I read.  I had a constipated fish.

There were various and crazy treatments for fishy constipation, but the recurring theme was peas.  Peas. This situation just kept getting weirder and weirder. 

I was planning a trip to the store anyway, so I added peas to the list.  When I was going through the checkout line, I blurted to the cashier “Those are for my constipated fish!  Yay peas!”  She just blinked at me like I was crazy…a pretty good assessment.

I got home and carefully removed the skins from some peas.  I had read that you could separate the sick fish from the other one, but it wasn’t necessary.  Being lazy, I chose not to separate them.  I plopped the mushy green goodness into the tank and watched to make sure that the sick one actually ate some.  Check.  I then called my sister to recount what I was doing.  Because nothing screams sisterhood like fish bowel movements.  She questioned something that hadn’t occurred to me:  “Will the peas give the not-sick fish diarrhea?”  Damn.  I hadn’t thought about that.  I spent the next few minutes watching the fish, knowing that the peas wouldn’t work so fast, but morbidly wanting to witness a case of the fish runs.

I gave up on my watch.  Have you ever tried to watch fish that long?  They’re incredibly boring.

Fast forward a few days and you find me checking on the sick fish who has still been swimming vertically.  As I’m eyeballing them, I see something float by.  Not just something…the biggest fish turd I’ve ever seen.  It looked like a miniature sausage in the casing, about and inch or two long.  Shocked, I yelled for Shane and his brother to come look.  Shane is generally not amused by me, but his brother came for a laugh.  By the time he got there, it was stuck to the filter, too large to get sucked in.  Because we have the humor of 13 year old boys, we laughed way too long over this sight.

And this long, rambling story really has no point, other than describing the monster fish poo.  I’ll have you know that the sick fish is again swimming normally, having been relieved of that load. 

Peas, anyone?

I Hired a Man to Shoot my Family January 23, 2010

My plan is to carve out some time this weekend to sit down and write some posts with actual words and meaning to post to this blog sometime next week.  But I wanted to post something before the week is over, so I was trying to find something fast that would be relevant.  Then it hit me that I never showed you all the family photos that we had done around Thanksgiving.  I decided to hold off because one of them was our Christmas card this year and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.  And then I just never got around to it.  So…behold, some of my favorites(there were so many to choose from, but I’m limiting myself).  Also?  I’ve lost 17 pounds since these were taken (woot!), so I’ve lost one of those chins I’m sporting in the pictures!

Shane and Cam.  I love this one, as it’s so typically…them.

 

My baby and me.  Easily one of my favorites.  I’m usually the one behind the camera, so I’m glad to have this moment between the two of us captured.

A rare serious moment between the two of us.  My best friend referred to it as “the engagement photo we never had.”  She is waiting for a card from us, asking her to Save the Date.  She’s getting one for the next time we have plans to hang out.

Now that’s more like us.  (And look at all those chins!  Our poor daughter doesn’t stand a chance!)

I’m so glad he caught this one.  It was the exact moment Cambry realized that she’s cooler than me.

And finally…my beautiful family.  I guess I’ll keep ‘em.

*****

All of these pictures (and many more) were taken by my very good friend and super-talented photographer Brett of Birdsong Photography.  He usually shoots weddings, but agreed to shoot my family *snort*.  Go check out his website, especially if you are getting married (he travels!), and be sure to check out Shane and Cambry on the bloopers page.

This Man… January 18, 2010

…has served 3 tours of duty, all during wartime.

…drives over landmines, disabling them so it’s safe for the troops to go in.

…has been stationed in Germany for the last 2 years.

…is coming to my house tomorrow.

Let the party begin.

Cool Tricks! January 16, 2010

If you have a child under the age of 5…or if you smoke a lot of pot…you’ve probably seen Yo Gabba Gabba.  In our house, we constantly make fun of the Cool Tricks segments, especially anything with Biz Markie:

That man is a treasure, is he not?

