I was hanging out with my friend earlier, checking out this sweet book she has on Mandalas from different cultures. I love those.

When I was 12, I used to draw them, not knowing what they were, or properly creating them probably. In college I learned a lot more about them, as it was art school. I surmise that I drew a couple then as well. I was more into the boxes and these incredibly beautiful beads I was making though. Fast forward to the very beginning of my relationship with my children’s father, we used to watch a tv show which featured mandalas and meditation as a central theme in several episodes. Here I am now, pining away for my children, coloring them in to keep my anxiety at bay, using them as a meditative aid so that I can focus my energy on positive thoughts.

You’re probably confused. A lot has gone down since May. I won’t get into it in great detail; frankly I could get myself into trouble if I start running my mouth-er-fingers about it. Suffice it to say, I am currently spending 100% less time with my children than I was this time last year, and I miss them horrifically. As if  part of my soul has been removed and is elsewhere, being tortured.

What I’m left with is entirely too much time in my own head. However I had such a happy memory as a result of these mandalas today I couldn’t help but share it. As I scanned the images from her book into my computer so that I may print and color them, or perhaps even play with them in Photoshop or Painter Pro 2 (? some similar program my mom has on her computer. I actually rather like it. If anyone knows anything about it, please let me know. I don’t quite have the hang of it, but I’m ok with basic stuff) or MAYBE one of these days I’ll get into the correct frame of mind and draw some from scratch. Regardless,  I was scanning, and my dear friend puts on a song, asking if I’ve ever heard it.


This was the highlight of my day. I used to play this song every morning while I made breakfast for the girls and I. We would sing it and dance around the kitchen even during the darkest of my PPD days. It was how I coped with the fact that I had to get through another day. How I got my blood flowing. And my babies were so sweet dancing around with me, singing along. The best was when DDa would, out of nowhere bust into song: “BLAME IT ON MY ADD, BABY!”

Like the waves during high tide, I was pounded with memories. They flooded my mind and touched all of my senses. Snuggling and watching The Lorax 800 times, playing in the inflatable pool with our old neighbor, tearing up Kale chips like there was no tomorrow and laughing, singing and dancing. Just thinking of these times I am sitting and smiling, probably for the first time all day.

I have some pretty shitty ones, but right now I am immeasurably grateful for my memories because they are all I have to hold on to. I miss my babies. I can’t wait until they come home. So if you’re so inclined, perhaps say a prayer, burn a candle, recite an incantation or chant so the Powers That Be may understand, and know to allow them to come back to me. I appreciate it, and I know that even though I can’t ask them, that my sweet little monkees do too.




Just a quickie because I realized it has been about 6 months since I’ve even given ya’ll a nod and thought, “How fucking rude am I?”

So here’s my nod, I love you guys and promise to catch you up (prepare yourself, it’s a long one, I may have to sub-divide) as soon as I can. That may even be later tonight. In the meantime, check out this other blog, leave me some feedback. I’d appreciate it.



Gotta run.


Here I had this great spot where I was gonna post all kinds of things regarding cloth diapers and all related paraphernalia and OTB pics of fluffy little babies.
Guess what. While life continued happening all over me, my tiny little one has grown (not so much in size, but in maturity) and started potty training herself.




Yup. At 13 months she knocked on the bathroom door and said “Mommy potty!” I put her on it, lo and behold, she peed right on it.

Now she’s almost 2. Not out of diapers yet, but steadily indicating that she needs to use the toilet and more often than not is correct. It amazes me.


So what does this mean for my love of all things fluffy, cute and tushie covering?? Am I going to have to quit cold turkey? What shall I do with my stash? And how will I channel all of the obsession for cloth diapers into something else???


Then it came to me. Cloth trainers. There are lots to try, and many are beyond adorable. *huge sigh of relief*  I have a little longer to indulge, thank goodness.  I’m really not ready to give it up yet.


Whatever happened to the day of rest?

Ahhh, picture it. Waking up when your body says, “I’m done sleeping”, having a leisurely cup of coffee while gazing blankly out the window. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining. Spending the day enjoying hobbies or other leisurely activities.


Thought I’d share with you my itinerary for the next couple hours.

2:40pm-5pm: Clean, organize, launder, fold, put away, vacuum, mop, repeat until return of children.
5-?: Make and serve dinner to two incredibly hyper children. Clean up dinner. Carry children to bathroom for bath as they fight to escape. Run water. Chase and (hopefully) catch 3 yr old, returning her to bathroom. Convince her to take clothes off (normally she is refusing to put clothes on). Wrestle (literal, actual physical exertion) clothes off 21 month old. Help her on and off potty 17 times. Retrieve naked 3 yr old from hiding place. Retrieve naked 21 month old from hiding place. Figure out how the heck to keep the stupid ear plugs in the ears and not in the hair.
Put kids in the tub. Lather while 21 month old screams and tries to climb out of tub while 3 yr old plays mermaid. Rinse little one while convincing other one why she needs soap. Take little one out and roll in towel like burrito. Finish washing and rinsing now crying 3 yr old because she wasn’t first. Dry, lotion and pajamafy both. Carry them, one in each arm back to bathroom to brush teeth while explaining (as I do twice every day ) why we brush at least twice a day. Put little one in crib. Begin desperate search for pacifier. Find it. Wash it. Insert it. She’s out. Find 3 yr old back on the computer doing her kids learning games. Carry her back up to bed. Play musical beds. After 2 hours give up and go downstairs. Sit down, wipe sweat from brow, and find you have been joined by 3 yr old.
Get self ready for bed. Drag self into it. Find 3 yr old already in it, taking up all the space. Lay on floor. Sleep.

