My CPAP & Me

Two years ago my doctor referred me to a psychiatrist to be assessed for ADHD. I was a little shocked when the psychiatrist referred me to a sleep doctor to be checked for sleep apnea. I didn’t, for one second, believe that I actually had sleep apnea, and I declined at first. I don’t remember what changed my mind. Perhaps just the possibility of eliminating sleep apnea so we could move on. 

When I got my results back from my sleep study, I was angry. I averaged over 25 “events” per hour which placed me at “moderate” sleep apnea. How could I stop breathing/wake up 25 times an hour and not know? The psychiatrist was right, and I felt like I was being scammed. 

My consolation prize, of course, was a CPAP machine.* Three months later, I went to a hospice center and picked up my supplies (it's humiliating enough to have sleep apnea - imagine my horror when they told me to go to the hospice center to get my machine. Hospice? Hospice???) Then I had to take a CPAP class to become fully integrated into The CPAP Club (next time I apply for a job, I’m adding this to the education section of my resume).

While I was prepping for my new lifestyle, some fellow CPAP users told me they'd noticed a difference pretty quickly after starting - they slept better, their brain fog cleared and their focus improved, and they started looking forward to using their CPAP at night. My doctor told me that it could take up to three months to get used to the CPAP and really feel a difference. Honestly, no one told me they hated it or struggled with it. But I hated it, and I struggled with it - both physically and mentally.

I gave it a diligent three months (I had to meet the criteria for insurance coverage). I didn't feel like anything improved. In fact, I felt like I slept worse with the CPAP, and I would tear it off at night and not remember doing it. Scotty said that when I used my CPAP I immediately stopped snoring and twitching. So I can't deny that it was doing something, but it wasn't making me feel better. It was only frustrating me. It was uncomfortable, and I felt like I couldn't breathe with the mask on. I didn't feel better rested or like my brain was clearing. I did, however, start to notice my sleep apnea. I knew I snored, and I knew I twitched, but what I didn't realize was that my airway really was closing off when I would lay down, and I started being able to feel it, but that sensation was less annoying to me than the mask.

I eventually stopped using the CPAP during my IDGARA era (sleep apnea was something I didn't give a rat's ass about). 

After a while I started getting phone calls from a sleep coach and letters from my insurance company scolding me for not using my CPAP. They track you, ya know! The machine reports your usage, and there's an app that gives you a score each night based on length of use, your mask seal, how many "events" you experience per hour, and how many times you remove your mask. 

(In my opinion you should earn points to redeem for prizes. If McDonald's rewards me for using their app, I think CPAP therapy should do the same). 

Eventually I started using it again, but first I went back to the hospice center and whined about how much I hated my CPAP and how I wasn't motivated to use it. I also whined to my sleep doctor. I don't know what I expected to accomplish through this whining, but I did it anyway! Everyone stayed adamant that I continue using my CPAP. 

I ended up trying a different mask, which I also hated. A few months later, I switched to a third style of mask, and hated that one, too. Then I went back to my second mask style and then back to my third. After a year and a half, I’d never had a night of CPAP therapy that I felt did me good.

When we went to Saint George last month, I was going to take my CPAP, but I wasn’t sure if I’d actually use it. I ended up not having time to pack it. I mean, I could have, but I was antsy to get on the road, so I chose to leave rather than pack my CPAP. Also, our van was full to the brim, so I didn’t want to take up any more space. We spent four nights away from home, and I had a hard time sleeping. 

On the first night back home, I returned to using my CPAP somewhat begrudgingly. But then it happened. I slept well. I felt good when I woke up. I liked being back on my CPAP! 

After nearly two years (August is my two year CPAPiversary), I have finally started feeling better when I use it, and I no longer hate it. I wouldn’t say I “love it” but I mildly respect the CPAP.

*A dental appliance is also an option, but my doctor strongly urged CPAP therapy because the dental appliance isn't as effective. I recently got a referral to a dental sleep center and would like to look into the appliance.

An Incomplete List of Reasons I’m Ornery

1. It’s hot, and it’s only going to get worse. Something is always sweaty, and sweat makes me itch. 

2. My clothes are uncomfortable.

3. My kids won’t stop fighting.

4. I can’t hear anything. I’ve had my hearing checked, and they’ve said it’s fine, but everything sounds muffled to me. I constantly have to ask people to repeat themselves, and I hate it. 

5. My house is always a mess.

6. I have neuropathy, and I’m in pain all the time. Some days it’s worse than others. There’s never a moment I can’t feel it. Sometimes I can’t sleep because of it (I take medication, but it only helps a little).

7. Because of the medication, I’m gaining weight and tired all the time. I’ve talked to my doctor about other medications, and the other options also cause weight gain and drowsiness. 

8. Potato bugs

9. We are in a drought, and I just want there to be water aplenty and no more fires (it’s only beginning).

10. Social media

11. My hair bugs me.

12. I have sleep apnea, and my CPAP stresses me out. Replacing the supplies, filling it with water, cleaning it… (if I die in my sleep, tell them I never cleaned my CPAP). 

—————

This post makes me sound like a miserable, old hag. I have my moments, but it isn’t all bad. So to provide balance in my life (and convince you that I’m not as horrible as I sound), my next post will be an incomplete list of reasons my life is amazing.

If I die in my sleep

Sometimes I text my friends (or Scotty if he's away from home) to let them know what to report to the coroner if I die in my sleep. Maybe it's morbid, but I'm just being realistic. There might be a bit of information that can be useful in determining my cause of death, and I want to make it as easy as possible for everyone involved. Here are some of the texts I've sent out lately on this matter: 

If I die in my sleep, tell them I ate smoked meat and suffocated on my own burps.

If I die in my sleep, tell them I took two melatonin and two Gas X at the same time. 

If I die in my sleep, tell them I heard a strange sound but was too lazy to get out of bed to go see if there was a serial killer climbing through my kitchen window. 

If I die in my sleep, tell them I ate mayo at a potluck and then noticed it expired 8 months ago. 

If I die in my sleep, tell them I never checked my walls for mold.

So far I’ve survived it all, but if I die in my sleep, tell them there were peanut shell bits in the peanut butter I put on my toast before bed.

 

Yesterday: Formerly Known as Today

Yesterday and today have been the loooongest days. I’m in the thick of my summer depression (I thought maybe I’d avoid it this year, but nah. I’ll be fabulous again in about 6-8 weeks. Just leave me be). 

Nicky and Daisy are out of town until Saturday, and this momma is missing them like crazy (Don’t tell them!) Scotty had been working late, so it’s been just me and the Tornado Twins, and lemme tell ya… the disaster cleanup is going to be intense! 

