manic mariah

The Internet is like cough medicine for the mind

2009-11-09T21:05:00.000-08:00

Sadly, I have gone from a happy gypsy...

To a sappy sobby mess in a matter of days.

My auditory hallucinations have pretty much subsided,thankfully. Those four or five days felt like a living Hell.

Thank God I have the beach beach and the peace it allows me to feel.

And thank God I have this place to spill all my ugly parts on and you people who listen.

Thank you.

Seriously. Thank you.

Auditory overload

2009-11-04T19:32:00.000-08:00

Jury Duty was interesting, but I’m sworn to silence for ninety days, so I can’t really talk about that right now and in ninety days it’s going to seem irrelevant so I might as well just cross that off of my list of things I’m not going to talk about. I will say this: I was the only Juror that felt the way I felt about the case, the other eleven felt differently. It’s like we were on totally different cases. That’s all I can say about that right now.

My kid is STILL sick, but my mom’s biopsy on her bladder came back clean, so that’s good news.

And me?

I’m losing it, in a really bad way. I always lose it at this time of year. It’s not unusual for me to sit on the kitchen floor for hours refusing to talk or get dressed. It’s also not unusual for me to be quick tempered, disorganized, agitated and angry. It’s common at this time of year for me to not eat or shower.

Things are worse than normal right now. I feel like I’m going crazy. I feel like I am having a psychotic breakdown and I’m suffering from auditory overload. I can’t watch TV, because the only thing I can hear is my dog’s toenails tapping against the wooden floor and when she finally settles down the only thing I can hear is the clock ticking IN THE UPSATIRS BEDROOM! But, I can’t hear the TV that is right in front of me with the volume turned ALL THE WAY UP!!

The noises from the kitchen are driving me up the wall. The dishes clanking, the faucet leaking and the cupboards slamming is almost enough to 86-ka-do myself out of here.

Then there are the kid noises. I can handle the screaming and yelling, it’s the whispers and turning of pages that I can hear from THREE ROOMS AWAY that are driving me nuts. We’ve created a noise free zone for the kids to do their homework and I swear to God it’s quieter than a library, yet I can hear every blink and I’ve found myself screaming from the top of the stairs for them to BE QUIET!

I’ve tried earplugs and cotton balls, but I’m still stuck in some auditory hallucination type of Hell zone that’s reserved for baby killers and sexual deviants. And I’m not either of those.

I think I need to go to the doctor, but I know they’ll just prescribe some hard core drugs or lock me up against my will, like they’ve done before.

So, I’m waiting it out and hoping that this phase of crazy will pass sooner than later.

Sick House

2009-11-02T17:32:00.000-08:00

My kids are pretty hardy, they usually only get the sniffles and the occasional stomach bug. They break bones more often than they get fevers. So when my youngest was hit with a fever today it literally knocked her out for hours!

Poor thing slept on the couch all day moaning 'why me?' like the universe hand picked her out of a crowd and sprinkled fever dust on her forehead.

The sad thing is that I start Jury duty tomorrow and can't be home to baby her.

Or take her to the doctor if she needs to go.

Or watch Little House On The Prairie with her while sucking on freezer pops.

And all she's worried about is missing school and not receiving the 100% attendance award this year. Sometimes I wonder if she was switched at birth.

Don't mess with me, I have a badge

2009-10-30T09:56:00.000-07:00

I am doing my duty as a civilian and serving on a jury (I know, I can’t believe they picked me either). I spent the entire day yesterday being herded around like cattle as the lawyers and the judge decided on the ‘best’ panel. I sat in the courtroom playing a really important game of Scrabble on my phone when the judge called my number.

Juror number *1272, the judge called. I was way too busy playing scrabble to hear my number, so the judge called it again: Juror number 1272. I then looked around the courtroom wondering why the yahoo juror wasn’t getting up. Then the judge said: first name Mariah, with a tone that was less than pleased. Embarrassingly I stood to my feet with my phone in my hand and attempted to make my way to the jury cage, but my purse was stuck on my chair and I had to un-stick it first. After several long minutes I arrived on the jury panel as juror #14.

The judge and the lawyers from both sides asked me ridiculous questions.

Have you ever been arrested? Yes I replied honestly.

Do you know any local law enforcement officers? Yes.

Can you be unbiased and follow the law in this case? No I replied, I honestly don’t think that I can be unbiased (It was an honest answer).

