CDO Is Like OCD Only With The Letters In The Right Order


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None of these are long enough for a separate blog post all their own, so they are having a lesson in sharing.

Speaking of sharing, my boys share a room.  And almost every morning they wake up ready to brawl, waking the rest of us with the sound of their fighting.  I say “almost” because once a week they wake up in separate homes.  One with my mom, the other here.  So I’ve decided to take a creative approach.  Mind you, I think so far out of the box that my box doesn’t even exist.  What the hell is a box?  This box you speak of, does it hold candy?  Only then am I interested.  Or, maybe if it were a box of puppies.  I digress.  So I’ve decided that from now on, every morning that they wake up and immediately start fighting, that night they have to share a bed.  My husband finds this twisted.  I argue the horrors of sharing a twin bed might shock them into getting along.  Oh, and we’ll go top bunk since it is much harder to fall out of when your brother tries to shove you to your own side.

Hey!  Speaking of falling out of the top bunk:

The NASA technology is gone, now there is just a brace in its place for the next 1-2 weeks.  But only when he plays.  It’s still healing but he needs to be able to let it move when he isn’t being rough and tumble.

On a different note, Guess who is getting a perfect 100% in the first college class she’s taken in over 5 years?  That’s right, this bitch!  It started easy but once you see it possible, you keep it possible.  If you tell yourself you’ll settle for a pass, you’ll only pass.  When you tell yourself you are an A student and you will pull in A’s you get A’s.  I’m telling myself I am capable of perfection. (I’ll settle for A’s.  What do you think I am, crazy?  Yeah, don’t answer that.)

My husband told me he broke the hair clippers, basically meaning I can’t shave my hair off anymore.  And that’s how I got blood stains on my hands.  Then he told me he fixed them so I brought him back.  Slightly zombified.  Slightly.  Or, it’s possible he only seems like a zombie because he threw out his back?  This paragraph has no real purpose other than OMG I finally can get rid of this hair that is way too long.  I spent a week thinking I could maybe grow out my hair.  HAHAHAHAHAHA.  No.  It’s touching me. (I’m not crazy, I’m eccentric.)

Any job letter of reference that starts out

Jane Doe can rappel down skyscrapers with a single bound.  More importantly, you can trust Jane’s set-up so that you too can rappel down skyscrapers, in a single bound of trust that she can get you safely to the bottom.

is a winner.  You want me to write you a letter of reference.  I’m qualified.

I’m a touch slap happy.  We just survived the 1st of the month in banking with an entire 7 employees for the entire branch.   We’ve been known to consider ourselves short on the 1st with a full 12 employees.  Tired doesn’t cover it.  But I’m flying high because I took on a role of leadership over something we were trying to logic out.  I presented the plan, ran it, and it worked like I knew it would.  Flying.  High.

Hey, speaking of leadership.  I would have had a chance to get a promotion that I turned down.  Again, not crazy.  First, starting school and being promoted within weeks of each other does not lead to perfect scores in school.  Oh, I’d still pass, but at what cost?  Sanity is a fragile thing.  And that box is currently upside down as it is, as “this side up” points to the floor.  Oh hey!  There’s my box!

But also, this promotion had I been given it, would have taken me from my branch.  It isn’t like I won’t ever leave my branch, but we are days away from being down to 2 tellers.  One of which, not me, is pregnant due to pop in less than 2 months.  Full line, FYI, is 6-7.  Me leaving before we hire at least 3 more would cripple the branch.  And I can’t do that to my team.  I can’t.  If I had absolutely nothing left to learn from them, it would maybe be different.  Hell, my boss would push me out the door.  She’d rather that than hold me back.  But I still learn something new there daily.  Plus, we have a new teller supervisor(!!!!!!) starting next week.  I am so excited to work with her.  She will be amazing for our line, branch, team.  She use to be a trainer.  She trained all of our personal bankers in fact.  Moral is high just thinking about her joining our team.  It’s her job I’d be taking at the other branch.  It’s a position I’m after in general.  But I’m excited to learn from her first, and then move on.

Finally, and the boss lady only told me about this after I decided not to apply, the other branch is so slow.  I mean so very, very slow.  There isn’t even anything to clean or organize.  I’d last about 2 weeks before they’d have to lock me away because I tried to put the ceiling tiles in proper order based on how many dots or bumps or specks of dust they have.  Hint: it’s so clean there is no dust.

