Help Wanted

Personal stylist for mini fashionista needed asap. Star studded resume a must. Certificate in Diva Management preferred. Ability to work exclusively in shades of pink required. Strict adherence to Her Majesty's fashion rules is imperative. Dislike of Hannah Montana and Camp Rock are essential. Knowledge of kiddie couture a prerequisite. Flexibility, patience and creativity are crucial. Serious inquiries only.  

Azzdate Version 5.0

So, I bet you all thought we were over the azzdates. No such luck. I can continue to tell glorious tales of Amonte's holey ass. We spent the entire summer battling last years wounds and attending tons of medical appointments with a variety of specialists. As you can imagine Amonte was thrilled to spend his vacation OUT of the water and with his mom packing his butt everyday. By August he was all cleared up and *gasp* even got to go swimming. Oh the wonder of it all! Can you just picture me doing the cabbage patch!!!

But then August 16th rolled around. And what pray tell is so horrid about the middle of August? Well, that is when two more ugly cysts reared their nasty heads. It's now October. And guess what? After a ton of appointments, two more surgeries and a hospitalization...we are back to daily ass packin'. Lovely, no?

The good news (well not really) is that we have a diagnosis. Apparently Amonte's ever so generous sperm donor gifted him with a very rare genetic skin condition called Steatocystoma Multiplex (SM). There is no cure. There is really no treatment. To make matters worse Amonte's symptoms are not presenting in typical SM fashion. University of Michigan is perplexed. His dermatologist is a BEEEotch. The drugs have icky side effects. Our case manager at the insurance company is a dimwit. We have a diagnosis-but yet we are headed nowhere fast.

The quicksand is sucking us both in. Fuck. I hope Amonte's dressings will keep us afloat.

Crazy Eights

I can't believe after my long absence that I even have any readers left! But I do and Denise even tagged me!

8Favorite Tv Shows

• House
• Intervention
• Hell's Kitchen (can't wait for the next one)
• VH1 reality trash
• It's always Sunny in Philadelphia
• John and Kate Plus 8
• Nancy Grace
• Chelsea Lately

8 Favorite Restaurants

• Belle Notte
• Olive Garden
• Mongolian Barbecue
• Los Tres Amigos
• Anna's
• Zola's
• The Blue Nile
• Joe's Crab Shack

8 Things I Did Yesterday

• Cried
• Worked in the Obama office
• Read Madeline loves Animals about 100 times
• Fought with the insurance company
• Used the auto button to lift the trunk on my van and hit the car behind me
• Sang at the top of my lungs
• Wore a pipe cleaner bracelet made by Peyton
• Marveled at the beauty of my sleeping children

8 Things I Love About Fall

• Halloween
• Trips to the orchard
• Picking out and Carving pumpkins
• Ghosting our family and friends
• Taking pics of the kids playing in the leaves
• Sleeping under my comforter
• My kids excitement over their costumes
• Hanging my black rose and skull wreath

8 Things I Look Forward To

• Election day
• Thanksgiving
• Church on Sunday
• Pay day
• Getting the kids off the bus each day
• Sleeping in
• Dinner out
• Shopping with friends

8 Things I wish For

• A cure for Amonte
• To hear Ava say "I love you"
• For Peyton to harness his energy and creativeness
• For Cade to always want to snuggle with me
• For Mark to be the man that I married
• World Peace
• A ban on Bratz dolls
• To be a perfect size 6

I won't tag anyone...but if you want to play along....

The Seven Thieves

A few weeks ago I Twittered asking forgiveness from those I may have wronged. I was immediately inundated with emails asking me if I was ok. I was in fact ok. When I finally realized that I was a total nut I knew I had to get help. I was on meds. I was in counseling. I was doing all of the things that were supposed to make me "better"-but yet I was failing. I was failing spiritually. I had become slack in attending church. I had stopped meditating. I was looking inside and criticizing the filth that had built up. But I wasn't working on coming clean. Not just to myself. But also to those I cared about. Covering it up with a pretty coat of white paint. Still dirty underneath.

Someone who knew my pain gave me The Way. Kabbalah started to give me insight and clarity. Comfort. It enhanced my growth as a christian. Kabbalah gave me the tools to begin transforming myself. The means to let go.

The red string is tied in love. The Twitter was my daily "tune up". An exercise in activating my potential. And no one should worry. I won't go all Madonna on you.

Molehills into Mountains

Since this blog was meant to be a journal of sorts I have lots to update. Letters scratched on napkins, words and events to preserve, photos to cherish, milestones to commemorate. It seems overwhelming to have so much to catch up on when life continues to move forward. I always feel like I'm behind. Not just on my blog-laundry, bills, photos, baby books, scrapbooks. I'm trying to do bits and pieces everyday and enjoy any progress. It seems so easy to build Mountains and so difficult to climb them.

Back in the Saddle

Nearly six months ago the carefully crafted network of thin strings that had lovingly held me together began to fray. First slowly, they loosened and slacked. Then with amazing speed they meticulously destroyed the blueprint of my sanity.

I stopped sleeping. Instead I crept out of bed at night and drove dark country roads. The windows down and music blaring. Thoughts in my head whirling.

Food was no longer necessary or pleasant. I blamed it on my meds. Really, there was simply no life to feed. I began to weigh myself 5 times a day.

I pulled my hair out strand by strand until I had a dime sized bald spot. I took ice cold showers. I watched myself bleed. But yet I felt no pain.

I'm not sure I even recognized it was happening. Of course I felt a thread go every now and again. But somehow I remained oblivious to the fact that I was rapidly coming undone. Until I couldn't breathe. It's strange how strong and undeniable the urge to breathe is. The air around me felt heavy and wet-constantly. I struggled to catch it's life and fill my lungs.

I have had to look hard at myself. I have not liked all that I have seen. I have had to weave my thread bare strings together-to make them stronger. With each new day I breathe a little easier. I love myself a little more. Slowly, I am finding peace.