Have you ever been a victim of a crime? Yes

Have you witnessed a crime? Yes

After 23 sidebars and several hours I was moved to juror number 10 and then to juror 3 and then to juror number 7. It was a ridiculous waste of time; the whole day was spent deciding on the jury.

We were all sworn in and told not to talk to the media, and then the judge said, no Twitter, Facebook or Blogging about the case, which totally cracked me up. I’m not talking about the case here; I’m just talking about the process, right? I’ll fill you all in with all the juicy details later.

Anyway, so now I am a very top secret juror in an attempted murder case, which pretty much blows because I have to follow the law and be unbiased and shit and I’m not really good at doing those things.

Plus I’m sworn to silence and I’m not really good at that either.

*My juror number isn’t really 1272, that’d be pretty silly of me to post my real juror number. I’m a tad smarter than that.

If I'm anything like my grandma I'll be locked up during menopause while I deal with raging hormones in a suicidal and homicidal fashion.

2009-10-28T12:10:00.000-07:00

It happens every month.

First I crave tacos and eat four of them, letting the grease run down my chin and into my cleavage.

Then I crave chocolate and caramel. I can consume bags of Twix and Rolos like NOBODY’S business.

Then I cry and get all moody and reflective, sometimes I even meditate.

Then I doubt myself and wonder why I am even on this earth.

Then it happens.

And every month I’m surprised.

Reminders

2009-10-27T10:35:00.000-07:00

I am constantly reminded of WHY I’m divorced. Of course I am divorced because my ex decided that his knuckles should and would rest comfortably against the ridge of my nose and that my every move and thought deserved his approval. Those things I know. Those memories I grasp with such determination. I am unwilling to let myself forget those pains that I endured; I embrace my physical scars and hold them with prestige because I was able to get out. They’re like my trophies, my victories for overcoming the idiocy of that time.

The things I DO forget are the pointed words that were constantly thrown in my direction. Yesterday my ex called me asking for some legal documents regarding our divorce. Of course I rushed out and scanned the needed documents and urgently tried to email them to him. He hounded me with text after text saying things that I am so accustomed to hearing from him. Words with such anger, hostility and violence; words that fly through the air with their own directional jet packs, destined to land atop my head and wreak havoc on my innards. Words intended to hurt.

I left that hurtful life almost ten years ago, yet here I am still fighting the demons of that time. I find it disgusting that I am still dealing with his misery; it's mind boggling how his words and actions can still find their intrusive way into my blood stream where they travel without direction depositing their ugliness in every twist and turn.

The WHY behind my divorce will never be forgotten, sometimes it rears its ugly head and I’m able to brush it off, other times it soaks into my flesh and leaves me physically drained and emotionally bloated. Recently I have found employment at a women’s shelter where I am able to counsel and encourage women that are dealing with the exact same situation that I was in almost ten years ago. These women are fragile; they’re afraid and leaning on my advice. I’m their advocate, their sounding board and their voice.

It’s mentally exhausting and a constant reminder as to why I am divorced, and who I used to be.

I may need bail money in about a week.

2009-10-23T11:38:00.000-07:00

Halloween is pretty serious in these parts and it’s not just us, it’s the area we live in. Having lived here my entire life I know which streets to hit up on Halloween. I know where all the haunted houses are and let me tell you, living near Hollywood has its advantages when it comes to haunted houses. Some of these are professionally done and require an invite. I love haunted houses; I love being scared to the point of wetting myself. I love gore and fake blood and zombies.

I also love shaving cream fights and I take those pretty serious too. Yesterday I stocked up on shaving cream and spent hours burning the shaving cream tips closed and then re-piercing them with a sewing needle. It’s a pretty technical procedure and should not be attempted without the proper training. However, the burning and re-piercing of the shaving cream tips is necessary; it enhances the distance in which the shaving cream squirts. Trust me, I’m a professional.

My kids and I take great pride in our ‘stealthyness’ we practically melt into the bushes unnoticed and then we attack innocent trick-or-treaters with streams of shaving cream. Those attacked end up joining us and soon we have a gang of shaving cream covered hooligans and we take on the city. We’re pretty bad ass.

Last year I had a complaint filed against me from some of the neighboring moms. They're first on my list this year because I take my role as the neighborhood nuisance very seriously.

