Apparently, Everybody Is In The Place.

I’m listening to The Prodigy’s Everybody In The Place (Fairground Edit) and it’s just techno with the words EVERYBODY IS IN THE PLACE repeated over and over. It’s kind of annoying. Techno is hit and miss with me, though I like listening to it when running dungeons in WoW.

 

Trenton had his stitches taken out yesterday. About ten days ago Lilly dropped a glass in the bathroom (why was she drinking juice in the bathroom? I dunno, I was mopping the dining room) and I swept and mopped in there and double checked to make sure I got it all. The shower curtain was closed and I didn’t even think to look in there at the time. That night, as I was getting ready to give them a bath, they dumped toy after toy into the tub while I got their PJ’s out. Once the tub was filled, Trent jumped in and started screaming. I saw a ton of blood pouring out from just below his knee. I pulled Lilly out and told her to get dressed while I pressed a washcloth to his wound while trying to get him dressed. He was screaming, she was screaming, I was telling her over and over to get some clothes on while struggling with him. I finally got him dressed and had to have him press the bloody towel on his wound while I got Lilly dressed because she had been running through the house, dripping wet from the tub and still naked, arms flailing and screaming, freaked out from her brother freaking out.

We arrived at the emergency room and I carried him in, Lilly clinging to my leg and we checked in. He was calm by now and was concentrating on keeping the washcloth pressed to his knee, one hand crammed down his pants to hold it. Once we were called back, he was shaking and starting to freak out again, his voice rising in pitch and becoming frantic. They cleaned him up and put some numbing gel on his knee and let it sit there to numb up for about ten minutes. His outlook on things suddenly took a turn for the better. That’s it?! This is awesome! But then they came back in. The doctor was very patient and explained everything she had and what she was going to do with it. I took Lilly to the corner of the room with her facing the wall so she wouldn’t see what was going on and freak out. Trent got nervous and started screaming DON’T LEAVE ME! So I came back over to him, held his hand with one hand and put her on my opposite knee facing my chest and held her with the other hand. D0c started putting the stitches in and he started screaming and shaking. Three separate people came in to see if the doctor needed help. She had to take one stitch back out and replace it, and he had three put in, so all in all he had four stitches.

After that, I thought taking the stitches out would be relatively easy but he had already experienced putting them IN and was sure taking them OUT would be nearly the same. I tried to calmly explain to him that it wasn’t the same, but it took four people to hold him down plus me holding his hand to get the stitches out. Lilly kept trying to leave the room whilst screaming because HE was screaming, so a doctor took her out of the room (it sucks being a single parent sometimes) and kept her occupied.

Once they were finished with the first stitch, he was all “hey, this isn’t so bad!” and was cool with it.

When we finished, the staff all left so he could get his pants back on. “Mom, I peed a little.” Also, “I am so proud of myself. I was SO brave.”

 

 

Kim

is in the place

Today, From Here.

My daughter Lilly, who is now 4 and a half (four and a half, guys, holy shit where did the time go?) said, “mamma, I love you more than one hundred and one applesauce cups.”

How awesome is that? Pretty awesome.

Trenton is 6 and a half. He’s full of energy and bouncing off the walls and I can barely keep up with him. I worry about his school work and his attention span. We sit down to do homework and it takes him HOURS because he says he can’t concentrate and he doesn’t finish his work he’s supposed to finish in class sometimes. I wonder where the line is where there’s a learning problem, if there’s ADD, or if he’s just 6 and a half and would rather be pretending to be a dinosaur. Because who wouldn’t?

I’m not sure my medication is helping, I need to make a new appointment with my shrink but sometimes just working up the nerve to call is panic inducing. Just to make an appointment. Sometimes I used to think with the right medication, I could get better. Now that I’ve been on several different kinds, I’m beginning to think that I’ll always be this way. When I was in Italy waiting to come back home to the states, the phrase “This too shall pass” got me through some rough patches. I’m not sure the depression will, I’ve been battling it since kindergarten. I used to see my depression as part of my creativity and that I could see things differently than other people, but now I just see it as a crippling illness that makes it hard to get out of bed in the mornings.

