A few weeks ago, my husband and I entered a local drawing at Walgreens.  Err…when I say local, what I really mean is “within 1 hour driving distance.”  Anyhow, we signed our names and emails away for a chance to win (or so we thought) some Yes to Carrots products.  It’s a new, and supposedly organic, product - so, I was all in.  And because I was all for it, so was hubs.  The giveaway table was decorated with orange and yellow curled ribbon with Yest to carrots products neatly displayed.  “Would you like to try some?” asked the push saleswoman.  I hesitantly held out my hand, after all - what sort of contestant would I be if I wouldn’t even graciously put the stuff on?  I pretended to be in awe, while silently trying to evade the gag reflex triggered by both the smell of the thick hand cream and the disgusting chocolate I had taken from the table (chocolate and cinnamon apparently.  Eww.)  Unfortunately, spitting it out right then and there just wasn’t going to happen.  So, I nodded and smiled and tried my best just to swallow it.

And then, a few weeks later…we received a phone call.  We had won the giveaway!  I was excited (as we regularly DON’T win things) and so we made a *special* trip 50 minutes away to claim our prize basket.  We entered the store and announced that we were indeed the winners, ready for our luxury basket to be handed over to us.  Instead, a clear zippered bag was shoved across the counter by the frizzy haired awkward salesclerk.  “I think we need to take your picture!” she said.  “Hold on just a moment, I need to get my manager so she doesn’t think I just took the prize home instead of giving it to you.”  I looked over our “winnings” - two hideously ugly makeup bags, and an assortment of CRAP - ranging from a Sally Hanson fingernail polish duo in crimson red and clear, some of the most abhorrent knock off cologne and women’s “musk” I’ve ever smelled in my entire life, and some other stuff.  I couldn’t really tell, and I really wanted to wait to look through it all once we got in the SUV…you know, just in case my face gave away my TOTAL DISAPPOINTMENT?

The two women came back, and the frizzy haired woman said “So, do we need to take their picture?”

“Why on earth would we do that?” said the tight-lipped manager.

“I don’t know, it’s what we always do.”

“Really?  I’ve never done it before.”

“Oh, well we did it once.”

“No, we don’t need a picture.”

“Excuse me,” I said, butting in.  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I thought the giveaway was for the Yes to Carrots products?  Are you sure this goes to us?”

“Oh no!” said the sales clerk.  “If it were up to me, we would have.  But, that’s not what we were giving away.  We were just giving away random stuff.  The manager got to pick.”

“Oh, um okay.  Well…it’s just that the entire table said that’s what the giveaway was for…and they even asked me to sample the hand cream.  It was all decorated and everything.”  I said.

“Nope.” she said.  “Sorry if you thought it was.”

I nodded and took the loot and headed out to the vehicle.  Inside, I began pulling things out.  Sally Hanson nail polish.  Check.  Nasty perfume that would singe my nose hairs should I ever wear it.  Check.  Cologne - that smelled much like the girl’s musk.  Oh wait, does that say…oh, yes it does.  They gave us the tester bottle…with the tester sticker still on it!  I looked more closely.  There was a second bottle of nasty “musk.”  Only the second one was missing some “musk” out of the bottle.  It. had. been. used.  And, then I saw a tiny compact.  I dug my hand to the bottom of the zippered bag, and pulled it out.  Hoping there would be SOMETHING worth salvaging.  I opened it, and…someone’s fingerprints?  In my new creamy eyeshadow?  YAY!!

“Stop the car.  NOW.” I said.

He obliged.

I walked through the parking lot with the little bag clasped in my hands.  I have NO problem with winning small gifts.  I have NO problem with getting other peoples leftovers, or things they don’t want - but, I have a few rules.  See, first I need to KNOW YOU.  Second, I shouldn’t think I’m “winning” a gift and then you play switcheroo.  Third, don’t make me think I’m getting something new when in fact, I’m most definitely not.

I calmly walked into the store and set the used goods on the counter in front of me.  “Excuse me, ma’am.” I said.  “I was just looking through the “prizes” and I found this (I display the first bottle of USED tester perfume) and this (displayed another bottle of tester perfume).  I DO NOT appreciate being ‘awarded’ used products.  It’s one thing to change a giveaway after the fact, but to give me used products?”