Freaks dig me

2009-10-20T15:23:00.000-07:00

We have this vacation rental unit in our back house, it’s worked out really well—we’ve met tons of fun people from all over the world and made some cash along the way— it’s been a win win situation. Except for the one creepy guy that was basically trying to smuggle in his Russian mail order bride and his porn star girlfriend from Chicago. That was interesting. As were the two gay guys that stayed with us and porked each other all night long and ruined my sheets. My good sheets.

Our most recent visitors are from San Francisco and really special. It’s a husband and wife and their two yappy annoying dogs, and when the dogs yap they cause my birds to shriek and scream. Then when the birds scream and squawk they wake up our neighbor’s newborn who cries really loud and then the mom sings Chinese opera with a pitch that is indescribable.

Yap
Yap
Shriek
Squawk
Cry
Sing

That’s what’s going on around here.

They’re visiting from San Francisco to attend The Price is Right game show. Last time they were ‘really lucky’ and won a bird bath that is sitting in their living room with floating candles in it because they didn’t want it to rust in the weather. I’m not shitting you, she told me the story numerous times, she’s extremely proud of her bird bath.

They’re also going to the Jay Leno taping and she’s wearing her ‘lucky’ dress, the dress that got her on the Price is Right where she won her prized bird bath. She’s pretty certain that the camera will catch her in the audience and just in case she showing a little cleavage (she told me that). She has high goals.

I’m pretty certain that her husband doesn’t fit on our toilet; he’s gigantic and snores so loud that I can hear him from inside our house. He’s a computer tech guy and couldn’t figure out how to set up the internet and she’s an accountant that over paid us by $10.00.

The Lady is trying to convince me to go on The Price is Right with her and I’m scared.

One of her yappy dogs bit me and I was thisclose to drop kicking the bastard across the yard.

It’s like a freak show over here and I’m keeping the extra $10.00 and I’m not even going to feel bad about it.

Some day I'll get this shit together and when I do I'm gonna smoke pot and sit back and smile

2009-10-19T01:10:00.000-07:00

I'm like Martha Fucking Stewart, but with better hair. Maybe not better, as in my hair is sexy, but I'm certainly not sporting a Dorthy Hamilton do either. Here's the thing, I can cook. I can cook like nobody's business, I can whip shit up out of thin air and people eat it. Then people call me and ask for the recipe for my stuffed mushrooms and I'm all, 'I don't know, you just mix all that crap together and then stuff it into the mushrooms. It's easy.'

People don't like me.

My sister hung up on me when I tried to tell her that pesto with sun dried tomatoes on homemade focaccia bread is simple to make. My mom cried when I told her I was making her curry chicken for dinner. Maybe she just cried because she's emotional and worried sick about her health these days, but still, a tear is a tear, right?

So anyways...

I really need to get all of these recipes in my head down on paper so that my children will be able to cook something other than Ragu spaghetti and Top Ramen. I want my children to be able to make Carne Asada and tell stories to their children about the first time I cooked Carne Asada and splattered the ceiling and walls with cilantro because I left the top to the food processor open.

I want to make a cookbook titled: You're 18, move out!

So far this is what I have.

I know. Cooking shows and top chefs keep calling me. Hell, the Food Network is practically breaking down my front door right now!

I'm kind of a big deal...in Tasmania.

P.S. Thanks for the well wishes for my mom. We're still waiting on the biopsy results--it has been a L O N G week.

I'm in a sucky spot right now

2009-10-15T11:50:00.000-07:00

My mom is having a hard time recovering from her surgery. They found a spot on her bladder and they ended up biopsying it, 'just in case'.

When a Dr. says 'Just in case' it's nerve racking, to say the least.

I'm one of those lucky people with amazing parents, and I happen to be extremely close to them, physically, emotionally and mentally. My siblings do not live close enough to sit at the hospital with my mom, so it's just been my dad and I. I'm the one that makes all the phone calls to family and friends and I haven't mentioned the 'spot' on her bladder, because I'm afraid. I feel like if I don't talk about it it will disappear.

Right now my mom is suffering from extreme anxiety which is raising her blood pressure into the danger zone, so I'm off to spend the day at UCLA again to calm my mom down and coomfort my dad.

If you're the praying type we could use some prayers right now.

If you're not the praying type maybe you could dance around naked and burn sage.

Or smoke pot and meditate...

Or send happy healthy vibes.

Or something.