Like I said, it’s been a loooong two days. Yesterday was so long I can’t even fathom that the events of yesterday weren’t at least three days ago. Today was the same.

Just me & them this week

And now it’s quite late (almost tomorrow, in fact, so by the time I hit publish, today will be yesterday and tomorrow will be today, and I’m pretty sure I just went cross-eyed).

Anyway, I’m craving alone time so bad that I’m warding off sleep even though I’m utterly exhausted. In my sleep avoidance, I have clipped my toenails, folded a load of laundry, watched two episodes of Sweet Magnolias, played two rounds of Wingspan, and read about 60 pages of a book.

Now I’m continuing to stay awake by blogging. And what shall I write? But a list of what I did today, so you can understand how long this day really has been!

Woke up at 6:00

Took the garbage cans out to the curb

Went to the store for milk

Fed the Tornado Twins cereal

Did a load of dishes

Baked two batches cookies with Zoe 

Did 4 loads of laundry

Snuck to McDonald’s by myself for a Coke and $1fries then took the long route home

Went through all of Zoe and Eva’s clothes and shoes. Had them try a bunch of stuff on to see if it still fits for school. Sorted and marked all their socks and underwear and made a list of what they need for back to school shopping.

Went through my clothes and bagged some to donate 

Listened to the entire cast recording of Les Mis. Did my best Mme Thenardier performance and marched a lot. “Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?”

Took the girls to Menchies

Went to the car wash

Made Ramen

Took a nap

Went to the DI. Bought: a dress for Zoe, two stuffed animals (grumble, grumble), a pair of Hunter rain boots for Eva (score!!!), and a (second) guitar for Zoe because she needs two guitars to achieve all her lifelong dreams.

Did not buy large stuffed camel

Highlighted my hair

Took a shower

Regretted highlighting my hair

Watched an episode of Silo

Listened to the 15th Diary of a Wimpy Kid with Zoe and Eva

Strapped doll carriers to my girls’ scooters with zip ties

Read 110 pages of a book

You know how I feel about the cartoony ones

Went to Red Robin for dinner

Walked around the garden twice

Watered the planters in the front yard

Put Eva and Zoe to bed at least three different times and still ended up with Zoe asleep next to me in my bed.

And now this day is finally over. 

Must… sleep… 

Things that are making me crazy

Daisy has started talking about herself in third person. 

“Daisy is hungry.” 

“Daisy loves kitties.” 

“Daisy is sleepy.”

Zoe and Eva picked up Michael Jackson’s trademark “Hee hee” and do it constantly. 

Sometimes they moonwalk.

Sometimes that’s how I know they’re awake in the morning.

Eva won’t stop pinching everyone.

Daisy does Goofy’s laugh after she says something “funny” (ie. dumb). 

“Ah-hyuck!”

Zoe and Eva ask me every day when they can have cell phones. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t have to have this conversation.

Zoe yells with every emotion. She is so loud! And she always makes repetitive sounds - either vocally or by tapping.

Eva asks for food all the time but won’t eat anything. 

“Can a friend come over?” 

“MOM!”

“Can we go to the Dollar Store?”

“How much money will you give me if I… eat at a tablespoon of salt?… hold this potato straight out of the oven for five seconds?… spritz pepper spray in my own eye?”

(The answer is NO MONEY. I will never give you money for your stupidity. Why, after all these years, are you still asking?)

“MOM!”

“What’s for lunch?”

(9:00 a.m.)

“What are we doing today?”

Messes on top of messes.

“When can I have a phone?”

“Can I play Roblox?”

“Do the griddy, Mom.”

“Can I look on Amazon?”

“I’m bored.”

“I’m bored.”

“I’m bored.”

“Ah-hyuck!”

“Can we go to McDonald’s?”

“Can I watch YouTube?”

“MOM!”

“Can I paint your nails?”

Neighbor kid comes over with a harmonica.

“I’m bored.”

“One, two, buckle my shoe…”

“That is so fire!”

“Will you buy me something?”

“What’s the next holiday? And what’s after that? And what’s after that?”

Fighting.

Fighting at the dinner table.

Fighting in the car.

Fighting while playing Nintendo.

Fighting at bedtime.

“I have a headache.”

(Every time someone is told to do a chore).

“I can’t find my shoes!”

“Hee hee!”

Sweat. Everywhere. Always.

Chafing. 

So much sweat.

Boob sweat.

Back sweat.

Calf sweat.

(Why, calves? Why???)

“Can I get a phone for my birthday?”

“I’m bored.”

“MOM!”

“Daisy wants ice cream.”

—————

Me right now:

God must have a sense of humor because I went for a walk this morning and had a complete emotional breakdown a mile away from my house, and then I looked down and saw this sticker on the ground. 

Draft Week: Post #4 "Teens and Me"

Welcome to Day Four of Draft Week. Not to be confused with anything regarding the NFL. We don't care about that around here.

Here's another post dug from my draft folder. This one comes from October 20 of last year.

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Right now, teenagers are kind of central to my life. I have two of my own, and then I work with the teenage girls in my Church. As time goes on, I realize more and more that they do not think I'm cool. Now, please understand that I don't expect them to think I'm cool in the way they think their peers are cool - the "coolness" I seek is of the "pretty fly for a white guy" variety. I just wanna be cool for a person of a former generation. 

But they are not amused by me. 

Actual footage of me trying to convince teens that I have anything to offer

The things I think they will like - they don't. The things I think they will think are funny - they don’t. 

The other day, I took some teenagers to Wendy's (my treat), and I was all, "Heck yeah! 4 for $4's for everyone!" and I was expecting them to be like, "Yes!!! 4 for $4's!!!" but instead, they're all, "I just want nuggets!" and I was like, "But for only $2 more, you can have nuggets, and a cheeseburger and fries and a drink!" and they were like:

So I was like, "Okay... I'm still getting 4 for $4's for everyone, and I'll take 3 of your 4's, and ya'll can have your little box-o-nuggets."

I ate a lot of burgers and fries that day.

Wrestling

We all have our "wrestles," right? The things we battle over internally? Here are some of the things I'm wrestle over lately:

Whether I should get a job. 

Now that my kids are all in school, I am constantly contemplating whether it's time for me to rejoin the workforce. In all honesty, I don't want to. I also don't need to. But I often think about how we could get ahead and be in a better place financially if I were bringing in some income. We can live on what Scotty makes, but we have to be very, very careful. If I worked, maybe we could replace some broken appliances, pay off our house a little sooner, or build up our savings for things to come. 

