Otherwise titled: It's My Blog, and I'll Cry if I Want To
or titled: Sometimes the Non-Squeaky Wheel Needs a Little Oiling, Too
I have this recurring dream, where people are in danger, and I have to tell them, and I'm yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, but it only comes out in a whisper. Once it was a tornado, and I saw it coming, and no one else did, and I was trying to tell everyone to get below ground, and no one could hear me, and then when they finally did they didn't believe me.
Maybe I have issues. But that's for another day. Today I just want to vent. And don't you dare attribute my rant to hormones. For some reason whenever I feel like speaking my mind, people dismiss it as PMS, or wonder if I need anti-depressants. Um, neither. I just want to speak my mind, is that so bad? Why can other people speak their minds or yell and scream, and people "poor baby" them, but I get the "sheesh, what's her problem?" No fair.
Sometimes being a parent sucks. Don't get me wrong, overall it's super awesome, otherwise I wouldn't have 4 kids. But today I wish I didn't have those 4 kids. For instance, Troy decided to climb on our bouncer. I was hoping it would last through this last child of ours, but alas. He totally broke it. Like, gotta throw it in the garbage, can't glue it or duck tape it together broken. Why is it that my kids have to play with all the things that aren't THEIRS to play with? Yesterday Troy got out my eyeshadow and dug little holes into the colors, so now when I want to wear eyeshadow I have to dab at it and try not to get too much on the brush but a lot is going to get on the brush because it's crumbling apart. Thanks, dude. They have a room full, I mean an entire room FULL of toys, yet they decide that using spatulas in the flour is way more fun.
Which leads me to my next whine. Messes. My walls downstairs are completely dinged up because of the kids (read Jakob) throwing their toys at other toys, which then bounce up and hit the walls. So cool. If we end up ever moving we'll have to completely redo some walls with spackling and texturing and paint, and hope the buyers don't look too closely.
And once again it's Troy that thinks it's totally cool to dump his drink onto his tray, clothes, hair, and floor when I'm not in the kitchen with him at meal times. While he was eating lunch today, I was downstairs feeding Ivy, and by the time I came back up (about 15 minutes later) he and the floor were a complete mess. Good gravy!
Oh, and did I mention I have the runs today? Which can be fun when my children insist on being in the bathroom with me, even when I tell them to let me be alone, and even when I close the door they have to be right outside the door asking me what I'm doing. Uh, what do you think I'm doing? Take a wild guess!
Though maybe they really don't know. I am SO SICK of changing Brock's poopy diapers. He tells me he wants to wear big boy undies, and recently is very interested in getting himself dressed. He's even tried to change his own diaper. But will he go pee in the toilet? Nope, not even for chocolate. Will he tell me he has to go? Nope. We tried a while back to potty train, and put him in big boy undies. He pooped three times-three times!-that day, and didn't give a rat's about it being in undies. I have three kids in diapers, and between buying those and formula we're going to be super poor for the next little while.
I wish I could just go on an all-expense paid vacation, where I don't have to talk to anyone, or do anything for anyone. My back is killing me right now-what I wouldn't do for a massage. And the hormones! I freaking can not get warm to save my life. Sure, I wake up completely covered in sweat when I get up to feed Ivy, which makes you think I'm too warm. But it then dries and freezes me out, and then I come back to bed and shiver until I fall asleep.
And for some reason Ivy thinks she needs to get up two or three times during the night, but only wants to eat 1 ounce, but wants to spend 45 minutes doing that. Why did you even bother waking up, dude?
And do I have to look at the same robot Jakob built, over and over and over, because for some reason in his mind it looks totally different, even though I know it's exactly the same?
I'm so tired of getting less and less for my money. Filling up my little Neon yesterday cost me $40. And in a week, we'll have to fill it up again! Groceries? Yeah, a can of Similac formula used to be $20 (this is a year ago, people), and now it's $25. And just when we get through a bunch of things (kidney stones, baby), and I start to think "Okay, we're doing okay, and now we can start catching up" (not getting ahead, but catching up), something else happens or comes up. For instance, we got a computer virus Friday, and luckily Pete rocks at computers and managed to get things worked out. But there was the possibility of having to get a new computer for at least $800. I mean, come on! Sometimes I just want to write to some famous person who gets millions of dollars, and say, could you spare $50,000? That's hardly a drop in their humongous bucket, yet would be such a windfall for me.
Okay, I think I'm done ranting now. I'm gonna get a Coke.