Haaaaaiiiiii

So here we are.  I know, I'm awful at this.  I just have had nothing noteworthy or worthwhile to divulge or bore anyone with.

Not like anyone reads this, but leave me to my delusions of grandeur!

Sadly, I still don't have anything worthwhile, but whatever, I'm bored on my lunch and can only read the news for so long!



So Saturday (3/24) proved to be a rather big day in mommy-dom.  Oh yes!  My little lady that could did!  She not only crawled, she crawled insanely well!  Seriously, it's like she's been doing this for years.  But she didn't stop there, OH NO!  She also started to drink out of her sippy cup.  FUCKING FINALLY!  This kid has been fighting the sippy like it's her job.  And yes, by fighting I mean chewing, throwing, and doing anything and everything one might do with a sippy that doesn't include actually drinking out of it.  So, hopefully that means around her first birthday we will be off the bottle!  And maybe I won't have to feed her anymore, which is bittersweet.  Few things make me feel all warm, fuzzy, and joyful teary eyed as rocking her to sleep with her bottle at night singing her a lullaby.  I'll miss that--it's been the staple highlight of my day for the past ten months.

Look at me gooooo!!

Jesus.  Where does the time go?!

It seems like just yesterday we brought her home from the hopsital.  It's insane to see how much she's grown in all aspects.  Yea, she's an Amazonian of a girl (allegedly--apparently 22.5lbs and 30'' is big for a 9 month old), but to see her figure things out is beyond incredible.  Being a parent is truly an amazing experience.  Just remind me of that when she turns eleven, okay?!

Anathema

Words and actions.

Two simple little things, no?  Words are for communicating, actions are for doing.  Simple enough, isn't it?  You communicate, you do things, and that's how you go about interacting with and being apart of the world around you.

Rudimentary in all aspects.  Even my 9 month old child understands this concept, although only she understands what she's saying.

So why doesn't the fucking dolt I married seem to get this?  More importantly, how many more chances does the fucktwit get to prove to me he actually does want to be apart of this family?

I do not claim perfection, I do not claim saint-like tendencies, and I whole heartedly admit that my apathy towards what he did while I was doing things I wanted to do most likely paved the way, but it's not just me and him now.  There are not hours upon hours, and weekends, and nights to spread things around.  There is no more doing things at your leisure or when you feel like it, and even outside of that in what world does someone ask you to do something, you acknowledge and agree to undertake, and then still do it when you feel like it?

I understand.  Believe me, I do.  I've heard it from more than enough people that having a baby is hard on a marriage.  I've heard ad nauseum that when the child is born a woman becomes a mother whilst a father must learn.  I GET IT!  Heard it all before, but shit has just gotten to the point of beyond ridiculous.

No, seriously.  The man actually told me that leaving his wife and child was so very hard for him that he would rather just stay away.  Please, tell me how that makes sense?  Please, for the love of everything holy, tell me because from my lovely vantage point that is a full course of bullshit with a side of excuses drizzled with selfish.

And that's what he is.  Selfish.  Pure and simple.  At this current space in time, nothing is more important to that man than himself.  He will always come first.  Always.  He always has, and in a way I know I enabled it.  I know every single time I kept my mouth shut, or agreed, or let him do whatever, I played into his distinct and outright oblivion to anyone else.  He is the selfish fuck yin to my get-shit-done yang. 

Things never pissed me off like they do now and I know that's because we have a child.  Even still, I do everything. Everything.  From being the bread winner, to child care, to cooking, to cleaning, to paying the bills.  Everything.  You name it, I do it, with the exception of the manual labor at our new house.  The man couldn't even go through the mail he has accrued to let me know what bills where due so as to avoid late fees etc.  He didn't see the point so he didn't.  I mean it's that type of stupid little shit that has pushed me towards the proverbial ledge. It's his inability to see outside of himself that has our marriage in a noose, and the minute he put my sweet, precious, little girl's health at potential risk for his own convenience, he pushed the chair out and left us hanging.

His lack of words and tendendancy to only undertake for himself have, after all these years, finally shut a part of me off.

The part that wanted to work on this marriage.  The part that wants anything to do with him, honestly. 

