Rants of a 30-some y/o Mom

Crazy Train

2007-07-10T13:24:00.000-05:00

Hiya strangers! Good to talk to you again!

Okay, so I have news and I have a conundrum and some funny little snippets that fall somewhere in betweenst the two.

First the conundrum, which I started to write about on here, then second guessed myself so I deleted it, then dealt with it on my own and so now I'm here to offer you my worldly advice on this subject:

How to deal with your child when he starts to figure out that certain "things" feel good.

Are you still with me? Good, because you all damn near lost me for certain when I first found out about this particular issue.

You may be asking yourself, "Well, Sillychick, how exactly did you find out that your child has figured out that doing, um, acts upon himself feels good?" My sister called me. Yes, the sister that I haven't spoken to in almost 2 years called me up to let me know that she discovered her son and my son touching one another. Greeeaaat. Good to have you back, sis!

Needless to say, I was absolutely mortified. It actually took me a few days to digest the whole thing and many hours of research and talking with my husband to finally have "The Talk" with the Boy. Gah.

In the end, we essentially told him how a baby is made and how it's not only not okay to have someone else touch you, but you're not supposed to touch anyone either. He cried, mostly out of embarrassment and I felt so bad for him...but it had to be done.

That sucked.

Secondly, on a much lighter note, I've figured out how to make my husband completely happy. First, you stop by a friend's house who might possibly have oregano and leave the boys alone the special sealed room to consume the oregano. Then you head down to the Keller Williams/Bob Weir concert. If you've never seen or heard Keller you must runrunrun out to get his music. Love me some Keller. Then, you stand in the rain with him and listen to some amazing music while surrounded by many stoned Deadheads and do your own little version of a hippy dance. Mine consists of waving my arms around and bobbing my head like it's sort of not attached.

And that is how to make my husband happy.

Thirdly, and most importantly, I have news. BIG news. No, I'm not pregnant and next time I see you I'm going to slap yo bitch ass face for thinking that.

I got into nursing school.

Go ahead, gasp, clap, run for your lives...I'll wait.

I've been talking about this sort of thing for so long and so my husband and I decided to go visit one of the colleges during our lunch hour two weeks ago. Yes, that's right, two weeks ago. I was told I missed the deadline by, oh, two months but then one of the admissions people came out and told me one person had just dropped out. If I could get all of my transcripts (1 high school and 3 college...I jumped around a bit) to her by the following week, I was more than likely in. No small feat since I had to drive an hour each way to get one of them.

I did it. I got all of them, I filled out my application and I was officially accepted last Friday. I attended the first orientation on Tuesday and received my schedule, which shows classes all over the place so I really can't work here that much longer. Yay!!!

So, how to make my husband really happy? Show up wearing a nurse's uniform in the bedroom. While the Dead are playing, of course.

Explanation

2007-07-06T08:45:00.001-05:00

Yesterday's post provided some sort of insight into why I haven't been posting as much, but I think I need to get to the nitty-gritty as to what made me stop altogether.

Consider this a warning.

I try very hard to be a positive person. When someone complains that it's raining, I'll say that I'm glad because my flowers needed it or some such bullshit. If a person is bitching about a co-worker, I might point out their strong points. You get the drift.

Deep down, though, I am a cynical, negative person. Perhaps it's because of my parents' divorce and having lived through 6 stepmonsters and countless step siblings. Maybe it's because I spent the better part of an hour writing a post and fucking Blogger deleted it...I don't know.

Anyway, instead of writing it all out again, I'll just say this: my thoughts lately have been with my brother and sister in law. They are going through an extremely rough time right now...could be the 7 year itch, could be 3 kids under the age of 5, whatever. All I know is that they are leaning towards separation and it's breaking my heart.

