Tradition dictates that your venue sets the overall tone for your gown. But if you know me, you know that nothing I've ever done is traditional. And you also know my gown will dictate my venue.
I wanted drama. I wanted detail. I wanted a princess gown. I wanted a long train. I wanted jaws to drop. I wanted Bryan to be breathless and speechless. I did not want to look like every other bride. I also wanted to spend less than $700.
Stop laughing.
I knew it was going to be a tall, if not impossible order to fill. I combed the local stores, finding a few that were close, but just missing the mark. One was at Davids Bridal, that was pretty but I didn't want any other bride in the greater county region to have my gown. I've spent countless hours online, trying to find the gown. I was about to give up when...
I saw it on eBay. It was everything I ever wanted. It was a showstopping gown. It was also $48.99. With shipping, it comes to $188. It is so perfect, I don't have words. So, in lieu of my worthless words, I give you my gown. (Revel in my sheer awesomeness.)
Yes, it's the dreaded LIST. The ultimate blogging cop-out. But I'm the list Queen, so it is less of a cop-out...So, here's my newly minted list.........
WHY MY BFF DOESN'T SUCK:
1) I am almost convinced that my Mom had triplets, and she's my missing triplet.
2) We have not only had the same life experiences, we had them at the same time. In some instances, within moments of each other.
3) We can talk about ANYTHING, and it's never weird or TMI. Seriously, ANYTHING.
4) We get each other, on everything. Our sense of humor is shared, and neither one of us feels weird laughing at our own jokes because we know the other person is laughing with us.
5) She's not afraid to [virtually] smack me up alongside the head, or disagree with me.
6) If I was a SAHM, she'd be my role model. On the rare day I stay at home with my child, I'm constantly texting her "WHAT DO I DO NOW GAHHH!"
7) We talk for a minimum of an hour every day, and have yet to run out of discussion points.
8) She is every bit as hot as I am, if not more so.
9) She's witty, smart, kind, and generous.
10) She's not only invited me to spend a week with her, in her home, but her and her husband have invited me to the USMC Ball, AAAAND she's graciously, generously, offered to pay for it.
Jacqueline, I <3 you, sis. In case I haven't screeched it into your ear, through IM or text messaging..
I LOVE YOU, THANK YOU! OMFG, THANK YOU!
I've been thinking for months that Pooker is speech delayed. Yet everyone told me I was overreacting, every child is different, and how I need to calm down. I cannot effectively articulate how much those statements frustrated and angered me. I knew something was wrong with her. I knew her speech was off, I knew that she wasn't as developed as she was supposed to be. And yet everyone told me to shut up, she's fine.
Finally, I philosophically gave everyone the finger and scheduled her to be evaluated by the county. "You're just wasting your time" they said. I said they could shove it up their asses, I was going to test her anyway.
They were WRONG, internets!
As it turned out, she is indeed speech delayed. As of this posting, she is 16 months old. She has the speech abilities of a 9 month old. She should have at least 2-3 words in her vocabulary, and trying to mimic what we say. She will try to sound out consonants, but she doesn't say WORDS. When the evaluator asked her where I was, and who I was she just shrieked.
So where does this leave me? Well, the nurse is coming to our house next Thursday to do a more in-depth evaluation. From there, she'll keep coming to the house and to daycare to work with her. For once, I was right. But I wish I was wrong, that she was normal.
This is my Pooker Butt. The baby I fought so hard to keep healthy when I was pregnant, despite my body working against me. The little girl who has my heart, melting every time I see her smile. The baby who is so upbeat, who runs as fast as her little legs can carry her to give me a big hug. She is my heart. She is my soul. She is my life. She's....just...she's everything.
Last weekend we had the kids for the WHOLE WEEKEND, YOU GUYS. From FRIDAY until MONDAY. This is huge, we NEVER get them this long. And it was a great weekend!
Friday night, T was upset because since Bub's in football, she doesn't get a lot of attention. I told her to pick whatever she wanted to do, and Saturday, we'd do it. She was beside herself with glee, and even snuggled with me on the couch. (She's NEVER done that. She barely has allowed me to HUG her.) To make her feel better, we made rootbeer floats, just for us, and shared girly secrets.
Saturday, she wanted to spend the whole day at the Library, which was FREAKIN' AWESOME with me. I love to read. I read every chance I get. Hell, I'll read the back of the Mentadent bottle if that's all I've got. So, to the library we went, and WE READ OUR ASSES OFF. No cell phones to interupt us. Yes, even I, the Blackberry QUEEN, turned mine off and left it in the car.
