Be careful what you wish for.

I never thought I would complain about having "too much" but here I am, feeling lost, hopeless, and depressed.

People look at my life and think, "Wow, you are so lucky!, what a dream you live"

Well this "dream" has turned me into a person I don't really like anymore. 

Death: With any farm, there will be death. The fox got our chickens on Christmas Eve two years ago. Hearing the screams and running outside on a misty 3 am morning to discover your friends have been playfully murdered just hours before putting on a happy face for your kids and family... was just a start. 

Horse death is even more emotional. As I hooked up the trailer one morning to transport a horse back to his mom he ran full blast into the fence. His hooves sliding through the grass he couldn't stop in time and fractured his breast bone. That morning was spent with a vet that could only help by putting this horse down. Just another reality blow of how fragile these large horses are. 

Even seemingly fine horses. The biggest blow was having to put down one of my competition horses for a broken spine and neurological issues. This horse.... would forever change my spirit, and make me into a broken person. I have never gotten over that one....but it was the only humane thing to do. A baby horse to be forever in pain, was not the life he needed. Playing God, is just one struggle of this business. What is morally right? In this business, you have the people that are in it for money, and then you have the saints who want to save every horse... no matter what kind of pain they are in. I don't know who I am anymore when it comes to this. 

Then you have other farm animals that are family members, full of life, are like one of your kids. 

As we celebrated my daughters birthday our dog chased our cat across the road, only to be run over by a car. The cat was still alive. Her jaw broken, her spine broken. I held her as the amount of pain seeped out of her blood filled mouth. I handed her to my husband and said...."End this pain now!"

After years of seeing animals suffer.... I was now God and could easily end a life that was too painful for an animal to cope with. 

Then you have accidents. Horrible accidents.... our beloved dog jumped into our car thinking he was going for a car ride when one of the children went to get a toy. It was a hot day... too hot. And it took me too long to find my best friend- never guessing he was in the car. That moment I found him.... broke me again. It was the straw that snapped the camels back. I haven't been right since. The depression has never gone away. The feeling on the farm has never been the same, and the coldness in my heart will never go away. 

Yet, with all of these horrible things.... I still have to wake up, and walk to the barn and feed and care for the horses. I'm not allowed to stay in bed. I'm not allowed to give up. I have to continue on even when I feel like calling this hell "Death Farm". 

Meanwhile, the farm life has a way of forgiving you, and your mistakes. 

The dead animals are replaced by ones that get your mind away from the tragedy. The manual labor forces you to move on, and push through the thoughts of despair and sadness. 

The small things of a horse knicker, a head bump, or just the sounds of a barn full of healthy horses eating their grain and hay. The relaxed look on their faces as you brush the dirt from their coat and see a shine to their fur. The smiles on boarders faces when they come to enjoy their horse. 

I sometimes watch the boarders and lesson kids and get a faint memory of how I used to be before I lost my passion for riding. I still groom and love the horses, but I will never be that happy person that rolls up to a barn to ride with friends. I learned to stay away from the barn when happy people come. I think they can sense my sadness.... and their eyes change as my bad energy walks into the barn. My disdain for their happiness. My mind torn to a world I used to enjoy. That life is over for me now. 

They often give an innocent smile and say "come ride with us?"

My thoughts turn evil, and I politely say "Maybe another day".

If only they knew that riding for me is torture. My once perfect seat has wasted away, which would take months to gain back from everyday constant riding. Energy that I don't have. My hands shake from a reason I can't even put into words. My body tries to do what it used to do, but all I feel is tension and pain coming from my lower back and shoulders. Its just not FUN! 

Then the anxiety, to run a business like this, you really need to be people oriented. I am not a people person, which came a little too late to realize after opening the doors. Some people are great, and some people are out to destroy you. I never had enemies. I never disliked anyone. Slowly, the more I get entangled into this horse world, the more people prove to be vile, horrible people. This is an emotionally run sport. You have the know-it alls, the fake trainers, the empaths, the owners, the kids, the moms, the families. It's all a huge melting pot of personalities. In order to survive you need to be neutral to everyone and stay professional. I have made a ton of mistakes along the way. 

