Strange things been happenin'.

Big. Deep. Breath. Let me tell you how much I have been needing to write here- for therapeutic purposes. But we traded in our desktop and then the hard drive failed (that's still not worked out- but Jason's been lugging various parts of the computer back and forth from the store), and then the keyboard hasn't been working today. No joke. Do you have any idea what it's like to really really need to write but not be able to? I tried hand writing but my hand had the worst cramp of my life within the first 23 seconds. So I've been suffering from major brain constipation.

Well I got the keyboard working. And here I am. I need to tell you about some weirdness in my life. Three unrelated events that have taken place in my life that have been real... well... SOB's.  I'm not writing this post to act like I have a bad life and that I think people should feel sorry for me. Because we're all healthy and well and Jason's career is not in ruins or anything like that. But ya know what? I agree with the, "Count your many blessings" to an extent, but seriously if every time you have a bad day, if someone tells you, "It could be a lot worse," and, "Think of the people who have it way worse than you," (cough husband cough) then what happens is that you won't feel validated at all and then the anger will just fester and build. If someone will just say, "That really sucks, I'm sorry. What can I do to make things better for you?" while you're wallowing like a poor piglet in the mire and feeling sorry for yourself, then you will most likely say, "Thank you. and nothing... I need to get it together, and it could be a lot worse, right? I mean, look! I've got all my limbs! And look at how blessed we are. I really don't have anything to complain about at all. I have a wonderful life and am splendidly happy. I feel better. Thanks for listening."

Fact is: I need to be the one to get myself in the right perspective. Other people I'm venting to shouldn't take it upon themselves to do it for me. Others should just understand and validate my feelings of frustration. Same goes with complaining about 4 blow-outs a day and human feces being a regular accessory in my wardrobe. If I need to whine a bit about it, let me. It doesn't mean I wish I could get rid of my baby. Please don't say, "But what about people who can't have children? They would love to be pooped on by their kids. You should be thankful." What I'm telling you to say and not to say could be entitled, "How to comfort/nurture and help someone help pull themselves out of a sneaky hate spiral 101". Or it could be called, "How not to make things worse when someone's venting to you by making them feel guilty on top of the frustration they're already feeling," or, "How not to piss your wife/sister/friend off".

Ahem. Item one.

So, we've had the same few ladies come do deep cleaning at my house for the past couple of years; since I was hit with hurricane Scarlett and the realization came that going from 1 to 2 babies while trying to get the dusting and baseboards clean was going to put me in a one room padded cell. (My good friend and neighbor referred them to me on a still, dark night, while constantly looking back over her shoulder making sure no one was listening) and I was all at once frightened and exhilarated by the prospect of having them come. Because up until that point, this is basically what I believed:

But then they came. And we tried it out. And my life became immensely better. Not because I wasn't doing the deep cleaning anymore, (I could hardly ever get to the deep cleaning in the first place) but because it was getting done, period. And I could enjoy my little toddler and brand new baby more.

*If you are tempted at all to judge me, turn away from this blog now. I can't handle judgy people. And come to me one on one and by the end of our conversation I will have you 100% converted to the idea of all of us having help if we have tiny children and if we care about the sanitation of our homes. I will deplete you of all prejudices against "cleaning ladies" and all who turn to them for sanity. There's an entire post dedicated to this on its way.*

Ahem again. Well, I loved those ladies. A little while after I first met them, one of their homes burned down. Awful awful awful. She would come to my house and I would sit on the phone and interpret for her all of her dealings with the insurance, her lawyer and all that jazz. I love to speak spanish so it was a win/win; I was happy to help her. They've let themselves into our home using our garage code several times while we've been away. They have loved my children. So, lots of trust, lots of laughing while we're cleaning together, lots of friendship. Then a few weeks ago, I caught one of them trying to steal a necklace from my house. And the other was trying to cover for her. AFTER TWO YEARS!! I can't tell you how awful that confrontation was or the fact I even had to even imply it to them in the first place. And they denied it initially. But then I told them if I couldn't find it, I would be calling the police. Can't tell you how bad that sucked as well. So, the necklace was returned. Bottom line? I cried for days. Literally. I got the necklace at a garage sale. Not kidding. I didn't care about the necklace. I just felt they were my friends. And then all of a sudden everything I haven't been able to find, like two of my very favorite scarves and additional items around my house that have completely disappeared came to mind. I confronted them about the scarves as well. And the only thing they had to say was, "I'm sorry." I told them through tears that I could not, under any circumstances, have people come into my home like that that I didn't trust. And that the trust was gone. And that I wasn't angry, just really hurt, and that I loved them and hoped the best for them. *Seriously* hurt by this. Seriously betrayed. Such a violation.

So that happened.  Onto Item two. I dropped my phone somewhere on the river trail while I was biking. 

That's me, pulling Jason on his rollerblades. Not really, that was basically me though, except I wasn't pulling anyone. And I was wearing a helmet, which made me look cooler. The facial expression is about the same though.

Losing the phone was my bad for not securing it better, I get it. But then I got home moments later and tried to call it and it went straight to voicemail. We called several times. The phone had been turned off. Which means someone found it. And turned it off so that we couldn't locate the phone. Iphones have their ways of being located if they are turned on you know. That happened just Monday. Again, not for the phone, but the pictures. So sad. And the voice memos. I've recorded my goodnight conversations with my little girls over and over again; their goodnight prayers, their songs they've sung. And they're gone. If whoever took it would just come to my house and let me copy those things off of it, you can still keep the phone. I'll slug you in the stomach, but in the end I'll let you keep the phone and we'll both walk away feeling better about it.

The same day that I lost my phone, item three came-a-calling. I got hit with another little disturbing morsel of information. I am trying to get a ticket to the "Time Out For Women," event in Logan, Utah next month so I can go with all of the women on Jason's side of the fam and ticks are sold out. I was directed to the facebook page for the Logan event where people are buying and selling tickets. I bought one from a women and sent her $50 for the ticket. She sent me a pink wristband in the mail after she had the money. So I wrote the organization and inquired about the wrist band, and got the following response: "We actually do NOT give a wristband as a ticket until the attendee arrives at an event. So, you have been sold something that really does not exist. I'm so sorry to be the bearer of bad news." 

So I'm trying to get the money refunded. And I'm trying to believe it was an honest mistake. It's just fishy. And fish stink. 

So pretty much, feel like my anthem as of late is that, "Ya had a bad day," song. Or maybe REM's "Everybody hurts". Oh man that was a good one. And I'm thinking I should probably make a music video with one of those songs and have my friends just sucker punching me and making fun of me and throwing things at me in between shots of me being a loner kicking rocks all by myself, head down and defeated.  Because seriously, what in the world is happening? Am I taking crazy pills?!?

I guess I'm supposed to learn something from this. My sister Vanessa said, "I feel like there's a reason for this all. Like, you're going to be mugged soon New York City style, and these things are just preparing you for it," which was comforting. Fact of the matter is, I will unleash the dragon on that mugger. Because my wrath has already been kindled against mankind in general. And then I will say, "Sorry, did that hurt?" And then they'll start laughing and be like, "No!" And then I'll be like, "Well I can make it hurt, stupid!" (That last little part happened to me in an elementary school scuffle with a mean boy. True story. I kicked him, and then immediately said, Sorry, did that hurt? And you know how the rest went.)

I feel better getting this off of my chest. If you want any of the hairy details about any of these events, come to my house. And maybe you'll be tempted to put a candle or lamp into your purse while I'm in the other room getting you some refreshments. But don't give in to that temptation. Just ask me if you can have it when I come back in, and I'll give it to you.