Sunday, April 4, 2010

Buona Pasqua

My Easter started with me eating a vanilla ice cream cone for breakfast, and then taunting my Great Dane into gouging my thighs with her talon-esque toenails that I keep reminding myself to cut. Note to self: Do not hop up and down in the living room squealing IT'S THE EASTER DANE!!!! It only makes said "Easter Dane" flatten you in tail-wagging glee, resulting in bloody thighs. Phrases that also result in bodily injury are BABY DANE!!! FANCY DANE!!! and WHERE IS MAH BAYBEE?!?!

Next time? I get a chihuahua. My pets end up as neurotic as I am, and I need a less formidable opponent as our current boxing score is Agnes: over 9000, Sandi: 0

I'm not begin a very good mother this Easter. I am not a huge fan of the Easter bunny, since a 6 foot tall rabbit in a pastel bow tie just seems like pedobear's "special" cousin or something and it just creeps me out. Since my fiance was laid off recently, I didn't have money for Easter baskets or presents either. My solution has been to act as if today is just another Sunday, only we are dressing extra nice. It kinda blows. It would be different if people would stop asking my kids "WHAT DID THE EASTER BUNNY BRING YOU?!" - He brought them jack shit, but thanks for asking!


You see what I just did with the little star thingies up there? It means I'm randomly changing topics. My next topic sucks and is depressing so go eat some ham or something and come back tomorrow, or at the very least don't bitch to me later if you join me in wanting to open a vein.

A friend of mine that I met through my internet journal made a velor bunny for my oldest when she was little.

Photobucket This was the best picture I could find - my daughter liked to wrestle with it, but you get the idea. This thing came EVERYWHERE yet still looked brand new 15 months later when my youngest was born. They both adore this rabbit.

I was in Marshall's and my oldest and she found this beat up ratty stuffed bunny on the floor ( I'll just call her "K" from now on since I am already sick of typing "my oldest" all the time. The younger is "H". Get it? Good.) I actually felt sympathy for this grubby toy, so I brought it home, cleaned it up, and it joined the other rabbit as COOLEST TOYS EVER. The girls would regularly drag them around by the ear and insist on bringing them everywhere.

Getting to the point, since I've been babbling about dolls for way too long now - I miscarried right before my hysterectomy, since having crotch cancer wasn't enough fun or something and the universe decided I needed ONE MORE THING. It feels like a forever long time ago but I'm nowhere near as "over it" as I let people think. Actually, the majority of people in my life don't even know it happened (they eye roll over my "alive" children, I really don't want to see wtf they'd pull over a dead one). So yeah, bunnies. I guess being slapped in the face with rabbits for the past few weeks has just rubbed in the fact that this is the end of the line for babies that will drag this stuffed animal around everywhere. I am probably way more upset than necessary, but that's kind of my "thing."

I'm just skipping Easter this year. I just feel like somebody's missing.

Jesus rises from the dead, to punch me in the gut.


  1. Miscarriages are ridiculously painful. Damn it, I want my son. He'd be nearly 2 by now... I know I wasn't ready for another and neither was the Taller Half, but fuuuuuuuuuuck. I don't know if I'll ever "get over" it.

    In other words, I feel your pain.

  2. Hi Noelle,

    Ever since Christmas, holidays have been awful. One of the big slaps in the face is getting asked when Rob and I plan to have children of our own by people who either forgot or never heard about my hysterectomy. I came home from his company Christmas party in hysterics.

    I don't think I'll ever really "get over it" either, but at this point I'd settle for not bursting into tears. I feel like I am just bombarded with new babies all the time and I can't have my own. It's so weird being sterile at 27.