Yes I know I'm supposed to be on maternity leave, but things being as they are, I've had to go into work for one thing or another several times a week...totally not my point, but I wanted to explain why I was privy to the following converstion at work today...

side note...I work for a company that sells tools and equipment for metal working applications...

enter 18 year old strong southern accent having cutie and his adorable girlfriend...

cutie "ya'll got any iron?"

ray (the funniest and sweetest man I actually personally know) "what kind of iron?"

cutie: "oh, anything"

ray: "you wanna to make something out of it?"

cutie: "um, no."

ray: "what then? you just want scrap?"

cutie: "no sir...ummm"...cutie and girl turn and leave the building with a confused look on their faces.

Don't get it? No, you wouldn't, unless you know that what the 18 year old really asked when he walked in was "ya'll hiring?"

Poor little ray almost started a fight, and he didn't even mean to.

Get it now????

The thing about hormones is, they completely screw up that little part of your brain that's responsible for rational thought and behavior. And, my friends, post-partum hormones are no exception to the rule.

I sent my husband to the grocery store. Yes, I know, men are incapeable of grocery shopping as a general rule, but I was prepared...I had a list, organized by aisle, of everything he needed. I was brand specific. I was size specific. I was freaking insanely specific. Now, in his defense, and believe me, it's a weak defense at best, he did take one of our kids with him, which he claims is the reason he was "distracted" and unable to get everything I asked for. This is where I have a problem. When he says he couldn't "get everything", what he really means to say is "I got 3 bags of hot and spicey pork rinds and a tub of vanilla ice cream, so I figured we didn't need any fruit or vegetables." And when he says "I couldn't find the canned green beans or the bags of chicken breasts or the lean sirloin" what he meant to say is "well, I was trying to decide between the smores pop tarts and the blueberry frosted, and I figured that was more important". When he says "your son was throwing a fit and I barely had time to grab a gallon of milk and run for the front" what he meant was "I was standing there in the dairy section and I grabbed the milk, but then for some reason I couldn't find the butter or the yogurt, or the sour cream, or the cheese, or the cream cheese, or the cottage cheese."

He came home with 3 things I asked him to get and about 35 that were not on the list...guess how many of his choices are healthy? I couldn't make an actual meal out of the food he bought if you paid me.

But we were talking about hormones, weren't we? Did I accept this frustrating yet mildly amusing experience for what it was---my husband's loose interpretation of required groceries? Or did I have a complete mental breakdown? Oh, I think you know the answer to that. Yes, in my hormonally altered state I actually had a 45 minute sobbing fit. You see, my husband's inability to follow a list was clearly a deliberate and malicious act, aimed at showing me that he doesn't love or respect me. Clearly, this means that not only does he hate me and want me to suffer, but it means that for the rest of my life I can NEVER DEPEND ON ANYONE TO EVER HELP ME WITH ANYTHING....NEVER NEVER NEVER...I'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO REST BECAUSE NOW I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF...That's right, it's me the martyer speaking.

Okay, so I'm over it now, but still...those hormones are a bitch.

I'm baaaaaack.....

Well, hello there! Where, you may ask, the hell have I been? Well, I'll tell you. I have been hiding in my bedroom trying not to lose my mind, while I ponder the meaning of life and the origin of the universe.

Actually, I've been having long and meaningful conversations with myself regarding the ebb and flow of my life. Isn't it crazy how the good comes with the bad and the bad comes with the good...or is that just me? I'm one of those people that gets worried when things go too smooth, because that means, of course, that something terrible is going to happen.

About 3 or 4 weeks ago, my 11 year old Boxer started to lose interest in eating. I figured, okay, he's getting on in the years, lets try some of that yummy yet extrordinarily bad smelling canned food, which worked for a bit, until he started throwing up everything, including water, and decided to just stop completely. Then, I found a tooth on his pillow, so I thought "well, that poor dear had an absess or something...no wonder he couldn't eat! And I decided to make an appointment to see the vet and check out his poor little mouth. I dropped him off Tuesday morning (the 4th) and then went directly to the hospital, because I woke up in labor that morning. 14 hours or so later, I gave birth to a perfect and beautiful (yes, of course I'm biased) baby girl. The vet called my hubby on his cell phone and said "everything looks fine...maybe he was just stressed out over the impending birth...pick him up when you can". I never really bought that story, because this was the fourth impending birth since I've had the old boy, and he never seemed to mind before, but I took him home and hoped for the best. No luck. He refused to eat, and I took him back to the vet for one last attempt at figuring out what was wrong. He has lymphoma. I have to give him steroids twice a day, and they expect that he'll live for about 6 more months.

see...good...healthy baby girl....bad...dog dying. Ebb and flow.

My daughter, by the way, is wonderful and beautiful and perfect.