As a stay-at-home mom, I feel insignificant sometimes - like I'm not contributing to society. I also worry that other people think I'm lazy or that I live some cozy lifestyle that doesn't require effort or sacrifice.

Whenever I pray about working, though, I get the answer to continue staying home for now. I have times when a friend calls me and asks if I can take her kids to school because their carpool didn't show up, or one of my kids gets sick at school, or there's a shooting in the area, and I'm grateful in those moments that I'm available, and I remember that I actually am contributing, but I wrestle.

(Please note that this is not a commentary on anyone else's decision to work or not work. I believe it's so personal, and every family situation is so different. That's why I pray about it often - just to make sure I'm doing what's best for our particular circumstances).

My kids not being who I wanted them to be. 

When I was young, I had a vision of what my future family would look like. Basically, my kids would be perfectly groomed and excel in all areas of life. They would be athletic and talented - singers, dancers, actors, and readers. Perfectly obedient, of course. Extremely likeable and popular (in the good ways, not the bad ways). I would rarely have to discipline them because I, as the perfect mother, would nurture any bad behaviors out of them by the age of six months by teaching them sign language, cloth diapering them, and feeding them homemade baby food (true story). 

I didn't get that family - I don't think anyone does. My kids don't like what I think they should like. They don't do what I want them to do. They don't dress the way I would dress them. They're not good at the things I thought they would be good at. We butt heads over things I never thought I'd butt heads with a child over. I had no notion that any of my kids would struggle in school or hate reading. They are their own people, and I'm trying my best to let it be that way, but I wrestle. 

In some ways, they are better than I ever would have hoped. But in other ways, I sometimes mourn what I don't have. That sounds horrible, but I trust you other mothers know what I mean. As they get older, it's only going to increase the gap between the vision I had of my future family and reality, so I need to be at peace with these spirits I'm responsible for. 

Working with other people.

I don't work well with others. I never have. I'm an opinionated control freak, and I'm not great at delegating or socializing. I'm not a believer in "many hands make light work." In most cases, I think "many hands" get in the way and make things a lot harder, and I just want to do everything myself. 

I also find that nobody else thinks like me, so I always feel differently about everything than the people I'm working with, and I wrestle.

I'm consistently in a battle between avoiding situations where I have to work with other people and trying to be a better team player.  

Holidays.

I could easily write a ten-page essay on my struggles with holidays, but I'll spare you. Suffice it to say that holidays are hard on me. I have high anxiety during holidays, and because of that, I am not the most pleasant person to be around. So, this being the week of Easter, I'm trying to keep myself in check and not have a major freak out, and I wrestle. 

Knowing my place in our families.

Scotty and I both come from blended families. Together we have eight parents and 24 siblings. Out of our four families, I really only know my "place" in one of them. In the other three, I just feel lost. It's no one's fault - so I'm not trying to place blame - I just have to confess that I often don't know where I belong. That's part of why I have a hard time with holidays, and I wrestle.

Giving my time.

Right now, I feel very selfish about giving my time away. I don't want to volunteer at my kids' school. I don't want to do my Church calling. I don't want to help people! I just want to hole up in my house and read books and not do anything for anyone. This is contrary to who I want to be, and who I should be, and I wrestle.

Lack of compassion.

Along with not wanting to be giving of my time, I'm finding it difficult to feel compassion for some people around me who are struggling. There is one person, in particular, who is going through some hard things, and I can't muster and ounce of compassion for them. I don't want to help this person at all. And when I acknowledge this within myself, I think, "Where is this evil coming from? Why do I feel this way?" and yet, I feel that the best way to help this person is to let them suffer, so I wrestle. Is that really true, or am I just hard-hearted? 

What to write about on my blog.

There's someone I've known most of my life (who has since left my life, but not for any scandalous reason - he just moved out of state, and we've lost touch) who used to always say, "I'll probably read about this on your blog later!" 

Let's call him Tommy Boy. 

Anyway, Tommy Boy believed that anything I ever experienced would end up on my blog, and I used to always get a little defensive about it because, in truth, there is so much that I don't put on my blog. There are some things I really want to write about, but I'm not sure if it would be in the best taste. There are things that make me angry that I would love to write about. There are things that have happened in my family that I would love to write about. In some cases, I think writing about things would be very healing and would help me (and you) understand me better. 

But I try to be careful about what I put on my blog. I know I don't always make the best choices in my content, but I try to use good judgement, and I wrestle. 

So, Tommy Boy, if you ever see me fall off the treadmill at the gym, I probably will write about that on my blog. But that horrible thing that happened ten years ago that you were privy to because you were my Church leader? I don't get to write about that. Even though I really want to. 

All There Is

I've been trying to think of something to blog about all day... something that's not related to h*rpes. Turns out, h*rpes is all there is! Kicking this virus is my life right now. I'm not really doing much else. 

I'm on day 11.

By the end, it will have probably been a two-week thing, but it feels like it's gone on forever and ever. It's funny how the experiences of a few days can feel like a lifetime.

Since my last post...

I have developed a h*rpes infection in my finger! It's called whitlow finger. I had a sore spot near my nail, and on Saturday, I noticed it had a dark spot in it. It looked (and felt) like I had a sliver, so I got a needle and tweezers and started the removal process only to find out it wasn't a sliver, but a pocket of infection!

I took an antiviral to keep it from getting too bad, and luckily, it's been okay. It's ugly, but it's not very painful. Just a little sore. It kind of reminds me of a mild ingrown toenail.

But back to the mouth...

With help from my pharmacist, I was able to track down an in-stock lidocaine prescription. THANK HEAVENS. But also? Ew. Let me tell you about the lidocaine. It's thick! Imagine... the consistency of paint. Also, it's gross. Imagine... the flavor of paint. Now put it in your mouth and swish it around. Nasty, right? 

The first time I used the lidocaine was in the parking lot of the pharmacy, and I had to get out of my car because I thought I was going to throw up ((shudder)). But I was so happy to find that it numbed my mouth, and I was able to have a few minutes of relief. 

Oh blessed relief!

My mouth has been in so much pain that I've been clenching my teeth non-stop, and when my muscles relaxed for the first time, I realized just how much tension I'd been holding (not sure how I still have a double chin). The lidocaine has been touch and go. Sometimes it numbs better than others, but I'm so glad I have it. I never would have survived the last five days without it. It does make me nauseous, but I'm willing to deal with that to have some relief from the pain. 

