Nic Fits and Nitwits

If I'd written this post yesterday, I would have been on cloud nine telling you all that I beat the system.  That's right.  I'm getting all the money back that was taken out of my deposit.  It would have gone something like this:

"I won.  It turns out FB might actually be a useful tool.  I originally took my grievance to their company's Facebook page and was directed to a specific person with whom I had private email interaction.  However, the FB page, specifically my grievance, continued to attract the attention of both my own FB friends and others in the Columbus area and developed a nice following.  With that, I continued to update the on-goings of the "investigation" on their own public page, and thus a subtle trial by social media occurred.  One of my own neighbors even weighed in, saying that the house looked better after we lived there than when we first moved in!  Ha.  Now I don't know for sure what made them want to give me back what I asked for, and even an additional $20 charge, because all I was told was that the investigation yielded conflicting reports but that they wanted to satisfy a good customer.  Ha.  I believe they wanted to just make it go away.  And that's fine.  I'll take it.  So they only thing that I'm legitimately accountable for is the garage remote that Joe accidentally sent on to a new home with the Maxima, plus the $85 service fee to have some douche bag come out and program it.  AND GUESS WHAT?!  The liability on my renter's insurance somehow covers that.  I'M GETTING ALL MY MONEY BACK!!!!!!  Woooohoooo. "

Pretty rad, right?  But tonight is different.  Tonight is following a day that Joe had off and spent out shooting guns all day with his dad.  That's not really a big deal, but he was two hours late coming home.  That kind of sucks.  Plus, I was stuck here waiting for a handyman to come fix our damn leaky disposal, so between Maddie's AM and PM naps, I was waiting on that dude and couldn't leave the house ALL DAMN DAY.  Gahhhhhhh.

But we're past all that and onto the part where Joe's having mood swings associated with nicotine fits because he's quitting tobacco AGAIN.  One minute he's good and sweet, and the next minute I get snapped at and then made to feel guilty because I don't feel bad for him (and I don't feel guilty either).  Then I'm told that he read he's justified in all of this and that I should have more empathy for him.  I asked where he read that, and he told me it was from someone else who quit tobacco.  HA!  Rubbish.  I mean, I will empathize to a point, but let's not confuse empathy with being a door mat.  Never once at the psych hospital did I coddle an addict and tell him he was justified for whatever shitty behavior brought him (or her) into custody.  If you think I'm going to just take it while you snap at me and act like an idiot, you've got another thing coming.  Maybe if it was because he was in pain from something that happened to him, but not something he chose to do to himself.  Welcome to life without a crutch, asshole.  

So here we are.  To close, I will update you with my exercise stats:  I've worked out 203 minutes so far this week, and supposedly burned 816 calories.  I don't know how accurate the calories burned tally is, but that's what sparkepeople.com says based on the exercises I've inputted.  I've been primarily walking with intermittent (seldom?) jogging.  Slowwwwww jogging.  And, last night I went to a yoga class for an hour.  It was really calming and a great test to see what the ol' bod' can still do.  Maybe I went on the wrong night, no?  :-)  
 

Jack Wagons

I want to write about how we finally got our deposit back from our old rental house and that $258 had been taken out of it.  I want to write about how mad that made me, and how I feel torn between standing up for myself and what is right versus not getting all riled up and mad for something that will not change.  What I will write is that I am going to call, ask for details, state my case and be done with it.  I feel like being a renter is almost an invitation to be bullied.  Here in our new house last week, our garbage disposal stopped working.  We did all the "unjamming" stuff you're supposed to do, but it still did not work thought could be manually spun, etc.  In calling the realtor (property manager) she told me all the steps to do that we'd already done and then continued to tell me that it must have been something we'd done because it worked perfectly well before we moved in.  And she said this in a sticky sweet pleasant voice.  I was completely taken aback, as I am a good tenant and did nothing wrong to the damn disposer.  She then said that she would write it up, and that if it was in fact our fault, as she maintained that it likely was, then it would be a $25/hr charge for her handyman.  Reasonable and less than would I'd pay if I was the homeowner, for sure.  Still I asked who was responsible if the motor was blown, and she said they would pay for it. Well, when Marty, my bff handyman, came and took a look at it, he told me after less than a minute of inspection, "Your motor died."  How 'bout that.