Angels, hospitals, and my dad

2009-10-14T01:00:00.000-07:00

I spent the majority of my day curled up in the plaid chairs of the large waiting room at Ronald Reagan hospital at UCLA. A first time mother nervously breast fed her infant boy and a large black lady slept, with her chin resting on her bosom. I glanced about the waiting room trying to decipher the stories behind the rest of the ‘waiting.’ An elderly woman sat alone in the corner silently wiping her tears, why was she alone? Alone is something I cannot handle, or swallow, or pretend to understand, especially when it comes to the elderly. The sweet little Asian girl who volunteered behind the counter called our name, I approached apprehensively, it was too soon for my mother’s surgery to be over, so when they called our name I felt my face go red and I panicked slightly. My dad chuckled and nudged me with his elbow, and laughed. He laughed at my nervousness, perhaps hiding his own? I was suddenly afraid. What if something happened to my mom? What is they found her body was riddled with tumors? Or her blood wouldn’t clot? What if she quit breathing? What if?

The cute little Asian girl led us upstairs to the operating room, THE OPERATING ROOM! Where a nurse appeared and apologized for cutting a ring off of my mom’s finger. She then handed us a little bag with a broken golden ring inside and then rushed off down the hall and back into the operating room. My dad looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Then he mumbled, I need to get her a new ring anyway. This was the first time I have ever seen the vulnerable side of my dad. His eyes held nothing but love, love and a glimpse of worry.

We were escorted back to the waiting room, where my dad and I sat together and read. I read my gushy love story and he read his sci-fi. Occasionally my dad would blurt OH and OOHHHH out loud, sharing the excitement of his book with anyone who would listen. Occasionally the old lady in the corner of the room would stop crying long enough to get up and use the bathroom, letting the heavy door slam behind her with a CLANK!

The cold wind and mist would quickly seep into the waiting room piercing us with harshness each time the door to the patio was opened. The old lady pulled her coat collar up around her nose and held onto herself with a never ending hug…a mountain of used tissues sat at her feet. I couldn’t help but wonder who she sat and waited for. Her husband who suffered heart problems? Perhaps her son with internal injuries? Or maybe her daughter who had succumbed to the suicidal demons that rested in her head? I needed to know, the nosey part of me was boiling over with curiosity.

After I narrowly escaped the disgusting advances of the toothless street fighter that reeked of smoke, I made my way across the soft blue carpet to the elderly lady who was dressed in white and clung to herself like sticky paper. I tripped over the large black lady's cane before settling in across from the elderly lady. I made small talk with the fragile woman before asking WHY she was in the waiting room and WHO she was waiting for…

She replied, ‘I d like to say it was my son, but it’s not, it’s all of you. I pray for all of you, and for your families, my family is gone.’ She sits and prays, day after day for families she does not know. I walked away from the elderly lady after resting my hand for a moment on her shoulder and sat again with my dad. I put my hand into my dad's hand and rested my head against his shoulder. I was right where I should be at that moment.

Angels exist y’all. I saw one.

I talked to an angel.

It was awesome.

P.S. My mom had major reconstructive surgery to her inner parts (hysterectomy, bladder repair and intestinal reconstruction. She blames me, her biggest kid, for the bladder repairs), and she’s doing just fine. She’s drugged up, loopy and happy as a lark.

18!!!

2009-10-12T11:33:00.000-07:00

Dear Amanda,

I’m not sure if you remember that mean boy named Todd that messed with your angel wings when you were 3 and preparing to perform Christmas songs, he totally bent your wings, you were pissed. You cried and cried. I walked down the aisle in the middle of the Christmas program and scooped you up and let you cry into my shoulder, your tears and salty mucus stained my red shirt. Together we fixed the wings and you finished the rest of the Christmas show.

That night when I tucked you in bed I told you that there will always be people in the world like Todd, people that are mean; people that find joy in upsetting other people. I told you that when you get older it will become harder and harder to choose your friends. You didn’t really understand what I was saying, you were only three. But you did say, ‘You’re super smart mommy’ before falling asleep for the night.

Aww, to have you think I am super smart again would be fantastic!!

This whole turning 18 thing has me crying nightly into my pillow, you know, that pillow, the one I only break out when I’m feeling down and need a good cry. The pillow that smells like syrup, the pillow we pass around when we share secrets in the dark. Yes, that pillow.

