Still Here... Really

I'm still here.

Work is chaos. Life is stressful, but getting better. I'm feeling down and out, but this too shall pass.

Contemplating the future of Milk-Induced Coma. Love my blog- my other baby in a way- but here I am the Milk Maid, sans milk for the first time in over 3 years and no immediate plans of revamping the breast milk brigade. Desire, yes. Practical, no.

On a positive note I have starting writing a book. Ten whole chapters so far! It's kind of in the style of how MIC (milk-induced coma) used to be- funny, witty, sarcastic, fast paced, and utterly silly. Hopefully I can keep the motivation to finish the book and then work on getting published.

All around me there are new blogs to represent new beginnings and different directions and change. I'm feeling a little left out of the swirl, but I just don't have the drive any more. In so many ways I have given up on myself. The past year, two years, more- it's been a struggle to cope and survive. Today I am just trying to make it through until tomorrow and then the next day and then perhaps the next.

I'm not alone, but I'm lonely. I miss things I still have because of the fear they will leave me like every other thing in this world seems to have done.

I miss each and every single one of you in blog-land. I've been terrible at keeping up with the friends I have made over the past 3 years and it's no one's fault but my own. I apologise because you all mean more to me than you can ever know. Again, I'm a failure.

More Blab From The Lab

Two very exciting things happened to me today. The first exciting (and admittedly scary) thing that happened was a small centrifuge's rotor exploded into a million little bits. The sound was like a gunshot a full two rooms away. Roxy was sitting next to the centrifuge as it exploded and was splattered with shrapnel. She was totally fine except a small ringing in her ears and staying very skittish for the remainder of the day.

The second exciting thing that happened was the interaction I had with a patient. Great Austrian Accent Man, a repeat customer, came in for some basic blood work today. As I was prepping to draw him he made a comment on how his skin was looking old and crepe-like. I told him it wasn't bad at all and I bet he'd keep kicking for another 20 years (he was 82 by the way, but doesn't look to be in his 80's or even close to 70). After drawing him and joking about being in a wonderful mood because I'd had sugar cookies for breakfast he took my hand to shake and then pulled me in for a hug. Normally I don't make any more contact that necessary with patients, but I felt very close to Great Austrian Accent Man at that moment and hugged him just as hard as I could. He thanked me for being so kind and gentle and said that it meant so much to him. I told him my name and said he could ask for me any time he was in the lab and I would be sure to take care of him.

Sometimes it is the small things that remind you why you get up and go to work every single day. It made me think of a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson that says, "To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."

Today I succeeded!

--The Milk Maid says life is good.

Oink Like A Pig

We have already started "sick season" at work. There was a total of 14 confirmed cases of flu A (possibly the H1N1 swine flu strain) today in our 3 locations. Of course I swabbed most of these disease -ridden little twirps. We've also had numerous cases of strep throat and a couple of office mates have been out with the "throops"- that's Faith's term for throwing up and pooping at the same time.

Luckily, knock on wood, I have avoided the most recent emergence of the plague although it seems every child with strep has either barfed in my floor or hocked a loogie in my hair (or face). Everyone cross your fingers and pray I stay well so I can go mop up vomit and blood 5 days a week.

Jef started a new job today as parts manager of the local mitsu*bishi dealership today. He's been in and out of work since the beginning of the year so here's to hoping this job is all it's cracked up to be and we can dig out of the financial pit we are living in.

Faith is in middle school - my big 6th grader now. She's been making good grades so far and seems to enjoy all her classes. She came home sick today, but her doting mother confirmed that it isn't flu or strep so I gave her some sinus meds and sent her to bed to rest and recover.

I have officially lost 34 lbs since the beginning of the year. I'm having to buy new clothes because I look like a whole family has moved out of the butt of my pants... if I can can get my pants to stay on in the first place.

--The Milk Maid says paddle faster I hear banjos.

As I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Last night as I tossed and turned restlessly trying to bargain with sleep to come to my body I started to ponder the spacing in age of children. The children whose spacing was in question was of course my children, present and future (oh yeah I'm still all about having a 3rd kid - someday before the next eon).

I realized as I lay awake that I have single-handedly managed to create a perfect storm of child spacing. My brain turned to oatmeal as the reality settled in of having a pre-teen (in all her that guy from Twilight is hot and I'm growing sizable boobs glory) and a child in the throws of her Terrible Two's and soon to turn Even Worse Three's (no I didn't make the part about the three's being worse than the two's up at all!).