“Uh, nuh-uh.” she said.  “They weren’t used.  Nothing was used.”

“Really?  Then can you explain why their are fingerprints dug out in this?” I said, as a I pulled out and opened the compact.

“Oh ma gawwwddd!!  Someone done went and put their fingers in your makeup!!!” she said.

“Right.  Not cool.  I’m sorry, but I’m really leery to use ANYTHING in this bag, now.  I don’t know what’s been used by someone else, and what hasn’t.” I said as I pushed the bag towards her.

“Oh.  Okay.  You don’t have to keep the prize.  At least you kept the two bags, right?  Those were really cute!” she exclaimed.

I bit my tongue and refrained from telling her how awful ugly the cosmetic bags had been and volunteered to bring those back in, too.  She declined.  I asked to speak to a manager, which got me exactly NOWHERE.

It’s not so much that I have to get something, it’s the principle that matters.  A large chain just tried to screw me.

I walked back out to the SUV, my head down.  I just knew hubs would be mad at me…or at least, perturbed for making a “big deal” out of it.  I get in the car and he says “How did it go?”

“Oh.  I gave it back to them.” I said.

“Don’t give me that!  I want the word for word, blow by blow!” He said.

Guess he wasn’t mad.  He even suggested I contacted the BBB.  Hmph.  He knows me so very well.  lol

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I thought that perhaps I might feel a little better if I cleaned. So, I started off with my list of tiny detail-cleaning. You know, the stuff we most often overlook and even after cleaning, you can’t really tell that you’ve done much (but if you neglect it, you’ll definitely notice)? And, then at the bottom of that list was: bleach the dingy comforter.

Let me get something straight, here. I almost NEVER use bleach. And, the comforter was clean. It was just …yellowed. It’s supposed to be white. So, I thought giving the over-sized heavy duty Company Store white(ish) down comforter a bleach bath would be a great option. I filled the tub with hot water, brought the bleach in from the garage, and poured a large dose in. And, then I brought in the comforter and dumped it in the bath. Occasionally, I’d pop back in the bathroom just to “stir” the comforter around, making sure the bleach water was evenly distributed and trying to somehow drown my gleeful comforter that smirked from the ugly grey-blue confines of my tub. With the bottom of my hairbrush, I’d poke it down once more until I was satisfied with the amount of water it’d soaked in.

After a couple of hours of laborious waiting (and cleaning), I dumped out gathered a laundry basket and then made my way into the bathroom, where I spent the next half hour trying to rinse the comforter and then squeeze out every last droplet of water. With the basket situated beside the tub, I carefully transferred the still sopping wet (despite my attempts) comforter to the basket.

I slipped on my flip flops and even some shorts as to not send any of my neighbors into heart attacks. I located the step ladder and took it outside, carefully situating it beneath the laundry line that had been put up by the previous owners (more than 3 years ago). I went back inside and grabbed the basket. I maneuvered through the house with my 40 lb basket, careful not to break anything - including my ankle. Once outside, I set that too down beside the step-ladder. I mentally did a few quick calculations and moved the basket once more. I carefully found my footing on the step-ladder, knowing that the incredibly heavy (soaking wet) comforter could easily topple me over. And, as much as a broken arm might be, I have really enjoying my “no broken bones” streak over the past 22 years. That, and a broken bone might put a cramp in the finances. Probably. Unless I let Uncle John or my FIL fix it used duct tape, of course. Very carefully, I slung the corner of the weighted comforter over my shoulder, grabbing the other corner and gently folding it over the line. Yes. Almost there. Next corner. Done. Now, I knew that all I would have to do was tug the corners down to ensure the bottom wouldn’t drag the ground. I was quite satisfied with myself and my job well done…until, of course…I noticed it.

Brown streaks all across the comforter. Shit. The line was dirty.

