The Mini Van Soap Box

There's probably nothing that irritates me more than being wrong. That's not to say I can't be wrong - it's been known to happen from time to time. However, when you are so convinced that you are RIGHT, to only be proven that you are very very wrong...well, that just sucks.

It makes it worse when it was your mother that kept telling you were wrong - and you didn't believe her.

Obviously this has happened quite a few times in my life.

Like that boy that she told me I shouldn't date. I, of course, told her that he was misunderstood and really a fine upstanding gentlemen....Until the cops showed up at my folks house looking for him.

Or the time she told me to stop reading the internet while pregnant. Yea, I didn't listen to that advice either...and I'm pretty sure that's why I'm in therapy now.

And for the last few years she's been telling me that I may as well just drink a bottle of rat poisen for all the Diet Coke I consume on a daily basis.

Yea, I didn't listen to that either. 

Some of you may know Aunt Becky.  Over the last few months she's been having these really bad migraines - and her doctors put her on some of the same medications that I'm on for my migraines.  Turns out when she started taking it - She totally lost her taste for Diet Coke.  To people like us, this is devastating.  So I'm reading through her comments and got a pretty good impression that there are A LOT of people out there that feel the same as my Mom.  Aspartame is Poison!  Diet Coke was sent from the Devil! 

Since physical therapy doesn't seem to be working as effectively as I would like, and seeing as I'm running out of doctors AND ideas....I thought "what the hell!"

I'm day five Diet Coke Free....and damnit if I don't actually feel a little better.

Let me stress a little.

I'm not ready to throw my meds out the door - or change my blog name to Soda is for Sissies.....but still.

I told my mom yesterday about my progress....You know what she said?

"You mean what I'VE been telling you for 2 years didn't convince you...but comments from people you've never met on a blog did?"

Well...................yea.

Enough about the inner workings of my brain.....

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I dropped my daughter off earlier this week for school, and the plan for that day was a field trip to the local farm.  Hugs and kisses goodbye - and before I left I asked her ...

"Ok, now remember, you've got a field trip today.  What's the NUMBER 1 rule?"
"Stay with the teacher!!"
"That's right baby. Good job.  Always stay with the group. Don't wander off."
"And don't give candy to strangers!"

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For the better part of 9 years, the living room is mine on Thursday nights.  I've never missed a season of Survivor, and there's usually always something right after it that I watch as well.  This year, the Thursday line up is murder and I've got almost every DVR in the house set to MY specifications.  My husband, loving me as he does, left me alone and went upstairs to watch tv in the bedroom and left me to scream at the tv in private. He came back down about 30 minutes later.

"I'm going to bed"
"Honey, it's like 8:45...You okay?"
"Um, yea. But I can't watch ANYTHING ANYWHERE because every Tivo is recording your crap"
"You could sit with me and watch Survivor..."
"I would rather sit in the dark and wait until I'm tired...."

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I was tossing and turning last night and hanging out with my brain for a while - when the MOST BRILLIANT IDEA came to me.  We should have GPS for kids! Like the ones we have for dogs...But, you know, for kids.  I worked the whole thing out in my head.  Not only is it a brilliant idea, and going to make me FEEL better...but I'm going to be a freakin' MILLIONAIRE. And as a bajillionaire I can afford a troop of therapists!  So, I googled it this morning.  Shit already exists.  This is what happens when you aren't allowed to watch the news.  What else has been invented that I haven't heard of?  Are you people jet packing to work and not telling me?

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Spiders are attacking our house.  They are everywhere.  I'm trying to give my daughter a healthy outlook on bugs....But I'm finding it difficult when every morning I have to swing my purse in front of me to make sure I'm not walking through a human sized web. My husband went out to kill some the other day and I asked him if he killed the one with the 'yellow back'.  Apparently he didn't examine each one before murdering them.  I've asked him to take notes next time.  I would like confirmation that THAT one is dead.  He's got his eyes on me.

I've been told that I should not make a quick decision about this therapy thing.  However, after one session, I can tell you without a doubt....That I'm not so sure it's for me.  Or rather THIS therapist isn't for me.

First of all, the waiting rooms are weird.  I mean it was kind of what I expected...weird spa music piped into the room and these taupe walls.  I hear taupe is supposed to be soothing.  I suppose it is. But I kind of felt like I was waiting to be called for a massage. Which I suppose I would have preferred to tell you the truth.  But everyone is trying really hard to NOT look at each other, and figure out what THEIR issue is.  But it's not like you're going to slide up to someone and be all "So, what's your malfunction?"  So, you sit.  In the REALLY smooshy couch.  Which I looked like a total asshole trying to get back out of later.

2nd.  This therapist is very attractive.  Like if I was lesbian I might be interested attractive.  But she would be SO out of my league.  This is where the alpha-female thing comes into play.  Yes, neurotic. I'll admit it.  But I don't know if I can warm up, and eventually spill my guts out, to a woman THIS good looking.  She makes me feel like a shlub.  A fat, neurotic crazy shlub.  And there's really no worse shlub than that.

3rd.  There was A LOT of silence.  I mean, I suppose I was supposed to be talking during those moments, but I kind of felt like my sentence was finished.  I had answered her question pretty well. Really no reason to keep talking. So we stared at each other. Uncomfortable.  I told my sister that we should start taking like they do on telegrams.  ".....so that's when the panic attacks started. STOP."