Trusting an old friend that you were trying to help have a horse while being on welfare...only to find out they slander your name and business...that was a fun lesson. Friends that aren't friends at all, in fact, they are just after your money, and your generosity. Once you take that away, they are off to ruin another reputation. I try my best to deal with all sorts of people, but I have learned to stop giving things away for free, for if you do, they take take take.... and then get angry when you have nothing more to give. This is a business, and becoming "friends" with an employee or any horse person that you work with is just a serious mistake. Keep it professional and keep your mouth shut. Sadly, I am not good at this no matter how much my husband tells me to "just stop talking to them!". It's gotten so bad, of people trying to cross into my personal life that I now turn my phone off after 5pm to any text message from horse people. They are listed under "work" and are not my "friends". I have lost trust in people, and have a voice in the back of my head of "when will they turn on you?"

This business has destroyed my enthusiasm. My love for riding. Some people have it, and some people don't. 

I am one of those people that just doesn't have what it takes to do it all. Ride, Teach and Run and work this farm. 

So, I hired a barn manager to deal with the people while I sit inside of my house feeling depressed and angry. I try to spend more time with my family. However, the peace of my home is unsettled seeing as there is almost always someone at the barn. Say goodbye to privacy or family time, vacations, or solitude. This farm has stolen that too. 

What I would give to live in a small simple house, and dash out the door again at 6 pm to ride my one horse while I watch other barn owners deal with the stress and anxiety of running this hell hole of a business. 

Some days are better then others...

I'm really lucky. 

I have the perfect life. 

The old me. 

So it seems. 

Big Brother

Enough is Enough.

My almost 6 year old boy is in Kindergarten. This will be my first time dealing with the government run public educational system. I have two more children that will eventually go through "the system".

It has only been two months and I am already exhausted from having to conform to new ways of parenting my child.

Here are the problems I have already run into:

1. One to Three emails a day from the school stating rules, regulations, and ways to parent my kid better.

2. The teachers! More emails from the teachers on top of from the Principle of the school telling us how to be parents.

3. Rules, on top of Rules! A.) No kids shall bring in sugary treats for their birthdays. Instead they are to bring a gift wrapped book for the teacher to read to them. B.) For the Halloween Parade, children are not allowed to dress up as clowns or have toy weapons.

4. Kindergarten children must sit down and read books with their parent every night and then the parent must sign a form showing which book has been read. A packet of homework also must be done with the parent and signed by each Friday. 

5. Kindergarten children must be able to unlock themselves from their car seat and open the passenger door of the car at drop off. Due to the Union Labor laws the adult standing next to the car is not allowed to assist the children out of the enormous SUV's and Mini vans with a two foot drop. 

6. When bringing in a snack for the class, the snack can not contain any nut products. 

7. Parents must be waiting at the bus stop when their Kindergartener gets off the bus, or else the bus will take your child back to school where you will be called to come pick the child up.

These aren't really a big deal I suppose. To me they are....

Let's rewind back to when I was a child to a typical day in Kindergarten. I still remember it.

I went to the end of my driveway, waited with other kids for the bus to come, got on it and went to school. I did show and tell... with any weapon that I wanted or I could dress up as a clown if that is what I wanted to do. I ate nuts, fruits covered in pesticides, and non GMO food, because it didn't exist yet. I had a cup of fruit punch that was riddled with sugar. I looked forward to kids that had birthdays because this meant a special treat of rice crispy treats, or cupcakes. My favorite! We then went outside and played on very high dangerous monkey barns, and steal and wooden structures where when you were done, you were covered in sweat, snot, and dirt. Blood was an added bonus of bravery and valor. I drew with markers that made you feel high as a kite, and I made giant rubber snot balls by dipping my hands in poisoning rubber cement. That smell also made me feel great. I then waited for the bus with my friends.  I came home, watched some cartoons that were mostly violent and then waited for my neighbors to gather around to play a nice game of street hockey in the road. Cars would stop as we would scream, "Game on! Game off! Car!!!" I played outside till it got dark and then I came in and ate dinner with my family. My mom and dad would drink heavily, and my mom smoked cigarettes while cleaning the dishes. My life was awesome!