Laundry is for losers, and apparently…

As I sit in my darkened room, I realize that many of you may be waiting on some sort of an update. I’ve received a few emails voicing concern, and so many very wonderful messages filled with support and hope. Thank you. While I can’t say that everything is “okay,” I can say that nothing is worse. For the past few days, I’ve been dealing with some sleep issues (or, the inability to). It simply began with the inability to fall asleep - regardless of how tired I was. My mind would be blank, and yet all I could do was stare at the inside of my eyelids, hoping for a visit from the Sandman. Hours later, after drifting in and out of sleep and tossing and turning, I would give up and log onto the internet, where I’d dink around until my brain began to shut down on it’s own. Then, near morning, I’d log off and try to catch a few Z’s before the hubs and baby woke up. Naps weren’t working either; My body was so physically tired, but my brain? It wanted to stay in the “on” mode. A side effect of the new medicine? Perhaps. Although, it could’ve been many things.

Yesterday, my Grams came up to visit, and we enjoyed a great lunch at my favorite restaurant and a little perusing through some cutesy shops downtown. We talked alot and I had a great time. I love being able to spend time with her. And, when she dropped L and I off at the house, I thought for sure I’d be able to just collapse on the bed and drift straight into sleep. Nope. Nada.

Then, my wonderful in-laws invited us to supper - where I kept almost falling asleep at the picnic table. I felt awful - like I was being rude - but my brain was trying to shut down. I’m thinking that this brain of mine really does need a serious talk from me, my body. You see brain, I really need to be awake in order to do things like eat, drive, walk, socialize and take care of my kid. However, there are lots of opportunities for you to shut down - you know, when I lay down and get all comfy on that soft bed? That’s your cue. So, from now on, could you just cooperate? Pretty please? Because, just so you know…if you don’t, I have nothing against popping out the big guns and forcing you to sleep. I will do it. Don’t mess with me.

By the end of supper, my FIL offered to let me borrow some of his over the counter store brand sleeping pills they’d picked up. He swore by them, so I took a few home to try later (not to all be taken at once, mind you). And, last night before bed, I took one. I slept. Through the night. Until 9 AM. I think I still have some more “catching up” to do, but that was a great start. And, if this was a placebo effect or anything, please nobody burst my bubble - because, quite frankly, I’m happy with this whole being able to sleep thing. I don’t really care HOW it happened. I’m hoping that the cycle of sleeplessness has been broken, and perhaps tonight I can sleep again. Through the night.

Over the past couple of months, I’ve had an incredibly hard time putting into words how I felt. Well - maybe it had less to do with the words and everything to do with that “Publish” button - the one button that would spin my post into the blogosphere, never to be gotten back. So, instead I remained fairly quiet. Posting photos and lists and random odds-and-ends. I started many blog entries, just to delete them after writing only a few paragraphs. “Just put it out there!” A friend told me. But, I couldn’t. I couldn’t explain why - I just couldn’t.

I suppose I’m just not totally convinced that anyone really wants to know the things that run through my head on a more-than-occasional basis. I’m afraid to fully divulge the pieces of myself that I’ve held secret for so long - the things that still haunt me. Like now.

I could feel it coming, ever so slowly-like water, slowly edging up to my body- only to wash over me and then retreat - never threatening. Until one day, the waters stopped receding. Instead, they kept rising. Until I though I would drown. And then I forgot who I was. No, wait. I didn’t forget. I just stopped. My craft room and supplies laid deserted. The laundry began to double like jackrabbits - or was that the dust-bunnies and cat hair? I found it hard to sleep - and yet that’s all I wanted to do. Tears replaced the laughter, and finally - the will to even “be” was beginning to fade too.

I figured that at this rate, I was nothing more than a waste of space anyhow. So, why bother? And, then I caught myself eye-ing the medicine cabinet - and I knew. A battle has been waged. You see, I knew where this was all going before I got here - I just thought that I would have so much more time before it got to this point. I really thought I had more time.

But, this was nothing like last time - and yet, it was everything like last time.

At 15, I began to use my arms as a means of release. With a razor as my sword, I would release the pain inside of me. And, for a while - that was enough. But, then it wasn’t. And, so… 3 years later, I attempted to free myself. And, that too didn’t quite work out in the manner which I had originally intended it to.

