What happened last week was, I wrote this really whiny disgusting adoption post where I said things like “WHY are all my FRIENDS getting THEIR referrals and NOT ME!” “When is it MY TURN?!” “ALL THESE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN ARE FINDING THEIR FOREVER HOMES!” “WHAAAAAAA”…. like that.
And then the Internet Gods reached out from the computer and slapped me across the face with my Scottish Man-Bum-in-a-Kilt Mousepad and then proceeded to delete my blog post, never to be seen again.
Well, those of you on Googlereader and Bloglines can see it again, it’s still on there. But EVERYONE ELSE has been spared.
I believe this to be a good thing since I’m feeling much better now, I’m sorry about that. I basically drunk dialed the internet. I blogged in a state of emotional distress. It was not one of my finer moments and I apologize to those of you, the Designated Drivers, who talked me through it and cleaned up my vomit, my verbal vomit, through emails.
I was considering switching agencies in order to potentially get kids faster. And just typing that made me want to reach up and slap my own face again because the sound of my own voice was resembling one of those raging psychotic woman-on-a-mission Adoptive Moms who only see babies in their eyes. I always told myself I would never become like that and then I was. Just like that. On a mission to get kids no matter what, no matter the agency, no matter the timing, no matter the process, no matter my gut feelings that keep bubbling up like acid reflux that say “JUST SHUT IT AND LET IT HAPPEN AS IT HAPPENS! YOU’RE SUCH AN OBSESSIVE CONTROL FREAK JAMIE!” which I thought was borderline rude. But my acid reflux (a non-religious person’s way of saying “spirit”) made a good point, I needed to chill out.
My pal Katy, who attends OCFA (Obsessive Control Freaks Anonymous) with me, reminded me that there is no way to control adoption and to stop trying. So, I was all, Okay! I guess I’ll just stop this very minute then! And I picked up my basket full of posies and skipped along my way!
So, I’m working on that.
And that’s what happened with the blog post that never lived it’s life as a blog post. In actuality, my hosting company switched servers and the switch caused some problems here and there. Which made me look like MY problems were even bigger problems since ya’ll thought I deleted that post myself and that’s not UNLIKE me to do something like that, but this time, this one time, the craziness was only PARTLY due to me.
My natural tendency is to horde all secret discoveries and fabulous bits of info to myself, I will tell you this. It’s because I am the oldest child and never REALLY came to accept the fact that I had to share. But, I am sharing today. We’ll call it “share day” (like at DeeDee’s preschool) here at the Battle Station.
First. You all wanted to know where I got the fabulous silhouette pendant for my sister. Fine. If you MUST know. I got it at Lucky Me Beads. Okay?
I love discovering new, awesome blogs to stalk. Betina’s at B-Happy is no exception. Go, become addicted, use me for my linkage.
Speaking of awesome blogs. Jess, one of my favorite writers, has written an insightful and honest post called “What it’s like to be fat.” She’s a master of words, I’m telling you.
In other news. I have found the purpose of life. THIS is it, this is why we are all here on earth. Don’t say I never gave you anything……
This guy has found his own purpose in life. Mike found this and thought it was the coolest thing ever and is now trying to communicate with me SOLELY using daft hands. Which is, needless to say, really awesome. I told him all he needs to write on each finger is “It’s” “My” “Fault” and we’re good to go. But, without further ado, I present to you daft hands: If you’ve ever heard the Kanya West song “Stronger”, this is the old school Techno song in the background.
And I know that after watching that, you’ll now want to save the planet. Well, let me help you do that Internets. Use Gdiapers and feel better about not throwing away 500 diapers a day that will take 500 years each to biodegrade.
There’s my Friday Linky Love for ya’ll. I hope you enjoyed share day here at the Battle Station. Come again now, ya hear?
I received some interesting mail over the blogging break, mostly screaming DO A FRICKIN POST, WOULD YOU? but then also some really nice messages requesting that I DO A FRICKIN POST! And then some truly lovely telegrams with kind words along the lines of HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NOW DO A FRICKIN POST.
