It....Oh....My....Help.....

..roll down the window! 

That is what my husband screamed at me the other day while driving home from dinner.

Sometimes my farts stink.  What's a girl to do?

It's weird really, my ass talents.  

• I can clear out an entire room without a sound
  
• I know what a dutch oven is and I am not afraid to use it in the bedroom to get my way.  "Honey, let's paint the dining room this weekend.  No?  I bet this will change your mind!"  Pffffttttt!  
• I used to crop dust exceptionally douchy customers by walking around the bar to ostensibly pick up empties and the like.
• I have won a farting contest where the other competitor was a large Labrador retriever.
• I do not need to employ the "mom stare" to keep my kids in line.  I just tell them that my belly hurts and I roll up the windows and set the child lock to "on."
• I am able to hold in my gas, sometimes for over an hour, until an opportune time presents itself for the use of my noxious fumes.

The power of the stank ass is a verifiable truth.  Just remember that it will sometimes backfire on you.  

Ha, ha.  Backfire.  I didn't do that on purpose, but I had to leave it in.

Those of you out there who are thinking that they can harness their inner stank, please don't.  This isn't something that the untested can use at their whimsy.  You will more than likely end up shitting your pants.  My special skills have been handed down from my father's side of the family for at least two centuries.  I am almost positive that it is from all of the kraut eating, beer swilling Teutons that run rampant through my genetic code.  

BUT, if you feel the urgent need to give your husband a dutch oven one night, make sure that he is asleep first.  

Oh, and make sure that you are a good enough actor that you can pretend that you were sleeping through it as well.

I Taught Her the Nastiness

I think I may have mentioned a few times that I am a soccer mom.  So to take a break from my personal drama, I thought I would post a picture of Spawn #1, AKA SuperDiva.  

SD is not by any means a large girl.  She is 11, but is on the small side.  Not as much in height, but in weight.  The kid lives for soccer and I have spent the last four years (she has been playing for 6) giving up every holiday weekend for soccer tournaments.  You think I'm kidding?  New Year's, Spring Break, Memorial Day, Father's Day, Fourth of July and Labor Day and that is not all of the tournaments.  Nor does that include practices and regular season games of which there are two outdoor and three indoor sessions.  If you are a parent of a soccer player, you will get it.  If you are not, you will likely think we are insane.  You would be correct.

But I don't do this to live some youthful dream out through my child.  I am so not athletic.  I never have been.  We started out in our city's rec league and realized that she was a pretty good player.  She then went on to play not only Travel Soccer, but has been in a Premier League for the last three years.  And for the last three years, she has never wavered in her desire to play for the US Women's Soccer Team.  So I am trying to give her the tools to live that dream.  However, there are things in my house that come before soccer and the most important of those is education.  She pulls down great grades and is in ASP classes, so as long as she remains a SCHOLAR athlete, I will be more than happy to support her.  

Even if that includes spending my entire summer getting weird sunburn tan lines from sitting in the sun all day cheering her on. 

As you can see from the above picture, SD is pretty athletic.  Our team families are very close and we teach our children the value of good sportsmanship.  The only fly in that ointment is that there are other coaches out there who teach their kids ( YES 11 year old children ), dirty little tricks on how to hurt other players.  A lot of the times, SD gets targeted because 1. she is a really good player and 2. she is usually smaller than the other girls on the field.  That is their mistake.  I may not be athletic, but I am tough.  And we only have one rule regarding being physical on the field:

Rule:  Do not start anything.  Period.  BUT, if you are getting abused, you better take care of yourself.

That is about the only rule she listens to these days.

You might think that I am being mean, but that's not the case.  We had a girl get her arm broken on the field a few weeks ago.  Granted, in that case it wasn't from being rough and tumble, or from a bad referee, but we have had other girls get injured from those very things.  Some of these girls know how to trip when the ref's back is turned, or how to get their cleats under their opponents shin guards and I don't want my kid to get hurt.

But at the end of every single game, she shakes the hand of the other team.  Even when they have been mean and nasty.  Even when the other team's coach and/or parents are yelling at the kids or acting like lunatics.  

But she doesn't take any crap from anybody.  Not even kids who are a foot taller and 50 pounds heavier than her and that happens often.

So, here's to you SupreDiva.  I am very, very proud of you.

Congrats on your Trophy win this weekend.  I have a feeling that it's going to be another naked sunburn Monday (-=

(I was just as proud when they lost every game they played their first few seasons!!!)

Where We Get A Fathom Deep

Because honestly? A fathom is about as deep as I let myself get.

I. Am. So. Overthishsit.

And I feel bad about it. I know that there are so many more people out there in the world who are suffering worse than I am. People with cancer and AIDS and MS. Also, people with no humor. But I can't seem to help myself.

So, ahem, the seizure thing? Not going so well for me right now.