But what matters is that the boss lady told me about the position because she thought I’d be perfect for it, and confessed she got depressed at the idea of losing me.  And not just because I’m a warm body running a window.  And when she told the other manager to expect my application, and then told me I should email the other manager if I wasn’t going to apply after all, the other manager actually put up some fight.  I don’t know what boss lady told her, but my heart if full of warm and fuzzies.  Perhaps my ego too.

Perhaps my ego needs those warm and fuzzies.

Perhaps my boys will be grateful they have adequate jammies as they spend a few night crammed into a twin sized bed, learning how not to fight.

Perhaps I can pull a perfect 100% in every class straight through my bachelor’s and my MBA.

Perhaps you too can rappel down skyscrapers in a single leap of faith in Jane’s rope work.

Perhaps her name isn’t really Jane Doe.

Perhaps I am even more eccentric than you anticipated.

Perhaps.

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Via my facebook feed between 1 and 2AM Tuesday into Wednesday.

DO YA’LL KNOW HOW AWESOME IT IS TO HAVE THE CAPS LOCK ON YOUR KEYBOARD STUCK IN THE ON POSITION? WHAT’S THAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOUR ANSWER OVER MY YELLING. WAIT, YOU SAY YOU DON’T? WELL NOW YOU MIGHT. ALSO, CONGRATS ON NOT BEING A TEENAGE GIRL OR AN INTERNET TROLL. (COME ON LIKE THEY KNOW HOW TO TURN CAPS LOCK OFF. GRANTED I DON’T SEEM TO KNOW HOW TO TURN IT OFF SO I’M GOING TO GO CRAWL AWAY INTO A HOLE NOW.) AND YES, SHIFT KEY. YOU TRY TYPING WHILE CONSTANTLY PUSHING IT DOWN. QUICKLY AND EFFICIENTLY. AT LEAST MY TYPING NOW REFLECTS MY NORMAL VOICE VOLUME. ANYWAY, TIME TO DISMANTLE THE KEYBOARD. WONDER WHICH KID SPILLED WHAT.

(My friend in response): I LOVE YOUR FACE, WOMAN!

WHAT’S THAT! I CAN’T HEAR YOUR SHOUTING OVER MY SHOUTING! I HEAR WHISPERS ARE THE BEST METHOD. THE PERSON YOU ARE WHISPERING TO HAS TO LOWER THEIR VOICE BECAUSE DUDE WHY ARE YOU WHISPERING WHILE I’M SHOUTING AND DO YOU REALLY THINK I CAN HEAR YOU? (ALSO, LOVE YOUR FACE TOO!)

OH HEY. PRIED OFF THE CAPS LOCK. CLEANED AROUND IT. STILL SHOUTING. TRYING AGAIN IN MORNING. BUT… ANYONE HAVE A SPARE, IT CAN BE CRAPPY AS HELL, KEYBOARD? SEEMS I HAVE A SHOUTING PROBLEM THAT WILL GET OLD REAL FAST, I’M SURE.

HOLD UP. GENIUS THOUGHT. SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. IT’S LIKE 2AM AND I JUST SPENT 5 HOURS WATCHING TWILIGHT ON DVD. BRAIN CELLS WENT THE WAY OF THE LEMMING, IS WHAT I’M SAYING. BUT I’M GUNNA RESTART MY COMP. WHILE I DOUBT IT WILL FIX THE CAPS LOCK ITSELF, I SHOULD GET STUCK IN AN INDOOR VOICE. HITTING SHIFT ONCE PER SENTENCE IS A LOT MORE REALISTIC THAN KEEPING IT PRESSED. AH THE DRAMA AT 1:30AM. SO MUCH FUN.

Well, at least something worked as it should. I’ll mess with the rest later. And shift key is my friend, in realistic moderation.

Keyboard fixed. Only had to dismantle a small percentage of it. Even got all the keys put back in the right order. And oh how I wish I could say that order was alphabetical order, but not even I am that dumb. Or OCD. Almost that OCD, but smart enough to realize why that OCD rearranging wouldn’t work as planned.

And scene!

And that was last night’s (nearly) 1 (wo)man scene.  Ah the life that is mine.  You only wish you could be as epic as I am.  You. Only. Wish.

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I think I am finally starting to realize why I haven’t been reading blogs much anymore.

So many (not all) of my favorite blogs are written by women who have lost babies/children or who have extremely ill children, who weren’t necessarily born so.  Honestly, they often are some of the most passionate and even well rounded writers.  That loss or struggle or real life awakening makes them who they are and they tend to be very worth reading.

But my biggest fear in life right now, besides being accidentally locked in the vault at work over night*, is losing Sammy.

