Baby Bear is a Honey Badger in Disguise, Watch Out!

My nature is to be fairly passive and agreeable. 

Tra-la-la…..
That is, unless you mess with MY people. 

Grrrrrr……
Then, the gloves come off and you can expect to see the Mama Bear side of me.

Forget just Mama Bear.  

Add Papa Bear and Baby Bear to the mix, 

and watch out because we all know the Honey Badger of the family is Baby Bear!

Throughout life I’ve come across a few, let’s call them 'Goldilocks'.

Sauntering into my life; using things that are not theirs; feeling they have the right to trample around my personal space and take what they want.  

And just like Goldilocks, they don’t seem to think there is a problem with breaking and entering.

I give people the benefit of the doubt, to a fault.
Dumb-dumb-dummmmmmmb…. 

I overanalyze the situation; try to find out how I might have made a mistake and take on the brunt of fault for other’s actions.

Maybe I made the bed look too comfy or the porridge too scrumptious.
They cannot possibly have the nerve to have invaded our space. 

Especially when everyone thinks they are sooooo nice.

Mama Bear needs a little strength, she is tired.

Come join me Papa Bear!

Maybe things did happen but I can let it go - let it roll off my shoulders.
It hurts but my shoulders are flexible, I can take it in the name of peace and kindness.

*Enter Baby Bear*

Hell no!

You do not deserve this and none of it was your fault!

Step up and kick Goldilocks to the curb!

She is a manic, selfish kleptomaniac!

So all you fairy tale readers, I am not a crazy, jealous lunatic for my reactions to Goldilocks.  

In fact, if these Goldilocks think they could get away with their bad behavior without retribution,

they are the crazy ones.
Goldilocks may seem lovely; sweet and innocent 

but that does not mean she cannot have done something wrong.

Standing up for MY people makes me a strong; intelligent; take no crap kind of person.  

I don’t know about you but I respect people like that.

Sure, call me crazy for thinking an entire bear family lives in my head;.

Cuckoo, cuckoo

But don’t’ call me crazy for knowing you have done something wrong

and making sure you know I know the truth of your intentions.

The saying ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you’ holds true Goldilocks.  
Unless you want a family of bears after you, 
keep your stinky sticky fingers and lock picking skills to yourself.

And just in case you’ve forgotten, Honey Badger just don’t care, 

so don’t underestimate the power of Baby Bear.

How much trouble can you cause online before noon?

MUCH, is the correct answer.

I've been in hibernation under a rock for a year.
Not really, because that sounds lovely.
Dark coziness.  S I L E N C E.  Adequate sleep.  No stress.  Time to read.
Sign me up!
Let's blame my lazy fingers on the year long absence from blogging.
The blog thrived in my head but rarely made it to the keyboard.  It's been a private blogging party for the voices in my head.  And let me tell you, they know how to pahhhhtttay!

Today, we have a snow day in Lil' Rhody.  Which means, I will get nothing productive done.
So the most logical decision is to sit under my leopard print snuggie and entertain you all with a bunch of nonsense, while The Chicklet practices her circus tricks and watches cartoons.  A few more snow days and I will have her ready to ship off the next time the circus flies through town.

So, I get comfy, and pull up my blog site and, um......, yeah....hmmmmmmm.....how do I log on?

I figure out the basics but quickly realize I had absolutely no idea which email account is linked to the blog.  I start with the most logical address.
Okay, so what's your password, dummy?
Yes, I am pretty sure the computer said that to me - sassy thing.

Invalid address and/or password
Invalid address and/or password
Invalid address and/or password

Uh-oh......
Okay, I will try to retrieve the information by using the cell number I probably utilized for such emergencies.

Enter number.....no text
Enter number again.....no text
*Sigh* Enter number again.....no text

Great.
Perhaps this is not the address.

Repeat all of the above a few times with different versions of what I think the email address should be.

No luck.
Add an email address possibly linked as my 'oh crap, I have no idea what I am doing!' option.
Repeat again, and again, and again.......