Really, you guys are just too much. Thank you.
But intermixed with the bullying came the email with the subject heading “Jamie, I shower with you everyday” and at that moment, THEN I knew you guys were getting creative. If screaming emails wouldn’t get my blogging butt in gear, well then BY GOLLY, A CREEPY ONE WOULD!
Apparently, Rae feels as though I am sneaking around and moonlighting as a shampoo model. She also feels as though this fact should have been made clear and outwardly disclosed before she went out and BOUGHT the brand of shampoo I, apparently, am on. Because, there’s nothing worse or more embarrassing than meeting someone new only to discover them in your shower.
Maybe that circumstance happens quite often in your life, I suppose I shouldn’t make assumptions. That was rude. But nevertheless, for Rae, it was embarrassing and on the verge of rude to find me in her shower.
Now, between you and I, I think Rae is a little wacko. These things only happen to Rae, if you know what I mean. Bloggers only turn up in RAE’S shower? I think not. What are the odds.
But, in case you are curious or just feel like making Rae feel not insane, here is a comparison:
THIS is what I look like in crazy town (aka: Rae’s mind)
and this is me in real life:
Ahhh, like a breath of fresh air, so lovely. This is what I look like when I blog and my neglected child takes a photo of me. Hold on, I have a better picture somewhere.
Wait, that’s not me! That’s the neglected child!
There we go, a semi-normal photo of me. Do we see a resemblance? No, no we do not. But thank you Rae for the blogging fodder.
Another email I got over the break was one asking how my vintage themed Christmas went. If you’ll remember, I said I was only shopping at antique stores for presents this year. And it was a hit. And the presents rocked. And I will tell you all about it tomorrow. Goodnight friends!
Before I head out on my Christmas vacation while trying to live free and separately from my computer at the same time, I wanted to first play along with Boomama’s interwebby game of Christmas time splendor. Her Christmas home tour is SO MUCH fun, ya’ll have to go check out all the houses out there in bloggy-mom land. Plus, it’s like an un-weird way to stalk your favorite bloggers.
Ready?
Welcome to the Battle Station.
Feast your eyes upon the Battle Station Christmas Tree. Wee One helped pick it out this year and I do have to say that I don’t think we’ll ever go back to the fake, plastic BARF tree again. The smell of a real Christmas tree is too perfect. The baby Jesus aroma welcomes us home every time we walk in the door and I do love me some baby Jesus aroma.
Taking a closer look upon the tree, you will find real, live, hand-made, made by hand, authentic, sewn-by-Mike’s-Mom -when-she-was-a-poor-newlywed ornaments. Aren’t they SO PRECIOUS! They are easily my favorite things on the tree and every year I put them on and think about how not unlike Martha Stewart Mike’s Mom is and how not unlike Kid Rock I am.
I inherited this snow-couple from my Great Grandma after she died. She made these, I can’t help but smile every time I look at them. We have named them Svetlana and Harold and it really isn’t Christmas until they reside in the living room each year.
Behold, the Fireplace. And yes, thank you, I realize that there are only 2 stockings but Delaney was bad this year, so, consequently, she doesn’t get a stocking or any presents. You may think it extreme but, you know, kids have to learn. Delaney’s unsatisfactory behavior will not, however, deter Mike and I from celebrating and so, those are OUR stockings perched upon the fireplace mantle with care.
I ordered new stockings for all of us at this adorable, hand-made stocking store but they haven’t arrived yet. This is not the Adorable, Hand-Made Stockinger’s fault though, it is mine, as I continually procrastinate and it will eventually be the death of me.
Add around the house some one-of-a-kind handmade delectables like this one and you have a complete and truly fully operational Christmas time battle station. This here Santa face is cautiously watching over Delaney to make sure she eats all her bites at the dinner table. There’s nothing quite like the fear of Santa continually barraged into your child to help bring forth any and all desired behavioral results.