T and I had lunch, and giggled and laughed our way through lunch. I've never in my life had a better time with her. It's taken 3 loooong years to get to this point. Three agonzing, slowly moving forward, frustratingly painful years. And yet, there we were. Giggling, laughing, sharing secrets conspiratorily, and having some good ole fashioned girl time. To say my heart was bursting with joy is such an understatement.
When we got home, we got a call saying that she placed in the top 95th percentile for reading and math IN THE STATE. THAT'S MY KID! THAT'S MY GIRL! My super smart, top 95th percentile, got a congratulatory letter from the Govenor, girl!!!! I let out a big whoop and grabbed her and gave her the biggest hug ever, and actually, think I bruised a rib or something. Sorry about that, T.
It was just such a perfect day, with my perfect little buddy.
T, however, is a complicated little genious. This same girl, not 20 minutes after getting her WASL results, tied a scarf around her head like a blindfold, started walking into walls and asking, "Heidi, why can't I see?!" I somehow doubt I will be adding this to her Harvard application.
Nonetheless, we snuggled every night, her and I. I don't cry from happiness much. But I sure as hell choked up from joy then.
T, if by chance you're reading this. I love you, GOD, how I love you. I love you as if you were my biological child. You are the most awesomely awesome stepdaughter a Mom could ever ask for. I hope I can be as good a stepmother to you and you have been a stepdaughter to me. In case you didn't know...I LOVE YOU.
I’M GETTIN’ HITCHED, Y’ALL!!!!!
It started with looking at rings and sets last weekend. Next thing you know, we’re talking about what type of wedding we want. Next thing you know, I’m standing next to him, “So, um how’s September fourth of next year sound?”
“For what?”
“For getting married. Tentatively, I swear.”
“Sure, works for me. Wanna hand me that wrench?”
I skipped back into the house and mass texted everyone to save the date. Because honestly, for me it translated into, (albeit probably incorrectly but whatever), “Go ahead and make that the date and start planning OUR. WEDDING. FINALLY.”
My BFF (and Matron of Honor) Jacqueline asked if he proposed…Well…Technically, no. But he’s agreed to a date and that’s good enough for me. Details, people, just details.
I’ve picked out bridesmaids and go to look at gowns on Saturday.
Since I'm all about getting married lately...As in I got hammered Wednesday night and proposed to Bryan. He said no. But I thought I'd post some pics from my HELLACIOUS first wedding. How hellacious you ask? Um, I was drunk during the ceremony. No joke.
Ever have one of those days where you wake up just itchin’ for a drink, but you’re so tired you’re afraid you’d drown in your rum and Coke? Really? Just me? Oh, well okay then.
I woke up late because I could not sleep last night. I suspect it’s because my Mother gave Bryan and I a new king sized bed, and I’m still getting used to it. The mattress is a heck of a lot firmer than our old one, and I’m not used to having so much room. I’m used to having Bryan smooshed right up against me, and now I can lie on the bed, like the Vitruvian man and still not touch him.
I also had a freaky dream about my delivery driver and the in house technician. The driver was King of Scotland, wearing a kilt and the uniform shirt, while the tech was a court jester…In a Spandex leotard. I need professional help.
I had all of five minutes to shower, get dressed, do my hair and makeup, and get to work on time. I ended up taking a 2 second shower, pulling my still dripping-wet hair into a ponytail, eschewing makeup, grabbed the first pair of clean pants & shirt I could find and literally ran out the damn door.
On the way to work, a guy next to me was honkin’ up a storm. I turned, and it’s one of the guys I used to work with years ago. He knew my name, asked how Bryan as doing while I….Couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. He wanted to chat; as I was driving down the road, resisting the urge to just speed up and speed off. When he (finally) turned off, I was stuck behind Father Time in a caravan. Behind me was some kid who looks like he just graduated from wearing Scooby Doo underwear in an Accord. I dropped a gear, switched lanes, and passed him. The Scooby Dooby Doo kid pulled up next to me and shouted, “OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOUR MERCEDES! MARRY ME!”
Um, dude. It’s a BMW. It says so on the back. Can you not read the alphabet? Did you see the BMW logo and confuse it with Mercedes-Benz? I mean, seriously, WTF?
I got to work, and nearly wept with joy at the sight of coffee in the coffee pot. I poured myself a big mug, and took a long swallow, only to find out it was yesterdays brew that was kept warm and no one has made a fresh pot yet. I nearly wept again, but not for joy.