So, there it is. A part of my family is crumbling apart and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

No longer lost at sea

2007-07-05T09:45:00.000-05:00

Father, it's been a month since my last post and in that time I've:

Helped my husband tear down our old deck and build a paver patio, complete with fire pit that is insanely awesome
Attended at least 2 ballgames a week
Driven to Pittsburgh for a weekend that included a family reunion and 3 solid days of drinking
Held a birthday party for my husband on the day that we completed the paver patio
Spent that entire weekend drinking
Sat here in front of this computer for 9 hours a day, contemplating just what in the hell to do with my life
Kept thinking of writing in my blog and visiting the blogs that kept me afloat for so many months, but just never did

So, that's been my life. Nothing much to report, all is well and I'm still here. I just haven't been here in "blog spirit" I guess. I haven't lost any more weight, nor have I gained any. I have sort of quit worrying about it for the time being, I suppose.

You? How have you been?

Caution: Rant Ahead

2007-06-05T10:33:00.000-05:00

I envy those of you who are doing exactly what is meant for you to do in this life. One of the reasons I didn't go to college directly out of high school was because I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. I still don't.

I have my AA. Graduated with a 3.55. I didn't go on because I didn't want to "waste 2 years of my life" not knowing what I wanted to be. What a dumbass.

So I sit here in this office, trying to keep my cool while my jackass boss has a meltdown every few minutes. He's having a major closing today and because he can't keep his thoughts straight, we are the ones to suffer.

It's 11:35 and here are two little tidbits I've put up with:

He tells me (never asks, everything is "I need, I need") to get a phone number for a Brenda Smith from Penny, his assistant, who in turn tells me (nicely, I must say) to just look it up online. She doesn't have the number but the company she works for is here in town and I should have no trouble finding it. As I'm doing so, he yells at me to see if I have it yet. I tell him, no, I'm looking it up now. Again, he yells that Penny should have it. "No, she doesn't, so I'm looking it up right now" I tell him AGAIN. Once I find it, it's a main number and I put that number and Brenda's name next to it on a lovely Post It note.

I thought he was going to explode. "I need Jennifer's number! Not Brenda's!"

"You told me Brenda, that's why I wrote down Brenda. It doesn't matter, it's a main number, so it's the same."

He then rushes over to Penny's desk, demanding what he just asked of me. She tells him the same exact thing, but he ain't hearing that. He needs her to call this number and get Jennifer's number. Surprise, it's the same number.

Now, for this next little ditty, I need you to keep in mind that the majority of my day is spent playing FreeCell and checking my personal email. I'm not exaggerating when I say that 90% of my time is taken up by doing these very important things. I have nothing else to do. He seems to be fine paying me to do these things and except for the boredom, so am I. Every once in a while, my cell will ring and I'll answer it. If the office phone rings or if someone approaches my desk, I hang up.

Today my SIL calls me. She and my brother are going through a very rough patch right now and she needs to talk to me. I have been told that if I need privacy, I should go into the copy room, so I do. As I'm trying to console my SIL, my boss walks by and glares at me. 3 minutes later, Penny comes in with tears in her eyes and tells me I need to get off the phone. Apparently, she was on the phone, too. Seems her parents, who were visiting from Florida, got lost today and needed her help. (I know! I was appalled, too!) He stood at her desk and stared at her until she finally hung up and asked him politely what he needed.

He tells her that he can't take the personal calls anymore, that we are no longer allowed to answer our cell phones. Yeah, okay.

So, for the majority of this day, Penny has spent it in tears. She has worked for this man for 20 years and he can still control her this way. No thank you to that.

This job is just that to me: a job. It's not my life, my calling, even part of my happiness. It is what it is, and that's a paycheck. I will never allow an employer treat me such as he's treated her. Never.

And that is why I'd now like to become independently wealthy, thank you very much. Any ideas?

Ch-ch-changes

2007-06-05T08:40:00.000-05:00

We were all told that when we chose to have children that our lives would change. Our lives would never be the same as we once knew them to be.

Once we got pregnant, gone went the nights of drinking and smoking.