And last but not least:
My most favorite Christmas time thing. Wild Thing, clothed in the sweetest Christmas time dress you have ever seen. I got it here. And I already asked her if she would make it in grown-up girl size, and it’s no use…. I know, selfish, isn’t she?
Conclusion of Christmas time pictures is upon us now. Thank you for joining. Have yourself a merry little Christmas! See you after the break! Ho Ho Ho…
The ever awesome and totally radical Jess of Du Wax Loolu asked me to write a guest post for her while she parades around Germany with her stud-muffin Torsten.
By the way, she asked me to write about adoption since she and Torsten want to adopt someday. And since I can say whatever I want on somebody else’s blog, I laid it ALLLLLL out there. As mentioned in the post, please direct all crazy comments and spiteful hate mail towards me. LEAVE JESS ALONE you hate mail sending Vulchers.
Hmmm…
I have a few, but here is my WORST… (It could be a sitcom)
We lived in an apartment building. there were 12 units in our building. We lived on the third floor. There were relatively normal people in two of those apartments, but in the one directly across from us, the woman (in her early 50’s) would wait until my husband was using our shared laundry room (shared for the entire building) and run around the building in her bra…
On the next floor we had a man named Chris, who seemed nice enough. Across from him a very kind lesbian couple. Their side of the building seemed fine, but the two apartments on the other side were another story. In one apartment we had the 400 pound African American man who bred pitbulls (in his little 600 sq ft. apartment) and dealt meth for additional income. He was nice enough to us, despite his shady visitors. The real problem was his girlfriend, white and of equal weight. She was mean, and would scream and yell all of the time. She would randomly key cars of the people who walked passed their doorway “unkindly.” (we never knew what that was.) They both kicked and beat the PB puppies and, to top it off, she was pregnant.
Across the hall from them was this woman who, you can google yourself, is the coffin lady. (Her name is MORDAUNT, I THINK.) She drove a hearse, furnished her home in coffins and made a living selling coffin shaped gems. She was utterly creepy and, although nice enough to my husband, VERY hateful towards me all of the time.
Along with her coffin shaped gems, she also dealt in these dolls called Living Dead Dolls, where a demon was apparently attached to each hideously ugly doll… She had just as much visiting traffic as the meth dealer, only her “guests” were WAY Scarier…
On the bottom we had various retired couples and then this girl named Michelle. Michelle was GREAT. Loved her. Got to know her and her kids. Found out she was dating Chris (from the second floor.) The more we got to know them, the more we loved them…
Until she got pregnant, and he beat her, and she started running to us at all hours of the night, and involving the police. And taking him back. EVERY NIGHT this occurred. He busted down her door one night. She crawled through a window when he thought she was locked in her room, and ran up to us. (her kids in their beds…) When he figured it out, He busted down OUR door and proceeded to rip our phone out of the wall when we went to call 911, threaten all three of our lives (daughter included) and dragged her out by her hair and pushed her down the stairs. She survived but was badly wounded and lost the baby.
No one could force her to to press charges, but we obviously did file them… and they were so mad at us, (how dare we!!!) that they moved out and bought a house together. Somehow we became their bad neighbor story.
So, we consider the entire building (where we lived for two years) to be a our bad neighbor…
All of your stories were incredible and your “street survivor” scenarios hilarious. I am still laughing from all the awesome comments. I just have immense Battle Station love for you all right now, thanks for playing.
This one right here! Officially and completely diaper free at night now.
Awesome. Who knew life could be so amazing? Diaper free life is amazing.
She was so excited telling me that she wears no diapers JUST LIKE YOU MOM! And then I freaked her out by mentioning in her presence the few days that Mommy had to wear grown up diapers after giving birth. Mike started laughing remembering his run to the store to buy Depends. Delaney started crying.
Oh and LAST DAY to comment on the Love Thy Neighbor Giveaway! I’ll turn comments off tonight!
