About Anxious Mom, As Narrated By Morgan Freeman

While updating my About Me page, I decided to have a little fun with it. And since there has been an influx of new followers, I thought I’d share that page as a blog post. Welcome aboard, new folks.


Per the blog post title, you should read this in Morgan Freeman’s voice. 

Anxious Mom, who is known as “Mommy,” “Mom,” or “Momo” by her children, is a 30-something woman who resides in the Deep South. (And by “resides,” we mean “suffers” due to the unbearable heat and humidity.) She has two heathens — a son in middle school and a daughter in kindergarten. When the children aren’t busy tormenting each other, they torture their mother in ways only children can.

There are many things Anxious Mom enjoys doing in her spare time. If you ask her directly, she’d probably tell you that she loves reading and doing intellectual activities such as going to the museum. If you observe her in her habitat, however, you’ll find that she mostly watches shows on Netflix and plays games in her downtime. She is particularly fond of comedies, including The Office, Parks and Rec, Friends, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine. She has jokingly said that liking one of those shows is required to be friends with her, but through careful observation, we have learned it is not, in fact, a joke.

If you asked Anxious Mom about her background, she’d tell you that she did a brief stint as a teacher before becoming a stay-at-home-mom. Since then, she has done freelance work part-time, including providing content writing and editing services. Her primary job, however, is working as a chauffeur. This is where she truly excels in life, as she has a penchant for punctuality (as long as her children and husband don’t intervene) and safety. The mother, who we suspect was a hall monitor in another life, is proud of having never gotten a speeding ticket. She does, however, fill her swear jar every other day thanks to her time on the road, so she isn’t as goody-two-shoes as she seems.

As you can see, Anxious Mom is a blogger. Some people call her a mommy blogger, and that irritates her greatly. “I am a mom who blogs,” she maintains, as though there is truly a difference. She has blogged for five years and writes about herself and her family. When she first started blogging, she wrote a lot about her mental health, and it’s suspected that she’ll do so again. The rapidly-approaching-middle-age mother is also fond of writing blog posts where she rants about meaningless topics.

This concludes our glimpse into the life Anxious Mom. You can read her other blog posts or follow her on Instagram for other mundane insights into her life.

Saturday Randomness

Yay, it’s the weekend!

And, yay, both sets of grandparents invited the kids over for Friday and Saturday! That means double weekend date night, a first in the history of Baby Girl. My husband and I went out last night to our favorite Italian restaurant and I had my usual chicken parm. (Obviously the 30-day keto challenge got postponed dammit.) It was so damn good. I had leftovers and threatened my husband’s life if he dared touch them like he did last time.

He also ordered a slice of chocolate cake, which ended up being enough for four people.

Yum.

I texted LM during the meal and taunted him with the cake, which didn’t amuse him very much.

Not shown is the other half of the cake, which we did bring home for the boy.

I doubt we’ll go anywhere tonight, so it’ll be a stay-at-home date night. He has whiskey and I’ll have rum and vodka, so we’ll do Hulu and for-real chill.

It looks like we’ll have guests in a few weeks. My in-laws are moving their mobile home and asked to stay with us for a few days. I love them to death, but am not looking forward to it, mostly because my father-in-law is the loudest person in the world. And as someone who a) takes out her hearing devices around him and b) is mostly deaf in one ear and has a severe loss in the “good” ear, that’s saying something. He and BG get going and it’s so loud that you literally can’t converse with anyone else in the room. Hello, headache town. They’ve always been good to us, though, so we could never say no to helping them out. I will be buying a new bottle of Excedrin migraine reliever, though.

This past school week ended up being good for BG for the most part. We had minimal crying in the mornings. On Thursday night, though, she had a meltdown of epic proportions because she didn’t want to go to school. She was in the bathtub of all place, and when it was time to wash up and get out, she refused because getting cleaned meant she had to go to bed soon and going to bed soon meant she had school in the morning. Oh my god, y’all. I came in to find her in the corner of the tub out of my husband’s reach (it’s a large garden tub) throwing water toys at him. I couldn’t get her to come to me, either, so I was like “fuck it” and got in.

Imagine this:

Except for it’s a 33-pound kid who is wet and somewhat sudsy from the bubble bath. And there’s also legs kicking, fingers clawing, and teeth attempting to bite. Plus screaming. Holy fucking hell. That’s the worst meltdown I’ve seen in a while. Lawdamercy Jesus, as my grandmother would say. We needed a truck load of Xanax after that.

