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Thursday, August 01, 2013

Sleep Is So Overrated

I don't know why but when I turned 40 I stopped sleeping. Well, not completely, as by now I'd probably be dead or at least in an asylum somewhere. But the days of restful sleep ended for me as I entered into my fourth decade of life.

From age 40-43ish were the worst. I damn near lost my mind and the mere fact that I am still married just proves that I snagged a good one. I alternated between Xanax and Lunesta during that time just so I could grab enough winks to tend to my little ones. I never took either prescription for too many days in a row for fear that I would become dependent. 

Once that phase passed, sleep seemed to come a little easier at night, though I still go through bouts of restless nights. Such has been the past week.

Last night it came to a head and I almost went postal.

I suffer from restless leg syndrome and when it acts up I can guarantee sleep will be difficult. But I can not completely blame the uncontrollable leg jerks and heebie jeebie feelings in my left leg for last night's prevention of shut eye. Yes, it began my plight, but the circus main attraction that is my life is to blame for the almost explosion of my head.

I went up to bed with Mr. Schmitty at 10:30. My leg was annoying me and I knew it was my body's way of saying it was time to rest. The oldest was in bed watching YouTube videos on his iPod and after I threatened him with taking away all electronics the next day, he promised not to stay up ALL night. The middle child was tucked in and his eyes were already closing and the youngest had gotten into her sleep position now that her book was confiscated and placed in my room. She'll totally stay up and read all night if we don't take it away.

Yeah, can you believe that I get upset that she wants to READ all night. In a few years she'll be climbing out of the window to meet up with her boyfriend or her BFF's to go drinking. Then I'll wish she had a book.

One last look at the clock, 10:45....lights out....let's do this!

Poke, poke in my cheek....huh, WTF?!! 

R. was staring at me in the dark. "The kids were talking about Bloody Mary today, I'm scared, I want to sleep with you."

Fucking Bloody Mary. That story scared me as a kid and it has come back to haunt me as a parent.

Mr. Schmitty grabbed his pillows and swapped them and beds with her. It was 11:55. At least I had fallen asleep quickly, perhaps it will happen again. Well, once Miss gabberjaw stops talking. Sigh.

The last I remember the clock read 12:42.

You know those dreams that make you feel like you are falling? Yeah, well I wasn't having one of those, I was actually on the verge of falling....out of my bed. The munchkin, all size 6 of her, had managed to take over most of the queen sized bed and I was moments from hitting the floor. I scooted her back over to her side and rolled onto my back. 1:13.

Then? I felt a sudden, crushing weight on my chest. Anxiety? Angina?! HEART ATTACK?! No! The furball cat decided she wanted some loving. After I yanked her claws out of my boobs, I tossed her off the bed. Then I heard a noise. I sat up and listened. Nothing. I put my head back on the pillow. I heard it again, this time purposely louder so I would hear it. It was a whine but it was not human.

I got up and walked into the hallway and there she was, the dog, with her nose under the door to R.'s room. She was whining that her master was on the other side without her. Are you kidding me?! I did not want to wake Mr. Schmitty as he had to work in the morning, so I did what you would expect, I tossed my bra on the floor for Ruby to guard.

What?! Doesn't your dog protect your dirty undergarments?

I got back into bed and under the covers, 2:00. Then the real tossing and turning began. Left side, right side, flat on my back, propped up....I even pushed the twins under the armpits and tried sleeping on my stomach. Those who know me are like, "WHAAAAAT?!" 

Yes, I was THAT desperate.

Finally at 3:30 I got up and with a pillow and a fuzzy throw blanket, I sat in the living room recliner, flipped up the foot rest and leaned all the way back. I closed my eyes. Ssssqqqquuuuueeeekkk. The boy's bedroom door opened and I remembered I needed to find that can of WD40. W.'s shadow crossed the hallway and SLAM! went the bathroom door. I tried to get up to ward off any more noise from the teen but I couldn't move my legs. Izzy the cat had decided to curl up on top of the blanket between my calves.

By the time I freed myself W. was already back in his room and T. was emerging, pillows and a blanket in his arms, "Can I sleep down there with you?"

"Sure honey, join the party!"

He gave me an unsure look as he passed me to get to the couch. I am sure he thought I had gone mad. He was not far off base. I pulled the blanket up to my chin only to push it to the floor a moment later when a hot flash hit.