I’m not sure why this is affecting me the way it is. I’m not sure why I am a blubbering mess of tears. I should be happy! You’re 18!! I did it!! I raised you on my own (loser sperm donor is living the good life in Hawaii and can’t be bothered); I’ve taught you about mean boys like Todd and how to correctly use a tampon. I’ve cooked chocolate chip cookies in the middle of the night with you and your friends and I’ve driven the getaway car on more than one TPing excursion.

I’ve enthusiastically entertained and supported MANY of your dreams, from swimming, H2O Polo and lifeguarding, to soccer, volleyball and cheerleading. I've even agreed to go sky-diving with you this weekend and I'm excited about it!!

I’ve campaigned on your behalf to save the dolphins and whales in Japan and to help the starving kids in Africa.

I’ve supported EVERTHING that you have playfully addressed. Except for the whole PTA thing, I gotta draw the line somewhere.

So, yes, I’m sad, it’s like saying goodbye to a part of myself. But, I’m also excited and happy about your life and what’s in store for you, just stay away from the mean boys in life, like Todd. You have so much to offer the world. You are going to make a difference in the world. And I am so proud. Happy Birthday!

This is so you, running playfully through a meadow, without a care...

I love you more than words can say...

Love Mama.

P.S. About the toga party that I agreed to??? Ummm, can we keep it tame; I have little kids here that weekend???!?!? OK? Thanks!

I'm not dying, so yay me, but if I was dying I'd for sure be grubbing some Twinkies right about now

2009-10-08T09:29:00.000-07:00

Healthy eating blows.

So, we’re on this healthy eating kick over here at casa Mariah. We’ve eliminated white rice, pasta, red meat, and regular store bought bread. We’re shopping at the farmer’s market and doing everything by the book. It sucks, and I could really use a Twinkie right about now. Or a Hostess Ding Dong…I haven’t had a Ding Dong or a Twinkie in YEARS!

Let’s talk about bread—we’re buying that whole grain crap from the farmer’s market—it doesn’t have any preservatives in it, so it goes rock fucking hard in about one day. That’s not really helping our budget. Our budget calls for a loaf of $1.00 bread every three days, not $3.49 bread EVERY day. That’s suckage numero uno right there.

Sulfite free wine—it tastes just fine, and I gotta say, it does not give you a headache like the cheap stuff, but, again, it is too expensive.

I want a juicy bloody steak with garlic butter right now!

Vegetables—we’re eating TONS of veggies around here, and I’m all kinds of creative with the presentation of said veggies. For instance, yesterday I made beets for lunch I steamed the little suckers and then smashed them up and formed then into a steak mold. I imagined a juicy steak as I ate the goodness of the cancer fighting beets. It sucked, and my hands and face were stained red for the remainder of the day. I again had beets for dinner last night. I love beets, but I love juicy bloody steak more.

Here’s some advice: don’t overeat beets.

And if you do overeat beets, don’t assume you’re dying by what you see in the toilet and don’t rush and call your Dr. screaming into the phone that your bowels are bloody. It’s also not necessary to call your mom and dad and your siblings and inform them all that you have colon cancer. It’s also not necessary to call 911.

I’m just sayin’

Ahem.

Now where’s the Twinkies??

To be honest, I suck at this parenting gig!

2009-10-07T13:40:00.000-07:00

I suck. My son received the rank of ‘life’ in Boy Scouts last night (for you non-scouter types, that means he is only ONE step away from being an Eagle Scout, which is huge). I suck, because I didn’t really give it much recognition last night because I was busy gossiping on the phone with my friend about another friend that lets her son walk all over her; because I’m nosey.

So later that night, after I was done with all of my gossiping, I went to Cody to tell him how proud I was of his accomplishments. He replied, “It’s not a big deal and you don’t even understand what it means.”

Ouch.

And, he’s right; I don’t understand all of his scouting lingo or rules.

I don’t understand merit badges.

And I suck at sewing patches on his uniform and maybe more than once I glued them.

And…

Some of them may have fallen off, never to be found under the rat infested porch.

When my cousin became an Eagle Scout I remember that my aunt put on this amazing slide show with tons of pictures of my cousin growing up in scouts, showing his progress.

I suck. I have about three pictures of my son in scouts, yet I have tons of rock climbing, soccer, lacrosse and swimming photos.

I admit that sports excite me more than scouts do. Music excites me more than scouts do, and I have TONS of pictures of my daughter playing the flute.

I really need to step it up.

I have about six months until he is eligible to become an Eagle Scout, so that’s about 180 days.