While I am tossing all my irons in the fire let's go ahead and remind everyone of the fact that I also have a 23 year old step daughter who I swear does the Devil's Bidding from the far away land of Argentina.

I do declare I have managed to create the Trifecta From Hell when it comes to the spacing of my children.

Of course I wouldn't trade any of the precious girls (except the step-daughter) for anything (and if you are interested in a whiny, lazy twenty-three year old we can negotiate terms on the spot), but there was definitely a lack in creative thinking when the whole deal of birth order came to be.

So with the question of when to birth the next spawn still up in the air, as it has been for 2 years, I wonder just what spacing would be "best" for not adding to the already stormy land of the Casa de Leche.

Oh what the heck, I can wait until Ava is 9 and repeat the pattern I know so well... I will have had lots of practice!

I Always Thought This One Would Have Been Funnier

My 500th post is brought to you by the letter G (for Guilt over not blogging in the past 2 months) and the letter U (for a slight Urging to Update).

What can I say about my absence over the last almost 60 days? Not much in fact- that is mainly the problem. Nothing has been happening at the Casa de Leche you haven't heard before like the fact that I have been working my ass off, I've been sick like 4 times (thanks pediatrics for the upper respiratory infection turned bronchitis and all the other junk I've had), Jef didn't work for months and now has a pretty darn good job selling life insurance, Faith is going to cheer camp next week, and Ava's new word for sandwich sounds an awful lot like "dammit". Oh and I've managed to lose 25 pounds since April-ish.

Now that you are up to speed I can shove the keyboard to the side once again, right? No, I didn't think so either (the Milk Maid smiles a devilish smile somewhere around here).

--The Milk Maid says there will more- promise!

I Ain't No Beetle, But I Wanna Hold Your Hand

I'm feeling a little vulnerable. I might even be clingy. I'm definitely without inspiration to write on my blog.

The meds I'm taking are making me feel very normal. Too normal. So normal that I'm just all blahblahwhocares.

The voices that would inspire me to write are gone for the most part. No more verbal jousting with Jim Morrison. I would do a link to the post were I explained my conversations with Jim, but damn that's a lot of effort.

The absence of creativity has been colored in with a couple new emotions that are most likely in the hue of red: Anger and Agitation.

Mimi Therapist-Pants has upped my dose and cut my dose trying to regulate me somewhere between whacked out and comatose to the point that I am really thinking of finding a new therapist who will just leave me the hell alone pretty much and let me be me minus the huge mood swings that caused me to lock myself in the bathroom and cry for hours for no particular reason (which is all I wanted fixed in the first place!).

So, here I sit contemplating the future of Milk-Induced Coma and The Milk Maid. I don't have a lot to write about even if I was in the state of mind to string words into semi-coherent sentences. I'm hating my header and bi-lines.

The Milk Maid fears she may have clabbored.

And Then She Asked Me How It Made Me Feel

Yep, the psychiatrist asked me the question I dreaded the most. And I humored her by answering, but only after telling her I did not like that question and informing her I would comply just once by answering her.

I started doubting the ability of Mimi Therapist-Pants and her 10+ years of doctoral degree education when she said, "I think you might be OCD". Come on people, anyone out there who has read more than 2 pages of my blog could tell you that.

I was also not surprised (because I am the Queen of Dr. Google) that she diagnosed me as Bi-Polar. Again, even if you are a casual reader of this blog, you have probably noticed the highest-highs followed by the lowest of lows and then a bounce back. Rarely (if ever) is there just a nice and normal (normal-schmormal) day where everything flows along without the ebb and flow of 20-foot waves of life crashing me.

Just as I was thinking I could have self-diagnosed myself and ordered meds from Canada or something, little Ms. Mimi Therapist-Pants floored me by asking, "In the 12 or 13 years you have been on anti-depressants have you ever felt relief from these symptoms?"

I blinked. I cocked my head to one side and then another. I really thought about the question at hand. Has anything I tried over the past decade plus truly relieved my symptoms?

No.

Taking everything in to my head, processing it and rolling around my new found diagnoses like a piece of hard candy you want to savor the flavor of as long as possible, I came to the conclusion that I don't think I have ever been truly just "depressed". After reading this handy little wiki-article it all made so much sense. It's the reason why I could be happy as a clam one second and lock myself in the bathroom for 2 hours and cry the very next breath- for no reason at all. It's the reason I'm singing and dancing one minute and can't bear to speak the next. It's the reason I start writing a story with true passion and then can't even imagine having to open the saved file a day later.

