I have a theory.

I am beginning to believe that I black out on a regular basis. I lose consciousness and another person takes over my body much like those ever popular soap opera cases of multiple personality disorder.

Why do I think this? Because there is obviously someone other than me parenting my children. Someone who loves it when they bicker and fight. Someone who immediately caves in at the first sign of tears. Someone who gives in to whining on a regular basis.

If this weren't the case, my darling children, who have lived with me the entirety of their little lives, would have certainly figured out that whining is a sure fire way to make this mother dig her heels in. Asking me the same question 14 times is not going to get you a different answer. And changing to a cry or whine while asking time number 15 is definitely not going to work in your favor.

Because they continue to do these things, I am certain that my mind is regularly overruled by this other, hidden personality who consistently caves in to such obvious, and pathetic attempts at manipulation. Otherwise the FarmHands would have given it up years ago.

An actual post with a little bit of fluff at the end.

Yesterday Husband and I made a life changing decision.  We had our television satellite disconnected.  This may not seem like a big deal to a lot of you, but it's a really big deal around here.  We had it turned on 2 years ago and I wasn't truly thrilled with the idea.  Husband was tired of Netflix & wanted to watch local channels without the disruption we constantly battled with our antenna.  The only problem was, once we get more than 3 or 4 channels at a time, all our brains shut off & we become giant couch slugs consuming hours upon hours of mindless trash television every day.  During the summer it's not a big deal since we spend so much time outside, but during the winter months we watch enough television to give the Nielsens a heart attack.

It was also costing entirely too much each month.  We were paying nearly $70 a month to have mindless garbage pumped into our home.  That's not OK.  Especially when you figure up that the same amount over the course of the year could pay 6 months car insurance- something you have to have in exchange for something you really don't need.

Everyone keeps telling me, "You don't really need satellite when you've got Hulu and streaming Netflix, and YouTube," but we don't have those things.  If we're lucky we might have an antenna that will pick up local channels every once in a great while.  I'm hoping for just enough signal to get me Downton Abbey on PBS and some Curious George for Bitsy every now & then.  If not, no big deal.

But this major change is going to have a serious effect on the FarmHands (am I using "effect" properly?  I always get effect & affect confused).  Last night, when they discovered the change, the boys burst into hysterical sobs.  "You mean we can't watch Phinneas and Ferb anymore?!  Why did you turn it off?  When is it coming back on?  This is No Faaaaiiiiiirrrrrr."  But once the immediate heartbreak was over, we sat down & read 2 chapters in The Magician's Nephew and a few Bible stories from the coolest Bible Storybook EVER (thank you, Inkling).  I'm pretty sure they'll survive, but it may be a hard few weeks as we readjust.

So far it hasn't bothered me, but then I spent most of today at work.  (Here's where the fluff starts.)  I haven't had a chance to feel the loss.  Give me a few days & a few more missed episodes of Glee & check again; I may take up drinking.

You may remember that I've been subbing as a cook at the FarmHand's school since just before Christmas. Today was my fourth day on the job.  I really enjoy it but it's going to take some serious getting used to-being on my feet all day.  My biggest issues is the dress code.  You can wear any kind of shirt you like (preferably a t-shirt) but you have to wear white or light khaki pants.  If you've ever spent a great deal of time in a kitchen, you know white is not a good idea.  And personally, I think white pants are a mistake period....unless you're name is Heidi Klum and you have legs that go on for years.

Let's add to this the fact that the one pair of white pants (stretch jeans) I've found have a black tag & front pockets that stand out through the fabric like neon lights saying, "Look at my upper thighs!  Look at my upper thighs!"  Oy.

Next order of business (yes, this may be the post that never ends):  my lower back has been out of wack since Saturday.  It needs to pop just above my tail bone but flat out refuses to do so.  At times I'm pretty sure a nerve gets pinched because I'll have a sharp pain that runs down to the back of my knee.  It's driving me crazy.  I've tried hot baths, heating pads, yoga, ibuprofen, muscle relaxers, and laying in every possible position.  Nothing has worked.  BabyGirl & Husband, on the other hand, can pop their lower backs with a simple twist.  Since mine's been bothering me, I'm pretty sure they've conspired to drive me crazy by showing me over & over & over & over again just how easy this task is for them.  And today, after I got home from work, Bitsy turns to me & says, "Look, Mommy.  I tan pop my back," and starts wiggling in all directions.

I hope they've reserved my padded cell, 'cause I'm gonna' need it.

Dearest Readers,

Rage is bubbling up in me once again. I can feel the anger seeping out my pores. It's like a festering boil that I can't help but poke over & over & over again. I am on the verge of smearing it all over my clothing & reveling in the hideousness of it all. I feel the need to shoot something but it's raining & dark & I'm all out of aerosol cans (they're the most rewarding of the scrap metal targets).

Instead, I would really like a bit of a pick me up. Let me rephrase that- I really need someone to yank me up out of this pit of loathing I'm currently holed up in & make me laugh whether I like it or not.

Please, Readers Dear, make me laugh.