So if I take a picture a day I’ll have 180 pictures for his slide show presentation and I’ll just have to Photoshop his face in at different ages. That’ll work, right?

I really suck.

Depressed

2009-10-06T10:16:00.000-07:00

I’m fighting depression one candy corn at a time.

October is my favorite month; I love Halloween and all that comes with it. I love spooky decorations and the fantasy that comes with wearing costumes and being whatever and whoever you want to be for a night. I love fall weather and fall spices. What I do not love is the fact that my daughter is turning 18 in less than a week. I’m feeling depressed about that. She keeps throwing it out there, saying, I’ll be 18 in a week; I can do whatever I want….. I can get a tattoo and a belly button piercing and go to strip clubs…

Yada yada yada… SHE DOESN’T SHUT UP ABOUT IT!!!!

So I calmly and lovingly reminded her that YES, she can do all of those things, but not while living here. I also reminded her that she can also go to jail now, no more being brought home by the police with a slap on the wrist. She can also go to war and vote and make legal and binding contracts and get herself into debt with her very own credit card. Amanda then moaned and said I don’t want to be 18.

Amanda is a tricky one, on one hand she wants to go off and live her life and travel to Japan to save dolphins and on the other hand she still wants me to make her lunch and braid her hair. I’ve been making school lunches for that child for 13 years!! I told her that when she turns 18 I’m not making any more lunches for her. She cried. She’s so weird. Amanda just texted me from school saying ‘my lunch is cute, thanks mama’ then I cried. I always decorate her lunch bags with stickers and add seasonal stuff like candy corn in October and candy hearts in February and I draw funny pictures all over her bags. Sometimes it goes unnoticed and unappreciated—but I keep on doing it—it’s become a tradition and today I cried because I’m going to miss making her lunch when she goes off to college. I’m going to miss everything about having her home, even her wild parties and her crazy friends.

I’m depressed about October right now and I’m sucking on candy corns like nobody’s business.

THIS is WHY Blogging makes sense

2009-10-02T00:09:00.000-07:00

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.

*

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to First Giving or Cure JM

**This is Mariah, I am crying with happiness and renewed belief in people and their kindness when I hop around the Blogosphere and see so many people participating with Kevin on this cause. Kevin is amazing and such a fine example of a man, a father and a husband. It is really touching to see a man do this as a surprise for his wife on her birthday. Drool, tear, cry, cough, hiccup, etc..**

Guilt

2009-09-30T23:49:00.000-07:00

What am I feeling guilty about right now?

I'm feeling guilty that I have taken in a woman and her two children and I have spent every single waking moment trying to make her life work while forgetting about mine.

I'm feeling guilty that my son reminded me that I always tell him to conserve our food, yet I am feeding three extra people right now.

I'm feeling guilty that I took my teenage daughter with me into a dangerous situation because I thought it would be a learning experience for her. Um, hello?

I'm feeling guilty that I didn't tuck my kids in bed because I was in a dangerous situation with my teenage daughter who was not learning anything because she was in the back of the car texting her boyfriend.

I'm feeling guilty because not only have I taken in a woman and her two kids, but I have also taken in 216,300 fleas (not from the woman or her kids, but obviously from somewhere).

I'm feeling guilty that we have basically rice and lemonade to eat this weekend, until we get paid.

I'm feeling guilty that I picked up a free guinea pig (that happened to be the promoting guinea pig for G-Force) and when the poor guinea pig got here she got raped by my horny old guinea pig that I have had for over three years. Said horny toad was a trade that I made with my friend. She watched my dogs for me once, and in return I watched her horny guinea pig. SHE NEVER PICKED HIM UP! EVER! And every time I try to talk to her about it she claims she needs to go to the store to get paprika. SO...now I am stuck with horny toad guinea pig and the used to be virgin guinea pig, Hollywood star, who is soon to be impregnated.

Anyone want a guinea pig?

A brief look into my weekend and why I may need to medicate myself

2009-09-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

I have these new kids and their mother staying with us, so on top of our usual four kids (and numerous squatters) we have these two new kids. Sweet little girls, ages 5 and 10.

Unfortunately my brother in law’s father died yesterday so my sister and her kids will be here as well to attend the funeral on Thursday and are staying through the weekend.

Again good kids, ages 14, 12, and 8.

That brings our kid count up to 9 for the weekend.

