Good luck reading this post.
It’s a long one.
With no pictures for entertainment either….

I recently subscribed to Glamour magazine thinking that I needed to assure myself that I would always have a seat on the fashion train.
(Read: I’ve been feeling rather frumpy and couch-ish lately.)
And I’ve been anxiously awaiting my first issue in hopes of some great tips on how to clear up adult on-set acne. You know… because my face has been literally blowing up for the last two months and I am absolutely OVER it.

Well, I got my first issue today and I was elated. Elated, I tell you.
There, on the cover, was cute Drew Barrymore. So cute you just want to squeeze her and smack her at the same time for being so damn cute.

Anyway. I was sitting in my favorite chair this evening flipping through it’s fashion, health, and sex advice-ridden pages, while Simon and Helene were playing and fighting alternatively nearby, when it happened. I got to page 269. Article heading: Will you regret staying home with your baby? ~Adapted from The Feminine Mistake by Leslie Bennetts

Please. Before you read on, read the article. I’m not going to summarize it. I’m just interested in reacting right now.

Interesting title, no?
That’s what I thought too. And that is why I read the article that has heretofore been given the award for “Article That Has Upset Nello The Most Since She Doesn’t Know When.”

And I quote:

“I think it’s time to tell women, especially young ones, the truth: The feminine mistake- building a grown-up life around the notion that someone will take care of you- is an outdated idea that could jeopardize your future.”

Before I give the reasons I am upset about this I just want to make it known that I think Leslie and the article have a lot of great points and arguments that I hope are based on real facts. I also want it known that I am not trying to say that I think that all Mom’s should stay at home with their kids. Because I don’t. In fact, if you read this post in it’s entirety you will soon find out that given other circumstances I may have chosen to be a working Mother. That may have been a better fit for our family. I hate the stupid Mommy Wars and hope that this post won’t be construed to be a part of them.

Alright.
Why am I upset?
Reason number one: Because I don’t like my life being referred to as a “mistake”.
Hell. Who does?

Reason number two: I wasn’t aware that I was “being taken care of”. I thought that my family was taking care of each.other.
But hey. I’m just a stupid Home Mom. What the hell do I know?

Reason number three: Because this Leslie Bennetts obviously hit one of my fragile nerves.
Yeah. That’s right Leslie. I’m not afraid to admit that a part of me is afraid that you could be right. Maybe I did make a mistake….

But you know what?
That part of me that is afraid that you could be right? That part of me only rears her stupid head on the days that I am all roughed up after a 12 hour day of having medicine spit at me every four hours, cleaning up yacked up mucus and/or vomit, changing I don’t KNOW how many dirty (read: diarrhea-filled) diapers, and feeding children who seemingly have no interest in being fed. Call me crazy and wishy-washy, but on days like that I get all kinds of question-y.

For instance, on any given “Crappy Mom Day”, my mind can be found doing this to me:
“What am I doing with my life? Am I wasting my time raising these kids? Because maybe there is someone out there that can do a better job…. Hmmm. Tyson comes to mind. He’s really great with the kids. Maybe I would better serve my family if I were out in the work force. I bet with my spitfire ways I could really go places in this evil world. Ugh. Did I make the right choice staying with my kids? I thought I did…. When did doubt enter into that decision? You know…. This really sucks. I know I’ve got a lot of smarts stocked up in that head of mine. Should I be getting paid for them? Hmmm. Why aren’t I getting paid for them? This not-for-profit-work is for the BIRDS! I just got accepted to BYU…. I should go. I could get my bachelors in just under two years and then I could keep going and become a lawyer or an orthodontist, or WHATEVER I WANT to be. Yeah. I’m not that great at this Mom thing anyway. I feel like a failure a lot. I hate that. But look at my little Helene. How could I just leave……..”