I didn’t fear this like this with the boys.  I don’t know what it is.  She is perfectly, wonderfully healthy. Maybe I fear girl parts make her more fragile?  Maybe it’s because I’ve been planning her existence specifically for 2.5 decades now?  (I had her name picked out when I was 2-years-old for Pete’s sake.)  Maybe because she should have been impossible in so very many ways?  Maybe I just wasn’t reading blogs, like I do now, when the boys were younger so I was blissfully unaware of how things can go wrong?

I don’t love her any more or any less than I love the boys.  But I fear losing her unlike I have ever feared anything ever.

It doesn’t build to a paranoia.  I can keep myself in check.  I know I’m being silly to have that extent of a fear.

But when I’m reading a blog that speaks of losing a life way too young.  Before steps are taken.  Before Graduation stages are walked across.  Even just pre-school ones.  I just have this fear fill me, starting in the pit of my stomach, but growing until it fills me head to toe.  And I have to look away.  I don’t love those blogs any less.  In fact, I almost love them more because they have lived what I so strongly fear.

But right now, I just can’t read it. 

So, let’s try this again after we get Sammy past her first birthday.

*Yes I have a fear of being locked in a vault over night.  Any rational person would.  Those things are on a timer.  Co-workers can’t just go crap and open it right back up if they’ve set it.  They set it before it closes.  They lock it before it closes.  (Good news is, only co-workers can actually do this.  Sorry would be robbers.  Or serial bank teller killers.)  Vaults have about 12 hours worth of air.  If I get locked in 5:30PM on any given week night, I’m not making it until 8AM the following morning.  God forbid it happen on a Saturday.  I’d be freed Monday.  A tad more than 12 hours, don’t you think?  This is a purely rational fear.  I don’t understand one bit why my husband, and co-workers find it hysterical.  Rational.  Also?  No food or bathroom.  RA-TION-AL!

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It is no secret that hair and I don’t get along.  I can’t stand to have it brush against my face and/or neck.  I’d grow it out and wear it up/back, but ponytails. clips and headbands give me tension headaches and migraines.  So?  I cut it short.  Really short.  Actually, using the word “cut” is a lie that implies scissors are used.  Nope, it’s a razor.  On the #1 blade.  I’m left with peach fuzz.

Some people give me hell for it.  It’s not “professional”, “girly” or “attractive”.  As such I have always asked my employer before I give my head a fresh buzz, if they have a preference.  “Don’t go shorter than xxx” or whatever.  Especially in my current career where I really do have to be professional, I can respect their input.  And yet, I have never, current career included, had a boss reply with anything other than, “As long as it’s not purple, we don’t care.”  Hell, I was freshly buzzed when I was hired at my current job.  At this point my current length of bed-head capable is more of a shock than a fresh buzz.

Everyone else gets that it’s just hair, and I do have a logic for keeping it as short as I do.  I mean, do you want to deal with me during headache after headache caused by something that grows back with no effort?  You are welcome to explain your logic to those who have to live or work with me.

But, the unthinkable has happened.  It isn’t that I’m all “Oh must have long pretty hair” as much as I’m just bored with the buzz cut.

I want something soft and feminine, but as short as I need it.  I don’t want to have to fuck with product or effort to get it to do such-and-such.  I will consider running a brush through it though.  I know it will grow out faster, because it isn’t starting in at 1/4 of an inch long, but I don’t want to get annoyed with it every 2 weeks because “Dammit, it’s touching my ears again!  Get it off get it off!”  But I honestly don’t care on the exact style details, as long as it meets my needs.

What I really need and want is an adorably flammin’ gay hair stylist to sit me down, listen to me rant, and then give me a cut that will make me happy and then I can go back to him every 6 weeks for upkeep because “Get it off! Get it off!”

The money to pay for this would be nice too.

Which is the other thing.  I have trouble justifying spending money on a cut every 6 weeks when I can just as easily buzz it for free and be happy with it.  Bored with my buzz does not equal unhappy, mind you.

Oh and as for deciding who makes the cut to make the cut?  Any single mention AT ALL of “Are you sure you want it that short?  That’s really short…”  I’m grabbing their razor and doing it my damn self in front of them.  Yes, I’m sure.  I’m paying you to cut my hair, not talk me out of my established pattern.

It’s hair.  It grows back.

I swear, the first time I buzzed my head had less drama than this shit and this is all self induced.

I think I’m turning into a girl.  I’m mildly alarmed.