We also have Chris’ kids here, ages 8 and 5.

Kid count is now up to 11.

Adult count: 5.

We only have one car.

We’re out of toilet paper, and milk.

We have soccer and lacrosse games to get to on Saturday.

We’re screwed.

My mom's not going to approve of this, that's for sure!

2009-09-29T08:17:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of people that are angry with me right now, angry that I have taken in a total stranger and her two kids while they’re trying to get away from her dangerous ex-husband. My children have asked if the ‘guy’ will find our house and break in. My older two kids remember when we left my abusive ex husband and hid behind the safety of stranger’s walls. I’m sure they remember me crying into a pillow while a lady counseled me through the night.

So yes, I took her and her children into our house despite the disapproval of many and I spent last night counseling the rattled woman, while her children safely played on the floor with my children.

I was that woman.

I was that woman.

I can NOT believe that I was that woman.

People are telling me that I am putting my own family at risk by doing this, but all I can think about right now is saving this woman and her children, because I was that woman.

*

FREE UGG BOOTS!

2009-09-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't love Ugg Boots? I mean seriously, they're comfy, cute, trendy and even stylish. We are a surfing family, in case you haven't figured that out by now, and Megan (my 12 year old pissy freak of a daughter) is on the surf team at school. They surf BEFORE school and it gets cold. She wears Ugg boots after getting out of the water, I wear Ugg boots, um, like...everywhere! Don't judge. They're warm and fuzzy and make me smile.

So you know how my daughter wants to go to Japan and fight off bully fisherman armed with only her surfboard? Yeah, she's a pistol. Anyway... I have convinced her to stay home and finish up high school before going off to Japan if I will help her donate money to her cause, and since I am on a STRICT budget I am turning to you guys.

So here I am shamelessly asking for your help. It's free and it takes seriously about 30 seconds. Click HERE and enter this giveaway for FREE Uggs. The more entries I generate the more money I get.

I have a code embedded in that link that tracks the entries I generate.

I would really, really, really appreciate it if you would Blog about this and link back to my Blog.

What's the worst that can happen? You waste 30 seconds of your life and maybe win a pair of Ugg boots!! Not too hard, right?

The best that can happen is that I will earn enough money to convince my almost adult daughter to stay in the freakin' U.S. and finish high school.

If y'all help me with this, I'll give you my spleen if you need it!

Please?

FREE UGGS HERE!

Apparently when you turn 18 you know everything there is to know, in the whole wide world!

2009-09-25T22:18:00.000-07:00

Teenagers!

The sweet little girl that I have fiercely protected for almost 18 years is making me quite violent. I honestly can NOT believe that she is going to up and go to Japan to save the dolphins. I love her passion; however, the child is driving me to drink alcoholic beverages in the daytime. JAPAN? Is she out of her ever lovin’ flippin’ mind? She doesn’t even eat fish, or rice. She thinks she is going to get on her little surfboard and fight off hoards of fishermen to save Flipper.

Excuse me while I go chop off my ears…

Sure I love Flipper, who doesn’t? He’s cute and slippery and always smiles, but I cannot, in my right mind, approve of her plans to travel off to Japan and fight off bullies. Maybe I should tie her up and lock her in my dungeon.

SHIT, I don’t have a dungeon. I just checked… we don’t even have a basement. NOBODY should ever live in a house without a basement if they have teenagers.

Excuse me while I choke on the large amounts of vomit in my mouth…

So I’m wondering where my daughter left her brain, cuz it’s certainly NOT in her skull right now!! I have about TWO WEEKS to talk her out of this newfangled idea she has of saving Flipper.

I’m going to crack up if Amanda calls me from a Japanese jail begging me to bail her out!

Seriously crack up!

Now excuse me while I go snort coke.

*note to self: Self, invest in a dungeon. Love me

Sign her petition HERE, help keep her home and out of Japanes jails!

Extreme Passion

2009-09-23T16:46:00.000-07:00

Below is an email from Amanda, my almost 18 year old daughter. She turns 18 in two weeks and because she is almost 18 she thinks she can do whatever she wants. Amanda is planning a trip to Japan to go out on her surfboard and protest the brutal dolphin killings, like many people have done before. I applaud her passion for protecting the dolphins, but as her mother I am terrified for her safety. She wants to make a difference and she is so passionate about this cause that I believe she will definitely get herself into trouble.