Now fast forward.

My kids aren't allowed to do anything in public, nor can I let them play with other kids because those parents look at me like I'm a monster. My kids, are dirty, strong, and smart. The other kids have speech impediments, carry an inhaler, and are on mental drugs along with a supplement of some sort. The parents are worse. They watch their kids every movement and say things like, "Johnny no! thats dirt don't touch" and then run over with a special soap and clean their hands. The other kids also look miserable, they rarely smile, have a vacant look in their eye, don't make eye contact, and when you speak to them they look down and run away.

THE OTHER PARENTS:
The other parents, don't drink, or smoke. They have a bubbly personality and when you ask them about their life, it is perfect. They always have the right things to say, as if they rehearsed it several times to their therapist. They are also on some sort of anti- pill for their anxiety or depression.

They also wear makeup, have perfect hair, and their clothes always smell of fresh laundry.

ME:
People ask me how I'm doing. I never say "fine" I jump at the chance to tell them how awful or great my day is. I do it sarcastically, and usually throw in a few jokes... and sometimes I am completely serious and like to get a bad day off my chest. I have been told by several assholes that I should go see their therapist, and I need a break. I don't get offended by this, because I am not a giant pussy. I just give them the finger in my mind and go about getting the day over with... so I can avoid ever telling that person about my life again. My closest friends laugh, and enjoy hearing about how crazy life gets- and they will often share a similar story, or offer to take some of the load off. These people are great. They get it, and I love them.

We live in a generation of people trying to be perfect- covering up their problems and hiding their true lives behind facebook curtains. They are afraid of being judged, or making a mistake, especially when it comes to parenting.

Parents make mistakes, and their should not be any rules to how you raise your kid... but there are.
This is the problem.

If parents took down the baby gates, and stopped wiping dirt off their kids hands, they would notice that their kid didnt die.
We live in fear. We live in a world of judgmental ass-hats.

My best advice....
Just be yourself.
Live damnit!
Make mistakes.
Your kids will thank you for it, and in return you will have a kid that smiles without having to say. "smile!"

Welcome to the Cult of Parenting

I recently had the honor of babysitting my neighbors four month old baby Boy. She is a first time mom and I offered to look after him while she rode her horse. We are also friends on facebook and I like to read her new momma drama rants about all the new firsts for her baby. I always comment on her stuff if she is having a problem, thinking I know it all. She has trouble getting him to stick to a schedule and especially has a hard time getting the kid to sleep.

After spending two hours babysitting I understood what the problem was. It was me, and everyone else trying to help this first time mom out.

For the first time I realized, I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't speak this babies language. He spoke Meghan. My kids speak Liz. I had no idea what his body language meant. I had no idea what he was fussing about. I had no idea what his likes or dislikes were. I tried to comfort him the way I comfort my kids, and it didn't work.

 I didn't want him to cry, but I could tell he was about to. I picked him up, and he started to cry. I put him down and he stopped. Complete opposite to my children. I put him on his belly, and he immediately threw his arms behind him and his legs came off the ground almost arching his back in a U shape. I have never seen a baby do that. When I put him on his back, his arms would shake and he would go stiff as a board... and would just stare at me. I didn't know if he had gas or what. I tried to feed him his bottle and he just took a mouth full and spit it all out. Not hungry.... I got that memo. There was nothing wrong with her baby, it was just that I had never seen my own children doing any of these sort of things. I thought most babies were the same. Wrong. The only person that would know was his mom. She came in and said "he does that when he's excited" See... she knew. Another thing I noticed was that the minute her baby looked at her, he gave her the biggest smile. I didn't get a smile like that. He recognized his mother, and knew immediately that everything was going to be OK.

I had problems with my first two kids as babies. Every time a stranger would hold them, they would scream. I would wait for them to try to soothe my kids... knowing exactly what the problem was. Eventually, the stranger would give up and say, "you better take this back" and the minute my babies were back in my arms, they would stop crying. I hadn't done anything different. I was just their mom.

So now, I'm careful to suggest things to other people about things that worked for my kids. The worst part was listening to Meghan talk about feeling like a failure, or wondering if there was something wrong with her baby, and not knowing what to do. All I could offer was the best advise I know. "You are the mom you know best!" 

