The deMented Mom

I never said I was the perfect wife. But who knew I wasn't meant to be a wife or mother at all. Here I am, six months post-separation from husband #2 and I'm trying really hard to maintain my faith in the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I will finally be happy. Or maybe, I'm meant for other things. Perhaps I've been fighting my way down the wrong path. I think it's time to forget my fear, forget what others think, forget the 'shoulds'...it's time to pick up that machete and forge my own way...one day at a time.

Sometimes I wonder how the hell I got here. How did I end up with four kids and four dogs and husband 2.0? You'd think that at 45 I'd finally have my shit together but I'm still as flaky and undecided today as I was when I was 25 and contemplating marriage for the first but not last time. I'm seeing a therapist. I resisted this final nail in my proverbial mental health coffin until I just couldn't deny that if I didn't offload this crap to someone, I might just explode. It's not helping.   Duck for cover.    

So, I have ADD. Apparently it's true because my doctor told me so. I'm still cogitating on this wee bit of news. I'll get back to you soon, when I figure it all out. In the meantime, I've changed the name of my blog to indicate that perhaps I needed to go in a different direction after all... Hold the phone...I'll be right back...

When I was a little girl I swore I would never be like my mother.  Without inadvertently throwing myself the proverbial pity party- suffice it to say she was a bat-shit crazy bitch. Over the four plus decades of my life I've done my best to hang on to my sanity lest I succumb to the suckfest that seems to be my maternal genetic gift.  Apart from the fiasco that was my first marriage, I think I've managed to dodge that bullet--until now. My daughter is 15. She, along with her 17 year old special needs brother, is the only meaningful and positive thing to come out of said marriage. Really, I suppose just acknowledging that I am trying to raise a perpetually PMS'ing girl and a rigid, socially awkward boy may give me the reassurance I need that if my cheese is only now attempting to slide off my cracker-I haven't done a half bad job of keeping it together.  I'm struggling right now. Both mentally and physically. I'm not really sure what my main problem is but...

So I've been absent for awhile. A good six months plus to be exact. Yep, pulled the blog from public consumption while I attended to life. We have to do these things sometimes. Life's like that. I've been busy on my blogging sabbatical. As I've mentioned in posts previously, I am a runner/jogger. Something I took up somewhat reluctantly in my quest to get a handle on my middle-aged spread. Turns out that I liked pounding the pavement to such an extent that I am currently in my taper week prior to running the BMO Vancouver Marathon on May 1st. That's 42.2K of staying upright and moving for the better part of 5+ hours (or 26.1 miles for those of you south of the border). I'm both sad and excited about taking part in this race. Sad that all those great weeks of training with a hilarious bunch of ladies is coming to an end but so excited to get the bling when I cross that finish line...whether it's on my own two feet or because a kind soul drags my prostrat...

"I'm not one to judge"..."She shouldn't judge other people"..."You have no right to judge me". I hear these phrases all the time and I have to admit to being guilty of uttering variations of them myself. Yet as I've unwillingly entered my 40's , I find myself doing exactly that ...judging the choices people make. Now before I am inundated with nasty comments about 'intolerance' and 'hypocrisy' let me make myself abundantly clear, I do not for one minute believe that it is OK to judge another person based on race, religion, sexual preference, level of education, or physical attributes (I'm sure I've missed some other important things but you get my drift), on the flip side however, I don't believe that we should be so non-judgmental that we blindly accept anyone or anything. The ability and duty to judge the actions of others is what defines us as a civilized society. It is the very act of imposing our judgm...

If taking a moment to poke around, you may notice that there are some blank pages...please bear with me. I have been moving stuff around and importing old blog posts into this new blog format. Hopefully I will be back to sharing my awesomeness soon ;-)

Though I've been 'missing' from the blogosphere of late, I have been lurking in among the myriad blogs out there, sussing out the good and the bad, the funny and the sad, trying to figure out where I fit in amongst the crowd. There are fantastic blogs out there; ones I return to again and again. Those whose posts I am so loathe to miss that I have them delivered to my inbox as soon as they are posted. I have learned some invaluable lessons about blogging during my hiatus. Lessons I intend to implement to take this damn blog in hand. Here are a few of those 'pearls of wisdom' that I have absorbed in my blogosphere travels: 1. Don't feel pressured to post every single day. I would much rather read two or three phenomenal and relevant posts in a week rather than seven mediocre and irrelevant ones. 2. Keep it pithy. Like I said, there are so many blogs out there to consume. If it's too wordy, I tend to skip that read for the day..just saying.. 3. B...

