Random and Odd

4th attempt at this post…

Yesterday while laying in bed with a heating pad on my legs I wrote and wrote and wrote.  I then deleted, deleted, deleted.

Each post was worthy of posting, but I can’t seem to express my gratitude for the birthday you gave me with words.  I decided that perhaps I should try it with interpretive dance, but because I managed to fry what little muscles I have in my legs, I will have to wait for my video of my dance of gratitude.

Some people think that blogging is easy.  I never realized how hard it was until I tried to write a thank you post to all my readers.  Not just the ones that sent in things or wished me a happy birthday, but to the many people that email me and say, “I never comment, but I read…and you make a difference.”
I like to think that my readers consist of how many comments I get that day. If I get 4 comments then that is how many people read that day.
I reinstalled a site meter on my blog after not having one for a year.  Site meters freak me out.  I don’t really like knowing how many people actually visit this site because I know that not everyone is a ‘happy, shiny person’.  I’m sure some people just come to read about boob hair and hawk my bootie.
I remembered why I deleted my last site meter.  There was a trackback link to a woman who linked to my site that said, “THIS MAKES ME SICK!”  and it was a post about something cutsie Shaun had said.  It wasn’t the any of the posts where I talk about beating my children. It wasn’t one where I am on the edge of snapping into two with anxiety and begging for help.  Nope, it was something GOOD.  It pissed me off and I thought, “Screw it, I don’t want to know what people are saying about me.”

I have gotten so many emails that have just made this whole thing worth it.  I have saved them all and they sit in my ‘Keep’ folder and when I get depressed, I go back and read them.  I then email that person to let them know that the email that they took 3 minutes to write and say something nice STILL makes a positive effect on me even after 2 years.

This birthday was like…like…I don’t know, I guess I would have to say it would be like getting a nomination for the Bloggie Awards or something.  I want to hold up my mouse, clutch it to my chest and yell, “You like me! You really! really! like me!!”

Sheryl, sent me flowers that took my breath away. MRTL tricked me with a box that said “Igloos R us” and inside was Gingerbread massage oil because she knows my joy of Gingerbread.  I, of course, made a cup of coffee this morning and decided that the Gingerbread massage oil has a better chance of getting any use if I put it in my coffee. It tastes wonderful with a bit of Splenda.
Shelley made me a rosary, even though I’m not catholic.  It’s more of an anxiety rosary that I can use to calm myself during an attack.
OH the cards I got! Thank you!! You guys all made me laugh!
My sister sent me a card that made me cry.

Blogging isn’t easy. It’s a blessing for those of us that can sit down almost everyday and share a part of our lives with other people.

Now, Shaun.  For those of you that don’t think he’s real…well, he is.  He amazes me every single day with the amount of love he has.
On my birthday he managed to smuggle 35 balloons into our room.  He bought me the most beautiful outfit.  He put all this together on my blog.
After the long wedding, he came home and dealt with drama here at home.
I grabbed Tabitha and we headed out to celebrate the last hour of my birthday with my best friend, ‘Cita.  When we got home, Shaun was in the living room cuddled with the baby.   He is the definition of ‘unconditional love’.  Anyone who is lucky enough to have him in their life is blessed.

The baby is now screaming because PBS (Parent’s Baby Sitter) is showing a program that Jeremiah doesn’t like so I have to log off and play blocks or let him pull all my  hair out.
I promise to upload new pictures as soon as I can feel my thighs again.  That belly dancer at the wedding had me climbing up and down on chairs all night.  Oh, and don’t ask about Tyler’s Junior Prom.   Poor guy. Poor, poor guy.

Last but not least, don’t take vicoden on an empty stomach.  It makes you want to barf and will make you think your camera strap is trying to strangle you.

*bow*