Then I got into a fight with a rep who submitted six different contracts for ONE account, so they’d have different rates throughout the year. When I told the customer it doesn’t work like that, she called the rep who informed her, verbatim, “Heidi doesn’t know shit.” Excuuuuse me? Who’s been here longer, and who’s dealt with contracts exclusively for that time? Oh, that’s right: ME. Screw you, bud. Y’know what? Screw you twice.
Finally, lunch time rolled around. I had $5 to my name, and thank God Boons Wine was one sale for $3.99. Yes, I did drink my lunch. I also found out that the Bimmer I’ve been RAVING about, showing off, and generally acting better than you in? It came thisclose to overheating while I was driving back from Ye Olde Liquor Store. That’ll teach me to be humble, won’t it? It wasn’t even 1:00PM yet, and I painted a pretty pathetic picture: hiding out in the back parking lot, drinking cheap wine from the bottle, chain smoking, and wishing I could take a spork from the break room to slit my damn wrists.
After lunch, I found out that I owe some company from years ago close to $350. For a bill that my ex-husband created, but it was in my name. When we divorced, he told me he’d take care of it, but the douchebag clearly never did. So, it went to collections, who took it to court. They tried serving me papers, at a job I haven’t worked at in over 4 years. Finally, someone over there wised up, because I got a notice in the mail about it, and I now have to find $350 somewhere and pay these douchetards, or they’ll garnish my wages. Aaaand since my ex and I never had anything more than a verbal agreement and it’s in my name, guess who’s stuck with the bill no matter what?
I found out we have 2 Coronas, and a bit o’ whiskey and tequila at the house. I’m thinking about just mixing all three together when I get home.
To say that I am mad, furious, angry, upset, or livid right now would be such a gross understatement. I am so engraged right now that my hands are shaking to the point where it's hard to even type.
Angel sent me an e-Mail saying that she had a proposition for me, that I should call her. Curious, I sent her a text message asking what was up. What followed makes me so fucking furious I can barely speak coherently.
She asked me to convince Bryan to give up ALL of his parental rights to the kids. She tried to tell me that it would be better since we could concentrate on us, devote all our time to Pook, and it would save us money, how the kids more or less hate me, and how he's a horrible father anyway, and he listens to me, so why don't I just put a bug in his ear?
I have several issues with her request. Number one, you do NOT drag my child into this unless you want to suffer a horrible death. You want to drag our innocent child into this mess? Sweety pie, you're going to open Pandoras box. You fuck with my child you fuck with me and trust me, when my temper flares up, Satan himself hides from me. Don't try to tell me how to parent MY DAUGHTER, and don't try to tell me how Bryan should parent OUR DAUGHTER. Don't try to tell me what she does and does not deserve. If you mention my child again, I swear to everything I hold dear you'll be eating from a straw for the rest of your miserable existence.
Secondly, my relationship with Bryan is none of her damn business. Have we hit a rough patch? Sure we have. Like all couples. But we're working through it, and I sincerely believe we will come out stronger for it. Unless and until our relationship starts damaging the kids in some way butt out of it.
Seriously? You're seriously trying to play the money angle with this? Let me tell you something, Twat Face, it wouldn't matter if he paid $6,000 a month in child support and we were eating ramen noodles every night. He will never, never, EVER give up his kids. Would it save us money? I'm sure it would. But those kids are worth every single fucking penny he/we spend on them, and more. Unlike you, Twat Face, we don't put a price on the love we have for them.
The kids DO NOT hate me. Oh, they say I'm mean do they? To be honest, in the beginning, I was overly harsh with them. I was 21 years old, had never dealt with kids before, and I was dealing with two kids who were CONVINCED (thanks to you) that I was here to replace their Mother. Over time, with just plain ole trial and error, guidance from Bryan, and listening & observing the kids, I've gotten MUCH better. I've learned that Bubs is a very sensitive little boy, and that he needs to be parented accordingly. I've learned that T is high spirited, and needs to be handled WORLDS differently than her brother. I've made mistakes but I've admitted to them and learned from them.
Twat Face, you seem to think that Bryan is the worlds worst father. Namely, because he missed a few of T's softball games. But let's examine the facts, shall we? He asked you repeatedly for a game schedule so we could be there. You only told him that she had games on Saturday. When, in reality, she actually played two games a week. But again, something you failed to mention. We still don't have a softball schedule. Oh, he doesn't stay home with them when they're sick? Well, golly, Twat Face, it'd be nice if you'd tell us WHEN THEY'RE SICK. The phone calls at 1800 hours of "Bubs was sick today and I stayed home with him, by the way." is crap. How the hell do you expect him to stay home with them if you don't tell him? I know, I know it's a novel concept.