Moms should know the sound of their babies cry, and instantly know whether it is Pain, Hunger, Frustration, or just Tired. Mom's should know when their baby is suddenly acting different. Mom's know the sounds, and movements of their babies and kids. The best thing about being a mom is you have the manual to your baby. No one else does. The hard part is learning that code... once you start to understand what your baby wants, it's like a dance. My 9 month old makes a certain sound when she is hungry. I don't feed her till she makes that sound. Sometimes sticking to a schedule of what you are supposed to do, isn't ideal for every child. I like to stick to a schedule, but I'm also ready for my baby to change it up on me all of a sudden.

So for all those first time mom's.... stop listening to what other people say. Don't read articles about what is normal on the internet. Don't freak out just because your baby isn't hitting all the same milestones as everyone else's kid. Every child is different. The pity of it all is that we are forced to take our children to check-ups every month and are judged by statistical data, and doctors. As long as your baby is healthy and happy I wouldn't worry too much about what the rest of the world is doing.

Development is just that: It's growth. Who cares how fast that happens. It will happen. And one day you will look back and think it happened too fast. So enjoy it.

The Cottage

When we moved to Manor Hill Farm there was a shed that must have been an old milk house of some sort. I immediately wanted to turn it into an apartment. Low and behold it was one at some point. Plumbing was under the floor, there was a vent fan... I wanted this man cave made into a cottage. The vision was there, but the money and time to do it was not. After lots of begging and design work I set the hubster on his mission.

We found broken water pipes- termites, rotten boards, electrical issues.... it was a never ending battle of problems. I wasn't sure if we could turn this 16'x20' box into a pretty cottage.

With much hard work from the hubster, his grand father, and a few plumbers and an electrician- the job finally got done and we were able to welcome a live in barn manager into her new home.

 I'm so very proud of the hubster who would come home from work, eat a quick dinner and spend every night working on this. Another special thank you to his grandfather who was there to give expert help, and make sure things were done right! It's been a long road... and I'm so happy with the results!

Not bad for two months of work.

A storage room of Boxes let the challenge begin

Add caption

First things first. Fix the Roof

Paint the roof

Plumbing problems? Broken water pipes from not being buried deep enough....

Begin the digging up of water pipes

Adding new water pipe lines

Laying new plumbing and building a wall to divide the bathroom and kitchen.

Drywall and plaster

lets see if this stuff will fit. Nope. Need to buy a different shower. 

New wall.

Fixing termite damage, and laying in pipes. 

The first water line going in.

Siding...

New wood floors

Kitchen Cabinets!

Move the door, add a door

Soon to add in the bathroom stuff

Doors work.

Siding is getting there. 

Paint, and countertops!

BATHROOM! 

Cleaning up the mess.

Paint the rest of the roof, and siding is done!

Moving in....

Deck and Done! 

Sweet little cottage. 

Bumble the chicken.

I currently have three hens. Two Americana and one Buff Orpington. The Americana chickens lay a light colored blue egg and the Buff lays a brown egg. I noticed the other day that one of the Americana hens had escaped. No surprise seeing as my three year old likes to collect the eggs and does not always shut the door to the nest. So she jumped from two feet out of her hen house. My three year old went to pick her up too rough- he sometimes misses the hold and ends up grabbing them by the wings, where I quickly step in and help him with his hold. He put her back but then I noticed she was limping and her tail was down. A sure sign of pain from something.

That was two days ago. I have been checking up on her and slowly her tail feathers have lifted, showing me that it isn't so bad anymore, but she is still limping.

I ran a nice warm bath for her and placed her in the sink. I cleaned off her feet. She sat there like a queen not minding the warm bath. I put the towel on the counter and she jumped up and snuggled into the towel. I dried off her dinosaur like blue legs and took her outside for some quiet time away from my screaming kids, and nutty chocolate lab Henry who couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a chicken in our kitchen sink.

I went and sat with her with the towel, and gently turned her over onto her back. She didn't fight me as I really looked close to see if she maybe had a "bumble foot"- An open wound that sports an infection and can cause a great deal of pain on the bottom of their weird looking four pronged foot. The bottom of her feet looked to be in excellent condition.