Sure! Why not add that to the mix? 

Click. Click. Click. Clickity clickity click. I kept my eyes closed tight as Ruby's nails tapped on the hardwood floors. It was like Chinese water torture. Click. Click. Click. Clickity clickity click. What was she doing? And then it dawned on me. Oh hellz no! Don't do it! Don't you do it dog!!!

Scratch scratch at the back door. Guess who had to shit?!

Gritting my teeth I turned on the outside light and let the "designer" mutt out into the yard. "Go to the bathroom!!!" I sneered. She quickly ran down the wooden steps and did her business as though she understood that my mental health was on the line. She then proceeded to sniff ever inch of grass in the yard for the next 15 minutes and totally ignored my hushed screams of, "get your ass in here!" and "Come! You pain in my ass!"

Her Majesty finally came in and I settled back into the recliner. I looked at the digital clock on the cable box. 4:30 in the morning. Mr. Schmitty's alarm would be waking him in 30 minutes for work. I pictured him coming down the stairs looking totally refreshed from a good night's sleep. In the dark I heard his snoring from R.'s room. If I weren't so tired I would probably have smothered him with a pillow, but instead, I drifted off.....finally.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Call Me Dr. Dolittle

You have probably noticed the boxes to the right of my posts. As you can see, they are divided into categories of those living (or have lived) in the Schmitty home; some are humans, most are not.

I have somehow been coerced into starting my own petting zoo.

I am most certainly an animal lover, as are my children; though, unless a kid is a future serial killer, don't MOST kids love animals? I never expected that one day Mr. Schmitty and I would become outnumbered by children much less by animals in our own home.

We started off innocently enough, we really did. A little less than six years ago we introduced our family to a puppy we named Ruby. Our children, who were young at the time, chose her name because of a favorite cartoon, "Max & Ruby".

After Ruby came Izzy (a character from the cartoon "Total Drama Island") the cat. We had no intentions of adopting a kitten but I made the mistake of taking the kids with me to the local pet store when I dropped Ruby off for a grooming. "Can we just go look at the kitties?" They asked. "Sure, but we are only looking!" I replied. Yea, looking.

On a side note, you will begin to see a pattern develop regarding pet names. It seems children's television characters are quite popular or maybe just really easy to reference. As a matter of fact I, myself, named almost every pet I had as a child, Ernie. You know from Sesame Street? There was Ernie the puppy, Ernie the rabbit, and so on, and so on. It was always *Ernie, Ernie, Ernie. It apparently caused my father a bit of confusion because instead of walking the puppy on a leash, my dad used to take the bunny for walks in the neighborhood. In front of the neighbors. With a big, stupid grin on his face. Now that I think of it, it probably wasn't the overuse of the name but the massive consumption of the booze.

But, I digress.

Next came the Beta Fish, each child wanted their own: Esperez (W. likes to make up unusual names for his pets...that boy, forever marching to the beat of his own drum), Simon (after the Chipmunk), and Sam. They all did really well for quite some time and believe it or not, Izzy even left them alone. She simply watched them from time to time.

Sam was the first to go belly up after a playdate gone wrong. Our 8 year old guest, unbeknownst to us, had dumped half of a jar of food into his bowl. I think he ate himself to death or he was overtaken by the stench. Sam belonged to R. and there was a lot of crying and drama as my daughter learned about losing something she loved. We gave him a burial service at sea and headed out to the pet store.

Oscar (we had just seen the movie "Chimpanzee") was Sam's replacement. I believe Oscar may have been a lemon as he did not last very long. More drama and crying and another trip to the pet store. Casper, the friendly, white Beta was chosen this time and thankfully is still going strong.

Fingers crossed.

It was shortly after Sam went to the big fishbowl in the sky, or toilet bowl in the bathroom, your pick, that Esperez began to develop a growth in his stomach. It grew and grew and grew. I began to wonder if he was a she and she was pregnant. But how could that be? Beta's live alone. Was it an immaculate conception? Or did a horny Simon know and he jumped bowls?

He/she looked ready to pop. It was like a festering zit you wanted to squeeze. The lump got so big that Esperez began to float like a buoy. And then one day, while the kids were in school, he/she died. Mr. Schmitty and I decided to find a look-a-like and not say anything. Would they notice? How long would it take if they did?