(And, for that I’m thankful.)

The point is, I’ve been here before - and, knowing how it (almost) ended last time - I wasn’t going to take it lightly. I confided in a few close friends, and then made a call to request anti-depressants.

I was torn. I felt like I was admitting failure - that I was a failure - because I couldn’t do this alone. I felt like I was failing my family because while I knew these pills might help me, I also worried about having to pay for them out-of-pocket due to the lack of insurance - and thereby “wasting” that money when we might need it for something important later on.

After all, what if I wasn’t worth saving? What if this little pill was necessary for the rest of my life to simply make me hapy? What kind of a mother would that make me? What kind of a woman would that make me?

Despite the conflict in my brain, I called up my old once a year doctor (from back when we had insurance), and explained over voicemail how I needed anti depressants. The sound of the neediness in my voice echoed in my ears and I silently hung up the phone, hating myself even more. I was no longer strong - I was weak. Incapable. maybe even lazy. But for damn sure, I was going through a lot of Kleenex.

That afternoon, the prescription came through. And for once - in months - I felt hopeful. I felt like the end to the pain and darkness was near. I took my happy pill.

And, then a message came through in response to a thought I had posted. “Glad to see you’re finally being positive about something.”

With that, I shoved the pills to the bottom of my purse, so they wouldn’t serve as a constant reminder to the negative person I had become. Once more, I struggled with the feelings of inadequacy. Maybe I really am just negative. Perhaps I have no right to claim “depression” or these little pills. Maybe this really is…just me. The thoughts got worse, and began to spiral again - this time, only taking days instead of months.

Then, it clicked - something inside of me clicked. Screw it all. This is NOT me. This is not who I am, nor is it who I choose to be. For me, this is not a matter of war between myself and a a demonic evil. For me, this is a battle within - a battle in which, I am both fighting for and against myself. A battle where I must choose which part of me I will let win, and which part of me must lose. And, it all must start with that one little pill.

For my second giveaway (be sure to check out the first, a hotslings ORGANIC sling!), I’m giving away your choice of book. Choose from the following titles:

Cold Edge by Robert W. Walker

The Lazarus Hotel by Jo Bannister

The Memory Keeper’s Daughter

Fiddlers by Ed McBain

Please sign-up by leaving a comment to this post, letting me know your NAME, which book you’d like if you win, and your email address so I can contact you!

Good luck!

Want to be entered TWICE more (for a total of three times)?  Simply put this badge in your sidebar on your blog and link to me (www.bosssanders.com):

PS - you can drag and drop the img or copy and paste it.  Be sure you link to this site (www.bosssanders.com), as that is how I will know whether you get two extra entries when it shows up in my info page.

And, for more contests, check out Bloggy Giveaways!

I’m giving away this GREAT XS Organic Hotslings Sling. It’s brand-new in the package and ready to go! To win, simply leave a comment and tell me where in the world you are (State or, if not in the US - tell me the area).

Please be sure to leave your EMAIL address too so I can contact you!!

Want to be entered TWICE more (for a total of three times)? Simply put this badge on your website and link to (www.bosssanders.com):

PS - you can drag and drop the img or copy and paste it. Be sure you link to this site (www.bosssanders.com), as that is how I will know whether you get two extra entries when it shows up in my info page.

And, for the other sling I’m giving away, go HERE!

For more giveaways, check out: the Bloggy Giveaways website!

Yesterday, I had the brightest idea EVER.  I decided that I would get Lorelei and myself out of the house and go for a walk up and down the neighboring street.  The very idea of getting some easy cardio in via walking and the fresh air excited me - as well as the chance to spot a neighbor to ask what happened to the dog I rescued (lured out) from a building site (and they had graciously agreed to foster).  After our lunch, I pulled back my hair, slipped into some workout gear and walking shoes and prepared us both a “just in case” snack and two containers of cold water.  We were set.  I wheeled Lorelei out of the garage, and down the drive - and then I realized I’d forgotten something.  The sunshade.  Crap.  There really was no way we could go out without either a hat or sunshade, so we headed back up the drive to fetch the latter.  And then, we were off again.