So I started to massage very lightly up her leg that was lame... and worked my way up to her pelvis, all the while looking deep into her wise eyes for any sign of pain. As I reached the painful spot I could tell I found where she was hurting. She closed her eyes and her head relaxed against my thigh.... her head rolled to the side almost as if she was dead. I felt around the bone and the muscle and I could feel that she had pulled her upper thigh-butt muscle. I massaged it very lightly all the while watching her go into a deep sleep. If I had taken a picture of her you would have thought I had a dead chicken in my lap.

I worked my way back up to her foot. The minute I left the painful spot she opened her eyes begging me to go back to that spot. So I did, and once again her head dropped and her head rolled to the side and her beak slowly opened as if to say... "oh yeah thats the spot"

I slowly turned her around on her feet and she once again sat right down into my arms and snuggled into the warm dry towel. I took the moment to talk to her and pet her head... once again she rolled off into a sleep. Eyes closed as I stroked her head and body. All the while making a soft "brr brr brr" sound.

When I was done with cuddle time I put her back in the coop. She still had a  limp, but her tail rose up as she took a few gulps of water. I opened the door and she came running over and jumped into my lap again...as if to say, ready for round two.

I get why people love birds. They are wise creatures that have oodles of personality. The problem that I find is that I live on a horse farm. I have three horses soon to be five, a dog, three cats, three kids and a husband. I wish I had that sort of time for each and everyone of my animals and kids everyday. I named my limping chicken "Bumble" the other two don't really have names yet sadly. But now I feel like I know this one on a personal level.

I just hope Bumble heals up quickly. I hate seeing her limp around- but I know she will be fine. She's a tough old girl.

Live like it's your last day

I am full of philosophy's that got me here today and this is why I am maybe the happiest I can be- given the circumstances. (three kids that run me stupid)

To start I suppose I should tell a story about a friend I grew up with in high school. I'm going to change his name because I know he reads this thing and loves his privacy.

His name is Alan. There. Thats a fine name.

So Alan and I have known each other since freshman year of high school. Eighteen or so years. Ouch that is a long time ago. I'm getting old.

 Anyway, we became friends because I used to poke him in the back of the head with my pencil and give him a hard time about getting better grades on his test then me. He would try to hang out with me to play pool, or go out for dinner... I liked to hang out with him because he would have this laugh... that would choke him up, and he would start to shake... and it was fun to watch. I like people that laugh at my jokes.

So sure he was a nerd, and was weird, but we had a great time. We both went to college, and we still stayed friends. It seems that every six months or so we still manage to hang out as a ritual. He still has the same laugh.
This last time I hung out with him I noticed something. I noticed that I was doing all the talking. I finally got around to asking him "so what have you done in the last year?"
Keep in mind he is single, no girlfriend, in his mid 30's, has a decent job, his own apartment, isn't ugly, and is a really nice smart guy.
"working" is all he could really say.
For the last four years or so Alan has been working, living by himself, and doing the same thing every single day. He's plays music so he has a hobby... but no vacations or nothing really amazing happened to him.

This guy is living the life I wish I still had. He has no kids, no pets... and can get up and go anywhere. He could live anywhere. He can do anything... and yet. He has a job he hates, and does the same boring thing every single day.... and has lived in a 30 mile radius from the house he grew up in his entire life so far.

I freaked out on him.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ALAN?!! YOU ARE FREE TO DO ANYTHING! GO LIVE A LIFE! WORK IS NOT A LIFE!!!!

Meanwhile, I had three hours of stuff to tell him that I have been busy with in the last 6 months.... and I don't really have a job. I'm a stay at home mom that runs a horse farm. There is always something happening.
I can't do 95% of the things Alan can do now because I have three kids and way too many animals. That there- is an excuse not to do something. Being single without children or pets gives you free reign to do whatever you want.

My point is, don't make your job your life. There are things out there waiting to be discovered. If I were Alan I would be living in Montana, or Switzerland, or Australia, and would have a job being a scuba diver instructor at the sandals resort or something like that. You don't need a lot of money to get to these places. It's more so you have to have balls and self esteem and courage to do it.

