Fibronaut At Home

Confessions (gasp!) of a Mommy with Fibromyalgia

My house is a disaster area and the next person who comments on it can clean it for me if it bothers them that much (hint, hint).

My 10-year-old and 8-year-old get themselves ready in the morning.

My 10-year-old and 8-year-old get their three-year-old sister ready in the morning too.  I do sometimes lift my head from my pillow to offer groggy, bleary-eyed and often unnecessary advice.  They are pros.

My husband gets himself ready in the morning (GASP!!!).

My husband gets himself out of bed in the morning (DOUBLE-GASP!!!)

I don’t do ironing.  Seriously.  Eventually the wrinkles smooth themselves out and that is what the “wrinkle-release” cycle on the dryer is for.

I always have laundry piled up, waiting to wash or dry or fold or put away.  Have I mentioned I really love the “wrinkle-release” cycle on the dryer?

My children (with the exception of the three-year-old and my husband) fold their own laundry and put their own laundry away.  Sometimes, they wash their own laundry.

I’ve made it one of my goals to do dishes every day.  I said it’s a goal, not a sure-thing.

Although my daughters and I require zero aim when using the toilet, the two who do have to “shoot for the target” and are therefore the most likely ones to cause the curious yellow stains around (and I mean AROUND) the toilet have NEVER (that I can recall) cleaned the toilet.  This isn’t really a confession, but a strongly worded hint.  I mean, really.  I only have so many “spoons” a day and to spend even a quarter of one of my spoons on the toilet is not only unfair, but cruel and unusual punishment.

My three-year-old gave me the nickname of “Sleepy-head-Mommy, wake-up!”

I don’t like to wash my hair every day and so I’ve gone poo-free so that my hair produces less oil and is less dry, requiring less maintenance.  I wash my hair with a baking soda and water solution and only put conditioner on the ends.  Don’t go “EWWW!”  I watched several videos on YouTube and read several blogs before starting this.  Google it.

I don’t clean the kitty litter until I either can’t stand it anymore or my husband complains about it.  I would now tell my husband to refer to the first confession on this blog but Alice The Cat is my cat and he’d probably let her outside for the fox to eat if I started asking him to clean the litter.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly bad (pain, fatigue, PMS, depressed) and my children start whining, I let them do whatever they want.  Third bubble bath of the day?  Sure!  Play XBOX even though your room isn’t clean?  Why not?  Eat every junk-food item in the house in rapid succession?  Your Dad will be home soon so don’t let him catch you eating that.

My husband is moving my three-year-old’s toys to behind the couch to try to contain her mess to that area.  This isn’t a confession either, but I wanted someone else to laugh at him on that one with me.

“God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt” is my new motto.

Any and all word problems in my kids homework are saved for when Daddy gets home.

My three-year-old is potty trained but refuses to wipe herself after going #2.  She instead hollers “Mom!  I pooped!”  It sometimes takes me so long to get there to help that she has started singing to herself while she waits.  It’s almost like I’m on “Jeopardy”.

My kids have learned to read my lips.  Especially when I’m mouthing “Ask your Dad.”

If what I wore to bed the night before is sweat pants and a t-shirt, I’m probably picking up my kids from school in it.

Actually, I should clarify.  That was the old me.  The new me has a new goal of taking a shower every day and so I usually do have clean clothes on by 2:30 pm when I pick up the kids from school.  If I’m not going anywhere else, however, I immediately change back into my comfy clothes.  Also, showering is another goal, not certainty.

The only reason, besides company coming over, that I clean my living room, is so I can do my yoga or my “Deepak Chopra’s: Leela” on the XBOX Kinect.

I don’t procrastinate.  I just forget.  Until it is too late.  Then I remember.

How long does it take three kids, one husband and one fibro-fighter to clean a house?  I’ll let you know if it ever happens.

Wait!  I had a Celebrating Home party in March and my house was clean then.  Unfortunately, that is the last time my house was clean.