Me: Do you think they have 'family' rooms on the psychiatric unit? DH: Who in the hell would want to room with their family? When I lose my shit I'm going into seclusion

I really didn't want to do it, I didn't want to wade into this silly photoshop /body double war. As most of you already know, Ms. Moore was photographed for the December cover of W magazine. Since the public release of said photo, every Joe Blow Blogger has been spewing their opinion as to the validity/authenticity of this photo. OBVIOUSLY the freaking pic is photoshopped ...ALL magazine cover shots are photoshopped . The voracious appetite we celebrity haters worshippers have for reams of impossibly beautiful photos of our idols practically demands it. A lot of the blogs are claiming that Demi's head was superimposed on this picture of model Ana Rubjik as she glided down the catwalk in this uber -sexy Balmain dress. Really? Isn't that a bit of a stretch? Frankly, I really don't think Demi's body is so hideous in all it’s middle aged glory that it needs to be completely replaced in order to sell a magazine. Yes, I know she's *gasp* 47...far t...

As if this topic hasn't been done to death (seriously, no tasteless pun intended),I feel compelled to add my two dollars worth. This story caught my eye this morning and I just about blew coffee out my nose. Come on people...were you beating the crap out of each other for sneezing and coughing a year ago? NO? Consider this: The seasonal flu is more likely to lead to hospitalization or even death, as it kills roughly 35,000 each year. (source: MSN Health) How about a few more: More than 25 million people have died from AIDs (up to July 2007) 50 000 people die EACH month from AIDs in Africa Every year 80 000 people die from tuberculosis Malaria is one of the planet's deadliest diseases and one of the leading causes of sickness and death in the developing world. According to the World Health Organization there are 300 to 500 million clinical cases of malaria each year resulting in 1.5 to 2.7 million deaths . I'm at a loss. Why the media hype? Why the hys...

I dare any of you to deny it. I don't care how many of you declare that your family/kids/husband/dog/friends blah, blah, blah, come first, you are full of shit. We are individuals. We journey into this world alone and we leave it alone. It's all about survival. We are biological entities whose main interest is survival above all else. Of course I love my husband and kids; I love them more than anything. I would gladly take a bullet for any of them without a second thought. But my husband has this irritating habit of frequently stating "It's not all about you, you know". I usually take this bit of criticism, flip him the bird (in my mind) and humbly acknowledge that nothing is about me at all and how could I be so selfish as to consider my self interests at all. So today I snapped. When did my Person Card expire? When I got married? When I had children? When I was born a girl in the first place? Ok, maybe I'm a bit of a navel gazer. I'm not above ...

Me: Do you think they have 'family' rooms on the psychiatric unit? DH: Who in the hell would want to room with their family? When I lose my shit I'm going into seclusion

I realized something that took me by surprise last week. We were away camping and despite my good intentions I only managed a 12k and a 6k tempo run for the entire week. (I biked and swam but the perfectionist in me figures this doesn't count). By the end of that week, I felt jittery, irritable, jumpy and just plain shitty. I could not figure out what my problem was. Not PMS, not alcohol withdrawal (though camping does entail a bit of imbibing) and something a bit more than just plain bitchiness. Holy crap, I was actually going through exercise withdrawal. I mean, I had heard other runners talking about the 'runner's high' and being 'addicted' to the sport but I really didn't pay much attention to it...everyone tends to wax prosaic about their chosen obsession. A quick Google search came up with scads of articles debating whether or not this 'addiction-withdrawal' phenomenon actually exists. A great article in the Science Daily published in Ma...