Speaking of model parenting, let's examine you for a moment. No, no, Twat Face, despite what you think, you're not without blame here. Remember a few years ago? I know most of it is a drunken blur, and that is what I'm pointing out. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with YOUR KIDS unless it was a holiday when you could dress them up and show them off and Oh, aren't you just the perfect little (well, not anymore you're not little) Super Single Mom?! All you did was drink and party. Now, to your credit, you don't do that as much anymore. But again for the first part of their lives all you did was drink and left Bryan to deal with and raise your kids. Great parenting. I mean, honestly, you should write a book. I know!! You could call it, "What To Do If You Want To Scar Your Kids For Life...By Twat Face" Has a nice ring to it, don't it?
Furthermore, you bitch, if you have an issue with Bryans parenting, you need to bring it up with him. Not me. Texting me and sending me e-Mails behind his back is beyond chickenshit. Trying to recruit me into your bullshit plan is beyond stupid. Did you honestly think I'd go along with this? Did you really think I'd not tell Bryan?! How stupid are you? You're either A) incredibly stupid, B) incredibly drunk, C) incredibly high, or D) all of the above.
Lastly, Twat Face, don't ever try to tell me you love your kids again. If you truly loved them, you would not take them away from the father they absolutely ADORE and love. There's a damn good reason every time they see him they run up to him as fast as they can and give him bear hugs. Because they LOVE him. He is NOT a bad parent. He's not the perfect parent, but then again neither am I, and you're the furthest from perfect I've ever seen. You're right up there with my mother, which is scary to say the least. If you loved your kids even one iota, you'd never even think to take those kids away from him. And frankly, taking away those kids would kill Bryan. Literally. He loves all three of his kids with everything he has, and so do I.
If it weren't for the fact that it's illegal, and it would crush the kids, I swear to God I'd have no problems bitch slapping your pockmarked face until you finally got it. If you were laying in the gutter on fire, I wouldn't piss on you to save your life. I'd probably take a nice, healthy dump in your mouth. I hate you that much. You've enraged me to a point I've never been at before. You screwed with my kid. You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Twat Face.
I...I just don't know. I don't know if I'm going to be with Bry much longer.
Without airing our dirty laundry to the entire web, there's two main reasons: getting married isn't that important and he doesn't want more kids.
Nothing wrong with that except...You guessed it. Getting married is important to me, and so is having at least 1-2 more kids.
I can understand where he's coming from, I do. His first marriage was brutal, he doesn't want that again. He's got three kids, four is too many. He's simply done.
I can't drag him kicking and screaming to the altar, proclaiming "You're going to sperminate me OR ELSE!"
We've had some pretty nasty fights over this. We love each other, but love doesn't conquer all. Not with issues like this.
I told him I have a LOT to think about, and that by no means was this conversation over. We haven't spoken about it since. But there's an underlying current of tension. I can practically see the questions running in his brain: Will she or wont' she?
To be honest, I don't know if I will or won't [stay].
My mother and I have always had a very rocky relationship to say the least. She pitted Heat and I against each other, telling both of us we were her favorite, knowing full well we'd argue about it. Whate she didn't count on was that Heat and I always knew that our brother, her son from a previous marriage was her favorite. John could do no wrong. None.
She also decided when we were about 10 that she was tired of being a wife and mother. While she stayed, it became obvious to us at a very young age she didn't care like she should.
At one point when I was a teenager, Mom told Dad she thought I would kill her by slitting her throat. I laughed, at the time. I wept inside, and later in private. I never let her see me cry.
When I told her that my ex had beaten me, she called me a liar. Said I was telling her that just so I could get attention. She still doesn't believe me because she didn't see any bruises. It never occured to her that I dressed to cover them. It never occured to her that I didn't tell her because I was so ashamed. I was raised better than that. But of course, I was just trying to get attention.
When her and my Father filed for divorce, she outdid herself. She was mad at everyone. If you said one positive thing about my Father, you were her enemy. She spread lies about him all over town. She got him fired from his job. She calls his girlfriend, the woman I consider to be my Stepmother 'the skank' despite me telling her not to. I've been her enemy several times for standing up for my Father and Stepmother, and because let's face it: I am my Father. A younger, prettier, more feminine version but still. I. Am. My. Father.
For years, I have put up with this. Weeping silently to myself. Or weeping to Bryan while he holds me and curses my mother. Or on the phone with my Father, who tries to talk me through it. I cannot tell you how many times Bryan has said "Heidi, I'm sorry...She doesn't love you." While I angrily tell him she does, but that she doesn't know how to show it.