Yesterday was the first day that I noticed a slight decrease in pain. Today I had another slight decrease in pain. Emphasis on the slight. I was hoping for greater progress once I got on the other side of the infection, but it is slow going! I describe it as feeling like the top layer of skin has been shaved off my tongue, gums, and the roof of my mouth. Everything burns. Even water. For a few days, I survived on Sprite and chocolate milk, but then those started to hurt, so I would slather my mouth in Orajel and hurry and guzzle a protein shake to have something in my belly so I could take medication. Then the Orajel started to hurt my mouth. After I got the lidocaine, I started rinsing with lidocaine and then guzzling my protein drink while my mouth was numb just so I wasn't starving. 

Over the weekend, I was able to chop up some scrambled eggs really small and swallow them without chewing. Food is really not enjoyable that way. I had to coat my mouth in lidocaine to do it, and not being able to taste or chew definitely takes the joy out of eating! 

Yesterday I was able to eat a little bit of bread and pulled pork chopped into bits, and today I was able to have spaghetti. But the sauce nearly killed me, so I ended up eating plain noodles. 

When I can eat normally again, I will definitely be thanking Heavenly Father regularly for that ability. 

Talking hurts. Exposing my mouth to air hurts. Drinking through a straw hurts. Chewing hurts. Swallowing hurts. Brushing my teeth is pure torture, but I force myself to do it once a day because the Orajel and lidocaine make my teeth feel gritty. Flossing isn’t even an option right now (and I LOVE to floss)!

My mouth bleeds a lot. And I drool like crazy.

But... I'm finally improving. I wouldn't mind it if things sped up a bit, but I'll take whatever I can get!

I've been really fatigued. At first it was the typical fatigue that comes with a virus, but now I think my body is just tired from being in pain, and I haven't been able to properly energize myself with food. Everyday I turn on M*A*S*H and sleep for two hours. I keep coaching myself with "sleeping time is healing time," because, honestly, I feel really guilty. 

(When I'm sick, I like to sleep with the TV on. It's just one of those weird, comforting things, and might I say that Margaret Houlihan is queen of the top knot?) 

My friends and family have treated me like gold. Unfortunately, there's not a lot anyone can do to relieve the pain, but I've felt loved and cared for. Lots of people have been checking in. 

I hope that in writing this I don't sound like I'm complaining. I'm really just trying to write a description, not have a whine fest. I mean, yeah... it sucks, but I also spend everyday thinking about blessed I am that this is just a temporary ailment (sure... an ailment that will lie dormant in my body for the rest of my life and could activate at any time, but hopefully, if there's a next time, we catch it early, and hopefully it's in the form of a cold sore and not this nonsense). 

Herpetic Hellos!

In my last post I mentioned that I've been sick since the weekend. I'm still in pretty rough shape. On Tuesday, I went to the doctor and was tested for strep (I'd tested negative for COVID on Sunday and again on Monday). The rapid strep test came back negative, but the doctor looked at my throat and decided to go ahead and treat me for it anyway because I had white sores all over the place. She also said she wasn't going to bother sending a culture to the lab.

The next morning, I woke up with more white sores all over my tongue, gums, and roof of my mouth. There are also several places where my gums and roof of my mouth are swollen, and one spot where there's a hole in my gums. So it began to seem that it really might not be strep, but I gave the antibiotics another 24 hours to see if there was any improvement. 

This morning I woke up with more sores in my mouth, and the hole in my gums had gotten bigger, so I decided I better check in with my dentist. 

I did my hair and make-up for the first time in a week (and I totally looked like a supermodel - that's the exciting aspect of letting myself go for so long - I highly recommend it), numbed my mouth with Orajel (I'm an addict and overdoser at this point), and headed to the dentist.

What I thought would most likely happen: they would tell me I have a virus and that I just have to suck it up.

What I hoped would actually happen: they would tell me about their exciting new laser treatment for mouth sores that would be covered by my insurance and offer immediate relief. I would get lasered. My mouth would feel great. They would send me home with a complimentary tank of nitrous oxide so I could gas myself into a happy place to make up for the last several days of misery and pain.  

Of course, it was the former. 

The hygienist asked, "Do you ever get cold sores?" 

And from then I knew what was coming... they were going to tell me it's herpes. Damn.

The dentist came in, took a look at my sores, and said, "This is a very typical 'herpetic outbreak,'" and then he carried on with "herpetic virus this and that" and "the same virus that causes cold sores" and "you're just going to have to suffer for a while."

But he wouldn't say "herpes." It was all "herpetic" and "virus."

How cute. 

And typical? I'm pretty sure it's not "typical" at all. In fact, I think it's very special. If I'm gonna have herpes, I'm gonna have special herpes! None of the typical stuff!

Since I've already gone through a full-fledged outbreak, it's too late for an antiviral. And gosh darnnit, that's too bad because I have a stash of Valtrex in my medicine cabinet for all my herpes-infested family members. Scotty, Nicky, and Daisy all have the cold sore curse. Meanwhile, I've never had one.

So, to my dismay, I got sent out of the dentist's office with no relief, but I guess it's good to know that I'm part of the herpes club now. Ugh.

Like I said, I’ve never had any cold sores. While it's caused by the same "herpetic" virus, I've had a completely different reaction. I had headaches, swollen lymph nodes, body aches and chills, and a sore throat. My gums started off sore and swollen, but I thought that was from my dental cleaning on Friday. The first white ulcer I found was in my throat, so that led to to think it was strep. Then my mouth just bloomed! And believe me, if I ever feel anything remotely like this happening in my mouth again, I'm taking care of it right away. It's been so painful. I haven't been able to eat because my mouth is so sore, and I have to say, I've never wanted a cheap, crappy McDonald's cheeseburger so bad in my life! I'm living off Sprite and chocolate milk, and I can hardly stand to have either of those in my mouth. I think my relationship with Tru Moo may suffer. 

I have cried real tears over food. I never realized how much food is on TV until I spent three days straight in bed with a mouth full of sores! 

Chillin' with my herpes

The dentist gave me a prescription for a lidocaine mouth rinse. I don't have high hopes for it, as I've already been using a mouth wash for mouth sores, and it's done diddly squat other than burn me into oblivion with menthol. I went to the pharmacy to pick it up, and they were out of stock. Figures. I ran into my friend Christie in the parking lot and approached her with my tongue out to say, "Chrithtie, look at thith! I have herpethe!" I only let her see one sore, though. Just enough to make her feel bad for me, but not enough to send her running to her car screaming. Sadly, this is a woe that can't be cured with Cafe Rio, and Christie and I are far overdue!