There you have it. Just a small stroll on one tiny corner inside my head. I know it’s a scary, bewildering place in there…. But it is what it is.
And I’m not in the least bit sorry for any of it.
I made, along with my parter in crime, the decision to do the full time Mom thing when I was only 24 years old. We made this decision based on two factors. The most important factor was that we believed it would be best for our children if they were taken care of by their Mother. The other factor was the cost of day care. Admit it. It is expensive for a good one. I’ve been happy and settled with the choice we made and I have been resentful and doubtful of the choice as well.

The sacrifices we have made so I can be a full-time Mother have been great. In financial terms, the sacrifice could go without saying. We live in California on one income. Enough said. In emotional terms, the sacrifice is not often a “sacrifice”, but sometimes I do think that my sanity has suffered just a tad. Yeah. Doodlebop watching will do that to you. I just wish someone would have told me. In all seriousness, however, I’m just not always happy being a 24 hour nose wiping Mom. I know. It’s a shocking revelation. I’m surprised I even had the guts to immortalize that admission on the internet.

So why do I keep doing it? Because now I know we made the right decision. After only having Simon for a year we knew he was a little different than other kids. When he was 22 months old we found out about his severe speech delay and his sensory processing disorder. It was then that I knew he needed me more than we needed an extra paycheck. I knew that Simon needed professionals to help him overcome his disabilities, but I also knew that he needed me to be with him before and after those appointments. No paid person could ever give my Simon the love that he needed while going through those difficult appointments. He needed me to greet him in the waiting room after he had been tested and pushed past his limits. I know that to be an absolute fact and no one will ever be able to tell me otherwise. I would love to sit here and tell you about the various other women and men that I met in those waiting rooms who had given up their careers when they found out about their child’s similar disabilities because they knew the sacred truth that I just told you about…. but I would be writing for a lot longer and, as you already know, this post is long enough.

I was young when I made such a life altering decision. I get that. But. I also get that I made an informed decision. I am well aware that I could be traded in for another model. I am aware that in the event of a divorce I could very well be put out on my ass if Tyson decided to be a big fat JERK and forget that we made a deal, a promise, a covenant even, that he would work for profit and I would raise our kids not for profit. Tyson and I are both aware of the impact that decision could have on my life if any event occurs that would separate us. Maybe I’m naive. Some, obviously, all but call me stupid. But I trust my husband with that delicate and scary situation. What kind of marriage would we have if I couldn’t trust him with it? And that is my point.

I don’t deny that there are risks in the decision to not have a career. But I do think it is very sad and disheartening to be shown, once again, that we live in a society that puts such a small value on family and such a huge one self. Yes, I think this is very much a family issue. A family is like a team, isn’t it? A family is supposed to be a group of people who love and trust each other and who work together toward their common goals, whatever those may be. People in a family take care of each other. They look out for one another. And most importantly, they sacrifice for each other. If living a family life nowadays means putting little or no trust in my marriage and it’s accompanying promises, and making sure that I protect ME before anything else, then it is a sad day indeed.

I guess I’m just not crazy about a society where the family is ceasing to exist because no one can trust it anymore.
And I’m certainly not crazy about an article or book based on the assumption that women like me are so stupid that we gave up our careers and paychecks, without assessing any of the risks involved, just so we could be “taken care of“.

I’m writing this post on my cell phone.
So I guess that means I’m “moblogging”?…
(Ugh! My geeky-ness knows NO bounds.)

The jury is still out on whether or not the nerve blocks worked. The last week of spine-needle-stabbing fun SUCKED as far as the pain and my utter hopelessness are concerned.
Sherrie of Fab Shab took me to the slaughter last Monday. I don’t remember everything I said, but I do remember laughing a.lot. Something about some poor old lady’s jacked up hair rings a bell…
Anyway. Life was pretty o-kay that day until. Until I got outta bed and watched my foot turn purple. I’ve watched that phenomenon happen hundreds of times… This time, however, was different because the sight of it basically shattered any hope that I had left of the RSD leaving my life. I only had one block left and I really didn’t, and still don’t, think it would make that big of a difference. And you know what? So far I’m right.

Last Wednesday’s nerve block was horrible. The worst yet, actually.