The more pregnant we became, the less mobile we got and some of us experienced things such as acid reflux, constant nausea and insane cravings for the first time.

When our child was born, we gave up nights of restful sleeping and mornings of sleeping in.

As our child grew, we ourselves grew more confident in our new roles as parents. We (most of us) began to relax and soon embraced this new way of life.

And then there are the curve balls. The child begins to learn new things, strictly to keep us on our metaphorical toes. The child senses that we've become much too relaxed in this parenting gig and must put an end to our new ways.

It could be as simple as learning that poop make beautiful pictures on walls. Perhaps a new found freedom from diapers causes them to run naked through the house. Beds become trampolines.

Or...

maybe your toddler has learned how to turn her door handle to get out of her room and now greets you each morning at 6 am sharp with a smiling "Good Morning, Mommy!" mere inches from your slobbering face.

Thank goodness she doesn't mind my dragon breath.

Balance

2007-06-01T08:32:00.000-05:00

Last night, my neighbors and I were outside gossiping and awaiting the outcome of the latest wreck in front of our homes. There have been 5 in the last 6 months. No, we don't live on a busy street, but people choose to treat the Yield sign as less of a yield and more of a "I'm gonna coast thru this intersection without looking because it's a side street and no one ever drives on side streets and BAM!" sort of sign.

Ahem.

As we're talking about the kids and this and that, my single, no-kids neighbor says the nicest thing to me that made my heart melt and my pride soar.

She told me that the other night she was out in her yard poking around and happened to look over at us. She said what she saw could have been the front cover of a magazine. It was my husband sitting on the porch strumming his guitar, the kids playing together, the dog running around and me sitting beside my husband looking completely content and happy.

She was right about how I looked. Even on days when I am bleak and the world has got me down, I am still able to look around at what I have and be completely thankful. I have a pain-in-the-ass husband who loves me wholly for who I am and who I'm not. I have pain-in-the-ass kids who make me smile with their goofiness and cry with their innocence. I even have a bigger than normal pain-in-the-ass dog whose whole world is me.

I always wanted a man who could play guitar and with whom I could be so comfortable with that I wouldn't need to fill the space with words or actions. We spent the majority of the holiday weekend on our porch, him playing and me reading or just chillin.

I always wanted two kids, one a boy, the other a girl. I wouldn't change either of their personalities, as I can see both my husband and me in them and we're both pretty perfect.

Stop laughing.

I always wanted a bigger dog, one that you could snuggle up with one cold nights or play ball with for hours. I didn't necessarily want one that would try to crawl up your ass, but hey, it all balances.

I guess this simple statement counteracts the jackass one from yesterday, don't you think?

I'm still ALL woman, though.

What's in a Saying?

2007-05-31T13:02:00.001-05:00

"Mmm, mmm, girl you ALL woman!"

This is what was said to me as I walked back from the park at lunch today. I knew something was going to be said because this guy was eyeballing me before I was even within 20 feet of him.

Here are my thoughts on this particular saying, in no certain order or clarity:

Has he ever picked up a woman with this?
If so, is she available for me to smack around for falling for this particular piece of shit?
Tits, check. Vagina, check. Ovaries, check. Penis, nope, none here. He's right! I am all woman!
He was not very tidy looking, so is this his way of making up for lack of good hygiene? His own personal version of the "Short Man Syndrome?"

I let him say it without me responding. What I should have done was come back with a few zingers like:

"Oh, thank God! I didn't think the surgery took!"

"Why yes I am. Would you like to floss your teeth with my tampon string for me to prove it?"

"Oooh, big daddy, take me home tonight!"

~as I whip out my life like dildo that I always carry with me just for situations like this one~ "Uh, uh, silly goose!"

Now that I've been reassured that yes, I am ALL woman, I can now do things that I never thought possible. Things such as ride a horse or go swimming while on my period. Perhaps I can even play sports or climb the corporate ladder, all while raising children and pleasing my husband.

Can you hear me roaring?