If you know me at all, you know I have a bit of a history of being angry.  In recent years, I've been considerably less angry, but still have the tendency to come unglued over stupid things.  Even though it may be justified to be a bit angry at some stuff, especially over someone stealing my money, I don't want it to poison me.  Ya know?  I want to be able to let go.  It takes time, and I'm assuming some type of re-evaluation of what warrants a specific reaction.  To sweat the small stuff or to not sweat the small stuff?  And is it really ALL small stuff?  I don't want to get so mad in the first place, but if I do, I want to be able to let go. 

What's helping me on the right track is the ol' exercise.  Two days in a row now I've done an AM walk/jog, and this evening we were finally able to resume our family walk.  I'm logging my exercises on sparkpeople.com, and it's really nice to see my charted exercise.  I dig that.  I meant to add in my last post that I got rid of TONNNNNS of my clothes before we moved, and I gave away more (donated to Vietnam Veterans) when we got here.  I'm all about downsizing our "stuff."  But, alas, I kinda do need new clothes.  However, I've decided that I will not buy anything new until my birthday (end of next month), so I'm giving myself a good month before I go looking for a physical change.  I think that's a healthy bit of time (not rushing), and I look forward to what I'll find then.  I'm also looking forward to new underwear.  For realz.

"But You're SO Skinny!"

That's what I'm told, even now, and it's mostly true.  My genes are what they are (have you seen my dad?!), and it turns out I have a pretty small frame.  But even a gal with a small frame can get a little bulk that needs to come off.  That is where I am currently. 

See, I had a baby.  Dunno if you heard, but I did.  ;-)  She was born over a year ago, and while I do not know exactly what I weight currently.  I know that before I moved to Arizona, I was at my pre-baby weight.  Now, what folks may or may not tell you is that post-baby the weight does not redistribute to exactly the same places it did pre-baby.  In fact, even if you're so skinny, you may end up with this almost invisible inner tube around your waist.   You don't see it or really care until you try to dress nicely...in your clothes...that you used to be able to wear.  Goddammit.  Adding insult to injury, the ass you worked for seems to just disappear, like it dissolved upwards into your inner tube.  So, then, when you're wearing your pants that your middle is spilling out the top of, they are loose in the ass.  AND, you lost your boobs to breast feeding.  So you're walking around in your inner tube, flat above it and below it.  And it sucks.  This is what has happened to me. 

People can tell you how great you look and how skinny you are and not to worry, etc, etc.  But maybe, just maybe, they should shut the fuck up.  If YOU don't feel good in your skin and cannot wear your own clothes and feel like you have no energy half the time and have no time to do something to make YOU feel better and more healthy, then other people telling you that you look great is even more of a waste of your already precious time.  (Unless you have body dysmorphic disorder, then you need to listen to those people and get a therapist and some meds.)  This is currently how I feel about it all.

So what am I doing about it?  I've had enough.  I had gotten into better shape, reduced the inner tube, etc a few months back, but the move just erased all my efforts.  So, I'm getting back at it.  I want to feel better physically and emotionally, and I want to wear my clothes well again.  I'm starting to exercise more and watch what I eat...to include making sure that I DO eat....easy to forget sometimes.  I joined sparkpeople.com (it's free) just to kind of track myself a bit and have a few resources available to me should I need them.  So far it's pretty cool.  I do NOT want to join a gym.  It's just a waste of money.  I want to run/walk in my neighborhood and do some strength training using my own body weight (for now).  I may end up buying a few free weights, but that can wait.

And so, part of my goals in this process (sparkpeople has you set goals outside of just diet and exercise...duh) is to journal three times a week.  I figured I'd use my blog for that, so expect more about all of this.  Feel free to share with me what you're doing.  I'd love to hear it....um, and consider most of what I do involves either a toddler in a stroller or a toddler taking a nap.  K.

Off the Ledge

It's a cool, cloudy day here in the SV.  Maddie is napping, and went down without screaming, our latest issue to tackle.  I'm washing my diapers, which I think I finally have a handle on here with a front loader and really hard water.  And all in all things are well. 

Thanks to everyone who wrote to me, shared links to get me socializing or just out of the house, etc, thought good thoughts, and offered to send wine.  :-)  You all helped talk me down, and I greatly appreciate it.  I will utilize the links, and while I no longer need it, anyone who ever wants to send wine my way is welcome to do so.  I think we're going to visit a local winery soon, though.  So yay.