And I don't know if it will ever turn on again.

Bweh

You know what sucks?  When you don't rise to a level of importance that warrants more than an "I'm sorry" text message. 

That's what I got for Valentine's Day. 

Let me clarify.  I got beautiful flowers from my brother and a gorgeous rose from my dad.   The bullshit text is what I got from my dumbass, douche canoe of a husband.  And that text?  Way worse than just keeping his mouth shut or forgetting.  Why?  Because in stating his acknowledgement that this is the worst Valentine's Day ever he pretty much threw up the don't-give-a-fuck flag of who-gives-a-fuck, and that?  That hurts.

It hurts beyond belief.

We went to dinner with my parents on Saturday for Valentine's Day.  He forgot the stuff he was planning on giving me, and instead of taking one fucking hour out of his precious day yesterday to make me feel somewhat special on the one day a year you're supposed to do just that, he said he'll just give it to me Sunday--after he started with that bullshit text of it being the worst Valentine's ever.

If you know me at all, I don't ask for a lot, I don't expect a lot, and I sure as shit let the majority of shit slide, but this is the finest bullshit apathy can buy.  Period.

Don't get me wrong.  I don't care about the lack of gifts or anything of the sort.  It's the vehement disregard he has shown for me, and coincidentally our daughter, once again and I'm to the point where I don't want to keep sucking it up.  He had no problems taking the time to text his fucking family a picture of our daughter (the one below) for Valentine's Day to make them happy--why don't I get that same fucking courtesy?  WHY?!  Why am I never worth it?  In his words, it took two seconds to text them a picture.  So?! Why does my life have to revolve around his convenience?

I do everything.  I work, I play single mom, I cook, I clean, I take care of the dogs.  All he has to do is finish remodeling our house, which has taken 6 fucking months, and even then he still complains about how tired HE is and how hard it is on HIM.  I don't fucking matter to the son of a bitch, and yes his mom is a bitch.  I have half a piece of mind to write the bitch and ask her how she can even consider herself a mother knowing she raised such a selfish, inconsiderate, unappreciative ass clown.  And trust me, she says "Oh, I know my son" all the time--so she knows. 

I'm sick and tired of going out of my way to make the asshole happy.  I didn't have to wake up at 6am on a Saturday to make him Cinnamon Toast Crunch cupcakes, heart shaped pink Rice Krispy treats, and lasagna so I could give it to him Saturday (or any day really), but I did and I do to make him feel special and to show I care.  All he's done is work on the fucking house and walk around like that's the biggest contribution to our relationship. I understand this house has turned into his labor of love, but enough already and come the fuck on.  What's worse is he actually thinks us living together as an actual family again will fix things. 

It won't.

And I'm getting to the point where I won't be able to put the pieces of my heart back together for a lather, rinse, repeat of this nature.

Happy Valentine's Day!!

Yea, I said it.

First off, what the fucking fuck?  I say that with all sincerity knowing full well that as a mom I should watch what falls out of my mouth for wee ones are like sponges and absorb everything and thus repeat everything but I'm almost 100% certain my child's first word will be fuck to begin with so fuck it. 

So, I repeat--what the fucking fuck?!  I've been working out religiously for about a month, eating 1300-1500 calories per day religiously for a month, and my scale hasn't budged.  Seriously?!  SERIOUSLY?!  I mean sure, I feel so much better, my clothes fit much better, and I lost a few inches here and there, but c'mon!

I know, I know--it's all about how you feel, how you look, how clothes fit, but would it kill my scale to budge slightly?!  Even like a half a pound?  Uch!

Great, glad we got that out of the way. Now onto the regularly scheduled program of no rhyme or reason.

It's about that time again.

Yes, yes it is.  It's about that time wherein I get all gung-ho and psycho about trying for child number two.  I've dusted off the fertility monitor, I've started up the BBT again, and I'm ramping up my vigilant watch of ovulation cues all in preparation for the end of March where it's game on.

But....