Baby Steps

2007-05-19T12:48:00.000-05:00

It started as a nose bleed that just wouldn't go away. It ended with her death.

The middle, the better part of 4 years, was fraught with battle after battle containing gut wrenching surgeries, high doses of chemo and time spent wondering if it was all worth it.

She came to me suddenly Saturday as I walked into the race. It's a 5K where the main focus is breast cancer but I was walking for her and her type of rare cancer. I felt her around me as I'm sure 30,000 other people felt their loved ones.

I wonder if anyone else cried as I did when the race was starting. Did some other person there cover their face as tears fell to the ground? Were there others who just wanted to stop time to just be able to feel their person? I couldn't have possibly been the only one wearing pink whose heart was beating with the love of one of their best friends.

And so I walked, slowly most of the time as it wasn't possible to go fast in such a sea of people. I pushed the Princess in her stroller with my mom by my side, all of us in matching shirts. My mom and I in matching tears. She felt my pain, she was one who took care of my friend after one of her many surgeries. My mother knew exactly how I was feeling.

I took us about an hour to complete the zig-zagging course through downtown Columbus. There were various bands set up every block or so, local schools sent out cheerleaders and volunteers rah-rah'd us on on each corner. Towards the end were a group of 20 or so Harley riders who had lined up and were "hi-fiving" us as we walked along. I thanked each one of them as if they were there for me personally. I squeezed their hands and looked into their eyes, hoping they could see just how much it meant that they were there.

Something about grown men wearing pink shirts under black leather jackets just causes you to pause, doesn't it?

The Princess came out of her stroller to be able to walk across the finish line. There was no fanfare, other than the throngs of people shouting to their friends or scattered claps. We finished that race, we walked across the line, three generations.

Three girls, all at various stages of their lives, walked for the other girls who have suffered the terrible disease of cancer. No matter the form, it has the ability to take all and give nothing.

No, that's not right. It gave me new found respect for the courage that my friend showed. I no longer take life for granted. On the days when my sanity is tested by various tantrums or general life, I tend to take pause now and remember.

I remember picking her up and us driving to our friend's wedding and her telling me that "it" was back. It was a confidential conversation in which she let me know that she wasn't sure if she could do it again and that she was so, so sick of everyone asking her how she was feeling and if she was taking her meds. Of course she was taking her meds, she was ill for Christ's sake! All she wanted, she told me, was for someone to call her up and bitch about their lives. She needed to hear that life was not centered around this debilitating illness that took her away from her son and family.

I remember sitting down in the church with her to my left and our friend Sherri on her left. She could no longer see or hear out of her left side due to everything being taken in order to get to the tumor. Sherri immediately starts asking her those insane questions that she cannot stand, but she couldn't hear her. Sherri persists. I lean across her and loudly tell Sherri to leave her the fuck alone. In a church.

I remember her asking me if I could please take her home, that she doesn't think she can make it through the reception. I call her parents, who immediately start to faithfully pray, to let them know we're on our way. She doesn't make it a mile before I have to pull over for her to puke. She pukes up the only thing she can eat anymore, an Ensure shake that she has to sip from a straw out of one side of her mouth with a napkin held under it to catch it if it slides out. As I sat there and rubbed her back, it has finally hit me after 3 years, one of my best friends is sick. As she heaved her way through this bout of nausea, I tried to stifle my own heaves of crying.

It was not an easy task to drive her home and be strong for her. Her father and I carried her to bed and her mother started to undress her. As I shuffled to the door in a daze, he thanked me over and over and hugged me.

I was not a block away before I lost it. I cried the pent up tears of those years that we all remained stoic and strong for her. I banged on the steering wheel while barely keeping the car on the road. I asked the questions of why and how and begged to be given just one day of her illness so that she could be normal for 24 hours. I understood that I could do nothing more.

I arrived at the reception and everyone knew. They nodded and bit back their own tears. We celebrated that night, not only for the lucky couple but for her, too. I danced until I sweated and laughed until I cried.

