Two Heads Are NOT Better Than One with The Blogging Goddess

I am still in Arizona, and The Blogging Goddess is here to dispel a myth for you, and who better to dispel a myth than a goddess?

If you don't know The Blogging Goddess, she is a goddess...who blogs. And today she is blogging for me. I love reading the Blogging Goddess. She makes me laugh. Sometimes she does these great vlogs, always wearing a spectacular mask or costume (because you can't be looking straight at a goddess). She is super sweet, and her blog comments always make me smile. And now, onto the myth....

Two Heads are NOT Better Than One 

I was put into surgical menopause. The reasons were great and varied, but the bottom line is that my ovaries did not like me, and frankly, I didn't like them much either. So, we parted ways.  At the ripe old age of 43, I now am on what the menopausals call HRT, which to you period chicks, means Hormone Replacement Therapy. This is a strange invention.

Does it take care of hot flashes that you get when you no longer have ovaries that give off the hormone that keeps them at bay? Sometimes.
Does it help with the weepies, willies and sybilizing? Not really.
Does it keep the pounding headaches at bay? Mostly.

Here is what it does NOT do. It does not stop your body from breaking out like a 14 year old boy who has wet dreams every night and erections all day long.

Let me address the  “I am a 42 year old woman with no ovaries, no uterus and no cervix and zit” phenomena further. Yes, a story is coming up, so please make yourselves comfy, get your coffee or tea or whatever and put on your listening ears.

Once upon a time there was a young old woman named The Blogging Goddess. She noticed one morning that it hurt when she smiled. She gingerly touched her cheek and felt what was surely going to be a huge honking zit. It was red, it was large and it hurt to touch.  Now, you all know what I mean and have all experienced this, I am sure. If not, I hate you. Moving on.

The Blogging Goddess watched this for a couple of days, thinking that maybe it was not a zit, but a very large mosquito bite. Maybe an ant crawled on her face while she was sleeping and bit her. Perhaps it was one of those spiders that causes one half of your face to swell up like the elephant man.

She thought of covering it up with some kind of make up, but since she doesn't wear make up and has forgotten how to apply it, what was the point. Also, it seems as if those that do cover zits with make up just draw more attention to it.

These were some of the things The Blogging Goddess heard over the next few days....

Mom "Did you know you have a pimple on your cheek?"
Yes, Mom, I know, it is Mount Rushmore and Mount Vesuvius combined and will rupture and cover the world with puss it is so large.

Hubby "What's that red thing on your face?"
A ZIT! DUH!

Daughter  "Mommy, there is something on your face."
Gee, thanks for the 4-1-1!

The Goddess tried everything. She put drying cream at night, which just made it that much redder when she woke up. She tried hot packs. She tried cold packs. She tried to smash it back into her skin with a book. Nothing was working.

Until......

The Blogging Goddess woke up one morning and there it was. A head. But, not just ONE head, but TWO! This zit was so huge it grew two heads, and they were having a conversation. Discussing the weather. They were talking about growing up larger to see over the nose and see if the grass is truly greener on the other side. They were lovers and discussed having babies. They were friends and shared a cup of coffee and some chocolate. They were ALIVE!

She had had enough! She was going to show this two headed zit who was boss! She sat in her chair in front of her make up mirror and braced herself. She squeezed. She heard the satisfying pop and the puss flew.......

And thus the two headed zit was slain. Bells tolled and freedom rang throughout the land. Fireworks went off and the sun came out. The village threw a party.

And whoever said that two heads were better than one can bite me!

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The November Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is Here

The November Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is up! Splinteredones has compiled some great posts this month and the theme is Holiday Triggers, so it is very timely.

Thanks to everyone who submitted this month, and thanks to everyone who reads and shows support to Splinteredones and to all of the contributors! With Thanksgiving just having past, I want to take a moment and say thank you to all of you courageous survivors for doing the hard work of healing and for sharing your story and journey with us, I am thankful for each one of you.

If you are interested in hosting the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse you can contact me at fromtracie@gmail.com

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Next Time I'll Go To Kokomo...Alone with Snuggle Wasteland

There is a wonderful place that I love to visit. It is the blog known as Snuggle Wasteland. A place where I always laugh (and occasionally I laugh so hard that I snort. Don't tell anyone).

Snuggle Wasteland is awesome. She shares my flair for spelling names, my inability to do math, and sometimes when I read things that she writes or talk to her on twitter, I get confused and think that I am talking to myself, just a more humorous version of me.

Hopefully my visit to Arizona is going better than this trip that Snuggle Wasteland took a few years ago...

Next time I'll go to Kokomo...ALONE

Sometimes the best souvenir is one you make yourself.

Or one you buy with stolen money. I can’t decide.

Let me back up a little.

When my son was 14 months old I was forced to take him on a torturous family vacation in Aruba.

There are so many things I could tell you about the trip.