We’ve been getting our Halloween costume plans together. Looks like we’ll do another family thing this year, and this time it’ll be Marvel Cinematic Universe inspired. BG is planning to be either Groot or Rocket or Loki, with a lean towards Groot because she wants to play “Mr. Blue Sky” on the phone and dance to it while trick-or-treating. I’m going as 90s grungy Carol Danvers, my husband is planning to be Bruce Banner mid Hulk-out, and the boy wants to be either Hawkeye or Black Panther. I love doing the family costumes! Last year we did the Incredibles and a year or two before that, we did DC. Now if our hell-on-earth state could just shift over to fall-like weather…

I’ve been thinking about a blog makeover. Maybe come up with a new name for it. Hmm.

What randomness would you like to share from your week?

Brain Dump

I know that drunk posting is poo-pooed on.

And I get that. I’m in my mid-30s. I’m a mom. I’m supposed to be respectable and shit. But I haven’t eaten today because it just hasn’t happened, and the two strong drinks I had tonight when my husband got home have hit me.

It has been a long fucking week. Long as in “husband has barely been home for the last 9 days and hasn’t gotten home before 11PM most nights” long. Now, I know that’s not that bad, and his week+ has definitely been longer than mine I’m sure, but I’m accustomed to tag-teaming my very demanding kids, so I’m tired. Or, as my grandmother would say, I’m TAARD. (That’s like country southern.)

I’m used to the whole “MOMMY IS THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN SOLVE A PROBLEM” thing. But I’m also used to my husband stepping in at times. And I’m also used to him helping put BG down for the night. She might be five, but she still needs someone with her, and she also needs a very specific type of story every fucking night. The stories have to be different, but they also have to involve Spider-Man and trips to her pediatrician’s office. We’re on day 183 of this. That’s easier when we switch it up between the two parents. It’s also easier when I don’t have to hear her rage about how it isn’t my night, and “it’s her daddy’s night, because we got MOMMY-DADDY-MOMMY-DADDY, but don’t leave.”

She also takes forever to go asleep these days. And I gripe, but about halfway through — just when I think she’s legit asleep — she’ll roll over, open her eyes, smile widely, and then kiss me on the nose. And while part of me is “Go the fuck to sleep,” the other part of me is completely melting and hoping this never ends.

And I’m also used to him helping with cooking. And by “helping,” I mean “making the non-shitty meals.” I am not a good cook overall. I cook good things on occasion (and Instagram them, so some of y’all know how infrequent that is), and I’m a great baker, but he is a much better cook than I am. Take spaghetti. I brown meat, throw in the sauce, and boil noodles. But him — he has a very specific timing where he does things like throwing in the extra herbs in with the meat. The meat has to be browned somewhat but not all the way to seal in the taste. And then he sautees the cooked noodles in a couple tablespoons of sauce before putting all the sauce in. I try to do this, but it never tastes amazeballs like his does.

So, my house is basically LEGOs and shit everywhere, no truly good meals, etc. right now, but I did buy the kids’ school supplies yesterday, and I didn’t even cry, so BOOM. I was tempted when BG picked out her Batman pencil box over because I’m cry-y over stuff like that. (Also, she picked out a Spider-Man backpack and a solar system themed lunch box a couple weeks ago, and I love it.)

I was also tempted to cry when LM was bothered while picking out stuff. He picked out stuff that wasn’t superhero or Minecraft themed because he didn’t want to be teased in middle school. Oof. I wanted to tell him to do what the fuck he wants, but I also know that he already has a lot of social difficulties ahead of him and didn’t want to tell him to do something that could make things harder. I don’t know if that was the right call or not, but if enough other kids have Minecraft lunchboxes and pencil cases when school starts, and he’s comfortable carrying them and wants them, then cool.

Hmm, what else shall I write about in my drunk dump?

I got a job offer from a legit company last week. It seems like I might’ve already posted about that, but I don’t see it, so whatever. It has the potential to be a career type job in the long run. I submitted the paperwork to HR, but haven’t heard back yet, so I’m freaking out. My husband said that HR in big corps take forever to get things processed, but I’m convinced that I’m now back to square one because that’s how I roll. (I decided if I don’t hear back that I’m gonna wait until next January to apply for stuff and take it “easy.” Heh.)

Tonight was fun after he got home. FUUUUUN. We watched Fun Mom Night, which I think is fucking hilarious. I love to watch it when I’m drinking. It didn’t get good reviews, but pooh on them. I also played a video game for a while and tried to make my husband watch.

Me: Watch me.

Him: I don’t wanna watch this.

Me: I watched your play. Twice. Now watch me do my thing and be supportive of me.

Him: I don’t wanna watch you kill middle school kids on Fortnite. Come on.

Me: WATCH ME. Some kid just won millions of dollars playing this, so WATCH ME.

I didn’t do well.

It’s two in the morning, so I’m done now. Good night.