My philosophy has always been. "TAKE A VACATION!" no matter what. At least twice a year. I did- and I was poor for a really long time. I would go on vacation with barely enough money to drive the eight hours to go and sit in a cabin with no running water or electricity and would eat peanut butter sandwiches and hotdogs. AND IT WAS AWESOME! It doesn't matter what it is or where you go, just make it an adventure. We all have friends somewhere that have a place somewhere cool where you can stay for free. Just do it!

The happiest people I know are independent, have lots of hobbies and interests, and live a care free life, but work hard.

Poor Alan... he just works hard... to do nothing.
He could drop dead tomorrow. Did he have a happy life? A fulfilling life? Nope. He hates his life, his job...his boss- and you know what? I don't feel sorry for him because he is an idiot. I told him that to his face.
He laughed.

Pet Peeves- the list gets worse every year.

We all have those little things that drive us nuts. I have a long list... and I would like to think I am an easy going person, and easy to live with....

How many of these things bother you? Am I just a weirdo nut case? Is it so much to ask that people to notice these things too?

Lets start the list shall we?
Here it goes.

Bathroom:
1. When I sit on the toilet my eyes hurt when I see dust bunnies in the corners. You know... those little wads of hair, dust and dirt that has managed to wedge itself along the corner of a baseboard?

2. Toilet rings! There is a thing called a toilet brush. When a ring starts to form just take that brush and give it a good ring around... we have a huge problem with this since no one I live with likes to flush "yellow water" the grey bio film... It drives me mental. Toilet brush... is my favorite friend these days.

3. Dried toothpaste on the handle of a toothbrush. My mom was the worst with this. Even as a child I would always know which brush was her because the handle would be covered in a dried chalky toothpaste. I don't know why this really bothered me.

4. Toothpaste gobs on the countertops. I find myself scrubbing globs of toothpaste off of the sink basin and countertops. I'm going to blame the hubster and boys for this one. It pains me to take a sponge and smear it around till it comes off.... it makes me gag. Call me a freak.

5. Hair in the drain of the bath tub. Ok people... it's my hair. I'm shedding like a dog right now... and I keep clogging up the drain with large amounts of hair... but I still cringe when I have to pick up that soft wet mass of nastiness out of the drain. I curse myself... on the verge of shaving my own head so I don't have to deal with this gross act of femininity.

6. Wet floors. I'm big on stepping out of the shower onto a floor mat. The hubster however takes his big hobit feet and marches his little wet flippers all over the hard floor... and I'm a sock wearing person. So my socks are always wet. Worst feeling ever. Cold wet soggy feet. The worst.

7. Toilet paper facing the wrong way or toilet paper rolls with no toilet paper conveniently sitting on the toilet paper holder. People of the world. The toilet paper should be facing on top and go down. and...it's really not that hard to change the holder.

Floors:
I was raised with the constant sound of a vacuum cleaner going. I used to sit in bed at 9 am and curse my mother for vacuuming. The sound still makes me angry, but alas her hard work paid off because now I am super sensitive to dirt on the floor. I notice dirty floors. Thanks mom for that!

My mom also made me super sensitive to dirty stairs. She would clean the stairs every other day. I thought she was nuts... Now I notice all the dust bunnies on them, and do the same things. Thanks again mom... for another anal retentive trait.

I really don't like to mop the floors. I feel like I'm just swooshing around wet dirt, and bacteria. Call me crazy... but when I do mop I do it till that water isn't brown anymore... which takes me a good hour and the floors are so wet you can't walk on them for hours.

Windows:
Tiny hand prints on the windows.... or tv. I have learned to just ignore it, but when my mom comes over, she has a field day windexing the life back into them.... only to find them completely clouded with more pudgy hand prints again ten minutes later. That's a lost cause. But I do notice it, but have forced my eyeballs to see through it.

Sinks:
Once again my mom is weird about scrubbing the sink. She doesn't like to see water marks or dirty sinks. We have a white farm sink. Mom lives in England. I still scrub the crap out of our sink thinking she will be over any second to tell me how dirty my sink is. I wasn't born with the dirty sink syndrome, that was trained into me. Don't get me started on dusty wood shelves.