So anyway, today I was doing something in the kitchen (probably not cooking or cleaning) when Shane and Ladybird came strolling through.  He was giving her a treat for being a good girl and letting us mess with her hurt foot to re-bandage it and whatnot.  I heard him ask her “Birdie, do you want to show Mama your new trick?”  Knowing that my dopey 70 pound gimp Mastiff pup does good just to sit on command, I turned around to watch the show.

“Siiiiiit” he told her, and she amazingly did.  The things she does for food.

“Staaaaaay” he commanded as he backed across the kitchen.  She stayed, which she rarely does.  Still I was waiting for this awesome new trick.

“Ready Birdie?” he asked, then he tossed a treat across the kitchen at her head.  Not one to disappoint me, Ladybird let the treat bounce off her head and roll under the table.

I blinked at Shane, waiting for his explanation.

“She stayed, didn’t she?”

When I still didn’t seem amused, he broke into song: ”Cool trick, cool tricks!”

Life in this house?  It’s never dull.

Delurking and Redirecting January 15, 2010

While I’m strung out on cold medicine and have tissues crammed up my nose, I think I’ll direct you to some other places today.  Before I do, I thought I’d mention that it’s National Delurking Day.  It snuck up on me this year, so I didn’t have time to create some cute badge/button or be creative.  I like to think I know who most of my readers are, but if you’re a lurker, feel free to show yourself today and leave a comment.  Or not…whatever.

Anyway…

Come check out this list of fabulous bloggers over here.  And then notice that my name is on the list!  I’m not sure how it happened, but I’m so happy to be working with Sprout.

Also, I can be found giving my opinion over here, even though they still haven’t added me to the Contributors list.  I like to think it’s because I’m too awesome to describe, but it’s probably just because this is still a fledgling project and we’re waiting for things to take off.

And now I’m done pimping myself out.  Now I want to direct you over to this blog that I’ve been reading for awhile.  Reading her posts remind me so much of myself when Cam was turning one and the struggles I was going through.  Go give her some love, as her Sweet One just turned a year old this month!

Now it’s time for me to crawl back in bed.  Since my immune system spends all its time fighting my body, it does a really terrible job at fighting sickness.  Shane is on a drugstore run for me and I’m hoping to shake this crap by the weekend.  Lots to do.

Happy Delurking Day, everyone!

A Case of the Mondays January 12, 2010

Today I learned not to taunt a Monday.

I awoke to a day I was not wanting to face.  I had no clue what the status was on my financial aid at the university and I was worried about not being able to afford to pay out of pocket.  This being my last semester, I was wanting to just hide my head in the sand and pretend that nothing was long.  The avoidance approach…not just for politicians anymore!

Anyway, I went to my first class and got very excited about the semester (Setting up a marketing consulting firm? Score!).  After class I found out that a) My financial aid has been reinstated, and b) I also qualify for a Post-9/11 GI Bill which will not only get me through this semester, but last throughout my masters.  Sweet!  The perks of being a military wife (not that they offset the heartache of having a husband overseas when you’re pregnant, but I digress).

So I got cocky and sent out a tweet about how Monday was officially my bitch.

Oops.

As I was basking in my happiness, my puppy was running around outside unattended.  I know, I know, but it’s cold!  And there’s snow! On the ground!  I opened the door once to yell for her and saw her out digging through some trash leftover from our last bonfire.  I figured she found a snack out there, so I left her alone. 

When she came in later, she was her normal happy self.  It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I noticed the blood on the floor.  Everywhere.  And the trail of it that led to the dog.  I looked it over, but it was bleeding too much.  I ran up the road to the pharmacy/vet supply store (gotta love small town, USA) to get some bandage supplies and was hoping to find some suture materials.  I’ve sewn up enough animals in the past that this wouldn’t be a problem.  Sadly, there were no sutures, so I grabbed some gauze and vetwrap and headed back home.  Shane met me at the door and told me that I should probably get Birdie to the vet, that the cut was “down to the meat”.  So I wrapped her profusely bleeding foot up and loaded her up to head to the vet.

Cam cried her little eyes out when we left.  Her last memory of leaving an animal at the vet was when we took Maggie back and she died.  The vet was supposed to call us and Cam was very concerned, asking me to check my phone every few minutes.  The call finally came and we went to get our girl.  $200 later, we were handed two prescriptions and the leash to one very drugged dog sporting a camoflage bandage.