Other sources of mental improvement have been rest (mind-blowing, right?), positive familial relations (and other more fucked up family members moving to town that make the rest of us look normal and like each other more), and Joe stepping up.  I know a few of us had to spell it out for him, but he got it.  He was actually doing so much for a minute there that I thought he might soon have a meltdown.  At any rate, I am better and not feeling so hopeless about living here.  It's a new place, and I'm going to try to make the best of it, as I may not have another opportunity to live here.  Hopefully I didn't just jinx myself. 

On a lighter, much lighter note, I thought I should update you all about my boobs.  Here's how the world works:  you have a baby, get gigantic boobs you've never had before, feed the baby the best stuff there is FOR A WHOLE FREAKING YEAR, and then when you're done, you end up with less boob than you started with.  IT IS NOT FAIR.  I was so busy with the move (and wearing sports bras all the time to get the milk to go away) that I didn't immediately notice that they were gone.  Then one day I was like, whoaah.  It was seriously crushing at first...that whole woman-body self-esteem thing.  Didn't even let Joe see them for a while.  Now I'm used to it.  Oh well.

All that milk seems to have done Maddie a body good.  She had her 12mo well-baby yesterday.  Measured up well at 19.1 lbs and 27.75 inches.  The overall experience with the doctor here sucked.  He made her cry hysterically right off the bat by jamming some instrument into her ear to get the wax out and then continue the exam while she was still hysterical, asking ME to hold down her arms and head.  I started to speak up to tell him that this was a job for a nurse, not me...heartbreaking to hold down your upset, possibly in pain, child, but by then he was done.  AND THIS WAS BEFORE THE FOUR SHOTS.  Fuck off, doc.  So I pretty much forgot all of my questions to ask, and the doc disappeared.  I don't know if that's routine for him or just after he hurts a child and pisses off their parents.  Whatever.  Amidst all of that, he let me know that he heard a murmur when listening to her heart.  So he ordered an echo to rule anything out.  The order is processing, and we're supposed to get the appt information in the mail.  Since Joe has only another week left in the Army, I'm not real sure we'll get to investigate that until we're on the civilian side of healthcare.  Fun, fun. 

This is exhilarating stuff, I know.  I was going to write more about all of the cloth diaper washing issues I've been having lately, but I'll spare you.  Just know that the highlight of my day today will be waiting for the arrival of my special diaper detergent for hard water.  And know that I spent a good part of this past Monday boiling all of my diaper inserts due to detergent build up.  Yeeeeeah.  Okay, it's cookie time. 

Not Dead

And here I sit typing my first post from Arizona.  Yes, I made it alive.  We all did.  The schedule was every bit as exhausting as it sounded, and the flight here with Maddie immediately following checking out of our house which immediately followed horribly long, hot hours of cleaning was just all around insanity.  I didn't sleep much that week.  I worked in my house that got up to 90 degrees at times due to the moving guys keeping the doors open for easy access when hauling my shit around.  It was awful.  Thank God I had my mother in law in town to help with Maddie, otherwise I really don't know what I would have done. When everything wrapped up with the house, I basically took an overnight flight to to Arizona. 

I got to the airport in the nick of time, and thankfully I'd had Susan calm my fraying nerves over the phone on the drive there.  After parking, I strapped Maddie to the front of me and had over 100lbs of luggage that I was wheeling, one handle in each hand, along with two bags over my shoulders.  Through the parking lot, up an escalator and into the terminal.  A mother helped me when my bags shifted and started to fall over.  So many people helped me.  They had no idea how physically and emotionally exhausted I was, and I got teary at times.  On the plane when Maddie was screaming instead of sleeping, I cried too.  I was also incredibly grateful to have had Charlene, the best lady ever to have next to you on a plane if traveling with a cranky baby.  She held Maddie, fed Maddie, walked with Maddie and me down the aisles, and talked me down when I started crying.  She even flagged down a Sky Cap after we landed so I could get a ride to my connecting flight's gate.  Charlene from California, I will never forget you.