Starting with my shock and horror when I found out that my son did not have a seat on the plane.

(Even though the plane tickets were our Christmas/birthday gifts for the year.)

I had to hold a squirming, screaming toddler on my lap during the entire 7 hour flight to Aruba. My husband is 6 ft 4 and the lady sitting next to us (in the aisle seat) weighed about 400 lbs. And I’m claustrophobic.

Anypanic, when we arrived in Aruba my FIL’s wife (We must never, never call her step-mother.) insisted that our rental vehicle should be a compact car.

Because everyone knows that car seats don’t take up much room in the back seat of a Geo Metro.

Checking in to the condo, the FIL’s wife was most disgruntled to discover that the room with twin beds was too small for the circa 1972 rickety wooden crib that was provided for us.

So we got the bigger room with the ocean view. She and the FIL were stuck with twin beds facing the corridor.

I’ve blocked most of this out due to trauma but there was whispering about nymphomania and some heavy petting over the clothes. (From the in-laws NOT me.)

Nevertheless, they pushed their beds together and put on brave faces to soldier through the vacay.

You would think that the worst thing about the trip would have been the fact that my boobs popped out of my swimsuit and right in my FIL’s face.

You would be wrong.

(Note to all mothers of young children: Your spawn will not cease climbing you like monkeys on a banana hunt just because you are on vacation. If you’re going to the beach get a suit with strong straps.)

My husband, The Blog Fodder That Keeps On Giving, provided the biggest FAIL this time.

In an effort to smooth over my resentment at being treated like a maid, the in-laws offered to watch the baby one night while Hubs and I went to dinner.

Mind you we were not allowed to leave until he had been fed, bathed, and put to sleep. However, time away from bossy nymphomaniacs is precious so we took the deal.

After an uneventful dinner, Hubs decided he wanted to check out a casino.

Now I had already lost him for 13 hours during a prior trip to Vegas so I was hesitant to say the least.

One game of Blackjack quickly turned into 2 hours and I didn’t have a book in my purse was bored. Like an idiot, I left him there and went back to the condo.

Hubs stumbled in at 4 am drunker than I’ve ever seen him.

(He’s German and I knew him in college so that’s saying something.)

It wasn’t the puking all over the bed or the explosive diarrhea that angered me off the most.

It wasn’t the fact that I literally had to force Hubs in the shower as he was wallowing in his own excrement and vomit on MY BED.

Nor was it the fact that I had to get in there with him (and the hazardous waste) in order to scrub him, his clothes, and the shower as he was unable to follow simple commands or stand unassisted.

What really, really made me mad was that he woke the baby.

And then he passed out.

So I was left with a 14 month old toddling around piles of vomit and feces.

And I had to keep him quiet as the Lovebirds enjoy sleeping and canoodling till mid-afternoon.

What did I do?

The first thing I did was grab the video camera and preserve this touching family scene for posterity. Yes, I have footage of the spew and the drunk who spewed it.

And I have footage of my son’s commentary on the situation.

“Daddy seep.”

“Yucky.”

“Stinky.”

“No touch.”

Then I found Hubs’ wallet and started rummaging.

It turned out that the douchecanoe was a halfway decent Blackjack player – even when he was too drunk to make it to the John. He won about $500.

So I took it.

I never fessed up and Hubs never asked. (I’m sure he assumed that he lost.)

The next day I bought myself a very nice sapphire ring.

I earned it.

And I’m pretty sure that sapphires are a good luck charm to ward off cleaning up a grown man’s poop and puke.

What’s your best or worst vacation souvenir?

**Don’t criticize me for being ungrateful about the trip. It didn't really cost the in-laws anything. They used their frequent flier miles for our airfare and they have a time share.

**It cost me a whole lot more in terms of mental images that can never be erased.

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The Time Marie Callender Helped Me to NOT Blow Up the Microwave

I am still in Arizona, visiting family and staying super busy. An obnoxious amount of pictures and stories will be coming to you when I get back home in December. Hopefully you have been enjoying my guest posters while I have been gone.

In case you didn't know or haven't heard, I have a reputation. For some reason if I mention eating dinner to a friend or family member, they immediately suggest going out. My friend Angel has invited me to come live in a camper in her backyard just so she can feed my family (and don't think that I wouldn't take her up on that offer if I lived a bit closer to her!)

It all started with my exciting hot chocolate. (In all honesty it started a long time before that, but we don't have to discuss those other times, do we? I didn't think so.) In my defense, Thomas was responsible for the bottle of chocolate sauce that exploded. I was hardly involved. I think I could actually be a very good cook.....if the whole cooking part was left out of the equation.....which basically just means that I am a very good eater.

I bring up my special history with cooking and the microwave because I got this email a couple of weeks ago from The Motherhood. They wanted me to try a Baked Meal from Marie Callender's. I was excited and scared all at the same time.

