Me. And, my peeps.

Me (Aimee): I am a short chubby gal, who got by on cuteness most of her life.  That ship has sailed, but I haven't let go.  I realized that I better get thin quick, 'cause no one likes a sarcastic old fatty-we just seem bitter.  Once I am skinny, my sarcasm will be charming.  I am SURE of it.
I own a childcare center, with about 100 children and lots of staff.  The kids are great, the staff are taxing at times-but I love them all.  And, my schedule is flexible enough that I don't have to work on-site much, thanks to the great staff I have.  Unless payroll is coming due or someone is out of paste, no one really cares if I am there.

I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in January 2011.  Which is not so long ago.  Of course, with our current health care system, I was only suffering tremendously for about 12 months prior.  Unless you include the 4 years of Reynaud's Phenomenon, or 12 years of Sciatica.  And, why would we?
I have spent most of my life being an overachieving hyper control-freaky workaholic.  Which means that acquiring a disease (disorder? malady? "issue"?) that strips you of your energy is a major bummer.  MAJOR.  Like, I only have the energy to blog 3 times a week? And, I can only hang at work 4 days a week, up to 7 hours each day?  SERIOUSLY?  Most people I read about with fibromyalgia have ended up on disability at some point, and I'm pissed that 70 hours a week ain't part of my world anymore. But, this story is about me.  Because, let's face it, that is what this beautiful internet allows me.  It is all about me, and in my mind, I have millions of viewers reading me regularly, eagerly anticipating my anecdotes.  And, they are all moved to tears, or laughing hysterically, at the end of each one, depending on what I planned for them to feel.
A year about my Fibro diagnosis, I upgraded to Chronic Lyme Disease.  Which causes the Fibro.  Or something. Moving on...

Princess: This is my sweet little angel. She's my last-born, tall and thin, with the energy of 5 me's.  She has a heart bigger than my thighs, and her smiles spread all the way to her pointy ears.  Don't let that fool you-she will scam you into letting her throw rocks in your pool (just ask my dad) or giving her the last bite of something fabulous.  She will talk to every stranger she has ever met, and we have lost her in more public places than I care to count.  She is BUSY.  (That's a technical term from the childcare field.  Don't ask.)

Monkey Boy: My son.  My firstborn.  Phew.  Man, I love this kid.  He is sweet and sarcastic, funny and sensitive.  And killer with the ladies, already.  He shows of his abs to all who care (and many that don't), constantly reminding me he is almost as tall as me-I pretend to mind, but I really hope he gets his height from his dad.  Monkey Boy is a climber, a daredevil, an overall nut.  And I fully expect him to choose "Assassin" as his occupational goal.  He will ROCK that job though.  Do what you love, that's what I say.

Sky King: This is the man.  The One.  The more years we are together, the more I realize why we are together.  I know, sounds crazy, but true.  He is my bestest bestie, and just when you think someone can't do more to make you feel loved, you get something crappy like fibromyalgia and he swoops in like a superhero and makes me love him even more (he must've learned this from all the comic books he reads).  He does everything he can for me, including letting me do it myself.  Just what I need. he knows when I am having a bad day, and knows what to say.  He sounds made-up, but just in case you think I am lying, he still farts A LOT, and hocks loogies, and needs a very specific shopping list to "surprise" me with wonderful things for Christmas. And, he occasionally gets in trouble on ebay.  He's been banned from ebay by me.  More on this later, I am sure.  But, I'll take it.