Female Randomness

The girl wanted me to paint her fingernails. LM was disgusted and said, “Aren’t we raising her better? Nail polish is absolutely pointless!”

True, BG hasn’t been a girly girl. That’s due in part because of me, I’m sure, but I read that ASD girls are typically more tomboyish, so maybe I’ll fall on that the next time one of the grandparents points a finger at me.

Really, though, I’ve always encouraged BG to make her own choices. The first time I let her get a “baby” at Walmart, I let her choose from a plush Elsa and a plush Spider-Man. It was Spidey, of course. She does love the superheroes (but who doesn’t these days?), the body organs, the road signs, and now the dinosaurs and the solar system. I so love her interests because she’s truly doing her own thing. And choice-wise, she also gets to pick out her clothes, and while she mostly gravitates towards superhero stuff (some of which we get from the boy section), she has picked out the occasional dress. So she’s not 100% tomboy.

Enter the nail polish.

A couple of weeks ago, she mentioned wanting to paint her fingernails. She asked if we could paint our nails together, too, sweet girl that she is. I’ve only painted my nails once or twice over the past few years, but I was down for it. I found some non-toxic polish for her at Target because she has her hands in her mouth constantly. She wanted red and blue for Spider-Man, but they only had blue. I got a plum color for myself.

Cute, right?! After painting them she told me she wanted to take it off, but I encouraged her to give it a couple of days. I didn’t have nail polish remover, and even if I had, I didn’t particularly want to use it on her hands. We saw all the grandparents over the weekend, and the grandmothers were so pleased with the polished nails. I could see visions of pretty hair bows dancing in their heads.

Did I ever tell y’all how my mother-in-law bought BG around 100 hair bows? She constantly bought those things starting when we found out BG was going to be a girl. She was not a fan even as a baby (although we did get a few cute pictures of her wearing them before snatching them off), and never became one. That didn’t stop my MIL, though. Up until the girl was 4, she continued buying them, convinced that it wasn’t a matter of BG not liking the bows so much as just not finding the right one. LOL.

The nail polish has since worn off, but I’m glad she asked for them to be painted. It was a fun mommy-daughter time, ya know? My polish is holding strong, and let me tell you, my husband is not a fan of my polish.

“Why are you trying to be all goth?” he asked when he saw them.

I held my fingers in front of his eyes in the light and showed him they are a plum color.

“They look black, like you’re trying to be all goth.”

I refrained from gouging his eyes out even though I was in prime position to do so.

I just laughed at him, of course, but that reminded me of when I was in middle school and painted my nails a midnight blue color. It also looked very dark when not in the light, and my busybody old cousin (she’s like 30 years older than me) told my grandmother that obviously I was on drugs because I had black nail polish. I was sitting right there, too.

Y’all.

Can you imagine that? Being told you’re on drugs because you have a darker color nail polish? Crazy.

This is also the cousin who told my grandmother that I wasn’t really hard of hearing and that I was just faking so I could get the TV turned up louder. (Let that sink in.) When she told my grandmother that she used to whisper and make low noises to “test” me to see if I was faking it, my grandmother was super pissed. (And the cousin said the results of her “test” were that I was simply ignoring the noises and whispers because I wanted to continue faking them.)

We didn’t care for that cousin, but my grandmother put up with her because she was her sister’s child. She would always come over making snide comments about my grandmother’s home and other stuff. She even makes passive-aggressive comments on my FB page at times about not visiting her mom. Which I do feel bad about, but they talk major shit about people’s kids, and I’ve heard them say much worse about kids who are far better behaved than BG. And I’m not dealing with anyone talking shit about her when I don’t have to.

Wrapping it up…this enough randomness in one post for you? We’ll just call it a stream of consciousness post, which I hadn’t intended, but here we are.

A Rant And A Recap

Well, this was meant to be posted on Monday, but here we are on Wednesday.

I’m a pretty handy person, but I cannot undo the damage my husband did to our front door. He thought the handle was sticking a little, so he tried to fix it. And his fix means that it is now damn near impossible to get in the front door of our house. You have to press down on the button thingy on the handle with both hands, apply a lot of pressure (more than what our 100-pound son can muster), and if you’re lucky, it’ll open. It usually takes several tries and a handful of curse words to open.

And the back door is bad, too. He thought some air was getting in under the door last winter, so he screwed a strip of wood or something in the door frame. Because maybe he’d save a couple bucks on his power bill. And now, not only does no cold air come in (and I was confused about the air that was getting in last winter, because IT WASN’T COLD), but I also cannot close the door tight enough to lock the deadbolt. My husband is the only person in our home who can lock the back door. He says the door is fine and we’re just not doing it right and insists on keeping it the way it is.