No
No
NO
NO NO NO!

An hour later, remember I have a subfolder labeled 'OTHER EMAIL'.
Think about running out for a V-8, just so I can smack myself on the forehead with meaning.
Fumble through emails and FINALLY figure it all out.
And of course, the email utilized is not even close to my guesses.

I obviously manage to log on to blog - HERE I AM!

However, I expect the internet police to come take me away for trying to access several email accounts that are now obviously not mine.
If you are amongst the many that might need to create a new password because
somebody (AKA:  clueless blogger)
tried to hack (AKA:  desperately guess at information) into your account,
I apologize.
Let's just come full circle, and blame it on my lazy fingers and the paaaah-tay animal voices in my head.

Monoboob no more!

I am fairly sure, when you factor in my time, I just paid $250 for a bra.  

Maybe more if I add fees for pain and psychological stress.

In the land of ridiculously enhanced ladies, I would think it would be easier to find reasonably priced, pretty undergarments for the over-blessed woman.

No, I don't want a grandma bra.

No, I don't want a recycled windsock.

No, I don't want a sports bra.

No, I don’t want something so hideous, I have to hide it in the back of the drawer in fear of scaring my other undergarments.  Or even worse, a snooping guest or burglar.  Although, hey, this might be a new way to deter theft….put the ugly clothing to the front of drawers.  I think I am on to something here.

I would like the same pretty options as my itty-bitty friends, just with more support.

Thankyouverymuch.

I’m a fashionista at heart.  I enjoy little details.

Okay, yes, I live in the Stay at Home Mum Uniform of jeans and fleece jackets; but really, I drool over beautiful fabrics and design, and know one day I will return to wearing something a little more stylish.

For now, I have a bee in my bonnet about quality undergarments with less industrial undertones and likeliness to create the dreaded monoboob.

And I am on to the scam of pretty bras in larger sizes, that look great for the 30 seconds you try them on; but not so much when worn for the day.
I call these Picasso to Dali bras. 
You can paint your own picture of what this means…..

I don’t think I am asking much.  A lot of support here, a little feminine touch there, and there and there, and some fun fabrics and colors to boot.  All for less than I could pay for a half tank of gas (sad, I cannot say a full tank these days).

I close with this mantra….

Pick them up from the floor

Monoboob no more!

Feminine and pretty

That does not make me look one hundred and fifty!

I Am Thankful For The Ability To Spell Thankful

Tis’ the season to reflect and give thanks.

I’ve avoided the 30 days of thanks bandwagon, because I'm a rebel.
Well, in my mind I am a leather jacket and motorcycle away from being a true rebel. 

In reality, meh, not so much.
Anywho….. somehow, I avoided droning on and on about what I am thankful for, until today.

I am thankful for the ability to spell thankful.

I am also thankful for being able to refrain from pointing out when it is spelled incorrectly, whilst others are thoughtfully posting about their thankfulness.

I am thankful the neighborhood skunk has built his den someplace other than right outside my living room windows.
Sure, it takes away the element of surprise every time we open a window; but my nose is much happier without that sort of excitement.

I am thankful for a child that loves me ‘to the Earth and back’.
Who wants to take the time to travel to the moon and back just to say ‘I love you’.
This kid is all about efficiency and I love her for it!

I am thankful for Matt Moneymaker.  Without him, the phrase  ‘It’s squatchy out there’  would never have entered my repertoire. You would be amazed how many places are squatchy!

I am thankful the sentence ‘But I made pie!’, got me through social media’s web-of-doom during the election season.

I am thankful for a husband that accepts my quirkiness without threatening to book me an extended stay in a padded room.
Wait....that actually sounds quite lovely.  Quiet, cushioned….somebody else cooks and cleans for me.  

Perhaps I rushed into being thankful about this.

I am thankful cell phone keyboards are impossibly small, and for autocorrect.
Without these challenges, I would be without daily laughs over ridiculous typos.

I also would never have thought to refer to The Hubster as The Lobster.