We finally got to Tucson and to Joe, who got us down to Sierra Vista.  By the time we went to bed it was almost 5AM Georgia time.  SUUUUUUCK.  Still, I could only sleep for about four hours and then was up.  It was that type of tired where you feel like you're moving when you're not and that there's this buzz in your head.  Yeah.  And in the midst of all that, Joe's Dad and stepmom informed us that day that our dogs (that I would be flying out the next day to drive back from GA) would not be allowed to stay at their house.  Enter: meltdown.  I do not like wrenches thrown into my plans, nor can I handle them appropriately at the end of a stressful week without sleep.  I'd written in emails and in FB messages that I would bring Maddie out on Wednesday, and then fly out on Friday to start driving back with the dogs.  Where did they think the dogs were going to go???  They maintained that they had not thought about the dogs, just us humans, and even told US that we were bad communicators for not having properly clarified.  Okay.  At no point in their offers for us to stay there until we got situated in our new place did they ever say anything about the dogs not being a part of the equation, nor was anything ever said the eighteen times I wrote or spoke about bringing the dogs back.  But we're the bad communicators.  I mean if you know me at all then you know that I love my dogs and intend to bring them along on a move.  What irked me more than anything was that it was just a "nope, can't help you."  They'd helped so much letting Joe stay with them, etc, so I don't know if it is wrong that I felt like they just left us hanging at the eleventh hour or what.  However, my sister may have said it best when she pointed out that their help was the equivalent to not letting us bleed out.  So anyway, we regrouped and found a place to board the dogs, though I did ask about the day we would be getting into town - if too late, could the dogs stay there for just a night.  I was told yes, outside.  Fine.  Whatever. 

I spent the rest of that day in a cloud, really thinking that Sierra Vista was not a place I wanted to come back to, colored in my mind as it was at that point.  I flew out ass-early the next day and went back to GA.  Thankfully the spray paint I'd left in my completely sealed vehicle didn't explode in my car while I was gone, nor did I run out of gas on my way out of the airport parking lot.  I managed to make it back to Columbus, pick up the dogs, and get the rest of my crap before getting stuck in a huge storm IN COLUMBUS.  Yep.  Finally, I got on my way to my sister's house in Mississippi.  I was pretty tired, and the last forty miles were killer.  I was literally slapping myself in the face to stay awake.  But I made it.  And my dad was already there, getting his rest to drive the first part of the next day with me.  Woot. 

Spending that Saturday morning at my sister's house was glorious.  It was great to be with my family.  Of course just as we were about to pull away, Dad and I got into it.  He wouldn't let me keep my car clock ten minutes fast.  Seriously.  My car.  Paid for.  He would not let me.  So, if that was the battle that he was going to pick, fine.  I didn't let him keep the loaded gun (MY .45) in the center console next to where our drinks were sitting.  But by God, he got to keep the clock how he wanted it.  Somehow that was the only issue we had after TWO days in the car together.  I was grateful for his help and don't know how I would have made the drive without him.  Dunno if my body had enough adrenaline left for that.  We made it to AZ on Sunday, the 29th, as planned.  However, we made it earlier than anticipated.  Enter: the dog problem part two.  Joe's dad said we could have the dogs at their house even though we were arriving early, to which his stepmom freaked the fuck out and left the house, threatening to stay at a hotel.  This information was being relayed to me while I was in the last hour of a three day drive.  Again, maybe I'm a selfish asshole after all the help they provided...but I just felt they could have done us a solid after a three day drive to AZ, no?  So, I told Joe to pack our shit, and we went to a dog friendly hotel.  The thing was that the dogs were boarded the next morning.  I refused to board as soon as we got to town because I felt they needed to get acclimated to their new surroundings with their family...see Daddy, etc.  BECAUSE AS EVERYONE KNOWS, I AM A DOG PERSON.  My dogs were my first kids.  Talk to me for five seconds, and you'll know that about me. 