The dentist said that I've most likely reached the peak of the virus, and things should start improving shortly but to plan on at least another week. Yuck. Fortunately, the head & body aches, chills, and fatigue have subsided. I just have tender lymph nodes and the mouth/throat sores to battle. I can handle the lymph nodes. The mouth sores, on the other hand, are making me a drama queen, so thanks for enduring the show!

Sick Day

A week ago today I wrote about how I've been very high-functioning lately and how I was worried that I would crash and burn at any moment. Within 24 hours of hitting "publish" I started with cold symptoms. When I get a cold, I almost always end up with a sinus infection, so by the end of the week, sure enough, my sinuses were infected. I got a COVID test on Thursday - just to be sure. I didn't think it would be positive, and it wasn't. Phew! But when my daughter had COVID back in January, I honestly didn't think she had it either, so you just never know. 

I'm feeling a little better today, so I know I'm on the mend, but I'm really, really tired. I didn't slow down and rest last week when I should have. So today, I'm not going to be high-functioning. I went on my normal Monday morning walk with my friend Julie, and while we were out, that's when I realized how tired I really was. I got home around 6:45, took Nicky to school, and then came home and fell asleep on the couch. It's rare for my girls to still be asleep when I take Nicky to school. Usually at least one of them is awake, but today, they all stayed asleep. We all ended up waking up right as we normally leave for school, so I took them a little late - about ten minutes after the tardy bell. It worked out well because Daisy had a case of Diet Mountain Dew she wanted to give her teacher for Christmas, but she really didn't want to carry it around the school grounds before school, and she kept trying to come up with a plan to put it in her backpack. I was like, "Hey, now you can just carry it straight to class! Look at that!" 

It's been a really long time since I've been sick. I've just had a little sniffle or cough here and there during the past two years, but a few doses of Emergen-C or Airborne have kicked it pretty fast. I've long thought that when I finally got sick again "for real," I'd probably be a big baby about it, and you know what? I kind of am. I feel extra picked on. Boo hoo. I'm sick. This is so not fair. 

I'm giving myself permission to take it easy today. Actually, "permission" might not be the right word. I'm forcing myself to take it easy today. My only goals are to take a hot shower (to numb my surely-to-explode face) and take a nap. Anything else that happens is extra credit. This blog post? Extra credit! If I change the toilet paper roll in the bathroom? Extra credit! If I wear shoes instead of slippers? Extra credit!

One thing I really like to do when I'm sick is to take a nap with the TV on. I don't know why, but for my entire adult life, I've always preferred to sleep during a show when I'm sick. My go to show, back before I had kids, was... dare I say it? The Hot Chick. Any time I was home from work sick (and it was usually with a sinus infection), I would turn on The Hot Chick and go to sleep. A few years ago, I watched The Hot Chick while awake, and I'm embarrassed that I loved that show so much. 

But thank you, Rob Schneider, for getting me through so many sinus infections in my younger years. I think my new sinus infection buddy might be Miranda. 

Here's Miranda showing you what I look like when I have a sinus infection.

That Kind of Week

Oops! There went my crock pot!

Oops! There went the watermelon!

Oops! There went Grandma’s trampoline!

Donuts Aren't Sexy After All

Scotty and I don’t have very well-synced waking schedules on the weekend. I tend to wake up around 6:00 and end up laying in bed for way too long. I want to get up and start my day, but if my kids happen to still be asleep, I don’t dare move. I want them to sleep as long as possible, and if I so much as breathe with any slight amount of vigor, they will all come running from their rooms in a chorus of “Can I watch YouTube?” “Get me milk!” “What are we doing today?” Therefore, I lay quietly in my bed even though I’d like to be up for the day using my brief morning burst of energy to do something productive before I turn into a slug, which lately, has been happening by 9:00 a.m. 

Last Saturday, after laying in bed for two hours next to a sleeping Scotty, I decided it was time for him to wake up so our schedules wouldn’t be completely off for the day. Being the thoughtful wife that I am, I rolled over, put my arm around him, and whispered the sexiest thing I could think of… 

“Want to go to Krispy Kreme?”

Normally, this would get Scotty right out of bed for the day, but this time, he startled as if woken by a sudden explosion. His face froze in absolute horror as he laid there trying to find himself in space and time, and he made some disturbing guttural sounds that indicated I am now married to a 40-year-old man.

Eventually he came around and agreed to go to Krispy Kreme but with far less enthusiasm that he would have exhibited at age 39. 

We drove to the nearest Krispy Kreme - a 23 minute drive - only to find that their machine was broken, and they had limited donuts and would therefore, not honor their buy a dozen, get a dozen for $1 deal, nor could we get our free donuts for being vaccinated, nor could we get Scotty's free birthday dozen.

No wonder Scotty didn't find my offer sexy…  

We ended up stopping at a different donut shop because we had told our kids we were going to Krispy Kreme, and we didn't dare come back empty-handed. We'll make another attempt at Krispry Kreme this Saturday... because FREE BIRTHDAY DOZEN!!! But please don't tell them we're coming. We'd like to catch them off-guard and fully functional.

(This was the second time in a row that Krispy Kreme has had problems when we've gone there, and we haven't been able to get donuts).

Fortunately/Unfortunately

Unfortunately...

Someone didn't close the freezer in the garage all the way last week, so later that day, I opened the door and felt a splash of cold water on my feet. Everything had thawed. 

Fortunately...

I was able to keep a few things that we hurried and ate over the next few days.

Unfortunately...

The basket of Otter Pops had all melted, and some of them were split open from when the kids had pulled them apart. There was a big, sticky mess, and when I pulled the basket out, that big, sticky mess made its way to the garage floor where it seeped under a life jacket and then dried, resulting in me having to pry the life jacket up a week later. 

Fortunately...

The freezer wasn't as full as it normally is - it was only about 1/4 stocked. 

Unfortunately...

Having the freezer door partway open had also caused everything to frost over, so I needed to defrost the freezer.

Fortunately...

It was so hot in the garage that I only had to unplug the freezer and let the ice melt for about 15 minutes before it was ready to wipe down and restart. 

Unfortunately...

A week later, a stack of 275 paper plates caught fire in my kitchen.

Fortunately...

I was able to smother it within a few minutes, and we didn't have to use the fire extinguisher that Nicky was holding on standby.

Unfortunately...

The house filled with smoke and smelled really bad, and I ended up with orange iodine-like stains all over my arms and hands from the melted plastic.

Also unfortunately...

I had just purchased the paper plates about half an hour earlier.

Fortunately...

My house didn't burn down.

Unfortunately...