I realized something that took me by surprise last week. We were away camping and despite my good intentions I only managed a 12k and a 6k tempo run for the entire week. (I biked and swam but the perfectionist in me figures this doesn't count). By the end of that week, I felt jittery, irritable, jumpy and just plain shitty. I could not figure out what my problem was. Not PMS, not alcohol withdrawal (though camping does entail a bit of imbibing) and something a bit more than just plain bitchiness. Holy crap, I was actually going through exercise withdrawal. I mean, I had heard other runners talking about the 'runner's high' and being 'addicted' to the sport but I really didn't pay much attention to it...everyone tends to wax prosaic about their chosen obsession. A quick Google search came up with scads of articles debating whether or not this 'addiction-withdrawal' phenomenon actually exists. A great article in the Science Daily published in Ma...

Well I spent the day at the mall with my two daughters on that eagerly awaited yearly jaunt to hemorrhage money on those 'back-to-school' outfits that they "have to have" and end up languishing in the closet because they are too uncomfortable/short/long/tight/loose/scratchy/dorky, to be worn. I LOVE to shop. It's my Valium washed down with a Cosmo, I swear. Shopping with a pre-pubescent Miley Cyrus wanna-be and a 13 year old who seriously thinks her mother is beyond redemption is not my favorite way to part with my cash but a necessary evil forced upon me as penance for the torture I inflicted on MY parents. Apparently I'm not one of the lucky ones with horseshoes up my ass. Casually flipping through the clothing I had this flash of deja vu...I looked up and around the store-Leggings, big sweaters and sweatshirts, flannel shirts, hip slung belts, ankle boots, wristlet purses, LEG WARMERS, short jackets and skinny jeans. The only thing missing were sequine...

Despite what some of the more cynical blog reviewers would have you believe...I don't really think that 'bad parenting' is something that we, as a blogging group are proudly proclaiming as being a badge of honor amongst us. For some reason, when a MB chooses to share some of her more, let's say, humble moments of parenting with her fellow bloggers, she's allowing all of us to breathe that collective sigh of relief knowing that "I'm not the only one who has said/done that". Called a 'bitch' and 'ugly' by my own mom, nice eh??? Thanks :-)) OUCH! When I saw this Facebook status update posted by my own 13 year old daughter I was immediately transported back to my own adolescence and reminded of similar scenes that played out between my mother and I. I won't regale you with the details but needless to say, my mother and I did not enjoy a warm, close mother/daughter relationship while I was growing up and remain somewhat estranged...

I've been doing some cross training to try and shave some valuable minutes off my time for the Royal Victoria Marathon in October. One of these activities is swimming. I've really resisted the idea of adding swimming to my training as quite honestly I haven't swum any great distance or speed since I was a teenager MANY more decades ago than I care to admit. I donned that matronly workout bathing suit; strapped on those goggles, the suction from which makes my eye balls feel like they are going to pop right out; safely ensconced my children with their swimming classes and hopped into that pool. Holy mother of Gosh! They aren't kidding when they say that swimming is one of the best all over work outs. I thought that I had great cardio capacity and that this would be a piece of cake. I managed to eke out 400m (not front crawl..be serious) before clutching onto the side of the pool for dear life to try and get some precious air into my lungs once again. I just have ...

Apropos of yesterday's rant. Being the needy woman that I am I asked my husband if I could get some "maintenance" done on my face. I figured that if he had to, he'd lie to spare my fragile feelings. DH: What would you have done? Me: Well, you know, this thing between my eyebrows called the "Bitch Wrinkle" DH: Now that you mention it...It does kind of look like a vagina on your forehead. Now I know what DH really stands for: Dick Head.

I've been fuming, muttering and bitching for a couple of days now. Nothing new really but I think I'm justified this time. Behold this attempt at humour by Sarah Hampson of The Globe and Mail : Welcome to Midlife, complete with Bingo Wings and Vampire Dinner Lips In a nutshell, Ms. Hampson goes on to describe the 'cute' names that have been given to various body parts on a middle aged woman: bitch wrinkle, bingo arms, vampire dinner lips and diaper butt to name a few. If you need me to actually identify which body parts go with which moniker, you're too young to be reading my blog and should take your wrinkle-free butt elsewhere. Call me vain and shallow, my loved ones frequently do, but I'm really having a tough time with this aging thing. Love it or hate it, eternal youth is the Holy Grail for a lot of women. I'd hate to put myself in that camp. I like to think of myself as far more centered and accepting of the changes that I'm noticing. But *f...