My mother came to visit me and brought me a treadmill and a big ass bag of candy. It’s like she’s saying work harder, monkey! I’ve used it a couple of times, but there’s a mysterious invisible piece of metal in the doorway to the basement (seriously, I’ve looked, I can’t find the bastard) and when I was going downstairs to do laundry, I ripped a huge chunk of my heel out. It’s just in the right spot where if I step down, it puts pressure on the wound and opens it up a little so I have to do this tiptoe limp thing around the house. The treadmill is officially on hold for now. This sucks, because I’m quickly approaching my heaviest weight ever. I am not amused.

My lease is up in May and I need to decide what to do from there. I’m not sure if this is the type of landlord that will let me go month to month after my initial lease is up or if I have to sign up for another year. It’s so hard to find a place in this town that’s a decent price for a three bedroom, and I’d like the kids to have their own rooms. It’s also hard to find one that is pet friendly and I have a three legged senior cat and Winston Churchill the wonder pug that I’d hate to part with. I’ve had Hobbles since before the kids were born, and she gets around pretty well with only three legs, but I don’t want to just get rid of her for the convenience of a three bedroom.

Kim,

Loves you more than 101 applesauce cups

Long Month Was Long

J has left from his month long leave. He’s moved on to California.

The kids spent a week with him without me, plus a weekend. It wasn’t what I wanted, and I was advised against it, but it happened so there you go.

I told him about some things that I knew, including the fact that he bought a phone in his name for the girl he always planned on leaving me for, prompting to call me a “Crazy fucking stalker”.

This whole month has been full of hard.

I’ve been down on myself for a lot of things, some of which were not my fault.

I tried so hard to be a good wife, and regardless of what he or anyone else believes, I  know in my heart that I gave it my all, and that was all I could do.

 

I’ve been down on myself for not selling as much as I’d hoped in my shop. Just because it’s not selling doesn’t mean that my art is worthless. I forget that sometimes. I plan on adjusting prices and hoping that helps.

I’ll be okay. I forget that sometimes too.

On Letting It Go

I’ve been holding on to my feelings for a while now. Sometimes because I know J reads this, sometimes because I don’t have the words, sometimes because I’m annoyed that I’m still bothered by the past.

All through the years of verbal abuse, whenever I was upset he would tell me that I was being too sensitive; he would say, ‘Yes, I called you fat last week, but that was in the past why can’t you just let it go already?”

After the incident, he went to anger management and counseling for a few months. We’d talk through instant messaging and emails. He’d ask how I was feeling. Sad, I’d tell him. Alone. Scared. Upset. Angry. Confused.

His ears would prick up at “angry”. It seemed like that was the only part he’d cared about hearing. And then he’d turn all of his anger management techniques he’d learned in therapy on me, eventually telling me that I was just like him.

I knew it was absurd then, and I know it’s absurd now. I did nothing wrong, but from then on in order to keep him from having any ammo, I shut my anger away and locked it tight. Those months living alone in Italy I was sad, devastated, afraid, unsure, terrified for myself and my kids and our future, but I was never angry. I felt bad for him. I felt bad for blowing the whistle on the abuse, I felt bad that he had to live in a dorm and wasn’t allowed back home. All his stuff was still there. It was like he was a ghost. But I kept my anger in check.

He flies back in tomorrow. He’ll be back and he already stated that he wants to stay with me the month he’ll be on leave. I can’t allow that and it upsets him but I just can’t.

Now that he’s almost here, I find myself swallowing the anger, and it is bitter. I have every right to be angry, being angry doesn’t make me like him, it makes me human.

The Plan (or) P90ouch

Tonight I found this picture

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

from two years ago. I so do not look like this right now. I have gained too much weight since then. So. The Plan. Go back to the several hours of cardio a day, because it was so very very worth it. I felt good, I looked better than I do now, and I felt better in general and about myself. I’ve got a long shitty road ahead of me. However, it was very much worth it. I’m looking forward to this.

whinge

These days I want to pull my old raggedy torn blanket over myself and curl in a ball and sleep until I feel better, which may take weeks, and I don’t care that it may take long.