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I have this ritual. I pick a Friday, usually, when mom has both boys. I sneak up to their room. I turn on girly tv (What Not To Wear is one of my favs for this). I sort through the boy’s clothes. I pack away winter cloths and pull out summer clothes or whatever. As you may have guessed by now, I do this every 6 months. I have all of the boy’s outgrown clothing saved so when it comes time to change things out, the only boy I have to buy for is Thomas. I have all the old clothes sorted by size into storage bins that I keep in their closet. I’m up to I think about 12 bins if you include one for shoes and one for various socks, mittens, hats, etc.

Every 6 months I’m down right manic about this. I’m making sure everything goes where it belongs. I’m taking my time. Sorting shit out. Folding everything neatly into draws. I’m OCD in heaven up there.

This time?

I’ve been dreading it. I knew it needed to be this weekend. I knew it’s been getting chilly out there. Luke is down to 3 pairs of pajamas that are both warm enough and fit him and he lives in those. To the point where he’ll wear them all day and all night for a couple to three days in a row. It’s a game of keep Luke clean. Especially the past couple of weeks where everyone else and then I was sick. Laundry has kinda gotten lax around here.

Now in all fairness Luke lives in jammies anyways. If we are leaving the house we’ll get him dressed accordingly. Staying around the house? Why bother. It just creates more laundry. As long as he is clean and warm, I’m a happy momma. What can I say, I myself don’t bother with real clothes if I’m not going anywhere. I’m that kinda person.

So anyways I’d been dreading the changing of the seasons this weekend. I just finished and I swear it’s the most rushed job I’ve done of it yet. I literally had a pile of clothes that needed to be sorted into random bins that I just pushed into an empty one to do later. Very unlike me. I tell you my OCD is having a cow right now but the rest of my brain is telling Ms OCD to shut it.

I don’t think it helps that I’m having trouble getting to the closets. Thomas is not the best room cleaner, and as long as it’s sorta out of sight, he calls it done. That includes shoving stuff in the closets. And while I’ve mostly given up that battle, it makes working in the closets difficult. That and I just keep stumbling upon shit that irritates me and it’s like I have to get done and out of there as fast as possible.

I know I’ll go back and fix it. Here in a few months when I’m packing away Luke’s 24mon clothing and pulling out his 2T clothing (gulp 2T that’s like big kid clothes!) I’ll have a chance to get everything squared away.

In the meantime, I’m just not mentally up for it.

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First I need to say this for the world to hear. I could not do what my husband does. Which is good, because he’s so good at it he doesn’t need competition. In return, he couldn’t do what I do. Which is also good, I enjoy being the working parent. We are both where we are meant to be. I work, he takes care of the kids. Our roles are reversed in some people’s minds, but perfect for us.

But just to be clear, I’d like to repeat…

I COULD NOT DO WHAT MY HUSBAND DOES.

I love my children. I even enjoy them. In small doses.

There are some books I can read over and over to Luke or Thomas; Mr Brown Can Moo Can You?, Snuggle Puppy, and The Nose Book being some of them. Not on this list are Fun Farm, I’ll Teach My Dog A lot of Words, and Who Lives Here? I’ll give you one guess which group is Luke’s favorite.

Yes, small doses.

My kid, he knows a lot of words: Kitty, turtle, I do it, no, and kitty are just some of them. Have I mentioned Kitty?!?!?

I’ll watch in amazement as he points to every kitty in every book and exclaims “Kitty!” I, however, can only correct him that that cow is a cow so many times before it starts to feel pointless. Throwing in that the cow, not a kitty, says moo, for my mother’s sake, is a cause I can’t seem to win.

My BPD self needs to learn patience with the 1 year old. He’s little and learning at his pace in his way.

I have learned that the main hardship in the not talking to strangers lesson, we gave our oldest this week, is that the boy knows no stranger. He is instantly friends with everyone he meets whether they be young, old, or in between. Which will be great as he gets older. How to get along with everyone is a life skill few have to cherish.

It is not, however, OK that my 6 year old has no concept that some people are bad and therefor dangerous. Not every child he lets ride his scooter, is going to be eager to give it back. There are also some adults out there that just might want to do scary things to and/or with my blond haired, green eyed, beautiful little boy.

I can’t keep him locked in the house forever, however, and this week we let him spread his wings and explore, just a little, outside the nest. He knows where to go and where not to. All I can do is hope he listens to and follows our strict rules, and check on him every time my heart flutters in my chest with worry.

But sometimes you just have to let your kids grow and learn and play outside in front of the house alone. Or with every kid in the neighborhood as he seems to have drawn to him.