It was like our own little experiment.

Needless to say we could not find a twin to Esperez but did the best we could with what we had to work with. We released this new fish, who later became known as Esperez, Jr. (but of coarse), into his new home. Mr. Schmitty and I looked at each other. He looked NOTHING like the previous tenant except that he was red. This one had a white stripe on his tail and was about half the size of Esperez. Oh, and he no longer had a Buddha Belly. We shrugged and went about our business. Later that night I heard a commotion upstairs. It was T. and he was yelling, "Quick everyone, come here!!! Esperez popped and it made him shrink!!

Ahhhhhh, my gifted and talented child, I had such high hopes for you.

Then poor Simon died, I assume of natural causes or perhaps a broken heart when he learned that Esperez Jr. was an imposter. T. chose George to take Simon's place.

And finally, the fate of Esperez, Jr. and George can be blamed on Mr. Schmitty who was the last to have contact with them. We don't know what happened, maybe it was the shock of having clean bowls or maybe Mr. Schmitty was not responsible at all. Maybe, just maybe, they made a suicide pact because they died pretty much at the exact same moment.

It still remains a mystery.

So, as if a dog, cat, and the multitude of incoming and outgoing fish wasn't enough, I had the brilliant idea to bring not one, not two, not even three, but four baby guinea pigs into the mix.

I think I am truly insane.

To be continued.....

*Mr. Schmitty's middle name is Ernest. Coincidence? I think not.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

"The Suitcase"

I didn't post this Everybody Loves Raymond clip because I, well, love Raymond. I mean I DO love Raymond....everybody does....but my reasoning is more to shed some light on the shenanigans that occur in the Schmitty House. And as we do not have our own sitcom with YouTube clips at my disposal, I went with the next best thing.

On a side note, I am totally contemplating video camera installation in every room. Or maybe one of those NannyCams. No one would think twice about another dust mite infested stuffed animal in this house!

So, no, I didn't seek this video out for entertainment purposes but rather, to show a glimpse into the life of yours truly. Consider it a bit of an art imitates life concept.

Mr. Schmitty and I often mention this episode entitled "Baggage", however we fondly refer to it as "The Suitcase". We made a true connection with Ray and Debra as we watched them ignore the big elephant-sized suitcase in the room. Sure, we laughed together for 30 minutes at their ridiculous antics. I mean really, what married couple would be so stubborn as to refuse to put something away for weeks on sheer principle?


Ok, OK! So I laughed along with him, but yes, I admit it! In my head I was secretly rooting for Debra. I felt her pain.

Dammit Schmitty, I mean Ray, don't you see it?! You practically tripped over it! Your the man, for God's sake, lift it up and put it away!!

After empathizing with Debra, I followed her lead and began to "not see" the things I had so politely asked Mr. Schmitty to take care of for me. I asked once, maybe twice, probably a gazillion times and then I stopped asking. I just left it there in plain sight taking bets with myself on how many inches of dust would accumulate on it before it was dealt with.

As of today there are only three items that need attention:

This classy looking cooler that screams, "Yea, we drink beers!", has been sitting on my back steps forever. It has been so long that I can't remember what we last used it for. It is unzipped so rain has gotten in there. Snow too. I am afraid to flip the lid up as something may crawl out. I am sure it can be classified as a hazardous material by now or at least a science experiment.

These green buckets housed Christmas decorations. Shortly after the New Year, I purged the decades of accumulated ornaments and holiday knick knacks that I no longer wanted. These two containers were left empty to be stored away until I had something new to put into them. They are in my downstairs computer/family room just inches from the crawlspace doors. For a few weeks I kept willing them with my mind to roll across the floor, open the doors, and put themselves away. No dice. Finally I decided to keep them there and put them to good use.They are now storing bags of clothes that need to be saved for the school's spring clothing drive. Mr. Schmitty must have known I would need them. He's such a genius!

And last but not least, this helium tank is sitting in my bedroom. I am not sure how I am to dispose of it. I asked Mr. Schmitty to find out so we don't cause injury to anyone. I'm sure he is getting around to making a phone call; these things take time after all. Maybe there is some helium left, perhaps I can use it when my daughter's birthday rolls around again in October.