(Crap now I’m 16 minutes behind schedule)

How do you spend your Sundays?


I keep thinking about posting, and what I want to write about. I jot little notes of funny or crazy things that pop into my head throughout the day. Yet here I am, at the computer, kids asleep, and all I want to do is go to sleep.


For now I will just say Hello, I have missed you. I would love to hear from you; please feel free to leave me comments so I know you haven’t forgotten about me. 😉


I promise I will have something fun or interesting or at least longer than this really soon. I will. Really. But if I sit here any longer I will end up like I did last night, out cold with my face on the keyboard.



Yes, that’s really how I woke up.


Then I went upstairs, sat on my bed to get situated, and woke up an hour or so later still sitting on the edge of my bed. I bet this is the kind of exhaustion those famous people have when they have to spend a week at a fabulous spa getting rested and pampered. My plane ticket and spa voucher must have gotten lost in the mail so for now I’ll settle for a twin bed with a toddler or two in it.


Nite all.

Undulating just beneath my conscious mind, floating into oblivion

Undulating just beneath my conscious mind, floating into the oblivion of sleep

Makin’ Moves


Finally sitting down. My mom and I have been steadily making progress for about 5 hours.
Ok that’s not true. My mom did awesome. I pouted for a while, had a temper tantrum, played with my phone, and wandered semi-aimlessly around my living room and picked apart my coat closet, replacing and tossing random stuff I haven’t been able to categorize for the past two moves.

Here I go. Moving again. Back home. With my mom. And my two little monkees. This should be interesting.

The good news is, I have a part time job, my mom is an absolute saint, and I finally feel like I’m getting out of this bad relationship-depression-anxiety-stagnation rut I’ve been in.
The bad news is, I’m still totally freaking out. My acceptance level is very low, I’m bitter and resentful and acting like a brat. I need to get over myself. It’s not about me anymore. I have two little angels who need me to be strong and loving and help make this a smooth transition. It’s hard enough on them that they don’t see their dad every day. It’s hardest on my older daughter. It breaks my heart. It makes me second guess myself.

In my heart I know this is right. I know we will be better for it. Everything will work out. I just need to keep reminding myself and being reminded by all of you wonderful people.

I’m taking my tired old butt to bed. Moving sucks.

*THUD!* (head hitting pillow)

Sweet Dreams?

I think I get the bizarre dream of the night award.
At one point I had been banished to Hell. It was very gory and I’m pretty sure Otto from Sons of Anarchy was repeatedly biting off his tongue.
Then, somehow, I escaped only to discover that demons or something had escaped and turned Tom Cruise into a zombie. (Which really, he probably is anyway, except he kept climbing in bed with me and trying to convince me he wasn’t a zombie.) Also, important to note, he was terrible in the sack.
So there I am, trying to fight off Sex Crazed Zombie Tom Cruise, and now I’m in a pool in a meadow full of flowers. Someone had de-zombified the zombies and Tom Cruise was back. I had a really pretty flowered dress on and great hair. We hopped on his Harley and drove off.
The end.

I wonder what Freud would have to say about this.

Babbling away, trying to remain positive.

Babbling away, trying to remain positive..

Babbling away, trying to remain positive.

I don’t know where to begin. I’m afraid my blog is all over the place. Then again, so is my mind, so I suppose it’s quite reflective of my thought process yet perhaps hard to follow. 

Some days are good, some days are less than that. But every day is a blessing, right?

I have several drafts about several different topics that I had intended to write about, yet I find myself typing nothing of importance. Random thoughts, for the world to read. 

I can say this: I have been working hard every day to be better than the day before. Some days I succeed, some days I do not. Whatever kind of day it has been, as long as there were no major injuries and we go to bed having eaten well and laughed some, I’ve not been a failure. Despite what my brain tries to convince me of. 

This PPD business is a total bitch.  I’m SO OVER the intrusive thoughts, the lethargy, the mood swings, the panic attacks, the feelings of inadequacy, the constant mindfuck of it all. It’s terrible. If you’ve never been there, consider yourself lucky. If you’re stuck in the boggy recesses of a horribly depressed mind, I feel your pain. I know it. And I’m sorry. It can be a slow road to recovery. They tell me this illness can be overcome. I have to believe that. I have to KNOW that. I draw strength from the many women I speak with who are going through the same struggles.

Things are getting better. They will continue to get better.

Today I am grateful. SO GRATEFUL. That Superstorm that ravaged NY and NJ? The shores that were destroyed? Those are the beaches I grew up on. The town next to the one I grew up in was almost completely underwater. The town next to the one I live in now was almost completely underwater. My family and I were spared. I have friends and extended family that were not. I am grateful. And I am doing my best to help the people who need it. I can only imagine what they are going through. It will be a long, slow recovery. But there will be a recovery. I will do whatever I can to help. Many others are doing the same. 

Perhaps this was less of a babble about how I’m trying to remain positive and more of a story about how I am hopeful and AM being positive. It’s all I can do right now. And that’s all I have. 





Start. Stop. Start. Stop.

I keep starting to write, and stopping. Saving drafts and deleting. Trying to think of something meaningful or amusing to say, and coming up empty. Beginning a chore, project or task, and getting interrupted.
There are about 5 different topics I had planned to talk about between my last post and now, and I just haven’t gotten to it. The truth is, life has been really crazy. I have been absolutely mad.
Like two minutes ago, it was quiet and I sat down to type this. Then my almost 3 yr old walked in wanting to wear my bra. Moments later she decides she didn’t want to wear it anymore and left the room. As she left she announced that the baby is awake.
Start. Stop. Start. Stop.

Le sigh.

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