*I’m going to interrupt this heart warming post to tell you that Helene JUST walked up to me and casually spit apple juice on my shoulder. Nice. You know… It is times like these that I really just love my job. Okay. Back to our not so regularly scheduled posting.*

Suffice it to say, I was crying as I was being wheeled back into surgery and was STILL a weeping wonder when I was put into recovery. Umyeah. The hopelessness factor DEFINITELY came to a head that day. And there was NO stopping the flow. Just ask my doctor or any of the nurses… Or anyone in the general vicinity of the surgery center, for that matter.

Now it’s about a week later. And today is looking to be a good “foot day”.
I just hope that today’s good foot day turns into a good “foot rest of my forever”.

Too much to ask?
Probably.

Imagine if you will, a toddler throwing a half-quasi fit.
Are you picturing Helene? Cuz that is what I want you to do.

Picture my angel throwing her little fit by rapidly stomping her tiny feet while swinging her head from side to side.

Now picture my husband, the local court jester, singing, “She’s a maniac, maniac, on the flo-o-or. And she’s dancin’ like she’s never danced befo-o-or”, at the same time.

PLEASE tell me you’re laughing.
I know I’m all hopped up on some pain pills….
But I just can’t stop laughing when I think about this!!!!

I haven’t been on this computer in days and days.
And it’s funny… Because I really didn’t miss it.
In fact, just sitting here feels like work. (Clearly I like my bed better than my office chair.)

I’ve had three of the nerve blocks and will get my fourth tomorrow. I have seen little to no improvement. However, I am only half way done with the round, so there is still much hope to be had.
Before I go on, I just want to clarify to the audience that I am not being a doom sayer when I indicate that there are very few options available to me. What I have is a nerve that is massively malfunctioning. It is a neurological problem. There is no known cause or cure for RSD. I have found through my own research and in discussion with about four different doctors, that my best chance for a “cure” will come through these nerve injections. For some people these nerve blocks help enormously. For others they don’t. As it stands right now, these nerve blocks have sorta-kinda-not-really helped me.

I have been asked if I have tried Eastern Medicine. And the answer is no. Maybe in the future I will seek those methods as an option. As of right now, however, I have not heard nor read any stories from people with RSD that claim any Eastern methods as the way to go. Maybe I’m not talking to the right people…. but. This is what it is.

Anyway. On to what I came here to do.

The injections have been, for the most part, uneventful.
Now. Don’t be disappointed. I did say, “for the most part”.
At my last appointment I was graced with the presence of an old man’s ass poking through the curtain that divided our exam areas. Uhhhh…..That’s right! As soon as I walked into my exam area I was greeted with an old man’s un-hairy indented ass poking through my curtain. IF you are screaming inside your head right now, I’m so NOT sorry. That does not even BEGIN to compare with the visual that is permanently BURNED into my brain. Permanently, I tell you!
Uh.huh. Now I know what Tyson’s ass may or may not look like when he is about 65.
Not.Pretty.

Physical therapy has been interesting, to say the least. Take away the fact that I only do three different treatments while I’m there, let’s just talk about the fact that I still end up walking out of there with a foot that is BURNING with PAIN.
Well. Whatever. At least I’m walking, right?
Not to worry though… I get back at them in my own little way.

Example:

Physical Therapist Lady: What are your kids names?

Drugged Nello: Simon and Helene.

Physical Therapist Lady: Oh. Are those family names?

Drugged Nello: AhhhhhhhHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! That just means that you don’t like ‘em! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! (Literally can.not. stop. laughing.)

Physical Therapist Lady: No…. I was just wondering….

Drugged Nello: Awwww. You don’t have to lie. I really do NOT care if you like my kids names or not! ~more laughing~

Physical Therapist Lady: ~uncomfortable silence~

Drugged Nello: ~Enjoying the silence so she can sleep while getting her numb foot massaged~

I don’t know if that is going to come across as funny to anyone else… but I SWEAR. If you were there, then you would know how great it was… Not to mention how great I felt for FINALLY saying what I think after someone asks me if Simon or Helene were named for a family member.
Girl. Don’t even GET me started.