I went home that night with only her on my mind. For the past few years, everyone told her it would be okay, that she would get better and she kept up that illusion of hope for them. As her baby boy grew from a toddler of 2 into a school aged young man, she spent so much of this time in bed. She needed to know that it was okay to be weak.

I started to pray and before I knew it, I was face down on the floor with tears falling to the carpet. I didn't pray for a miracle. The cancer had gotten into her bones and she only had half of a face. There would be no divine intervention. Instead I prayed for her release. "Just take her, God," I railed, "let her go! Ease her suffering, no more of this."

I don't know how long I was there, lying like that. After a time, I got up and started to write her a letter. My words flowed from the pen and I didn't care much about punctuation or misspellings. She needed to know that it was well understood that she fought the good fight, that it was okay to go now. No one would blame her if she let go.

I sealed the envelope and stuck it next to my bed. The next morning I took it to her. She had asked me to bring along the Boy but she couldn't lift her head to see him much. She kept falling asleep. I sent him out to play with her son and I sat in there and stroked her diminishing hair. I told her I loved her and that I couldn't have asked for a more perfect friend for me. I left soon after, but only because she was just so tired.

She called the next day to thank me for the letter. She said she was so glad that someone finally told her these things. She'd been waiting for so long. As I listened to her voice, I started to cry. Soon, it was a full fledged bawling and she patiently listened to me, herself crying along with me.

I was able to return to Florida to see her one more time before she died. One of her last wishes was to go to Disney with her son, so all of us loaded up our own kids and trekked along too. There were 14 of us along for the rides and we joked the entire time about how great it was to have a friend in a wheelchair so we could go straight to the front of the line. She only made it a few hours into the day before she tired, but Sherri and I stayed the whole night. As we sat there watching the fireworks with our sons, we held hands. No words needed, we knew what our hearts were saying.

On this same trip, we all got together and made her a remembrance chest. I painted the skyline of New York on the front of it, as this was where she was born, with her son's name spelled out in lights. Kim put pictures of various things on top, fashion items and Austin Powers and goofy sayings. All things that reminded us of her. Teresa drew her sign and crazy sayings we all shared over the years on one side and Sherri covered the other side with the same things. Jenny finished it off by pasting letters that we had written to her on the inside of the top. Finally, I wrote a letter to her son, explaining what all the sayings and drawings meant. He was only 5 at the time and I knew there would be no way he'd remember what these things were. I told him about how special his mommy was to everyone who knew her.

The next night, we took it to her house. Her extended family was there, most from Colombia. No one knew what were up to and as we brought this chest into her living room, everyone was silent for what seemed like just seconds. And then the tears started. They were not sad tears, though. People were so happy that there exists a love in this world that can be shared between friends, a love that will never end regardless of death or marriage or divorce or distance.

I left for Ohio the next night. I had explained to her mother that if something should happen soon that I wasn't sure if I could make it back. She understood. I looked into her eyes and made sure she felt my love for her daughter. As she hugged me closely, I knew she did.

A month later, she passed. Teresa called me as I sat laughing in my room with a friend. For some stupid reason, I thought it was a routine, goofy call and greeted her in my usual silly tone.

"Bridget's gone."

Two words. Two words that caused me to pause for 30 full seconds until I heard a scream erupt from my mouth. A cry that made me wish for my prayer back, made me want to crawl into a ball and never wake up. Nononono, she can't be gone! She's okay! Fuck!

Teresa let me go like this for awhile and as I calmed down, she reminded me that it was so much better this way. No more hospital visits, no more throwing up, no more pain. I knew all this, of course, but I still was not ready to let her go. She died with a friend by her side, her breathing labored until her mother brought in her son. She got to tell him good-bye, and to let her mother know that she was okay. As her son lie next to her, her breath evened out and she soon grew tired. Her mother knew it would soon be time and she left with her son. I doubt they even got to the car before Bridget died. All she needed was to say good-bye.

