Not really. Well, maybe.

Yesterday, I was on my way to work and I was driving down the boulevard near our house (not very fast, mind you, because in this frigid climate, we have something called “black ice” that is caused by exhaust from cars freezing on the road) when, all of a sudden, the hood of my truck flew open, obstructing my view. I pulled onto the nearest street (there is no shoulder on that road, unless you call the swamp on the side of the road a shoulder) and got out and shut the hood of the truck. I immediately realized what the problem was

I’m old. And forgetful. I forgot that when the temperature drops below a certain number, my loving husband plugs in the tank heater on my truck. To do this, he has to lift the hood and dig out the plug and plug it into the garage somewhere. I forgot to unplug it and shut the hood. Grr…

I called my husband and told him what happened. He was not happy with me. Especially because my hood had a “little” dent in it on the driver’s side. It was “little” from my perspective sitting behind the steering wheel, inside the warmth of my car. His displeasure with me caused me to send him the title of this post as a text and asking if he would have still been mad at me if I had been. He claims he wasn’t really mad. When I got home from work, I looked at it more closely and it is not little, the hood is bent on both sides of the hood, near the hinges. I was so sad and I feel really bad. It’s not like we are rich and can just drive it to the shop to be fixed right now. The whole thing is stupid and would be hilarious (in a Lucille Ball, Terri Hatcher sort of way) if it weren’t so disappointing.

Live and learn, I guess.

I had this awful dream the other day (yes, day, I was taking a nap). It was one of those ones that sticks with you and you can’t stop thinking about it. It seemed so real and just left a yucky feeling inside my chest and a sick feeling in my stomach.

In my dream, Ashley drove off a bridge into the Mississippi River. I think it was an accident. There were hours and hours of sitting on the bank of the river with many police, divers and other emergency workers waiting to see if they could find her. I was devastated and terrified. I was sobbing. I’m sure I was crying in my sleep. They did find her alive, cold and wet, but alive. I woke up before I saw her with my own eyes, but they had told me she was okay.

Why do we dream such horrible awful things? I’ve had dreams that have come true before. It always scares me when I have a terrifying dream that it’s one of those that will have a thread of truth in it. This dream especially bothered me because it had that kind of feeling to it.

…about me.

The Good

Twice upon a time, I was bestowed awards that were to the effect that I was the “Sweetheart of the Internet”. I looked for them in my archives, but I couldn’t find them to post them here. It doesn’t really matter, I think most of you remember those awards. My point isn’t to prove to you that I won them. My point is to prove to you that they are totally mythological in their intent to name me as the sweetest person on the ‘Net. I am NOT the sweetheart of the Internet. I am NOT a sweetheart at all. Sure, I’m kind. Most of the time. I would help almost anyone (except someone like Osama Bin Laden) if they needed it. But, I can be a real bitch, too. I can hold a grudge better than anyone I know. If you piss me off, you better apologize or it will be a damn long time before I “get over it”. If you own up to whatever you did and apologize, I will reciprocate if necessary and then I will drop it. It may take awhile for the hurt to go away, but if you apologize, I will try to move on and it will take a lot less time than if you hadn’t apologized.

I am easily irritated. People that irritate me easily are people:

• …who are late.
• …who lie.
• …who ask stupid questions just to call attention to themselves.
• …who waste my time.
• …who don’t listen.
• …who act inappropriately.
• …who are intolerant of race, religion, ethnicity, etc..
• …who proclaim themselves as protesters just for the sake of causing a scene and are not really standing up for or against something.
• …who don’t take responsibility for their own actions.
• …who are parents who don’t take responsibility for their children.

I could go on and on with that, but you can see I am easily irritated and can be bitchy.

The Bad

It has been said that I only love one or maybe two of my children. It has been said by more than one person when they were referring to different children. For instance, someone has said that I only love Emily. Others have said that I only love Sam and Emily. Still others have said that I only love Ashley and it has also been said that I only love Ashley and Sam. Whatever the singularity or combination of children that I supposedly love or don’t love, it’s all completely false. I love every one of my children the same, but different. There’s a book called I Love You The Purplest. It’s about how one woman loves each of her children the same amount but in completely unique ways.