Perhaps I have turned a page. Perhaps I have started a whole new chapter. I might just be writing a whole new book on how my life got turned around.

However this all pans out, you know there will be adventure and chaos attached.

--The Milk Maid says her therapist didn't even have a couch!

Apparantly, I'm Really Wacky

Lady Doc (who goes by a nickname that makes me want to rub my legs together and make chirping noises in the summertime) managed to decide, after a very brief chat, that I am "way beyond her level of expertise" and referred me to a psychologist. She did agree with me, before turfing me to the shrink, that my meds were not working (yay for you on that 10+ years of med school, your parents must be soooo proud) and decided to go "old school" (yeah, she said that) and tank me up on some Pro*zac until the shrink could get a hold of me.

And by Pro*zac I mean something like 50mg of Pro*zac once a day (with permission to take it 2 times a day if I was "really in need".)

So, in my mind I heard the following from Lady Doc:

"You are completely kooky and I cannot help you and/or I am afraid you will sneak up the stairwell* and poke my eyes out with a 21 gauge strait needle as I am doing a pelvic exam on some one's grandma."

(*My ob/gyn is located directly above the lab, hence the reason why I point towards the sky whenever I say coochie doc, be it at work or home. And admittedly, when I am at home it is a little weird to say GYNO(!) and point to the ceiling fans.)

On a funny note, the shrink I've been referred to is named Mimi. I cannot pronounce her last name, so I refer to her as Mimi Smartypants. Oooh yeah!

Please stay tuned for the next episode of "OMG! They think I'm as nuts as I think I am (finally)!"

I am waiting for the moment the shrink asks me, "Well how does that make you feel?" and I punch her in the face and reply, "Yup- about like THAT!"

--The Milk Maid says she would never sneak up a stairwell (she would scale the side of the building!)

Filling In The Blanks

Since we last met at The Casa De Leche...

I have decided that I hate my job. No, rather just the people at my job and they way they use me willy-nilly like their own personal bitch. I will explain one day when I have more energy to give a damn.

The "new" medicine my loverly lady-doc has put me on for depression that was supposed to also help with other various symptoms (which again the details bore me and I'm sure they would have you yawning with delight) is basically the same medicine as the Lexi I was on. Sure, it's a different size and shape and cost. And doc-lady said it would be BETTER for me and my needs... Which I think means she will get free lunches from the drug reps.

So (cue My Pal B's frenzied phone call here where she yells at me- lovingly- telling me I'm all nucking futz for doing the following, especially without her consult) I decided to stop taking my new meds. I'm weaning gradually, so keep your panties unbunched. I have decided that if I'm feeling completely nutzo and ready to bludgeon co-workers to death with packs of gauze as I squirt rubbing alcohol into their eyes then I may as well save the money I'm spending on the wacko-meds for a nice attorney and bail money.

Before you all stage an intervention and show up on my doorstep I am going to have a little chat with lady-doc asap. I will have lots of spare time since they've cut my hours. Yet again.

***siiigh***

--The Milk Maid says pass the gauze.

Thankful....

Beauty is everywhere....

(from the garden, circa Spring 2008)

Faith is turning into a young lady!

(school photos early 2009)

Aradia and Big J

(St. Augustine, 2008)

A Good Sleep

(Ava and Bear, about 10 minutes ago)

The Milk Maid says Thank You!!!

Friday Mish-Mash Of Stuffs

I've lost 11 lbs...

We're doing a weight loss challenge at work where we've joined teams and are competing for a pot o' cash come April 24th. My team is in 2nd place!

The weight loss comes a lot easier when the people you are around all day are going for the same goal as you are.

Speaking of work, I've become The Baby Sticker. No, I don't have an adhesive backing and cling to small toddlers with a cartoon face. I am the go to girl for venous draws on babies. I'm proud to have this title, although it comes with a lot of expectation. So far my youngest baby I've drawn is a 4 day old. I usually make a victory lap upon completion of the draw which is peppered with lots of WHOOO-WHOOOOs and butt shaking.

I'm working tomorrow and Sunday. I'm a glutton for punishment I do suppose, but you can't look a gift horse in the mouth, nor can I ignore the ching-ching sound of overtime.


Jef has a new job in sales that he loves. It's commission based, but if he makes one sale a week (out of a potential 15 or more) he will make more than he made at his last job. Every one say a little prayer that things will continue to look up for Big J and the fam-damily in this adventure!

Welp me chicas- that's about all she wrote for the Mish-Mash!