My laptop has been having issues lately (hence my lack of blogging). 

Fortunately...

Today I took my laptop apart and found that a small cell battery had come lose. I have no idea what the battery is for, but I put it back in place, and my laptop is now working fine!

Unfortunately...

When I took my laptop apart, I found that it's all sticky inside, which means something must have spilled on it at some point. I just put it back together and left the stickiness. I don't have the energy to deal with it right now.

Fortunately...

I ate lunch at one of my favorite pizza places today. 

Oh, to be a Smith!

We have a German last name, and thus, people aren’t always sure how to pronounce it. For the most part, it’s not a big deal. We don’t care if people pronounce it incorrectly. In fact, we kind of expect it. But every now and then, our last name causes us some grief.

For the interest of this post, let’s pretend our last name is Koch, and that it’s pronounced like “Coke.”

One of the problems with having a last name like Koch is that when you say it aloud, people assume it’s spelled “Coke.” Because of this, I always say, “Koch. K-O-C-H,” and I spell it very slowly because I’ve found that when people are already assuming the spelling of your last name, they can’t process a different way of spelling. Even when I spell it for them, they will still spell it wrong. The other thing I have to say frequently is “Koch with a ‘K,’” because people always assume it starts with ‘C.’

When Scotty and I got married in the Salt Lake Temple, our sealer was a friend of mine. He was familiar with my maiden name but struggled with my married name. Twice before we went in the sealing room he asked us how to pronounce our last name, and then he still said it wrong. We just smiled. 

(This happened to a relative of ours as well, and she asked the sealer to redo the sealing after everyone left the sealing room. I never would have thought to do that. I figure God knows how to pronounce our name. No big deal. Although sometimes when I’m mad at Scotty, I claim that we’re not really married). 

When Scotty graduated with his bachelor’s degree, the guy announcing the names told the students that he is a linguist and therefore, was selected due to his expertise in pronouncing names. He specifically told the graduates that he would not need any guidance in pronouncing their names. He was kind of an egocentric individual, so Scotty and I were pretty excited to see if he would actually say our last name correctly.

He didn’t.

When I graduated with my bachelor's degree, I decided to write my name on the card phonetically (this is what I do when I go to the temple so the ordinance workers don’t have to worry about my name - otherwise they end up asking me over and over how to say it). The lady doing the names still said my name wrong. Thus Scotty and I both graduated with our names pronounced incorrectly. 

Again, we don’t really care. But we think it’s funny that, even when we do our best to set people up for success, they still get our name wrong.

Last week I had to pick up an order from Target. I was in a hurry because I needed to get my girls to their dance studio for class photos, so I got to the store right at 8:00 a.m. The gal running the customer service desk was having all sorts of problems getting my order. I gave her my name - spelled it TWICE - and had her scan the barcode for my order. She had two different people come help her, and she kept disappearing in the back, and then messing with her scanner. I did my best to remain calm and kind, but it was starting to get to me. All I needed was a stinkin' $6 bra for my daughter to wear with her dance costume, and there was a lady behind me in line, and it was 8:27 at that point. 

Finally, the exasperated Target employee said, "I'm so sorry. I have pulled up every order we have that starts with a 'C' and there is no order for 'Coke.'" 

I then said, very robotically with no facial expression, "My last name starts with a 'K.'"

So even after spelling it twice (at the employee's request), and having her scan the barcode for my order, which I assume should pull up my name, my last name still caused an issue. And when she looked for 'Koch' and not 'Coke,' lo and behold, there was my order. In the 'K' bin. Right where it should be.

I grabbed the bra and ran home (where the bra ended up being too big, but I went at it with a sewing machine and made it work) (but go figure!)

And thus is the joy of a name like 'Koch.' 

I'm just grateful it's not Rijssenbeek, like a friend of mine.

Note to Self

I've debated whether to post this. I'm not looking for sympathy or to tell a sob story. The reason I'm writing this is because there are some things I might need to remember later. 

Today, I'm in a lot of pain. 

For five weeks, I've been in a lot of pain. 

It started on February 18 when my legs felt sore. Within a couple of days, I started having pain in my hips and shoulders. Over time, the pain continued to migrate. It went to my ankles and wrists and increased in intensity. Since February 18, it has spread through my whole body and continues getting worse. At first it was bearable, albeit annoying, but now it’s interfering with my life. Fortunately, I get a few brief hours of relief every day under a heavy dose of ibuprofen. During that time, I'm still in pain, but there's enough relief that I can get some stuff done. I work as hard as I can during that time and completely exhaust myself. The ibuprofen takes about two hours to start working, and then I get about 2-4 hours of mobility.

I've been to the doctor. She ran a bunch of tests, and everything came back negative. I'm grateful... because the tests were all for stuff I really don't want to have, but I'm left with no explanation, and therefore, no treatment. 

I could tell you more about how things went with the doctor and what some of her theories are, but that's not really what I want to accomplish here. This is what I want to say... mostly to my future self... who I hope is no longer suffering with this. 

Be grateful for everything your body can do. 

If you can brush your hair, get in and out of the shower, or roll over in bed... give all praise for those abilities.

If you can take off your own shirt, walk up and down stairs, or lift something off a high shelf... enjoy it.

If you can climb in and out of your car, tuck your shirt in, open a jar, or vacuum your floors... live it up. 

Right now, I can't do those things easily, and some of those things, I can’t do at all. 

In the past, when I’ve experienced pain, I’ve had the thought that if I'm ever blessed to feel better, I’ll never take my body for granted again. Then when the pain is gone, I forget the part where I’m not supposed to take my body for granted. This time, if the pain goes away, I really don’t want to forget! I want to recognize the ease with which I can lift my arms over my head. I want to roll from my left side to my right side in the middle of the night and say, "Scotty! Look what I can do! Isn't it amazing?" I want to celebrate the ability to sit down or stand up without worrying that I will fall.

So that’s why I’m writing this - so I can look back on the time when I struggled to get off the toilet by myself, couldn’t get to my daughter quickly when she pulled a door on herself, and had to ask my husband to help me change my clothes everyday, and remember that a mobile body is an absolute gift. 

Britt the Grown-Up

I've realized something lately... 

I'm a real life grown-up. 

I feel like I should still be a grown-up in training. There should be someone mentoring me or supervising me, but no. This is it. I'm a grown-up. 

Here are some things I've noticed about being a grown-up:

People don't pat me on the back anymore for doing grown-up things. 

When I was 27, and I did grown-up things, I got praised for it. I was treated like I was very responsible, and my elders would say things like, "You are wise beyond your years!" I could pay off a medical bill and feel like I had accomplished a great, grown-up thing. 