My daughter once took a moldy sandwich to lunch for school.  I swear that I checked that bread while making that sandwich.  I’m also pretty sure that this happened before my diagnosis but I’m still using fibro-fog as an excuse.

I’m pretty sure I’ll think of more of these gems after I post this, but if I’m going to meet any of my “goals” today, I better get my butt off the couch.  Besides, my daughter has a friend coming over after school today and I can’t see my living room floor.  I jest.  I can see my living room floor, it’s just covered with crap at the moment.

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Lovely Lady Humps

I am so proud of myself, yet again.  I could not have planned a cleaning spree better.  I busted my lovely lady humps (in the back and in the front) loading the dishwasher and unloading the dishwasher, cooking dinner in my new bean pot from Celebrating Home, then re-loading the dishwasher and then I made cookies!  This was over a 10 hour period, but I don’t care!  On some sub-human level I must have realized that my parents were going to plan a surprise visit today.  My daughter and I also have a lunch date today with a friend and her daughter (hence the cookie baking) for mac and cheese and weenies.  Unfortunately, I forgot the roofers were coming today so while I got in the shower at 9 am, upon exiting I heard the doorbell ring.  By the time I made it to answering the door, they were already scraping away on my roof.  What if they’d had the wrong house?  I had to move my van out of the driveway and could feel eyes on me.  Must be my lovely lady humps.  Delusional?  Maybe.  I now wish they’d had the wrong house.  The pounding is starting to get to me.  My almost-three-year-old is sleeping through it, but I can hear Leia (our American Eskimo) pacing in the kitchen.  She has three three-week-old puppies.  I just posted a photo of them (I think).  Back to the roofers, I should have made an appointment in my phone because this Fibro-brain I have sucks.  Now that I’ve written that, I’m having a hard time coming up with anything else.  Okay, fine.  I’m sorry I said you suck Fibro-brain.  But you do, for the record.  Suck.  Hard core.  I made myself giggle with that one.  Now I can put “suck” and “hard core” as tag words.  How many followers will that get me?  I wish I could take a poll:  “Please check the appropriate box below.  You started following Fibronaut at Home as a result of the following tags a. suck or b. hard core.”  How about “lovely lady humps”?  Who knew blogging could be so fun?

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You Gotta Have Friends!

What a wonderful day I had yesterday!  Good friends, who I’ve missed so much, camaraderie, and support.  I had a Celebrating Home Party and if I forgot to invite you, I’m so sorry, and if I did invite you and you couldn’t make it, I’m sorry for that too.  Also, if you don’t know what that is you should Google it.  They have a very nice selection of items for your home and garden.  I’d be happy to recommend my Sales Consultant as well (I think that’s what they’re called).  It was so nice to just sit and chat with people who I haven’t seen in many months or many years.  And while I really have thought of myself as socially backward for years, I realized after yesterday that it isn’t so much me being nervous or shy but me imagining things that aren’t there.  Or maybe it was just the total acceptance from the ladies I had around me yesterday that gave me confidence.  There is something so refreshing about being around people who you know will tell you if your fly is open, or if you have a boog hanging out.  (Not that my fly was down, although I had jury-rigged my capris so they wouldn’t be so tight around my waist.  I was also mercifully boog-free)  So thank you for that ladies.  I may not have a lot of friends but I have awesome ones.  Quality, not quantity, yes?  I thought of taking a picture to commemorate the moment too late, after everyone had left.  That was my fibro kicking in.  I realized another important thing:  I can just be sometimes.  Not everyone is judging me and even if they are, that is something they have to deal with.  I don’t have to constantly grimace in pain, even though I feel pain.  I can try to smile once in a while.  I don’t have to succumb to my fatigue all the time.  I don’t have to constantly think about my fibro or mention it to others.  I can do other things.  This may seem like an obvious thing, but to me it was profound.  Fibromyalgia is something that’s going to be with me for the rest of my life.  I’m going to have to live with it.  Key word LIVE!



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