It turns out that the lovely massage-filled Sunday He-Rizzle and I had on February 5th as a pre-Valentines-shit-is-to-expensive-on-the-actual-day date may have helped my cause along.  By the way, awesome date huh?  Massage and the Superbowl.  Yea, my husband is one lucky guy.  Anyway, the stars aligned somewhat in that I actually ovulated that day, and I actually got laid that day, and now I'm all wondering if maybe, possibly, perchance, there's severe nausea, back pain, and another panic attack on a c-section table in my not so distant future.

I know the odds are highly against me.  It took almost two years to get pregnant with wee-rizzle and a few miscarriages as well, so I'm really not holding my breath.  However, the fact EVERYTHING is a damn pregnancy symptom isn't helping.

Like I said, I know I'm not that lucky....but?  What if?  I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but I'm a glutton for disappointment; thus, allowing my feeble little mind to wander on over in that direction.  I guess I'll know soon enough.

Blah

I hate massages.

No really, I do.  I know, that seems so wrong on a number of levels, especially given the fact that along with the hating massages, I also am not a fan of manicures, facials, or anything really having to do with a spa.  I tolerate pedicures mostly because, c'mon, it's a pain in the ass to cut your own toe nails and make them cute, but I don't enjoy them like some women do.  Even when I was pregnant, the only reason I got a pedicure was to get my toe nails cut by someone who wasn't my husband because Wee-rizzle sat so damn low I couldn't lean forward enough to even see my toes. Even then, with tired little tootsies, I didn't really enjoy it. 

Bottom line, it always seems so awkward to me.  Always.  I'm not a big small talker, in fact I'm awful at small talk, and I'm a fairly quiet person to begin with if I don't know you in some way.  I've been going to my hair stylist for 6 months now, and I just started talking to the guy rather than just sit there quietly. 

I always feel like the biggest bitch in the world sitting there working, answering emails, or playing a game on my phone while some poor woman is upkeeping my own personal hygiene for one of the most foul body parts on the human body--feet.  Or even if it's my hands, which are pretty nice, I feel weird.   And massages?  Yea, for some reason I can't seem to get into that relaxed state when the only thing that's separating entirely naked me from someone who is not my husband or a doctor is a thin sheet.  Call me crazy.  It's all I can focus on throughtout the entire thing and I keep waiting for that little sheet to slip and there are my tits, ass, or vag, or the entire trifecta, hanging out for some total stranger to see in all it's glory. 

Yes, I'm aware I have issues and I'm insane.

So why am I bringing all this up?  For Valentine's Day I'm surprising He-rizzle with a massage because I thnk he deserves one for all the hard work he's been doing remodeling our house.  Not just any massage.  A couples massage.  Not just any couples massage, a 90 minute Hot Poultice Thai Massage with a 30 minute soak in  a vitality herbal bath to recharge energy and balance body and mind--of course knowing my husband he'll try to get all frisky in the bath instead of relaxing.  Here's the description of the massage:

Drift away tensions while enjoying this unforgettable hot poultice massage. Authentic and unchanged since the 14th century, this amazing ritual incorporates one of our three indigenous organic herbal poultice blends for your specific needs (Samunprai- for Detoxification, Indigo-for Healing, or Kamatan-for Deep Relaxation). Acupressure is used to open all the energy channels, followed by massaging the deep medicinal heat of the poultice into the muscles to release tensions and revitalize your mind. then we seal all the energy of this treatments with a hands on oil massage. Take your body on a journey of total renewal.

Sounds lovely, right?  Sounds like heaven on a massage table, right?  Yup, does nothing for me.  I read it and go "huh" and then put on my He-rizzle hat and ask myself would he like it, to which the answer is "Oh hell yes!" and then I proceed with booking it  And it's not like I can just send him because then he feels all guilty and shitty about going and being pampered while I sit at home and conquer some task because I'm physically incapable of relaxing, and that's the one thing my husband wants me to do is relax.  Thus, I must partake as well because even after all these years He-rizzle still doesn't believe me when I say I hate massages and thinks I don't want to partake because I'd rather finish my to-do list than actually do something for myself, which is totally true, but massages really do nothing for me.

I will say, though, I'm beyond excited to sit in the relaxation room with some crappy tabloid fodder magazine and sit in total silence while He-rizzle goes into the sauna (yea, shocking, I hate those too!), and just be for 20 minutes. 