Now when I pay something off, it's just what grown-ups do. And I'm a grown-up. So I do it. 

A lot of important people are my peers.

Doctors, teachers, politicians, and Church leaders used to all be older than me. Now many of them are the same age, and some (especially teachers) are younger than me. This has been such a weird life transition for me because I look at these people and think they're not old enough to do these jobs because I'm not old enough to do these jobs! 

I'm not "the young one" anymore.

For a long time, I was always the young one in adult groups. I was the young one at work. I was the young one in my church callings. In hindsight, I know that it was the naivety of youth that helped me thrive in those opportunities.

Now that I'm a real grown-up, and I have more life experience, I hold more baggage and am more damaged. I feel less capable than I felt ten years ago.

I am not cool.

I don't know if I was ever "cool," but I know that I'll definitely never be cool again. In fact, I don't even know if "cool" is a thing anymore. I think only old, out-of-date grown-ups use the word "cool." And since I'm a grown-up, I don't know the current slang, so I still use adjectives the dictionary way.

Sick means you have a cold. Basic means fundamental. Karen and Felicia are names.

I miss the "good old days."

I have times I look back on as the "good old days," and I miss them and wish things could be like that again. Sometimes I ache for things of the past. I never thought I'd be this way.

So here I am.

A grown-up.

With my grown-up responsibilities, my grown-up body, and my grown-up problems. I'm not really sure how I got here. 

The Kind of Week it's Been

It's been an interesting week - a week of slight misfortune. I say "slight" because it's not like I've had to amputate limbs or anything. I've just had enough things go wrong this week  to constitute a theme.

For example, it's been the kind of week where I try to pepper my egg, and this happens:

You know that kind of week? 

On Tuesday, I woke my kids up early so we could go hiking. There was much resistance from the three girls. They whined and cried and told me how much the hate hiking and that they weren't going. In my most delightful mom voice, I repeated, "Everybody's going. We are leaving at 8:00, so be ready. Make sure you eat something!" I was met with many harumphs and excessive foot stomping, but I stayed cool as a cucumber. No yelling. No threats. 

I planned to go to Cecret Lake - which is a bit of a cursed trail for us. The first time we hiked it, we got stuck in a thunderstorm. The next time we hiked it, I was by myself with my four kids. There was no parking at the trail head, so we had to park at Alta and take an extended route. We never made it to the lake. When we turned back, Eva was asleep in the backpack, and I was carrying Zoe on my hip, who was also asleep. I honestly didn't know how I would make it back to the car (which was about three miles away). Another mom with kids saw me and begged me to let her drive me to my car. I was trying to be tough, but I knew I would never make it. We piled in the stranger's van at the trail head, and she took us back to Alta. 

This time, I really thought we were going to make it, but when we got to Alta, the road to the trail head was closed, and there was no way I was going to try hiking from Alta again alone with four kids.  

I turned around, and we went back down the canyon to Lisa Falls. I was really disappointed because I wanted a longer hike this week to keep us out of the house for a while. I had packed lunch and planned to use up at least half the day. But it wasn't to be. 

Before we arrived at Lisa Falls, my gas light came on (I'm not used to filling up the gas tank anymore - one of the side effects of quarantine). Then when we arrived at the parking area, I got out of the van and smelled my brakes burning. Oops. 

I decided to ignore it and do the hike, and then we could deal with car crises when we got back, if needed. 

Lisa Falls

Other than getting my shoes soaked in the river while keeping Eva from falling off a rock, the hike was fine. We got back to the van, and the van was fine. 

We tried going to the temple quarry on the way out of the canyon, but there was nowhere to park. This is my biggest anxiety about hiking and other mountain activities - the parking. 

We ended up going to a park for lunch where we were quickly bombarded with two buses of daycare children. 

That night, my kids and I had plans to draw a bunch of Sesame Street characters. We had these ones in the works when it started raining:

Side note: our driveway is really stained from the chalk and paint. We are now drawing on top of old stuff that hasn't washed off entirely. I'm not worried about it - I think it will all come off eventually, but some of it clings for a really long time. Particularly red and black. I go out and scrub my driveway once a week with a brush and Dawn dish soap, but it doesn't get it all off. 

Overnight, it poured, and in the morning, Elmo and Cookie Monster were just black outlines, and the Sesame Street sign had no lettering. It's always funny to see what sticks around and what washes away. When I drew Mike Wazowaski, it rained right after, and all that was left was his iris. In fact, it's still there, and it's been three weeks. 

But back to the adventures of this week. There are still tales of slight misfortune to tell. 

I've been very prone to tripping, spilling, and dropping things this week. If there's a cup of water on the counter, I'll bump it. If I'm trying to pour something, I'll spill it (especially if it's something like vegetable oil or the juice from a watermelon - my kitchen is currently very greasy and sticky). 

So I wasn't surprised at all when I went to put cookies in the oven last night, and two cookies fell off the sheet pan into the bottom of the oven. I knew I needed to get them out as soon as possible so my smoke alarms wouldn't go off as they burnt to a crisp, but that's difficult when the oven's hot! I used a pair of tongs to pull the bottom rack out of the oven so I could get to the cookies. Then I didn't know what to do with the hot oven rack. I couldn't put it on my floor or on the counter, so I just stood there holding it with tongs while I grabbed a second pair of tongs and tried to get the cookies. 

It was complicated and dangerous and required me to yell at my kids multiple times to get away from me so they wouldn't get burned. I got the cookies out and then I just stood there holding the oven rack until it cooled down enough that I could set it down. Since I'd pulled it out with tongs, I was kind of stuck. I couldn't get oven mitts at that point because I was immobile with one hand holding the rack with the tongs. I couldn't maneuver the tongs to put the rack back in the oven (I tried). 

Now I know I need to have a cookie removal protocol for the future. 

I urge you to come up with your own plan!

Just to make things even better, the cookies burned. Not horribly, but enough to be disappointing. I baked them on parchment paper instead of the silicone baking mats I normally bake them on. Did that make the difference or was it simply because this is a week of slight misfortune? Can I bake on parchment next week and have my cookies turn out just fine? 

The misfortune doesn't end there, though!

Now I will tell you the most unfortunate part of my week (so far... hopefully it doesn't get worse. It's only Friday morning, after all. There's still time...)

Yesterday morning our pipes started vibrating really bad. Any time we turned on any type of water in the house, it sounded like a freight train was passing through. Luckily, the kids and I were out of the house for most of the day because Scotty was on conference calls, and freight trains and conference calls aren't a good combo. 