A few minutes later, I noticed something spectacular as we moved along down the road.  It was a swing.  And, an above ground pool.  And, a few toys?  Could it be?  New owners in the home that had been vacant for three years?  And, and…can I dare hope it…they have kids?!  And, not just kids…that’s …omg, that’s a baby swing!  Appropriate for up to 3 years!  (We have the EXACT same one.)  Luckily, there wasn’t a car in the driveway, otherwise I might not have been able to contain the excitement of the possibility and might’ve walked straight up to embarrass  introduce myself in full-clad workout gear.  We walked on, and about 3/4 of a mile down the road, I made yet another discovery - besides the fact that one home had nothing but large rocks in their open mailbox - more. baby. toys!!!  I made a mental note of house numbers, and kept walking.  I planned to inquire later with other neighbors to find out exactly who these people were - and, more importantly, were these parents or grandparents of the children (meaning, do they LIVE out here or are they just here for summer visits)??

We trekked on, with no other great surprises and with the middle of the afternoon sun bearing down on me and sweat dripping.  Panting, I rested mid-hill in the shade to sip my water.  Whose great idea had this been, anyways?  To walk over 2.5 miles in mid-day heat up insanely hilly roads while pushing a stroller?   Brilliant.  After a couple of moments of really intense thought, I decided I’d rather get fat than do cardio outdoors in July.  As quickly as my new cardio routine began, it ended.  Right then and there.  Well, in my head it ended.  I still had to walk back the rest of the way.  And, so I did.

And, when I got home?  I promptly died.

Don’t worry, I’m much better now.

I’ve been thinking a lot about packing our things up and moving. I’d prefer Ptown as it’s where I grew up, but seeing as how that’d be a little more of a drive for Steven, that’s probably not going to happen. The other option is CollegeTown. Regardless, the nagging desire to have people my age around me was drowning out almost all of my reasonable thoughts. Thing is, I’ve been feeling awfully lonely. I want friends my own age who live close enough that I can visit with frequently and not just when one of them gets hitched or has a kid. And, it’d be especially great if Lorelei could have some playdates thrown in as well. But, really. Do you know what most 22 year olds are doing? In my head, it sounds great to go to CollegeTown and be able to go have drinks with friends, but most likely the vast amount of those friends would be at a totally different (partying) stage in their life. Realistically, I’m sure that’s not what I REALLY want. Do I? (No.)

I’m just a little stir-crazy is all. Lorelei and Steven make great company, but sometimes, a girl just needs to get away. By herself. And, showers don’t count, sweetie. They really don’t. Problem is, we basically live in a small retirement town. Don’t get me wrong, this place is peaceful as all get out and absolutely beautiful with basically no crime rate BUT sometimes it gets a little too quiet. And, as much as I love my neighbors, all but one set could be my grandparents. Which is awesome…until it comes time to socializing. With. People. Our. Own. Age. And, then it gets tricky. I’m all for throwing parties and I totally respect and enjoy people of all ages, but methinks inviting neighbors over for a cocktail party could likely end with false teeth in my Bloody Mary, or something even more crazy and slightly mind-scarring.

Hell, I dunno.  Maybe I shouldn’t knock it before I try it, eh?  Could at the very least make for some great blog-fodder.

I can’t get out of my head this crazy - and, very detailed - dream which I dreamt a few nights ago. I realize that some dreams are supposed to have meanings and all that jazz, but I’m a little befuddled as to what the meaning of my dream held. Actually, every person who asked me to tell it was immediately sorry they had, and looked at me as if I was pure craziness - which might not be that far from the truth, although I see not what the dream has to do with it.

