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It’s midnight on Monday.  Or, actually, I guess I should say Tuesday morning.

I am sure everyone out there realizes that Sunday, May 10 was Mother’s Day.  Well, Saturday, May 9 was my birthday.  I am now 46 years old people.

Stop looking so smug.  I know I’m older than you.

So this is what happens at chez Lopez.  I am waited on hand and foot for my birthday, showered with gifts and treated like a queen.  Taken out to eat and pampered.  Hauled in the loot like you wouldn’t believe.  My family rocks.

THEN! The next day, Mother’s Day, a repeat performance.  For two days I only had to get H on and off the bedpan and diapered.   The SIL even came and stayed with her so we could all go out and eat together.  We didn’t get back until after 10:30pm and Kes got here a few minutes before John and I did.  John and I walked in the door and there was Henrietta sitting in her wheelchair in the living room.

The SIL left as soon as Kes walked in the door ahead of us by maybe three or four minutes.

SHE DIDN’T EVEN PUT HER IN BED!  We fed her before we left, (long before), and SIL just plopped her happy ass down and watched TV and didn’t even put her in bed or give her her pills or change her into a nightgown or change her nappy or anything.  I was pissed.  Not to mention tired after being pampered all day and then overstuffing myself on overpriced Italian food.  That can wear a girl out.

Now.  Down to the really, really serious matter at hand here.  I am looking for someone to sponsor me in a program for an addiction I have acquired this past weekend.  This sponsor wouldn’t need to have the exact same problem as me…  Perhaps someone out there started out just occasionally using, ooooh, I dunno, M&M’s.  Or, has been seen in line at Baskin Robbins a few too many times.

I’m not judging.  But when you find that you have fallen and fallen hard into a life where you have become totally dependent on bon bons to get you through your day, THEN you can judge me.

My bon bon addiction combined with my lack of motivation to move back into my regular life of being taken for granted, used and abused, coupled with the realization that I was making a HAUL on gifts there for a couple of days and like any toddler, DON’T WANT IT TO END, just HAS to be the reason I woke up today with nausea and actually REGURGITATED.  This? is monumental.  I cannot remember the last time I threw up.  I have a cast iron stomach and a similar constitution.  My family looked at me like I might be gonna die.  I must say this was disheartening.  I told them all where to go and crawled back in bed.  I got up long enough to feed H breakfast and she very sweetly insisted on staying in bed today so I wouldn’t have to breathe in her face haul her in and out of the wheelchair and get her dressed and all that shit.

So today, I blew “it” all off again.  Life in general.  No laundry got done.  I didn’t clean the kitchen, I didn’t cook supper.  It was all magically done by the little elves that run around here on magical days like May 9th and Mother’s Day and freaky puke days. Well, the laundry didn’t get done but if I have calculated correctly, at least three of us run out of underwear tomorrow.  (huh…better not be me…)

Next year Mother’s Day and my birthday are one and the same.  This happens every seven years or so.  Not THAT big a deal.  And I know what you’re thinking.  No.  I absolutely do not get shortchanged on gifts on these occasions.  I don’t think I would stand for that if it was ever attempted.  My loves know this.

I have been watching Craig Ferguson as I, er, composed this.  It is now 12:59 and I am about to throw it out to the blogosphere and see if it doesn’t get thrown back in my face.  Regurgitated, if you will.