• Ashley is beautiful. She’s enormously talented in voice, drama and art. She’s caring and giving and outgoing. She’s intelligent and has the ability to do whatever she would want to do with her life.
• Emily is beautiful. She is incredibly intelligent. She is driven in everything that she does. If she achieves something, she keeps going until she conquers it. She is an incredible athlete. If she wants something, she doesn’t stop until she gets it. She is empathetic and philosophical.
• Sam is beautiful. In a totally young-manly sort of way. He’s incredibly intelligent, too. He has a huge thirst for knowledge and he will keep asking questions or searching for answers until he’s satisfied that he has got them all. He’s very spiritual. He is also very empathetic and hates to see people in pain. He is hysterical and it’s often hard to be mad at him because he is so silly and makes you laugh.

Those are just the few amazing qualities that I could come up with in a minute or two. I love them fiercely and would protect each of them until my own death. Often the things that make people think that I am a bitch are when I have stood up for the rights and desires of my children. I don’t like it when people disregard them, are mean to them, pick on them for their own amusement or are just plain disrespectful to them. For instance, it’s completely okay for me to express my dissatisfaction with Ashley’s behavior or irresponsibility towards Isabelle, but if someone else expresses their disgust about it, they better be careful. Agreeing with me is different, that’s just helping me to vent and offering support. It’s when they attack her verbally either to her face (when I am there) or to me that it really bothers me. (For instance, ID is always trash talking Ashley when he picks up Belle. It drives me crazy, especially when he does it in front of Isabelle. You can see why Isabelle always feels the need to defend her mother.)

So, yeah. I fiercely and passionately love all of my children. Anyone who suggests otherwise is just plain wrong.

The Ugly

I’m terrible at housekeeping.

Oh, wait. That one’s true.

So, I met this new friend, Simon. I think he actually found me through Fantastagirl. I really like his style of writing and his blog design rocks, too. Anyway, he does this thing where he gives himself a topic or a word and he writes a little essay of 100 words–no more, no less–about that subject. I thought it was awesome and so I asked him if I could steal it from him. He said that I could and then decided to make it into a carnival of sorts. You can find out more about it by clicking the little button. As I understand it, he will post them the word or topic on Mondays and then on Friday, he will post the submissions he gets or the links to them on his blog. All you have to do is trackback to the post listing the topic/word for the week or leave a comment on that post with your link or essay to let him know that you are playing. I think it is an awesome exercise to help hone your writing skills, or lack thereof. Anyway, here’s the button:

Here’s my 100 words:

“Sudden infant death syndrome” was what they said had taken her baby. It didn’t make it any less painful having that knowledge and she didn’t think that it was even possible for it to be any more painful. When she found out she was pregnant again, her heart was filled with both joy and trepidation. She survived the pregnancy and even through those first several months, almost like she was holding her breath. Today she exhaled. Today her baby reassured her that SIDS wouldn’t take him. Today he called her “Mama” and it was music to her ears. Sweet, sweet music.

The word was music.

A few questions I have heard over the last few days while my web host was down because they fucking suck:

Did you ban me from your blog? I keep getting an error.

No, I did not ban anyone from my blog. My fucking web host sucks.

Are you still blogging?

Yes, well, I mean, I would have blogged if my fucking web host didn’t suck. I’m back now.

Are you alive?

Yes, I’m alive, it’s just that my fucking web host sucks.

Here’s what we learned from all this:
I’m alive,
I am still going to blog,
I didn’t ban anyone &
My fucking web host sucks!

I’m back. Just in time for the part of the week where no one really reads blogs. I had a lot to say while I was being silenced by my fucking web host, who sucks by the way. I’m going to be posting it here now that I can. Oh, and I’m changing web hosts as soon as my little fingers will allow me to.

Okay, that came off like I was irritated by the questions. NOT AT ALL. I’m just mad at my host. You? I missed all of you. A LOT!