--The Milk Maid says she got the call and rallied hard!

Tagged!

I was tagged by onemorebaby!



The rules for this award:



1) Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.



And here they are:

1. Baby Bound


2. Baby Steps For Maatman


3. Baby Franklin Journey


4. Baby Steps


5. Doran's World


6. Dory


7. From Here To Maternity

(They are the 1st 7 from my blog roll, in case you were curious! Everyone is welcome to join in the fun!)

2) Show the 7 winners names and links on your blog, and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with “Honest Scrap.”



Here's the Honest Scrap Prize- come, click to save, and link if you so desire!






3) List at least 10 honest things about yourself.

1. I love hot wings.... I want them spicy, but not so spicy that I can't taste the good buttery, wingy, hot sauced flavor!
2. I was sent to speech therapy for 6 months when I was in 1st grade because I had trouble saying my S's and T's. I also had only 2 of my 8 front teeth at the time (the two bottom middle teeth only) so that MIGHT have had something to do with it. I've been paranoid ever since then about how I sound when I speak.
3. I am a picker- I pick scabs and zits and wild hairs at will. On everyone. Just ask Jef. I am a monster...
4. I had always said from middle school age into early adulthood that I wanted 4 or 5 kids (maybe more). I think 3 will be enough... although I thought 2 would be plenty after Ava was born. Heeeheehee!
5. I love to play sports but not watch them
6. I am an early riser who can sleep late, but has been conditioned otherwise.
7. I could totally eat some tuna and salmon shashimi right now.
8. I have a photo of my best Pal B on my computer table. It's from about a year ago at a place (or gathering) called MAMU. It's one of my fave pics of us!
9. I have kept dried flowers from arrangements I've received over the years for approximately 15 years now.
10. I repierced my belly button the other night. By myself. With my own personal stash of piercing needles that I got on the famous online auction site. No, it didn't hurt. It was only the 7th ot 8th time I've repierced it.

The Milk Maid says the devil is in the details

Friday Mish-Mash, The Return

It's been too damn long since I Mish-Mashed people!

My Pal B called me as I was doing the Flight Of The Bumble Bee Clean Up Dance around my house. Needless to say, if I don't have the time for blogging I sure as hell don't have the time to clean house. Anyways, Faith's friend Baileigh* came to spend the night. Seeing as how my children tend to keep their own agenda like the tiny rock stars they think they are, when the idea of Faith going to Baileigh's house to spend the night came up (you know, while I was slammed at work, my dad was watching the girls at the local inflatable bouncy play place, and in general there was a screw loose somewhere in the cosmos) it sounded like a fine idea to me.

*Baileigh is a better name than Courtennay, but still get's minus 2 points for too many letters and minus 5 points for looking just plain weird. Sorry if this is your kid's name- remember my mind is simple and so are my kids names. I know what MY name is- shut it. At least my name isn't "Siren H00ker"- long story, true story, maybe next blog I'll elaborate.

Lo and behold (isn't that always a phrase used to precursor something completely shitty happening?) there was a hitch. Baileigh's mom was going to come to My House to pick up the girls.

My House people. The house that hasn't been cleaned properly (well except for the Seasoned Salt incident) in... well, longer than I'm willing to admit. I plead the Fifth (and I considered drinking one too).

So, as I was throwing clothes and junk in closets cleaning the phone rings and it's B. Chaos echoed through the background as Faith, Baileigh, and Ava (and later on Zeus and Chip) all collaborated to ensure the decibel level in The Casa De Leche was hovering somewhere around the range the Concord would have made (or to be more realistic, at least as loud as Jef used to snore). In this conversation B suggested a glass of wine.

My only question was how to get the children to drink it and not complain about the taste.

--The Milk Maid says a bird in the hand will only dook on you.

A Thought On Marriage

I sent a text to Big J and told him I had, oh how did I phrase it exactly...

"I have a mother fucking headache from hell!"

This statement, in all it's crude and brazen glory, was followed by the traditional moaning and whining of a tired woman who'd spent her day off getting very little day off.

His response was, "Take an aspirin".

I wanted to tell him something to the effect of Ooooh thank you Helpy Helperton, [insert deep Southern drawl here] I would have never figured that one out all by my little ol' self!

In actuality I said "thanks babe" and knew that deep on his heart he really just wanted me, his crazy menstrual-cycle laden wife who currently has the stress level of a hamster on fire, to feel better.

--The Milk Maid says this is what makes her such a fantastic spouse.