My BPD, paranoid mind is just going to have to learn to trust that the world really is good full of good people.

Glow sticks are the source of great fun. When they die, they become the source of great sadness. I can’t fix this for my son, no matter how desperately I want to. All I can do is buy him more from the dollar store next time I have a spare dollar or two.

Every toy has it’s place and a clean room is a happy room. However, sometimes up and off the floor is good enough. My OCD will not allow me to admit that again. I’ve met the quota. Thomas’s way of cleaning the living room gets us through the day, or even the week. I’ll let my OCD have it’s way once every weekend when the kids are with my mom. Compromise is essential.

When all else fails, throw the baby in the high chair and pull him to the opened bathroom door. I lost my right to privacy while in there years ago. This way he’s safe and I have time to do my stuff. Luckily BPD destroyed my modesty years ago anyways.

If your 6 year old won’t tell you what he’s watching chances are it’s something he isn’t suppose to be watching. I learned, however, this isn’t always true. Sometimes it’s just Home Alone 3 and he’s just never seen it before or known of it’s existence. The kid in the movie is having too much fun for it to possibly be OK to watch. Better not tell mom.

I learned that if your baby enjoys having his hair brushed and played with, he’ll probably also enjoy a hair cut. I also learned no matter how much you hated seeing the baby hair go, chances are good, said baby will probably look cuter as a little big boy. Time to suck it up and let the kid grow up some.

I’ve learned a 1 year old knows no difference between throwing a ball and throwing a little tikes

school bus. There is never an excuse to rage at the littlest one when he saw you throw the ball and he decided to throw something else.

My husband is the baby whisperer. He can figure out, calm, and understand our Luke like it’s nothing. I, well I’m good at making Luke mad, asking “What did he say?”, and admitting when I need help.

I learned I’m glad I didn’t wait till I was in my 30′s to have kids. My meds have me so drained of energy now, I can’t imagine what I’ll be like in 10 years.

I learned my 1 year old spends an average of 1 hours every day dancing on the coffee table in nothing but a diaper. In little spurts of dance between climbing up, and being told to get down.

I learned Luke doesn’t eat half as much as I think he does so I don’t know why he’s so chunky.

I learned why my computer is off every day when I get home.

In related news…

I learned my 1 year old spends an average of half an hour “bugging” my desk every day while I’m at work. Opening various draws and doors. FYI my computer has a door on the front of it that hides the buttons. Yep, he knows about it and is good at opening it.

I learned to enjoy each earned kiss and hug because they are usually too busy playing to give them.

I learned I really can’t do this for a living.

I learned I only have to be alone with them for 30 minutes before I stress out, if not sooner.

I learned I’m really not the best mom in the world but I also learned why I’m such a great daddy.

I think I’ve learned to better appreciate my husband and all he does.

But mostly I learned how to enjoy what time I have with them.

I’m sure I’ve learned more, but that’s good enough for now.

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I have a pile of books from the library I’m been slowly working on. And I refuse to return any unread so I keep renewing them. I mean, this has been my project all spring. It was a serious mountain. And just as it started to be gone, I went back and checked out another mountain. Seriously though, I love to read.

My goal was to get through the pile by the time I started school. On the 29th. Of this month. With a good dozen books left. Not happening unless I read a book a day. Which I have done, let me assure you. But that’s usually at the expense of sleep and kinda my family. And Pat hates when I do that. He was pissed off when I discovered Twilight and read all 4 in 4 days. I got a combined 12 hours of sleep during that. But I couldn’t put them down.

And I’m like that with a good book. I can’t put them down.

The problem is, not all of the books I grabbed have been good books. Some of them I struggle to want to pick up. Logically I’d move on to the next book.

Logically. Let’s examine that word.

log⋅i⋅cal

–adjective

1.according to or agreeing with the principles of logic: a logical inference.
2.reasoning in accordance with the principles of logic, as a person or the mind: logical thinking.
3.reasonable; to be expected: War was the logical consequence of such threats.
4.of or pertaining to logic.

log⋅ic

–noun
1.the science that investigates the principles governing correct or reliable inference.
2.a particular method of reasoning or argumentation: We were unable to follow his logic.
3.the system or principles of reasoning applicable to any branch of knowledge or study.
4.reason or sound judgment, as in utterances or actions: There wasn’t much logic in her move.
5.convincing forcefulness; inexorable truth or persuasiveness: the irresistible logic of the facts.
6.Computers.

Does any bit of that sound like me?

Btw, I’ve never started a book I haven’t finished. I’m not changing that now.

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