And like Debra Barone, I have come to recognize that turning a blind eye on the problem is not going to solve anything. No, the suitcase will forever be in the middle of the stairway landing no matter how long you try to hold out from saying anything.

The solution? There can be only one. Nag the shit out of him!


Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Betcha You'll Be Singing That All Day!

In a little over a month from today it will be 2 years since I have last written on this blog. The last entry? My 500th post. I am completely proud of that milestone.

Yet, why has it been almost two whole years? I am really not sure. I just stopped writing. It wasn't intentional.

It certainly was not because I was some award winning Blogger who planned on ending my glamorous career (heh) while I was at the top of my game. I mean I have followers, but not a bus load. More like a minivan full. Oh okay, maybe a Mini Cooper full.

Yea, so ego didn't play a part.

Nope, I guess life just got in the way. The past two years have been busy, busy, BUSY. No great change occurred. No excitement out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, A Schmitty Life is just that....ordinary. But just BUSY.

Either that or I just am getting too old to keep up with it all.

With three kids, a hubby, a household, family, friends, the kids' schools, my PTA volunteering, and our small petting zoo (yea, did you see the list? That's a whole other post in itself!) I think blogging just took a backseat.

And though I am still crazy busy, totally overwhelmed on a daily basis, and usually on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I must admit besides being an obsessive compulsive basket case; I have been missing this place a lot lately. I miss the creativeness. I miss the outlet. I miss picking on those I love in a public forum and also letting the world in on my demented sense of humor.

Yet, I worry. Will the addition of another thing to my plate cause me to stress just a little bit more? Hubby will be thrilled with that notion. Will it cause me to drink my beautiful, beautiful wine to excess? Will one more ball in the air turn me into a stay-at-home wino instead of the June Cleaver wife and mother that I am? Those who know me would be horrified!

Excuse me, sorry about that, I needed a moment to collect myself. My hysterical laughter caused me to have to breathe into a paper bag before I passed out from lack of oxygen. That second to last sentence did me in.

Ahem. Where was I? Oh blog.

Not only is my to do list a mile long, there is also the fact that my kids are older. Will they want to harm me in my sleep if I write about them now? I am not keen on the idea of trying to get my beauty rest with one eye open.

I have also given much thought regarding those I know in real life. Some are readers of this blog. Will that hold me back from writing the stories I have in my head? That sucks. For me and for you, because I am truly surrounded by a bunch of tools an array of characters, ones who may or may not wish to be written about.

So, will I be able to write, keep a certain lid on it, and enjoy the process while still entertaining those who wish to toss me a bone and read my posts?

Can you tell me?

Should I Stay or Should I Go? (I swear, ever since I was in high school I can not say that without hearing The Clash in my head!)

Saturday, March 26, 2011

My 500th Post!

I can't believe it.

I have written 500 entries and placed them on this blog since I started it on January 4, 2007.

4 years ago?

Wow. Time does fly.

In honor of this milestone, I read through my entries. I laughed. I cried. I remembered.

So, today, I would like to share some of my favorites with you. Most of the posts are funny. A few are not. But they all are a part of me.

I hope you enjoy the memories as much as I did.

  1. Dating Again
  2. A Special Ingredient?
  3. Eyes
  4. They Can't Possibly Make A Display Case Large Enough
  5. Like A Scene In A Romance Novel
  6. If You Give A Child A Bar Of Soap
  7. I Should Really Think These Things Through
  8. And This Is What I Have To Live With
  9. So I Gave Birth To An Axe Murderer
  10. Whooooo Are You? Who? Who?
  11. He'll Fall For Just About Anything
  12. Such A Little Lady
  13. I Hope HE Didn't Teach HER That!
  14. Vengeance Is Mine!
  15. The Laughs Just Keep Coming
  16. Flip Flops Should Come With A Disclaimer
  17. Nevermind A Beep, We Need A BLEEP!
  18. Proof That I Am A Reincarnated Adolescent Boy
  19. Superballs and Bouncy Balls
  20. Learning To Read In Target

So tell me, which is YOUR favorite?

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

I Wonder How Long It Will Take Him To Notice

It's no secret that Mr. Schmitty and I take pleasure in busting each other's chops. Our marriage thrives on laughter and what could be more entertaining than poking fun at your significant other? Thus, every once in a while, when things get a bit stressful and a bit too serious around here, I find the need to amuse myself.