I know you are all dying to know what my dream was about, and so I shall tell you. I don’t want anyone to hyperventilate out of the sheer torture of the unknown, so I’ll spill the morbid details:

Husband and I were standing on the sand of a lake-beach. It was late afternoon, and the crowd of people clustered across the beach, staring out over the large dock and dark waters. Suddenly, something flew low and over our heads, as if it had just taken off. Our immediate reaction was to think a plane had just taken off; but, upon a second look we realized that it was a four-wheeler. It rotated mid-air above the water, and the rider fell off. A swarm of off-duty lifeguards clustered together, intending to swim out to the man’s rescue. A young woman with dark bobbed hair pushed her way through the crowd of life guards, and was met with resistance only when the leader, another girl, told her to fall back “Lifeguards only.” The dark haired girl didn’t listen, and swam out. Together, the leader and the dark haired girl, brought the man out of the water and carried him to the LifeGuard vehicle/golf-cart. They motioned for us to come over, and we did. We figured they needed some sort of first-aid assistance and were surprised when they only asked if we had a camera. Then, they leaned in together with the deceased man’s head between their’s, hoisted up by his neck between his fingers as if he were some prized deer from a hunt. He mostly had no hair, and his skin had a grayish tinge with darkened hollows for eyes - as if he’d been there for a while. And, as they situated his body between them for the prize picture, I glimpsed a bloody mess beneath his clothes.

*End of dream*

So, let’s recap real quick: My dream was about a dead guy, dark water, and freaky lifeguards. Got it. As I was letting my daughter wind down tonight, I decided to borrow her dream book off her shelf. And, although I figured there’d be nothing much mentioned of sadistic lifeguards, bloody messes, and four-wheeler wrecks - I figured I could at least find keywords like death, water, and maybe even an emotion like fear (as “f*ed up” wasn’t an option).

I read the inside cover, and the book began to look more and more promising, telling about how if Julius Ceaser’s wife wouldn’t have ignored her dreams, the ending might’ve been different. And, how all of our dreams have either good or bad omens. So, I flipped through the pages, divided by keywords. Diamonds? No, no diamonds in this one. Kiss? No, none of those either. Naked? Eh, what kind of book is this again? Water? Ooooh there we go!

Water: To play in the water denotes a sudden awakening to love and passion. To have it sprayed on your head denotes that your passionate awakening to love will meet reciprocal consummation.

Right, well ermm…I think you’re wrong. Not only did I not get in the water, but I’m pretty sure this dude was mostly dead and not planning to wake up anytime soon. The rest of the book made me puke a little more in my mouth with each new topic - all sorts of fuzzy puppy dog butts and rainbow squirts (or something like that). I suppose a dream that includes death, sadistic lifeguards, wrecks, and scary looking dead people must mean one thing: Satan is living in my basement. Oh wait, I don’t have a basement.

Crap, I’m out of ideas then.

This morning, L woke up to a slightly wet bed. We had taken precautions and put shorts on over her disposable last night, but apparently this diaper was a little faulty. It left the telltale signs of discolored rings in random spots across her freshly laundered sheets. I made a mental note to change her sheets and wash them after she’d showered and ate. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until nap time that I realized the extra sheet was dirty. Awesome. I threw her bedding in the washer and settled on the idea of trying to get L to take a nap with me, in my bed. She’s not much on cuddling (if it’s not on her terms), and this was definitely not on her terms. She screamed, wailed, whined, thrashed her feet, and tried to forcefully remove my arm that was holding her down. Of course, this wasn’t the REAL upset crying as she stopped every five seconds to evaluate my response - which was nothing. I began to sing my made up version of “Hush little baby,” which changes every time because not only can I not remember the original version, but it was always a little boring for my tastes. She quieted down, putting her thumb in her mouth and her Gigi blanky over her eyes. Then, with her extra hand, she reached over her body and squeezed my nose. I kept singing, unaffected. So, she grabbed my nose, this time not letting go. I giggled, she giggled, we giggled. She tenderly brushed a few wisps of hair over my face, and then off again, wrinkling her nose as they tickled. She’d giggle, turning her head so she could escape from the hair she’d unleashed and rub the sensation from her eyes and nose. It was perfect. “It’s time to go to sleep,” I whispered. Her response was to make an “L shape” with her hand and offer me her thumb. We giggled again, and she brought her feet up and stuck her big toe in her mouth. More giggles. She had given up the fight a while back, and laid there being nothing but cuteness.

I thought I wanted her to nap, but this was so much better.