Last week, I noticed that the door was unlocked and my husband was already in bed. Rather than wake him (and likely get no response), I tried to lock the door. I leaned on that door as hard as I could, but nope. I even took a running start and rammed my shoulder against the door in the hope of getting it close enough to do the deadbolt, but also, nope.

I need different doors or locks, people. Or a husband who will leave stuff alone.

Rant over.

We had a pretty good long weekend. We did fireworks on the fourth. We don’t usually do fireworks and the such because we aren’t very patriotic, but BG wanted fireworks, so she got them. She later regretted this when one of the fireworks “attacked us.”

So, my husband lit one of the big fireworks he bought and it started going off, but it was firing sideways. I told him I didn’t think that looked right, but he insisted it was fine, even though it was dangerously close to hitting the neighbors house. And then it shifted somehow and fired where I was standing with the kids. Like, two feet away from my head. I grabbed BG and ran (sorry LM) while fireworks whizzed past us. We did not become an ER statistic that night, thankfully. The girl has complained a lot about how her daddy attacked us with fireworks. Never again.

On Saturday, the kids stayed over with the grandparents while my husband and I went to a cookout at a friend’s house. I was not looking forward to peopling, but they had so much rum. So much. Between the rum, a pool, and a hot tub, I enjoyed myself. I tried to play volleyball and embarrassed myself, but that would’ve happened rum or no rum, because I suck at volleyball. 

We didn’t do much on Sunday, and yesterday, BG had to go to the doctor for her five-year checkup. Just ten minutes after we got there, BG loudly announced that she had been waiting for two and a half hours and she was ready to go. After much shushing, she shifted gears from complaining to filling up my camera roll with her random pictures:

That’s her Forky and heart. I’ll pass on including the ones where you get a good look up my nostrils.

The checkup was all good. BG’s still petite (9th percentile for height and weight) and didn’t grow much from last year. She’ll probably have a growth spurt after we buy and take the tags off of her school uniform stuff 😉 We talked to the doctor about the ASD diagnosis, and she said she was glad that we got a second opinion and that’s what she thought was going on, too. She gave me a list of books to check out that she said she found helpful with her own child, so my stack of books is continuing to grow.

And I’m going to wrap up the post because a) it’s two days late and I can’t remember how I wanted to end it and b) my son wants to have a staring contest for some reason.

Home Alone

Y’all remember how busy my June was? Well, it was riddled with stomach bugs, too. I guess that’s the price you pay when the kids a) go to camps and b) constantly have their hands in their mouths. They pick up everything.

The last bug didn’t involve puke or diarrhea, so that was nice at least. It involved fevers, headaches, earaches, muscle cramps, and a sore throat and lasted a few days. And now that I’ve written that out, I realize it sounds a lot like the flu. Do people get the flu in the summer? I’ve never heard of it, but if anyone would get that, it’d be my two.

The girl won a free stay at a themed hotel/water park near us, so that was planned for Sunday. Unfortunately for me, a migraine hit on Saturday, and then I woke up in the middle of the night with a fever and the absolute worst headache I’ve had in my life. The rational part of my brain knew it had to be a double whammy of the migraine and their bug, but the non-rational part (which tends to be a big part at times) was convinced I was gonna die. When I had that cochlear implant surgery, they told me there is an increased risk of meningitis, so I was freaking out a bit. WebMD suggested a brain hemorrhage, by the way. I don’t know why I even bother with that site.

I woke my husband up after I took my temperature and told him I might be dying. He said “Sorry” and went back to sleep. So in between groaning over my head throbbing, I silently fumed at him.

I stayed home from the trip. Hearing the girl scream at the top of her lungs in the other room made my head hurt worse, and there was no way in hell I was gonna try to be in the car with her for an hour. Plus I knew I’d just be in the hotel room, so no point in going. I’m 35, and that was the first time I have ever stayed alone at night. I don’t necessarily want to be around people, but I don’t like being alone either, because I’m a fraidy cat. On the rare occasion I was supposed to be alone in the past, my baby brother would stay with me. He works weekends now, though, since he’s a cop.

Y’all would’ve laughed at my paranoid self. I had the house all set up so I would hopefully hear any intruders. I put stuff at all the exterior doors that would crash over if anyone broke in, had the lights and TV on, and I stuck a door stop thingy under the bedroom door. And then it occurred to me that if I super felt like I was dying in the night and had to call 911 that they wouldn’t be able to get to me. Paranoid/anxious person problems.

No one got me. And the possible meningitis obvious was just a migraine and bug. Whoo hoo, I made it!

Hopefully with July being slower, and staying inside more because of the heat wave, we can avoid more bugs. 🤞🏻