The following is going to be a lot of blah-blah-blah about my foot.
So if you’re sick of reading about it, click away.

So. I start another round of sympathetic nerve blocks tomorrow. I will get two a week (on Monday and Wednesday) for three weeks. Each block will be followed directly with a physical therapy appointment. I can already tell you that the physical therapy appointments are going to suck. I mean…. I will just be coming out of anesthesia for crying out loud! Whatever.

The reason I am going to go through this again is because in about four to five months my chances of healing will pretty much dwindle down to a big, fat, zilch-o. I’ve looked into other surgery options and none of them have very good success rates. Plus, not many doctors would be willing to perform some of them on someone my age and in my situation. So needless to say, I am in panic mode. I NEED to heal, people. I CANNOT live my life with RSD. I just can’t. I really don’t know what I will do if this doesn’t work.

I mean…. Of course I will go on. I don’t have a choice on that one. But. I don’t think I will be able to continue living a happy life without going into counseling and/or start taking some lovely anti-depressant pills. I already know I’m tapped as far as my emotions are concerned. I still have days where I break down over nothing and just cry and cry and cry. I know it is because the last seven months are haunting me. And because of that, any small incident that happens can send me into a massive crying jag. Seriously. You should see me when I break down. It is terrible. At the end of the jag my eyes end up being swollen for over 24 hours. Not.Exaggerating. I feel so bad for my husband and kids who have to see and hear me during those times. I’m sure I look like a train wreck and sound like a blubbering baby.

Gah!!! When will it end, people? WHEN?

Hopefully it ends after this round of sympathetic nerve blocks.
If it doesn’t, then you will be able to find me twice a week at a local therapist’s office near you.

I haven’t done this in a long time.
Let’s see if I can still do it right…..
Oh crap. It’s Saturday now, isn’t it?
Oh well. I’m doing the wrap anyway.

I came home from my ten day vacation at my parent’s house. When I walked through the door I was instantly hit with Pine-Sol fumes. Holy crap! Tyson had cleaned the house from top to bottom. He even painted and hung up cabinet doors in my laundry room. We’ve owned this house for almost two years and those cabinets have been door-free because I wanted to paint them red and put new hardware on them. Clearly I never got to it…. But he did it as a birthday present to me. When I saw the finished doors, I cried a little.


Every time I have turned around this week, Helene is playing in the toilet water. Uhhh….NASTY! I can’t, for the life of me, get her to stop. She gets in trouble (read: a lecture she could care less about and then a time-out that she cares a lot about) but she still goes back and fishes in the water. I wish I could say it is funny…. But I’m just trying to keep my gag reflex in check.

Helene is also doing this a lot… (sleeping on the changing table)

I think she’s old enough for the changing table to do a disappearing act, don’t you think?

I turned 29. Wah.Hoo. I went to dinner with some friends and family and am still enjoying the benefits of the Birthday Shopping Extravaganza. I just HAVE to show some of the coolness that I’ve gotten….
Shimmery-sparkly goodness.

I actually bought some shoes!!!
I can only wear one though. Not as much fun… but still. Look look!


And I found the exact.same.shirt. that I wore in third grade.

You know you’re jealous of that shirt.

I collected a “specimen” for my BugMan and was told that I have Carpet Beetles. WHA?!?! EWWWWWWWWW. I’m not going to worry though. My trusted bugman is going to come and zap them all away next week. Because… whoa. How the crap do I have carpet beetles when I have zero carpet in my home?

Obviously I changed my blog design. I couldn’t find a suitable graphic for the whole “toddler holding a cat” theme… but as soon as I do, you can bet that it will be the new look for the Diary. I’m not quite sure if this a very likable design for the masses… but I like it. And that is what counts, right?

Tyson and I just got done re-painting our dining room. It is still green, in case you green-wall-haters were wondering. We started at 10pm-ish and finished around 1am-ish. Apparently when you have small children, it is best to paint when they are sleeping. Doesn’t it look like so much fun??

That’s it. It was a long one, I know…. But I thought it was entertaining.