I started out this post by looking for pictures of sheep--to reinforce how sheepish I feel about being such a drama queen. Then I tried to be funny and compare myself to Cher or whoever else that pulls the publicity stunt of announcing that she's gone for good--and then pops up again a week or two later.

Both methods didn't go anywhere--and seemed very forced and shallow. Well--they were.

A couple of days ago, Erik and I had an ugly scene that involved my blog--indirectly. It had more to do with choices and trust and boundaries. I'd like to fill you in on all the gory details, but will leave that to him if he feels comfortable with it. Anyway, my response was something along the lines of--"Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck the blog." And I deleted it. I was totally shocked by the sense of loss that came along with that choice. I literally spent all day yesterday in bed, in tears. Some of the tears were marriage related--some mother related--some Sophie relate--but many were blog related.

I tend to be pretty fuzzy on boundaries--and assume that just because someone I love is upset or has a problem--that it's my job to respond--to fix. I'm learning slowly but surely that I don't have to feel other peoples feelings for them--or even with them. I also tend to be a bit of a self destructive punisher of myself. When I want to loose weight--I don't do things that are good for me, like eat right and exercise. Instead I take diet pills and make myself throw up. (Sadly, and this is exactly how I feel, I've been too lazy to throw up lately and have put on a good 30 lbs.) As far as the blog--Erik didn't ask me to delete it. I did that on my own--as a punishment to myself, and as a result, to him. I don't know where I learned that hurting myself is a great way to punish others--but, there you have it.

I'm absolutely sick about all the posts that are gone--because I had hoped to share them with Sophie when she's older. I have an email into blogger help to see if there's anything they can do, but I'm probably just screwed.

As far as all the kind comments--thanks. I'm kind of embarrassed, and kind of having a Sally Fields moment (You really like me!).

Quitty McJen mentioned a few days ago that anyone who blogs likes attention--or something to that effect. I think all of us (maybe just me) down play the importance of our web log--either posting or reading--but know that in reality, that it IS important. It's a way of getting a little validation for your life; of connecting to the world at large--which is often such a scary and unfriendly place--in a friendly way. Keeping a blog is like being a little Who--yelling out, "I am HERE! I am HERE!"

I was very touched and surprised by Erik's post asking me to come back. He and I had a long talk, and both feel like for all the trouble that my blog has caused, it has actually helped him to understand me better. He has asked me to continue it, and has asked me to let him be responsible for his reaction to it--rather than feel like I am responsible. I'm going to try and do that.

Now then. On to the important stuff.

Sophie Gene. She is currently stricken with a virus called "Herpangina" or otherwise known as "Hand Foot and Mouth." The symptoms are high fever, vomiting and very very sore, um, sores in the mouth that make eating, and drinking pretty unpleasant. Other symptoms that I've noticed are a tendency to hit her mother, refusal to take any medicine that may make her feel better, and general all around orneriness. I took her to the doctor 2 days ago, and the brand spankin new nurse practitioner was a complete (sorry--I must say it) retard. I told him TWICE about the sores on her mouth, but he didn't look. He was about to write an antibiotic prescription "just to make sure" when I said firmly, "Would you PLEASE look at the sores in her mouth." He did and said, "Oh! That's herpangina!" "Really," I replied, trying to restrain the fist of death from delivering the fatal beating that he so obviously was in need of. "What's that?" He didn't really know, and looked it up in his little palm pilot. Yadda Yadda Yadda

So anyway, she's doing a bit better today, though the hitting symptom seems to be getting worse. I'm going to be brave and take her to Flagstaff anyway--and pray that she doesn't infect my sister's kids. I'll have to curtail her licking of them at least.

Janzen is back with his mom, and I miss the HELL out of him. He's such an easy kid to be around. I miss our chess games, his silly sense of humor, and most importantly, I miss how he would unload the dishwasher for me every morning. (Ok--that's not the most important thing--but I do miss it.)

Jimmy is currently at the vet's being boarded for 3 nights. After he shat in my mom's bedroom, I didn't want to ask her to tend him again. Plus, she wanted to come along with us, and is feeling very hurt that Mandy and I wanted some sister time sans Mom. The house training thing is going kind of, um, shitty. Literally. I'll spare the details, but finding little brown curly-q's of puppy shit in the corners is not pleasant.

Today's best thing about being a mom:
When I was bawling yesterday, Soph decided that I must need a mom. So she said, "I'm Mommy, you're Sophie," and proceeded to try and "make me better." She brought me her silky, her gatoraid, and her bear, and sang me a lullaby.

Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Unfortunately, the angel of yesterday has, in the manner of most 2 year olds, become a devil today, and she slapped me right in front of Kodi for not letting her eat a giant spoon full of sugar. I don't know if I was more angry at her, or more embarrassed at how bratty she acted in front of my friend. Sigh.