4th.  Her office smells weird.

5th.  I'm pretty sure at one point in time, she gave me PARENTING advice.  Hell, I can get that for free.  On the street.

6th.  Apparently they are not allowed to have a sense of humor.  News flash: I make inappropriate jokes when I'm uncomfortable.  Therapy = Uncomfortable.  It's like when I go to the OB and ask her if she can hear the ocean.  But apparently this woman isn't allowed to laugh.  Kind of hurts the mojo if you ask me.


Ok, ok.  I know, I know.  No, I'm not quitting.  Yes, I will continue to do this, and I know I'm just being whiny about the whole thing.  I just need to decide if I will pursue someone else (like an older frumpy man with mis-matched socks).

But her office DID smell funny.

Two weeks ago I had no intention of writing any of this. Two weeks ago this was something that was just mine and those that I've told. A silent thing that I'm going through, and really no one else's business.

However, just a couple minutes ago something dawned on me. I'm not really all that embarrassed by what's going on, and maybe someone else is going through it as well, and has some advice or a different perspective.

I've always been a bit of a worrier. Worried to get somewhere on time, worried that my boyfriend might break up with me, worried that I would have money to pay a bill. Normal things that normal people worry about. However, once my daughter was born, I started experiencing some very SPECIFIC worries. I can't imagine that any mother doesn't really. Is she breathing? Is she choking? Is she eating enough? Is she happy?

NORMAL worries.

However, as time has gone by, my worries have turned into what I can only call, anxieties. Again, I don't think that any parent at one point in time hasn't had the thought cross there mind of "what if?"...What if she doesn't get off the bus? What if someone grabs her? What if she runs away? What if? What if? What if?

But in MY head those "what if's" stay there...for hours. Often times at 2:00 in the morning when I've woken up to use the restroom...I will lay awake for at least an hour or so contemplating the boogie man. Or the medicine cabinet. Or getting hit by a car. Or choking on those stupid legos she refuses to keep away from her mouth.

I'm already freaking out about her riding the bus....and even the possibility of that is a year away. How will she know where to go? Is there a teacher right there to show her to class? What if she walks out of the school? Will she know what bus to get back on? What if the bus has an accident? Do they have seat belts? What if she doesn't get off the bus? What if I don't get to the bus stop in time? Will she cross the street without looking both ways?

See what I mean?

The problem is...while this is happening I KNOW it's irrational. I KNOW it's silly....but I can't stop it. Let me assure you that being in MY brain is exhausting.

My husband and I have talked about it a lot, and I finally got the nerve to call the doctor. We talked for a while and it was mentioned that I may have some form of General Anxiety Disorder -or GAD. (as a side note: I told my sister that there isn't anything GENERAL about this anxiety. It's very specific. So, technically I have SAD. Which really isn't a thing...But we thought that was funny as hell) I blurted out almost immediately that I did not want to be on medication - which almost immediately made me feel like an asshole. Not because I WANT to be on meds, but because I know people that are, and I felt like I was saying that there is something wrong it. Which there isn't. My problem is, I'm already on a string of meds for the migraines....So, you know.

Anyway. So. He's sending me to a shrink. My appointment is tomorrow. I'm a little nervous about the whole thing actually. As of right now, this is pretty much only going on inside my head....But my biggest fear is that one day it's going to overflow onto her. No, she can't go on that sleep over because it's supposed to rain that night, and what if their house floods and they don't have a flood escape plan in place?

Sigh. I'm tired.

So, are any of y'all crazy?

The other day we were all sitting on the couch and my daughter pulled out her little doctor set. She's going through this phase where everyone's foot is sick. And has to be cut off. Yea, she's darling. So, in the middle of amputating his foot she told him to say something very specifically. Apparently when getting your foot cut off there are EXACT words you would use. Well, he kept teasing her and wouldn't use the EXACT words, and she was getting extremely frustrated.

Which delights my husband to no end.

She started using this high pitch squeal that only dogs could hear - three states over - so when my ears started to bleed - I simply explained to my husband that if she starts to develop a habit of repeating the same word three or four times each time she's frustrated...It's proof that it's HIM that makes us the way we are.

You see, much to his delight, I have this bizarre habit of repeating a word three or four times when he's being a horses ass.

"Why, Why, Why, Why would you do that"

Even after all these years it STILL makes him laugh hysterically. Which, of course, ONLY PISSES ME OFF MORE, which makes me repeat more words. It's a vicious cycle that he has created for his own amusement.

My daughter and I are currently planning ways to glue his butt checks together. We were thinking that we would saran wrap the toilet...but I would just get stuck cleaning it up.

In somewhat related news.

I was discussing with the man that I'm married to all these freakin' neck problems I'm having and that we've pretty much established that if I could just quit my job and not sit in front of a computer all day - I would be cured.

"You should get a better chair at work."
"No, my boss already got me one of those really expensive ergonomic chairs. Doesn't help. I think I'm going to take my home office crappy chair to work and switch them out."
"Wait. You're going to take the shitty chair from down the hall to work and bring the good chair home...To the office you never use."
"Yea, I'm thinking maybe I'm backwards. And that good chairs don't work on me. Only crappy ones."

After a long pause I said...

"These are the reasons you love me, right?"
"No dear - I love you despite these reasons"