Here’s the email she is passing around:

Amanda has just read and signed the petition: Help Save Japan's Dolphins
You can view this petition HERE ( http://www.petitionsite.com/tell-a-friend/5589544 )
Message from Amanda:
-----
In The Cove, a team of activists and filmmakers infiltrate a heavily-guarded cove in Taiji, Japan. In this remote village they witness and document activities deliberately being hidden from the public: More than 20,000 dolphins and porpoises are being slaughtered each year and their meat, containing toxic levels of mercury, is being sold as food in Japan, often times labeled as whale meat. To really make an impact on this issue, we must get the word out in Japan and urge action from our own leaders. We believe that once the world and the Japanese people know, they will demand change. Help us save Japan's dolphins. Click the link above to demand action from our leaders! Please forward this message to everyone you know, thank you! -Amanda
-----

There are several ways you can help, (if you support this cause of course).

- Copy and paste the above email and send it to everyone you know
-Talk about it on Twitter and your Blogs. SPREAD THE WORD!
-Go see the Cove
-Send a letter to the president.
-All of the information can be found HERE

PLEASE help me help my daughter before she takes off to Japan!

In two weeks she will be an adult and possibly imprisoned in a Japanese jail for feeling passionate.

It wouldn't hurt if you left a comment applauding her passion, yet urging her to stay here...

I'm doomed if this is what the future holds

2009-09-22T21:49:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's my daughter at an all boys party... partying it up!

And here again...

Sigh.

Oiy Vey!

2009-09-22T09:49:00.000-07:00

I’m in a wee bit of a pickle.

My son is Mormon, which is fine with me, it might actually make my life easier if the sucker continues on with his Mormon religion.

My parents are Mormon; my dad is a Mormon bishop…a big wig in his community.

Most of my cousins are Mormon.

My uncle is an atheist.

My sister is Catholic and my brother is Jewish.

When we’re all together none of that really matters and when it comes time for Holidays we get a Christmas tree and decorate it with dreidels.

We pretty much embrace all religions around these parts.

We’ve recently joined the church of Jesus Loves Me. I LOVE it there. It’s comfortable, and SO CASUAL. The preacher wears flip-flops and shorts.

FLIP FLOPS!!!

The congregation is totally mellow and extremely friendly as long as we can ignore the few people that the all of a sudden stand up and place their palms to the ceiling while blurting out ‘Praise The Lord’ as left over whiskey leaks from their pores. We also have to ignore the odor that seeps through the walls from the neighboring chemical plant and the fact that the hymns are enough to make you suicidal. Besides that...it’s pretty comfortable. A home away from home. A family. A community.

The church secretary called the other day asking if we would like to be added to the church directory, The Evangelical Church! I didn’t know it was Evangelical when we joined, I thought it was the Church of Jesus Loves Me. Evangelical means born again. So basically don’t fuck with us, we’re totally born again and free from sins. Yeah….

Anyway…

The pickle part. My son won’t attend the Church of Jesus Loves Me because he feels like he is being unfaithful to the Mormon Church. So I compromised, (I am SO grown up, I amaze myself, it must be the born again part of me) and told my son that we would attend BOTH churches. After all, my dad is the bishop there, so I’m kind of like a princess among the rest of the congregation, except I don’t know shit. So…I’ve been feverishly reading The Book of Mormon so I at least appear to know a fraction of what everyone is talking about. My son owes me.

I’m scared, I think I need to buy pantyhose.

My last nerve is naked

2009-09-17T20:35:00.000-07:00

Dr New, the newest Dr. to join our family is robbing us! Christie and Megan BOTH need braces; of course Christie is in phase one of many phases and is starting with a retainer. A purple retainer with metallic glitter, she’ll be getting it next week. It makes her talk funny which is NOT what she needs considering that she is already in speech and nobody can understand her as it is. So a retainer sounds about as smart as sending her to school with a mouth full of peanut butter.

Megan is getting a full set of braces and truthfully I am happy, because I heard from Amanda who heard through Christie that Megan kissed a boy yesterday.

Um, yeah…

I’m a wee bit weirded out about that. So hopefully these braces will make her feel a little self conscience and a little less kissy face. I asked Dr New if he could put them on extra tight.

I may have submited these photos to the school's yearbook committe today.

The committee that lover boy has access to, because I'm not quite ready for Megan to be squashing lips with some pimply faced teeny bopper in skater jeans.

She'll thank me someday.