Now that?  That sounds like heaven.

Oreo Stuffed Cupcakes

Few things evoke drooling like cupcakes and Oreos.  Actually, to be 100% honest, I never had an Oreo until my first year of college and to this day I'm not a huge fan and would much rather eat a Pepperidge Farm Orange Milan cookie or something to that effect than an Oreo.  It wasn't until I was married that I even purchased my first boxy thingy (what the shit are those things? carton?) of Oreos and that was when I discovered they come in more than just chocolate and they come in single, double, and even triple stuffed.  He-rizzle is a fan of the golden double stuffed, just an FYI.

So one day whilst food shopping, which I absolutely loathe on so many levels, for some reason this strange idea struck me:  What if I take these Oreos and put them at the bottom of a cupcake?!  And thus, an idea was born that is actually really good, even if you aren't a fan of Oreos!  I'm not even the biggest fan of sweets and I always manage to eat 3 of these cupcakes in one sitting, and then proceed to hate myself and shackle myself to the elliptical rider for hours upon hours and let Jillian Michaels yell at me ad nauseum cause I'm a fat ass.

All you need is a box of cake mix, a pack of Oreos, and cupcakes liners.  As I said, He-rizzle likes the golden Oreos, but I used regular old chocolate Oreos this time around.  I stick with my girl Betty for cake mixes!  Depending on how much Oreo you want in the batter crush up about 8 Oreos or more--I buy two packs, crush up half of one, use the other pack for the cupcakes, and leftovers are always eaten by the hublet.

Make the cake batter as directed and stir in the crushed oreos.  Easy right?!

Put your cupcakes liners in, place a dab of batter on the bottom--just enough for a thin layer--and then put the Oreo on top like so:

You can skip the thin layer of batter if you want, but then the Oreo kind of sits at the bottom, which is peachy keen and no problem at all.  I just find the Oreo gets moist and not so crunchy if you bury it a little.  Personal preference.  Anyway, fill up your cupcake liners 2/3 full and you are ready to bake as directed on the box.  It may take a little longer to bake, so just an FYI.

When they're done, let them cool and frost however you want. I frosted with a whipped cream cheese frosting that is kind of my go-to frosting, which I think is the case for most people.  It's easy enough to make.

Ingredients:

1 8oz package of cream cheese cold
1/4 cup butter cold
2 tablespoons sour cream
2 teaspoons vanilla extract (or to taste)
16 ounces of confectioner's sugar

In case you didn't notice the bold lettering, make sure the cream cheese and butter are COLD!  No softening, no room temping, no microwaving--use them cold!  You'll need a high power mixer, and if you have a stand mixer then awesome for you!  Put everything but the sugar in the bowl and mix until light and fluffy, then scrape the bowl and mix it some more.

 

From this....



To fluffy this!

And of course, my little helper is always watching to make sure I'm fluffing it properly:

Mom, totally needs a little more fluffing. What is this? Amateur hour?!

So once it's fluffy, slowly add the sugar until smooth and once it's smooth turn the mixer as high as it goes and whip it on up for about 5 minutes until it gets super fluffy.

If I wait here, something will come.  If I wait here, somethin will come....

Yes, we want Mr. Sampson fluffy!  If it's a little runny, put it in the fridge before frosting your cupcakes, and I always put my cupcakes in the fridge promptly after frosting so they keep a nice piled high cloud appearance.  That's what works for me.  You do you.  So anyway, you get fluffy frosting.

Not as fluffy as normal in the above pic (apparently things tend to cool off when you're making sure your child isn't launching all of her toys into the air to hear them go boom when they hit the floor, or throwing those toys at you..ahh motherhood), but it's almost there and you get the point.  Then, frost away.  I haven't committed to a cake decorating set yet, so I just use a ziplock bag with a corner cut out. In this case, I should have filled the bag, put it in the fridge for 10 minutes, and then piped, but I'm getting lazy in my old age so I frosted anyway.  If you cut a little tooth into the bag you get a line--I know! I'm so clever. 

And no matter what the case, whatever you end up with is delish!