Scene: Tyler answers the phone.

TYLER (9): “Hello.”

DAD: “What’s wrong?”

TYLER: “Nothing. Why?”

DAD: “You sound bummed.”

TYLER: “I’m waiting for the point.”

death is sure to follow when dad gets home

The littles are looking at boogers through Dylan’s (7) microscope. They are very excited. I’m a bit proud but they keep trying to show me and I really don’t want to look. Oh, and Dylan has a friend over. Great. I’m sure his mom will just love the educational things I let my kids do.

**UPDATE: Dylan just informed me, “It’s a good thing I used rubber gloves when I touched the booger.” At least there’s that.

I’ve heard it was painful. I’ve heard it was a necessary evil. I’m here to say it is more pressing than smooshing. Also, as long as your not self-conscience about a strange woman (she wasn’t strange, I just didn’t know her… but I do now. HA!) handling your breasts? It’s a piece of cake.

If I hadn’t had kids it might have been more uncomfortable because:

1. My breasts are much less dense since breastfeeding.
2. It just harder to embarrass me with medical professionals now than before kids.

If given a choice between the pressing of the girls and the inspection of the va-jay-jay? I’d pick the girls every time.

Now it’s your turn. Go get your girls checked!

I really don’t want to whine. Really. I also don’t want to complain. I’m serious. I was taking stock this morning trying to figure out what I could write and well, I thought back to last night. Last night and the realization that right now I’m going to hell in a handbasket. And what that phrase means exactly? I have no idea. But I do know I don’t have my shit together.

Financially we are running out of time. I do not have a job. The one I was kind of counting on told me I would hear from them on Wednesday. Told me ‘unofficially’ I should expect the call from HR. The call never came. I told myself HR might be behind. I’d hear something Thursday. No call. I know if I don’t hear by the end of today that it’s over. The last interview I went on Monday? No word. I’m thinking that it’s not good. What does this all mean? Stress. Big time.

Weight wise? Well, let’s see, stress = eating my body weight in food that is high in fat, sodium and chocolate. So the 13 pounds I had lost? Down to 10. So now my sponsor has been paying for me to gain weight. I don’t think that’s what she had in mind when we joined weight watchers. The worst part? It’s all my fault. The stress that gaining is causing? IS ALL MY FAULT. Makes you feel good, don’t it?

I know there are lots of good things happening too or at least things that aren’t going badly but right now I’m kind of blinded and strung out about the bad stuff. And that my friends makes me look even more self-involved and pathetic than usual. I really need to get back on track. Can I wait until after the boob smash this afternoon? Please?

**EDITED TO ADD: As for the boob smash, please check out this link. As much as I want to skip it and all, I really think it should be available to women. Let your voice be heard.**

Whatever glitch caused the disappearance of this site seems to have been taken care of. I’m back. Too bad I have nothing to offer.

I did have the opportunity to get my va-jay-jay checked out this morning. (Been dying for a chance to use that word.) How I love those appointments. *cough, cough, hack, hack, vomit* Not. But since it’s been over two years it was past time to make sure I’m healthy. And I realized that I would totally skip it again but the boys are too young to lose their mother. Must stay healthy so I’m around for them.

And that brings me to the fact that I am now officially old. Yes, I’ve hit the magical age where one doctor’s visit leads to referrals for more doctor visits and bloodwork. So not only did I do the dreaded va-jay-jay check (I shall use the term as often as possible) but I now get to have the girls smooshed tomorrow for the very first time. Baseline and all ya know. Then in a couple of weeks I get to have someone check out all my freckles and “beauty marks”. Oh, how I hate the term beauty marks. There is nothing beautiful about mine. The alternative, moles, is so much less pleasant though. Maybe I shall call them bigger freckles. Freckles are so cute. Or maybe maxifreckles. No, reminds me too much of maxipads. Megafreckles? No. hmmmm…

I know, hyperfreckles. YES! Hyper as a prefix means over, above or beyond. That is what ‘they’ are. So that is my new word. I’m having my freckles and hyperfreckles checked by a dermatologist in a couple of weeks.

You think I am so pretty now don’t you?

You just want to be me right now.

Ya, me either.

In other news, the dog has been groomed. I now can see how he’s put on a few too many pounds this winter. (who hasn’t) Time for a little doggie diet. And by diet I mean no more fat from the burgers and making more of an effort to keep they kids’ snacks where he can’t steal them.

My life, it is so glamorous.