I have a bit of a twisted, child-like sense of humor. It doesn't take much for me to double over in sheer cackling delight.

In other words, I can be completely immature.

For instance, when I needed a little pick me up, all it took was the hubby's cell phone and I was happy again. And I will never forget the fun I had with this one!

Finding pleasure at Mr. Schmitty's expense can be a total euphoric experience.

It's a regular Romper Room around here at times, I tell you. Well, Romper Room with a dash of slapstick comedy teetering on the inappropriate.

Okay, so some of it is COMPLETELY tasteless but we get each other, so it works.

Lately, I've been in the mood for some tomfoolery. I've developed a twitch in my left eye and that usually indicates I'm a bit tense.

Now, before I divulge how I spent my day, let me give you some back story.

Mr. Schmitty has an Xbox Live addiction, most in particular, he needs his Call of Duty fix on a regular basis or he'll quite possibly implode.

He can become quite immersed in character during game play. You should see him sitting in the recliner, which he moves right in front of our flatscreen, wearing his helicopter pilot-looking headset with mic. His gamertag has the word Bulldog in it, you know, so he sounds tough.


So, there he'll sit, he and his bad self, playing into the wee hours of the morning without so much as a yawn to slow him down. Something, I might add, that drives me nuts because when he and I spend "quality couple time" together, I'm usually prying the remote from his sleep induced grip of steel and wiping the drool off of my shoulder.

But I should understand; Xbox is the shit, yo.

Not wanting to be the wife that interferes with her husbands hobbies, I went online today to renew his yearly gold membership.

While I was online, I noticed his avatar:

It is actually a very good likeness of him.

Then I noticed something else. And the evil thoughts began to manipulate the computer mouse. I had no control.


The final results produced this new and improved version of Mr. Schmitty:I'm hoping to be present to see the look on his face when he finally realizes his "persona" looks a bit like Dwayne Schneider on psychedelics.

I'm thinking he might want to change his gamertag to something a little more hip. Maybe something with RicoSauve in it.

I'm sure the "buddies" he plays with will have fun helping him choose an appropriate moniker!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Eh, I Don't Care Why You Click It, Just "LIKE" Me!

If you have a Facebook page, you probably know that there are a ton of groups, causes, and such that you can follow, simply by clicking on "LIKE".

If you don't have a Facebook page, you probably have no idea what I am talking about, in which case, you are excused from reading this post. Now, go directly to Facebook and jump into 2011, um, k? Oh, and don't forget to "LIKE" "It's A Schmitty Life".


I have a tendency to "LIKE" many things, such as; Sutter Homies, Moms who need wine, and OMG I so need a glass of wine or I'm gonna sell my kids.

I think I'm detecting a pattern here.

I'm not just about the wine though, really. I follow important stuff too; A Day for Hearts: Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Day, Marching for Maddie, and Violence Unsilenced.

See? I'm not a complete waste OR completely wasted, for that matter.

But I've got a question for you. Did you ever "LIKE" something and not know what you were, well, LIKING?

(P.S. I just looked up LIKING on Has a word ever just LOOKED funny to you when you typed it? I kept thinking it was LICKING. But that would have been weird because I'm sure you would have known what you were LICKING. Well, I hope you would anyway.)

But back to my question.

The reason for my question is due to a conversation I had yesterday. It came to my attention that some of you are LIKING "It's A Schmitty Life" on Facebook, yet? You have NO IDEA what it actually is.

I went to the school to pick up my youngest children and met up with two moms that I know. I just love these two women and enjoy chatting with them as we wait for our kids to get dismissed.

D: "I saw your Facebook status, you are so funny!" She said to me.

Me: "Funny how? I mean funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I'm here to effin' amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how?"

JUST KIDDING! I didn't say that, but that would have been a riot, am I right? Good 'ole Joe Pesci, that line is classic!

What I really bashfully said was, "Awww, thanks, I try".

D: "Really! You should have a blog!"

Blink. Blink.

Me: "I DO! Don't you follow me?" I asked, although I already KNEW that they BOTH did.

T: "How do I not know this?" Pipes up the other mom.

D: "OH! That "It's A Schmitty Life" thing?"

T: "OH! That's what that is?!"

Blink. Blink.

POP! Pffffffffffffffffffffft.

That, my friends? That would be the burst and deflation of my ego.