It was so great that my dad came up to visit me and help out for a few days. He took me to my neurologist's appointment and comforted me in his way. I also scored some pretty cool tickets for an Arena Football game where my husband almost killed an elderly couple trying to catch a real live football by jumping over top of them. He says that he was trying to "save" the lady from getting the football planted in her face because she wasn't paying attention, but I have a hard time believing that. Then, not 10 minutes later, he almost knocked over a special needs person while flying backwards over the seats in a thwarted attempt to catch a five cent plastic football.

But back to me. So far I have tried Dilantin (in the hospital) and while the one side effect of cussing people out and getting away with it is pretty cool, the severe allergic reaction was not, so let's cross that drug off of the list. Then my Neuro put me on Topamax. Now, let me say that I have an epileptic sister and she has been on Topamax for about seven years with no problems. Me? Not so much.

I started out the first week with a measly little 25 mg dose. During that week I experienced tingling in my hands and feet, SEVERE irritability and a general fuzziness that affected my ability to not only do my job, but to be a functional human being.

And then came the dosage increase to 50 mg. The next day, I had as close to a full blown meltdown as a person can have without being institutionalized. It happened in the middle of Costco (or my personal Disney as I like to call it). I had my son with me when I started feeling really strange. I went to lick my lips and realized that they were going numb and tingling all over. After that, I am not really sure what happened, but I called a friend who came within 15 minutes. I started crying for no reason as I felt like the world was ending. It was honestly one of the scariest things that has happened to me. I thought I was losing my mind. My friend drove my son home while I drove my own car. In that short 15 minute ride, I had the air conditioner on full blast with the windows rolled down. Tears streaming down my face, I could not control my crying. I alternated between tears rolling down my face and full on sobbing. I even entertained the thought of smashing my own head through the windshield.  

Then I called my mom. She told me to call the doctor right away. The office was closed for lunch, so I took a valium and passed out. By the time they called me back, I was so doped up between the Valium and the Topamax, I am not sure what kind of conversation took place. The next night, I didn't take the pills. The night after, I took one. Then the nurse called me to check on me and said that I needed to come into the office.

So today, I went in. I have been off of the Topamax for four days and I am feeling a lot better, but there are some symptoms that are still lingering. Now, the doctor wants me on Lamictal. I asked him if it was possible to try and control these seizures with diet, rest and exercise, but he said that he wouldn't recommend it as it very rarely works for people. Now I have this fucking pill, ANOTHER pill, sitting here staring at me and I don;t know what to do.....

Do I take the pill and go through the round of madness that has been my last two weeks? Do I take it and it is a wonder drug? Do I not take it and wait for the results of the EEG that is scheduled for this coming Tuesday? I don't know and I can't make an intelligent decision about it right now. I am extremely wary of moving forward with another drug when I still haven't rid my body of the effects of the previous drug. And trying three different anticonvulsants in less than three weeks seems like a little much to me.

I am a bit of a wreck right now. The headaches are almost constant these days and I am really dreading the EEG. I have read up on them, so I am informed, but you never know what to expect when you go in for testing like that for the first time. Although I am pretty sure it can't be as bad as my first pelvic exam. I am fearful that by being on medication, I will be unable to do my job, or any other job in my field as I need a clear head and my wits about me to do what I do. What happens if they can't control this and they take my driver's license away? Will we lose our house? How will we live? What will we do? I know I am borrowing trouble, but I can't help but think about the what ifs. It is not in my nature to just sit around and wait for things to happen, I make them happen. But I can't speed up this process. I can't do my own testing and I can't know what concoction of drugs will work for me. 

I HATE TAKING PILLS. Of any kind. I don't even like to take Tylenol. And I honestly have to say that if the last few weeks are any indication of what I will be going through having my seizures controlled through medication, I would rather have the seizures.

Ranting? Table for one.

Fuckshitpiss. I honestly am almost aching for a fight right now. With anyone. Yeah, even a Komodo Dragon. And they eat people. I feel backed into a corner by a fucking disease without any recourse. I can't go up to it and kick it in the crotch. I can't make it cry by being sarcastic and snarky. I can't take out it's legs with a sweeper move and then bash it in the head with a crowbar. Right now, all I can do is lay awake at night and try and calm down enough to fall asleep. But my mind won't stop roaming through the list of things that could go wrong. Not knowing is definitely worse than knowing. Even if it is bad news. My greatest hope is that there are NO abnormalities on my EEG. If there are.... well then we will have to reevaluate our lives.

Also, I am not really that emotionally stable these days. I am not what you would call a "crier." I don't shed tears at the drop of the hat, but last night, I cried myself to sleep. I wake up wondering how the day will go. And I go to sleep scared that something will happen overnight. To most people, these fears would seem unreasonable. Because, of course, people deal with medical issues their entire life. But I am not people. This is happening to me.  

Fuck it. None of this post makes any sense, so I am going to post a picture:

Me and the little one at the Arena game two weeks ago.  He is so freaking cute.