I am thankful I have functional OCD as opposed to the dysfunctional variety.
Excuse me while I go check that the stove is off and the toaster is unplugged, for the 5^th time this morning…….

I am thankful for earplugs.

They saved my marriage.  Really.  I am not kidding.

I am thankful I am almost done typing ‘thankful’ because it is starting to look strange.

And finally, I am thankful no matter how crazy the day has been, it always starts with Coffee O’Clock and ends with Wine O’clock.

Happy Gobble Gobble Day everyone!
Enjoy, indulge, and remember to be thankful for the little things in life, and the big and little people that make us smile.

The World's Deities Are Doing A Fertility Dance For Me And Cheering On My Ovaries. True Story.

I’ve been uncommonly irritable lately.

Now, this could very well have something to do with the fertility tests and drugs I’ve dealt with lately.  

It’s no secret, I’m trying to get my dusty old eggs to produce a Chick Pea for the Chicklet.

Or, I could be a carton a day smoking habit and a bottle of whiskey away from being the neighborhood curmudgeon.

Is it wrong that I would not mind being the latter, just to use the word curmudgeon more often?

Riding the infertility roller coaster takes a toll, even when you are logical and happy enough to know it's possible pregnancy will not happen again, and having one spectacular Chicklet is more than enough blessing even if a Chick Pea is never conceived.

Infertility is a topic women don’t discuss openly, which I have never understood.

Is it because wanting something we cannot have naturally is selfish?
Is it because admitting we are having trouble would make us any less of a woman?

Is it because our society is obsessed with perfection?

Is it because some religions do not condone anything but the most natural of conception methods?

Is it because we were raised to talk about such matters in hushed tones, behind closed doors?

I vote for all of the above.

Wanting a child even when Mother Nature is being a stingy wench, is not selfish.

Is wanting laboratory produced anesthesia during a major surgery selfish?  

You don't NEED it - just like I don't NEED a baby; but darn, it would be awfully nice to have it. 

I am thankful for what I have and treasure it with all my being.

It does not make me any less of a woman. 

I still wear my bras and leopard print shoes with pride.

It does make me less than perfect.

But if you read my blog you are well aware of my feelings about the pressed khaki wearing perfect super-moms, and I happily accept my flaws, torn cape and all.  I just wish I had known I was not of the fertile-myrtle variety.  I would have had far fewer tense moments, before I was ready for crazy little people in my life.

Do I care what other religions think of medical intervention to try to jump-start my fertility?

Not one iota.  In fact, I am fairly sure all the world’s deities are doing a fertility dance for me and cheering on my ovaries.   If you feel differently, they might punish you with a severe case of indigestion.  Yeah, that’s right, it might not have been a bad batch of seafood…..Hey, you have your stories, and I have mine.

I do confess I suffer from ‘this should never be spoken out loud’ syndrome. 

This is a common WASPy New England thing, where we rarely discuss our shortcomings in public.  At least never in anything above a hushed whisper, to the very closest of friends and family.

Hush now.....

So here it is, my new battle cry ‘infertility sucks!’.

I think it is a topic that should be discussed more openly, with less shame.

I think women (and hey, men too, because you know, it’s not always the lady parts that are having problems), should bond together and support each other.

Did anyone else just get a visual of people stuck together with super glue, in supportive positions?  No?  Just me?

Let's take the stigma off infertility!  It should be a far less taboo subject.

And I might just be the crazy neighborhood curmudgeon to speak out and get the proverbial ball rolling……yes, yes I am…..

* Before the positivity brigade disperses to try to talk me off the ledge, please note I have heard pretty much every well-meaning ‘chin up buckaroo’ type response.  Although I appreciate the words of wisdom, after hearing them a few too many times, they are the infertility equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard.

I also am well aware wanting another child at my ‘advanced age’ is crazy.

But aren’t all parents crazy?  Who would willingly welcome a small crazy person who will scream all night, throw up and pee on you, and suck money out of your bank account like a starved tape worm, into your home?
A crazy person, and I just happen to be one.  Wearing my crazy flag proudly!