"What if I put this in the microwave and it actually blows up?" was one of the thoughts that I had.

Then I saw the words "Vermont White Cheddar Mac and Cheese" and I knew that I had to be brave and give that whole microwave thing another shot.

I am happy to report that the microwave is still in one piece. 

(which is really good considering I used the microwave at my Grandma's house!)

I read the back of the box and followed Marie's instructions exactly and was rewarded with extremely yummy Mac and Cheese. It was super creamy and tangy.

The box said that it would serve three and I was skeptical about that, but I split it with Grandma and we were both full with a serving to spare (which was just as yummy the next day for lunch when I re-heated it...successfully!!....in the microwave).

 Grandma cutting up strawberries with Katarina
Have I mentioned that I love my Grandma? Because she is awesome!

My grandma is very health conscious and reads labels on the food that she eats. She thought that 980mg of sodium per serving was high, but was happy with the 15g of protein. She was impressed with how creamy it was, and happy with the taste.

Okay. Is your mouth watering? Are you hungry now? Because I can send one of you a coupon to try some of this yummy Mac and Cheese for yourself (or you can try one of the other meals, the Chicken, Spinach, and Mushroom Lasagna is also good - but nothing beats Mac and Cheese) Leave a comment, or five, or ten, or however many you want, and I will be randomly drawing one of your names out of a hat on December 5.

Honesty Time: I was approached by The Motherhood and Marie Callender’s to try the new Baked Meals and write about my experience. I received two of the meals for free and I was compensated for my time. I wasn't required to say nice things, and all the opinions are my own, excpept for those that are noted as being my Grandma's...those opinions are all hers and they came to you for free! 


**The winner is Maureen's Thoughts! I will be sending your Marie Callender's coupons to you this week. Happy eating!!

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Happy Go Lucky and Remembering Ducks with Erin at The Mother Load

When I think of Erin from The Mother Load, the first word that comes to mind is heart. She is a person who feels deeply, and writes passionately, and loves huge. I just love her heart.

While reading at The Mother Load, I have laughed, cried, and marveled at her openness, and her ability to write words and feelings that are in my soul, time and time again.

In a few years, I know that I will be in the bookstore buying a book written by Erin, while jumping up and down and telling everyone who will listen to me, "I know her!!!" (hopefully book sales will not be adversely effected by my scaring of the bookstore patrons, maybe I should apologize in advance. Sorry Erin!) I think she will understand because she is a book-loving, book-sniffer just like me.

Erin inspires me, and I am proud to call her my friend.

Happy Go Lucky and Remembering Those Ducks

Yesterday I was doing some shopping, and I found a little something for myself--an inspiring set of earrings from one of my favorite stores, Stuff. I love Stuff because it features the work of local artists, sells lots of environmentally-friendly, or "green" things, and there are always plenty of unique gifts to choose from.

(it may be hard to see, but the top one reads "lucky" and the bottom one reads "happy.")

I splurged on these as a reminder, because sometimes I get so bogged down by the daily grind that I forget how lucky I am.

This time of year the grass is getting greener, the birds begin singing their sweet songs again, and our allergies turn us into snotty, sneezy fools. And I'm reminded of the ducks that befriended me in late March of 2005.

One day while I was getting a drink in the kitchen, I heard some quacking coming from my front door. I thought I was simply delusional from all the fertility drugs coursing through my veins. But I looked out the window and sure enough, saw this pair cruising my front yard:

They let me get close and feed them by the 2nd day (I'd prepared with lots of cheap Wonderbread just in case).

We don't have the photos to prove it, but they also later ate the bread right out of my hand...

(I look like total crap, but in my defense I was going through a lot and was in a funk)

These ducks were the only reason I got out of bed every day during the last week of March, 2005. It was the end of the road---our second round of IVF (in-vitro fertilization). I was convinced that like all the other things we'd tried before, it was going to fail. But the ducks kept coming back each morning. I concluded that they were a couple, a male and a female, and sure enough I discovered their nest nearby with several eggs inside.

These ducks were sent to me. We needed each other. We needed hope. Just as they were foraging for food and tending to their eggs, my own little embryos were growing in a Petri dish in the lab:

Those ducks kept me alive that week. I looked forward to their visits and waited anxiously for them each morning. They didn't disappoint. I talked to them, told them about my fears in low whispers while they gobbled the hunks of bread from my hands. Their dark, probing eyes consoled me while tears dripped down my cheeks. They quacked that things were going to be alright. They embraced me so easily and so fully that I began to feel my dream of becoming a mother was just within my reach.

Then we got the happy call from the embryologist that we were ready to go. My doctor transferred two really good lookin' embryos to my uterus. And during my mandatory bed rest afterwards, my mom (who flew into town to make sure I remained horizontal) faithfully fed my ducks for me.

About 18 weeks later I looked like this:

And now we have these (pictured with The Father Load):

We are indeed happy. And lucky.

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