|For the Tadpole across the pond.|
I get the Moonface sweetheart.
|And this. . .it's too beautiful not to, eh?|
But I will get back to the title in a moment. Let me just say my beloved read the last post and didn't realize how frustrating it has been for me out here in the hinterlands, and as he always does. . .he fixed it.
He fixes everything ::swoon::
No, really, he does. Oh, c'mon. You guys know he does.
I will have internet, as it is allowed. He knows how much I love you all, as he and the kids love you, but he didn't see how hard I was hiding it, not having you guys here. With me.
I don't need email, or the interwebs to do daily business [try it. . .believe me, you can do it] but not knowing what and where and how y'all are doing was tearing me up.
I kind of lost the Skippyshit yesterday when I realized, rushing around, that I couldn't get to y'all on 15 bucks. 4 hours and I couldn't leave more than 4 comments. I couldn't.
Steven sees everything, knows all, when it comes to me, except what I try to downplay.
And downplay I did. OH heck, it's the least I can do.
He has almost a five hour round trip commute, and has to work too. Plus?
He walks in the door everynight wondering whether or not I am going to be lying on the floor, dead.
So, yeah. I downplayed the internet, blog, Skippy thing. I do what I can, where I can.
I just felt that the whole blogging thing was a little lesser entity then what was going on here in the pond.
Then he saw me, yesterday, when I broke down over the usage and what I couldn't get done in regards to all my Tadpoles.
I read one entry after another and saw how y'all are going through life and how hard you are having a time. I can't go into specifics - but you read the comments I could leave. I hope. As connecting as this whole inter-world is, it is so disconcerting. I can't get to you. Even on 15 bucks.
My gosh, Tadpoles.
Y'all have been so, so, so generous, gracious and giving to me, Steven and the kids. I can't even begin to describe what you have given us.
Then I realize I have done nothing but whine for the last four years. I am truly worn out - but a lot of you have hung in here. Paddling along with me.
I am awestruck that I have any friends here, sometimes, considering.
I think you all feel like I do.
Either succumb to the doctors terminal progress toe tag or get better.
Drop dead Janine or get better.
Let the other shoe drop and then bury it.
There, I said it.
I wish it was that simple. I do. I want an end result as much as Steven and the kids. We want an answer. Of course no one wants me to die, but the waiting, the wondering and the ups, downs and sideways - suck.
I looked at Wallene this morning as I was filling my pill case and I realized after adding the newest round of
I mentioned as much out loud.
This doesn't make me a bad Mom for sharing with her, because really - who lies to Wallene?
Not me. And you better not either.
As only Wallene can do she looked at me and said "Mom, I think you need a bigger boat."
Now, you have to know my youngest and her favorite all time movie.
Many of you know.
It is "JAWS".
Okay, if you know the movie - you get the reference.
I laughed so hard I seized. And then I laid down for an hour.
This child. This child. Makes me live.
As do you.
In the lilypads, pussywillows and swamp that is this life - my husband buys me time.
My daughters add the pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters to the meter.
I am a rich women.
I feel like I spend my life explaining that I write this blog for Steven, the girls and the older kids. Then I get an extra special smile on my face, realizing I was blessed with y'all - the bank where I get to deposit all of these riches.
I write "I Make Soap" so they won't forget. And now our family of seven has grown to over 100.
We love everyone of you, and miss you terribly.
Each of you is unique, special and I have never left a comment or email that wasn't heartfelt. I applaud you, kiss you smoochily, and worry when it isn't the way you want. I cry, and my heart breaks, when you are in pain and loss.
I wonder how y'all do what you do.
How you survive.
And how. . .you put one foot in front of the other. And. . .
why. . . you keep coming around here.
Even I get weary of my health and my whining. I am the one ON this rollercoaster. You guys have a ticket and just choose to watch. You are along for the ride, and catch me when I fall - but why?
I don't really need an explanation. It would narcissistic on my part, and I am not that.
I don't lie.
I don't cheat.
I don't steal.
I live the most honest life I can, here in Virginia, our real life.
I also put it forth on this blog.
If I don't provide specific details to our situation or my health - well, then tough sh&*.
It isn't my job to be specific to the interwebs. My family will read this and know, in the future, what I was referring to, as they are here watching this mess.
As a Tadpole. . .
If you want to stop watching the roller coaster that is my life - so be it. But don't question me, don't compare Steven's and my situation to your own. You don't know. And it certainly isn't yours when it comes to us having to move. That was a unique situation dealing with us having a deadline that we honored to make it easier on another party.
We didn't leave anyone holding the bag for monies or a mortgage.
Leave it be. Don't write, call or write about this. I am done.
And can I say one more thing?
Heck, my blog, my rules.
I have an incredible amount of respect for the medical profession. I have to. They are doing something to keep me here so far, but. . .I only know nurses through this blog. I have never had a doctor comment. And although I do respect all nurses opinions, and feel they get a shorter shift by doctors, please don't judge me on what I choose or don't choose to do with my health. I am the most proactive person dealing with this, with the help of my husband. Considering the list of what is wrong with me, and what we are told by several different doctors, and trying to balance this medication with that and that one with this one - just get off of what you think you know. And leave me alone. You don't have specifics, for a reason. It's none of your business. And you don't know much of anything.
Nursing school, especially you not having a BSN, is not helping me, or anyone else, when you criticize.
Okay, did we get the "Don't poke Skippy" part of this? Goody.
I would love to apologize Tadpoles, but I can't. I am me. And I do the best I can.
My blog, why should I? Change the channel. I don't care. I know who my friends are. And what is important to me.
It's all I need.
I will stay happy, content and accepting. It doesn't mean I have to be constantly brought into your world of drama. [Speaking of the ones "Poking" Skippy]
I saw a picture the other day - it said "I am not tall enough to ride your emotional roller coaster." [credit: Juli/Surving Boys Blog] And I thought that was perfect to describe you. Can't you leave me alone now? STOP poking me. It's old. And I hate it.
I have enough not to deal with this anymore. Do you get it now, like you didn't a year ago? Goody.
See ya' on the flipside Tadpoles. And don't poke me. It physically hurts. It's tiresome and it's just plain old rude.
xo Janine [SkippyMom]