Food:
Loud chewing sounds or gulping sounds. Just shoot me in the face. I just can't handle it. I will call you out about it, and come close to slapping you if you make disgusting noises near me while chewing your cud. This is why I rarely sit in a quiet room while eating with someone else. I just can't be a nice companion.

Leftovers gross me out. I find them to be smelly, and I can't bring myself to reheat them. You might as well put a bag of horse poo in my fridge. I aint going near that.

Condiments sitting next to the milk. Condiments not located on the door, Food and drinks on the same shelf? No organization... things aren't in their place? No. No. No. You have messed with the wrong person.

Peanut butter in the fridge? NO! Bread in the fridge. NO!!! I can't stand for such absurd things. Way to make my peanut butter spreading days impossible.

The crisper drawer.... ugh. You might as well call it the "lets hide a bunch of parishables and never see them again until they turn to liquid nastiness" The hubster loves to buy bags of carrots and spinach. I never see them until the smell hits me, and I have liquid veggie yogurt sitting in  the hidden drawer of nastiness.

Opening new stuff while the old stuff slowly makes it's way to the back of the fridge. The hubster is great at putting new milk right in front of old milk... no no no. The old stuff goes in front of the new stuff people. Get on board with this. Nothing worse then having a milk competition of lets see which one doesn't get used because we don't know how old it is. I don't do sniff testing. If it needs to be sniffed just throw it out.

Trash:

So much trash... everywhere. My trash can is constantly over flowing. It usually does this when the bag falls down and more trash get pushed on top. I'm not touching it. I don't do the trash. Yet, when I do- I take the bag handle and wrap it through a loop at the top so the bag doesnt collapse. Such a simple fix unless I wasn't the one to put the bag in there.... and then you have overflowing trash. With the game of "who will deal with this? not me"

Trash under the bag. Whoops I threw some trash into the can with no bag. I'll just ignore it and put a bag over it. NO NO NO! Pick that stuff out lazy people.

Oh I'm exhausted. I can go on for days.
But wait there's more.

DISHES!!!!
in the sink, food stuck to them, not washed.
the smell....the eye sores.... I can't deal with it.
I need a clean empty sink. Once dishes start to pile up I start to rage in my little head. I get angry, and start banging the dishes together cursing the idiot that did this to me.
Food stuck to pots, pans, forks.... there is a reason why I'm rail thin. Once I see this, I go on a eating strike. I curse food for existing, and vow never to eat again. Till I get hungry and have to clean up... again. It's a never ending cycle of mysery for me. I really just don't like dealing with dishes.

Laundry:
I don't like clothes either. I don't like clothes on the floor, I don't like folding clothes, I don't like washing clothes. If it were up to me I would like to just throw dirty clothes in the trash can instead of dealing with them. This is why I have uniforms.... I wear the same outfit everyday until it is crusty, or falling off my body. I don't care. I hate doing laundry. The hubster is terrible with his laundry, he hides it and makes these piles around his closet that look like little beaver dens. His solution is to kick it into his closet and they magically go away. He has no clothes to wear. I refuse to deal with that. Call me a bad wife. I don't care. We have 5 laundry baskets in every room. If the clothes don't make it in there, they ain't getting washed.

Socks:
I have a rogue sock basket. One a month I go through the rogue basket and match the socks. All of a sudden we have tons of matching socks. I try to mentally make a game of it. "Oh good" today I'm going to test my brain to see how many different navy blues, blacks, and dark browns I can separate in the fastest amount of time. Ready go.

And yet with all these pet peeves... my house is still a mess. I have become numb to it all... I can only do so much. I feel like Bob with a jar around my neck with a goldfish. Babysteps to not freaking out.... the world will not end. Everything bothers me. My little head is always freaking out over such small stupid things. And then I hear my mothers voice. "It doesn't matter, just let it go"

Let it go where? It never stops.
Things could be worse. I could have no arms... and I wouldn't be able to deal with half of this stuff on a daily basis. NO ARMS! Better yet. No eyes... to see it all avalanching towards me.
My little bubble...is neurotic.