Next time I try to taunt a Monday, I want you all to remind me of this incident.  I can’t afford another day like this.

Facing My Demons January 6, 2010

I’m fighting to see the computer screen through the tears that are streaming down my cheeks.  I’ve finally hit a wall and I won’t get over it until I break down.  Thus, this post.  I have been hesitant to write personal, emotional things lately but feel the need to let the words mix with the tears and flow out of me.  There.  That’s was my disclaimer.

This week I began the hormones used to “treat” my endometriosis.  Up until today I was fine, other than some fleeting nausea.  But the crazy emotional roller coaster ride started this afternoon and I’m a wreck.  I knew it would happen, I even warned Shane to tiptoe around me.  I just secretly hoped that a miracle would happen and I would get through this without blubbering and sobbing.

I cannot, however, solely blame the meds.  They are simply exacerbating something that has been brewing below the surface for some time now.  It all boils down to the fact that I’m unhappy….and simply writing that I’m unhappy makes me feel like a whiny, blithering idiot.

I can’t put my finger on it exactly, it’s just an overwhelming feeling of sadness and being unsettled.  I have felt for quite awhile that I’ve lost myself while I’ve been busy being a wife, mother, student, sister, daughter, friend, patient, etc.  And I think the fact that I can’t even recognize myself anymore is what makes me so sad.  I’ve become cynical…. jaded.  I use self-deprecating humor and sarcasm as my defense mechanisms.  I’ve been told that I make others miserable.  My anxiety attacks worry people (ie:  my breakdown in Barnes and Noble this weekend which freaked out my aunt).  People are pulling away from me.  And this is not the Meg that I used to be.

But the problem is that I don’t know how to find happiness….or myself.  I’ve heard all the fancy words from doctors:  major depressive disorder, adjustment disorder, grief, avoidance…the list goes on and on.  I’ve been drugged enough to take down a small elephant.  But while I might feel fleeting relief, I still have the same unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I had one amazing hour this weekend in which I felt at peace with myself.  I was bundled up and wandering around the family farm in the Texas panhandle.  With only my camera to keep me company, I enjoyed the solitude and haunting beauty of the place and was able to confront some of my personal ghosts.  I photographed tractors, irrigation systems, frozen cotton plants, abandoned farm equipment, pump jacks, the pond…there was so much beauty to behold.  I only returned to the house because my fingers were too frozen to adjust the shutter speed on the camera and I was afraid that I would have frozen snot on my face reminsecent of Dumb and Dumber. 

But those few, precious moments of peace are hard to come by.  Life it tumultuous right now, with many things up in the air.  Some days I want to get in the car and drive, to see parts of the country I’ve never seen and to send some time alone with myself.  But then reality comes crashing down on me and I realize that it’s not possible.  Not only do I have a family, a job, finances, and school to think about….I also know that it would solve nothing and would simply be me, running away from my problems.

So I continue to sit here, tears flowing and heart heavy.  I know there are changes that need to be made, but I’m notoriously resistant to change.  I normally find it corny when people quote song lyrics, but a phrase from a song* keeps floating through my mind:  “I’m looking for the answer sitting right in front of me.  Am I not ready to take my chances or have my chances overtaken me?”  These words haunt me and make me realize that I am the only one who can make me happy.  (Wow, I should be a motivational speaker *snort*)

I’m hoping that I can find this elusive happiness and I’m also hoping that the hormones in my body will find a happy medium soon.  Because while I can hide behind sarcasm most of the time, these meds are making it incredibly difficult to do so now.  Without an emotional shield, I’m pretty much vulnerable to anything.

So I’ll be fine.  I always am.  I just needed this space to express myself, to type out the words that I can’t seem to speak.  And I thank and love each and every one of you who has been so supportive and encouraging.  Without this amazing community, I would really be a mess.

-Meg

* Song quoted above is My Chances by Cross Canadian Ragweed.  I’m sure you’ve never heard of them, but they are one of my favorite bands.