In between conference calls, Scotty tried to figure out what was going on. After having no success, he had to cut into our brand new ceiling in the basement to access the pipes - the ceiling we just started painting two days ago. He spent two hours messing with pipes and trying to solve the problem. He was in the house and out of the house. He turned the water off and on and off and on. He ran every faucet in the house and flushed every toilet over and over, and he couldn't figure out what was causing the problem. 

Then he went outside and found that the backyard hose had been left on with the handheld sprayer in OFF position. 

Who did it?

Me. 

I planted strawberries yesterday morning, watered them, and then failed to turn the hose off. It was on all day.

And all it cost me was a hole in our brand new ceiling. 

Slight misfortune indeed. 

Four for Four at 4:00

I've been doing this mothering thing for 13 years now (I'm rounding up by a few weeks). I'm not a professional, but I'm no longer a rookie. I'm somewhere in between. What does that make me? Intermediate?

The point is, I know some stuff. But I still have a lot to learn.

One thing I'm wondering as an intermediate mother is whether my kids will outgrow the witching hour. I've been enduring the 4 p.m. hell fest for a really long time, and it doesn't seem to have any end in sight. All of my kids from Nicky at age 13 to Eva at age 4 are still regular participants in the witching hour. The only consolation is that sometimes one or two of my kids will be mildly pleasant while the others are going ballistic, so it's not four for four at 4:00 every day.

Common behaviors during the witching hour as of late include:

• Rifling through cupboards looking for food while dinner is under way, and they've been fed a sufficient snack immediately after school
• Arguing with each other over really stupid things. Real life example from today: are we having sloppy joes for dinner on Saturday or Sunday? Nicky says Saturday. Daisy says Sunday. (Who cares? It's Thursday!!! But if you must know, the answer is Saturday, and it's written on the fridge for your reference, but if you tell Daisy she's wrong, be prepared for her to scream in your face and possibly punch you)
• Asking me questions that don't matter. That don't matter at all. And that I've already answered.
• Arts and crafts explosions 
• Begging to watch YouTube
• Whining about chores that take TEN WHOLE MINUTES (Can you imagine?)
• Complaining about what's for dinner. It doesn't matter if I make their favorite thing on earth, they will hate it on the day I feed it to them
• Tantrums and meltdowns galore. Real life examples from today (i.e. reasons Eva cried): 
• Because I wouldn't go to the Dollar Store to buy her a rubber chicken
• Because her stuffed bunny is pink, and she wants it to be blue
• Because she noticed that the exercise bike is missing (we got rid of it three months ago), and it was her favorite
• Because I sang "Do You Want to Build a Snowman"
• Lectures (from Nicky) about how I spent my day. Not sure why he cares...
• Kicking each other

On top of that, my kids have really stinky feet, so they come home from school, take of their shoes, and stink up my house. Tantrums are much less endurable in a fog of shoe stench. 

So I ask you, professional mothers... does it ever end?

Never mind. Don't answer. 

Mayday, It's May

May is the month I lose my marbles.

The other day, as I approached an elevator at the orthodontist's office, I reached into my purse, pulled out my key fob, pointed it at the elevator door, and hit the unlock button. 

Guess what! The elevator didn't open! And I thought, "Crap! Now is a really inconvenient time for my battery to die. I really need to get downstairs." The fact that my brain took the time to consider that the problem was a dead battery before it realized that key fobs do not open elevator doors is evidence that I've completely lost it. 

May is such a crazy month. There is so much to do from dance concerts to school events to daily chores. Here are some of the side effects of the end of the school year:

• I taught Junior Achievement for the kindergartners, and I lost my manual the week before the last lesson. I showed up at the school and just made stuff up. I filled the time by letting the kids take turns showing me their owies. Did you know every kindergartner on the face of this earth has a scabby elbow? True story. 

• Zoe hasn't taken her backpack to school in almost a month. 

• I took my kids through the McDonald's drive thru for breakfast THREE TIMES last week because I couldn't manage to fix them breakfast. Then yesterday, I did it again because we didn't have any food other than cereal, and all the bowls - including the random Pyrex dishes - were dirty. 

• I had to move my McDonald's cups to make room for my new McDonald's cups (it's really embarrassing when you go through the McDonald's drive thru, and you still have McDonald's garbage in your vehicle)

• Everyday my daughter asks me to sew the head back on a stupid teddy bear that she got for Christmas. Might I add that the head fell off on Christmas? It's from the dollar store. Can't we just let it rest in peace?

• Eva wears two different shoes everyday. I don't even put forth the effort to make sure they are on the correct feet. Two lefties? Whatever. A cowboy boot and a Paw Patrol sneaker? Don't care. 

• I've stopped trying to abide by our budget. Whatever it is, stick it in the cart! I'll put it on a credit card and figure out if we're broke later. 

• Daisy wants to be in the 3rd grade talent show with her friend whose mom doesn't speak a lot of English. We can't understand each other. So the friend might be coming to our house tomorrow until 7:00 or she's coming to our house at 7:00. Or maybe none of the above. I don't even know. But Daisy has been planning this since August. I need it to end!

• The car battery died on me the other day. 

• My whole body aches like I ran a half marathon (believe it or not, I actually know what that feels like), and I have a pain in my lower abdomen that I'm hoping just goes away because I don't want to deal with it. 

• My van smells like pee and sausage mcmuffins. 

• So does my bathroom.

• And my couch.

• I don't plan on seeing my kitchen table or counters until June at the earliest. 

• The other day I found Nutter Butters in my bed, and I was too lazy to get up and throw them away, so I ate them. Someone had already licked the peanut butter filling out. 

• One of our chickens died today.

• The day before Easter, we went on a family picnic. Everything we took with us is still in my trunk.

• I destroyed an umbrella a few weeks ago because I fell on top of it while it was open. 

• The thought of doing my church calling makes me want to throw up.

• I vacuumed up pennies yesterday just to get them out of my life. Now my vacuum makes funny sounds. 

• I also tried vacuuming a pile of grass in my girls' room (everyone's kid has a pile of grass and dead ladybugs in their room, right?) and clogged the hose. I can't find anything long enough to stick in there and push the grass through. I'm currently waiting for the grass to die - hoping it will take up less space when it's dried out and therefore, dislodge itself.

• I have a library book sitting on my counter that's three weeks overdue. I see it everyday, but I can't for the life of me take it back to the library.

And there you have it! A small glimpse of the mess that I am. 

How many days left in this month?

Never mind. Don't answer.