Leaving the house is hard. Groceries are a pain in the ass to go get because I have to interact with people.

Getting the boy ready for school is hard.

Cleaning the house and doing general maintenance on it and on myself is hard.

These things shouldn’t be hard. And I’m tired of having people tell me to just be positive.

My friend Chris said, “Telling a person with depression to just be positive  is like telling a person with a broken leg to walk it off.” He’s right. For someone so far in the hole telling them to just be positive is like telling someone to move a mountain with their mind.

I’ll be fine. I’m frustrated and scared and overwhelmed and tired and at the same time can’t seem to sit still all the time every single day. I’ll be fine, but in the meantime I need an old torn blanket I can hide under and someone to tell me that it’s okay to feel like shit sometimes.

 

I don’t understand how I can feel so alone and so annoyed with company. How can I feel lonely yet want everyone in the world to just get the fuck out of my face?

crappiest update ever

Hey, folks. This is what I’ve been up to. I dyed my hair pink, yes indeedy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now? Now it’s purple.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and very, very damaged from all the bleach, bless its heart. This may be it for me with all the wacky colors, I think after this fades I’m going to either go back to my natural color or dye it with a gentle red, and no more bleaching.

I made a shop on etsy and have bee slowly adding things. It took me forever to do because I’m insecure and if I don’t have anything in there, then I can’t freak out if nothing sells. http://www.etsy.com/shop/kimberlyhughes Take a look, okay? Okay. If you see something in there you think is neat, please link it to your friends. Word of mouth, pay my bills, all that. ;)

New MSPaint Comic: My Night In Pictures

Parenting Fail

It’s 3 a.m. and my 4yo just woke me up my screaming “MOM!” until I woke up and ran into her room to see what was wrong. She called for me because her blanket wasn’t all the way on her person. I put it back on her and she fell right back asleep. In the murky darkness, I slammed my little toe so hard on the open door that I thought I broke it. Really, that whispered, “Son of a BITCH!” was coming out whether I wanted it to or not.

Gnarled

I wonder how other people feel about growing older. I am fine as long as I don’t think about it. As long as I forget that we’re all mortal.

Do they stand in their showers, heads down to brace against the water pressuring down on their necks, lathering their stomachs which are now lumpy? I used to have a flat stomach (thank you, eating disorder) and once I mentioned to my then-boyfriend that I thought I needed to lose a few more pounds.

“You don’t need to lose any weight,” he told me, “putting my hand around your waist is like holding a beer can.”

How odd, and yet how comforting that was. What a strange compliment, one that didn’t seem all that strange to me at all.

Now I stand in the shower, head bowed, water pounding down on the back of my neck.

I run my hands over my soapy body; my stomach, much decidedly less like a beer can and more like bread dough. The price of children, the price of age, the price of laziness, “I’ve got highways for stretchmarks, see where I’ve grown?”

My breasts have written a formal letter to gravity, stating that they are no longer friends, and could they please have their CD they lent gravity back?

My legs are stout and muscled, like always. Like tree trunks. Like walking every day after school for hours and hours with Rebekah. They remember the way they are supposed to be molded, so they stay that way. For now.

My hands, they hurt. They hurt so much. Curling them into almost-fists are painful and I think arthritis, arthritis, arthritis. It runs in my family and I can barely grasp and carry the weight of something in my left hand. I have my grandmother’s hands. I used to love her hands. I still do. I regret that I do not visit, that I live too far away now to make a simple quick trip. That my children do not know the gentle people who raised me.

I think, when I am old, I will regret that I took more showers than baths.

I will regret not running as often as I could.

I will regret not getting on the floor to play with my kids as much as I could have.

I will regret not flying kites more.

I will regret not digging my toes in the mud more.

Most of all, I think I will regret the fact that I regretted so  much.

I will wash my hair, and my arms and my lumpy tummy when I am old. My legs will be like tree trunks. I will try to be more comfortable in my own skin.