Some of my darkest and happiest memories include my Mother. I remember when she had breast cancer when I was two or three, I think. I remember walking into the hospital and not understanding. If she was sick, why wasn't she eating chicken soup and getting better? I thought she didn't love me and I was angry and ran out of the room.
I also remember snuggling up next to her in her big King-sized bed. I remember her scent. I remember her tickling me and calling me silly names. I cherish those memories.
I will have to hang onto those memories now. They are all I will have left. You see, I don't think my Mother will ever contact me again. I am both crushed because I love her so much and I am strangely elated. I feel like a poison is slowly draining away from me.
She was upset that I didn't call her on Thanksgiving. I tried to explain that I was very rushed and couldn't and that I spent the weekend doped up on pain killers for my shoulder. That wasn't good enough for her. This is what she replied with:
No, YOU come on! All it would have taken is a quick call, email or whatever to remember...but then to have to be ASKED? You make SURE you spend time with Dad and the skank...I get leftovers. And don't try to BS me...I've already heard about Cindy and the G'ma thing. BTW...my attorney says Dad has pictures of inside the house. He surely didn't take them before he left....want to shed some light on it?
At that point, I had had it. She wants to drag my daughter into this, the gloves come off. You don't fuck with my kid. So I told her,
No, Mother. I will not come on. I am sorry that I didn’t call you. What the heck do you want to do, beat this into the ground?
For the last time….Out of simple respect for the simple fact that I am your daughter DO NOT call Cindy the skank! I am so effing tired of it! I love her, okay? Will she ever replace you? NO! But good Lord Mother, quit calling her that! If you want to call her that to your friends, have at it. Don’t do it to me.
Yes, Pook will call her Grandma. As for your leftovers…Why don’t you give me your address and I will spend the weekend with you? But you don’t feel ‘safe’ giving me your address. You think I’ll give it to Dad. Here’s some news for you: Dad doesn’t care enough to stalk you, though you seem to think he does. He has moved on, something I don’t think you truly have. You’re too bitter.
And if I want MY DAUGHTER to call the lady that bags my groceries Grandma, I can do that! That’s the beauty of being a parent! But here’s something Bryan and I have been tossing around….Do we want our daughter around someone who will continue to bad mouth her Grandpa and Grandma? No, we don’t. So if you can’t control your acid tongue around her then you can cherish what pictures you have of her because you will not see her if you continue to do this. Did you know that all the e-Mails that Dad or Cindy is even remotely mentioned you respond with an e-Mail so dripping with venom and hatred it’s unreal? Did you know that it takes Bryan hours to calm me down from them? You can hate Bryan all you want, Mom, and God knows he’s screwed up. But this isn’t a problem between Bryan or I- this is all you. You can’t take the effing high road and be mature about the whole thing. You have to take every opportunity you can to slam everyone. I’m tired of it.
I know, I know, Dad ran you into debt and he hasn’t paid…In case I haven’t made this clear to you before…I DO NOT CARE ABOUT IT ANYMORE! I don’t care who is screwing over who or who hasn’t paid what anymore. FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET MERCIFUL JESUS live up to your promise and keep me out of it. Dad doesn’t talk about the divorce anymore because he knows how much it upsets me and then it upsets Bryan. You’re the only one who brings it up to me. Before I have to drag my white dimpled arse into therapy, I am begging you to stop.
As for Dad taking the pictures…What exactly are you accusing me of? Do you think I care enough about your divorce for that? If you think he broke into the house you never knew him. Here’s some light: I don’t believe you. I think you’re either A) making this up or B) he has old pictures. So what? You don’t live there anymore, what does it bother you?!
I love you, Mom. God knows I do. But sometimes love is telling someone when they’re hurting you. And you’re hurting me. Big time. And yes, I am very, very gratefull for all the things you have done for Pook and I. You’ve saved my butt with the things you’ve bought her. But possessions don’t negate the hurt you’ve caused me. You have my love, Mother. You’ve had it, unconditionally since the day I was born! I just want you to stop slamming the people I love and accept my apology!
I am tired of the venom that spews from her mouth. I am tired of my daughter and I viewed as pawns.
So, Mother...Good bye to you. You have broken my heart, trashed my self-esteem, trashed my life and my desicions for the last time. I love you. God knows that against all common sense I love you. But I cannot continue this slow death.
One las thing: what kind of Mother uses their child and Grandchild like a pawn? What kind of sick person did God curse me with for a mother?
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