By this time we had secured a house, but could not move in until the 1st, not to mention our belongings were still in transit.  No matter, we would camp out, so as not to leave our dogs boarded indefinitely, nor be a burden to anyone else or our own wallets.  So we spent three nights in an expensive hotel until our house was ready.  I wish it could have worked at Joe's parents' house, as it would have saved us $500+, but I guess that wasn't in the cards.  The day after our arrival - Monday - I got a text from Wendy saying that no one was mad at us for wanting to be with our dogs, etc, and inquiring about Maddie's birthday party that was supposed to be at their house the following day (Tuesday).  The text kind of caught me off guard because, maybe selfishly, I thought of course you're not mad at me.  YOU NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN.  There was no realization that I may have been a bit irked at them, though.  So I wrote back asking why everything blew up, why she got so mad, and let her know I didn't feel welcome.  The response back was something I'd expect from a psychiatric patient.  It rotated sentence to sentence of how much she loves me and wants to help me to how can I do "this" to the family, hold a grudge, and hurt Joe in the process and that the whole family knows what's going on.  Uh, 'scuse me?  I'd been in town for less than 24 hours.  I moved into a hotel to properly care for my family, and keep them un-hurt and away from drama, and then I get this manipulative pseudo-lovey BULLSHIT?  I basically wrote back just saying to stop because that was enough.  I then called Joe, freaked out because really, this is what I walk into after a huge move without my husband?  I'm met with a familial battle in my new town?  At Joe's recommendation (no more texts), I called Wendy...who insisted on putting me on speaker phone so the whole family could hear me, despite the fact that I told her I called just to speak to her.  She insisted on wanting everyone to hear.  (What?!)  So we went the rounds.  I wasn't ugly, by explained myself.  I wish I could have been more patient on the phone and not so exasperated.  But what do you expect at that point?  It ended basically with me just conceding and us both giving what were probably disingenuous apologies.    

I have no idea who all was there as my audience (Joe's grandparents and aunt live here too, and Wendy may have been at their house at the time), nor what they were told ahead of time.  It still kind of makes my stomach hurt to think about.  Everyone seems to think it was all about the dogs.  Initially it was, as they are my babies.  Ultimately, though, in my opinion it boiled down to this: they wanted to help, they were thrilled to help, but only when it was convenient for them to do so.  When it wasn't, they said the heck with it.  Maybe I'm a brat, a huge freaking brat.  But this is how I feel.  Maybe I'm spoiled, but never in my life have I had a parent say, "No, can't help you, sorry."  That is the part that sticks with me.  All because they said they weren't used to having dogs in the house.  That's it.  That was the reason.  Just not used to having dogs in the house.  Okay.

That is how my time here has started.  Things now are mostly smoothed over, at least on the surface.  I still do not know what the rest of the family thinks of me.  I don't want to care, but I do.  Joe has been on my side the whole time, but he doesn't always get that I'm still hesitant to take them up on their offers to help with Maddie.  I have to share her, but I don't want to be anymore indebted to them than we already are.  Plus, I don't want any bad stuff said about me in front of her.  Then, of course there are all the normal moving "things": emotions regarding change, exhaustion, stress over the cost of the move, and hello, culture shock.  I'm a little sad.  I actually do miss Georgia.  The mountains and big sky here are pretty, but the gravel yards are not.  I miss real grass.  I hate gravel yards...they are depressing looking (we have grass in our backyard for the dogs).  I miss the size of Columbus and all the shopping and resources it had.  Grass isn't always greener...especially when there is none.  I miss my friends...it would have been nice to have some local folks to turn to during this family mess.  Joe has friends in his coworkers, and his family will always love him.  They don't have to love me, though.  Then of course the money.  Holy shit, the money.  I can't even get out of here on a small trip if I wanted to because we really shouldn't be spending anymore freaking money. 

So I'm here.  I'm alone.  The adrenaline has quit pumping, which leaves me feeling half dead sometimes.  I'm surrounded by boxes that need unpacking, as well as a now one year old that needs even more attention than the boxes.  I'm tapped out and needing some TLC, which I don't think Joe really gets, despite what I've very directly told him.  He came home yesterday wanting to start a workout schedule for both of us, which means he wants to start working out regularly, even though he says that it's for both of us.  Bullshit.  I'm tired.  I need rest.  To make me feel better emotionally and mentally, I need to start making it out for a neighborhood walk or something, not be thrown into a workout regime that I'm not ready for.  He also had dinner our with some of his buddies from Benning who were in town over the weekend (they come out here for various training pretty regularly), but I've yet to have an actual dinner date with him myself.  I feel taken for granted for everything I did to get us all out here.  Maybe I'll feel better after things are more settled.  Or, maybe I'll feel better when the next eleven months are complete....