I Gave Up Guilt For Chocolate

Well, here I go, my first ever blog.  With any luck this will create some courage within me to write a book of humor, at worst it will cause the Perfect Mommy Club moms to burn Playtex nursers on my front porch and hurl formula at my windows.  Somewhere there is a tired mother out there who is teetering between humor and homicide just like me and perhaps she will see this and laugh.

This morning my old friend Bill Brenner came over to help me set up this blog page thingy.  I should mention that Bill is the link that got my hubby and I together, in fact, as Bill told our children, he is why my kids exist.  Bill brought his two boys with him, and they are lovely boys, even though I had nothing to do with that.  Since Bill was kind enough to carve out a chunk of his morning to help me I will shamelessly plug his own blog for him.  He is a great journalist and has an excellent blog called the OCD Diaries which you may wish to check out.

Well, let me introduce you to the insane cast of characters in my little family:

I am Nancy, a housewife and mother who can be best described as the Dark Side of Donna Reed.  I have spent the last ten years delving deeply into motherhood, housework (slacker-style), alcoholism, addiction, and learning to deal with autism, bipolar disorder, school systems and fibromyalgia.  This has made me an expert on nothing but gave me a great reason to develop a facial tic or two.  Honestly, it taught me patience, humor and how to sever my nerve endings.  I am now seven months or so sober and trying to find my way back to the real world.  I have heard tales of adults, folks that are unable to walk straight up while still under coffee tables, strange and wondrous tales of those that will not expect me to cut their meat, wipe their faces or follow me into the bathroom.

Chris is my husband and father of my little ones.  He was a long haired guitarist turned long haired computer geek and MMORPG fanatic.  The love of my life, when we were just nineteen I clubbed him and dragged him screaming back to my cave, while grunting, “mine!”  Hazel eyes, and long brown hair matched perfect with my  large brown eyes and AquaNet hair.  These days Chris is too tired for an affair, too well fed to run away and late for his midlife crisis.  When his alarm beeps in the morning, he throws it across the room, muttering, “I don’t need you, I don’t need anybody.”  When a yellow bus pulls up front and honks its horn, Chris grabs whatever child he sees first and runs them out the door like a football player heading for a goal, while yelling “Bus!”  It is not important if he grabs the wrong child, it does not matter if the child is wearing slippers, or if our son was thrown onto a bus with a Barbie backpack.  Meet my husband, Chris.

Mark is our ten year old son.  He has inherited his fathers’ amazing hazel eyes,cutting wit, computer addiction.  I gave Mark his goldish-red hair, dark sense of humor, and I suspect the autism, and bipolar disorder is from my side of the family too.  In spite of his young years he is built like Godzilla and has the appetite of a mammoth, though I blame that on his medications. He has spent more time than anyone should inside doctors offices and mental hospitals.  Thankfully, he has the great school and support he needs now, is home and please, meet Mark.

Melissa is our seven year old daughter.  With my brown eyes and her father’s attitude she will go places someday.  Dramatic, moody, she reminds me of Wednesday from the Addams Family.  Melissa might have some minor learning disabilities but she managed to convince a teacher that I did not allow homework and she got away with free school lunches for a month before a lunch lady called me with a running tab.    She is Daddy’s little girl and that is that.  One day after Melissa went through five outfits, three hairstyles and two tantrums, her bus pulled up before she managed to find matching shoes.  I was frustrated at this point and told her to get on the bus with her sneakers.  As she stormed onto the bus, she leaned out the window and shouted,” You shouldn’t have had a girl if you weren’t going to accessorize!”  When I was a tiny terror my mother cursed me, saying she hoped I had a child just like me someday…meet Melissa.

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