I didn't make it to the funeral. I don't regret it other than I missed being with my friends. I remember her as a vibrant, beautiful young woman whose smile lit up the room whenever she walked in. She made me laugh without abandon and she gave me a gift I will never, ever forget.

She gave me herself.

And so I walked for her. With each step it got easier to hold back the tears because I started to remember the good times. I held her tight inside my heart and as I looked around at 30,000 other people, I realized that they all had someone just as close.

It was an amazing, emotional day. I wouldn't change a thing.

Mommy does no right

2007-05-18T08:07:00.000-05:00

The past few days have given me just a teeny tiny peephole to look into the future of having a daughter.

This young chick is going to be mooooooody, I can tell you that.

Not at all like her perfect mother. pshaw!

She woke up yesterday is a bad-ass pissy mood. No amount of lovin or cuddlin or ticklin would undo her from her tightly wound bad mood. She screamed for me to come get her but seemed to calm down some when I put her in bed with us. Until my husband actually dared to (gasp!) touch her! From then on, it was touch and go as to what would set her off. She wanted to watch "her shows" and was content until she gradually slipped down into the bed and could no longer see the screen. I was screamed at until I came and set her upright.

The dressing of the Princess wasn't much easier. The whole time she's twisting and turning and saying, "nononono!" and I'm trying to remain calm. I'm trying to talk sweetly to her and nuzzle her neck but all I got was a slap in the face. A literal slap in the face. Yeah, that didn't go over too well.

I continued to try and placate her, simply because I thought if I remained calm, perhaps she soon would.

I felt really, really bad for the sitter that day.

I worked all day and came home to a home cooked meal ala my mommy. Nice, huh? Until I heard the Princess screaming. From the garage.

I guess it started at the sitter's house when she wouldn't hold Daddy's hand in the driveway. She started yelling and did an excellent Linda Blair. She did this the entire 15 minute ride home. I felt so badly for my husband, but he is much, much calmer than I could ever hope to be. If that were me, they'd be calling a priest on my own possessed self.

She ate pretty well, but not without a fight. The rest of the evening was spent hearing "no" to this and "no" to that. Even my mom had to leave...it was that stressful.

Her sweet little butt was put into bed at 7:30. She went willingly with just a few requests for more kisses or hugs. Granted she sat in there in read books and played until an hour later, but she seemed to be much more content in there alone than with us.

As was I.

This morning brought on a cheery little girl, ready to smile and laugh and cooperate with her mommy and daddy. She didn't protest when it was time to leave and she was so good while I changed her.

My husband says she can't possibly be having hormonal rages this early in life. I disagree. That little girl? Was a raging teenager yesterday.

And it's only going to get worse.

Spinning

2007-05-10T09:45:00.000-05:00

This day is going to draaaaag, I just know it. How? It's only 10:45 and I'm already bored and fidgeting in my seat. The boss is here, hovering at times, and I have absolutely nothing to do.

Could be dragging because I know I have plans tonight. With actual real live women. Yes, a Mary Kay facial party. I'm not picky.

I also have a surprise day planned by my best good friend for Saturday. She's calling it "Diva Day" and is picking me up at 8 am. I have no idea what's in store for me, but I'm hoping it has something to do with pampering and perhaps a strapping young buck serving me food. Or anything to get me away from my kids for a bit.

Again, not picky.

Right now I am dealing with a typical 2 year old whose favorite words are "mine" and "no" sometimes combined in the same sentence. Her favorite activity is to run away from me while pretending not to hear and then returning with what she obviously feels is a charming smile. I'm not so charmed. It's rare to hear her speak without a whine in her voice with a demand following it.

The 8 year old is really utilizing his independent streak and, added to the need to question everything, that is driving me absolutely bat shit.

Yesterday included these little tidbits:

It's "Right to Read" week in our school and yesterday was Pajama and Stuffed Animal day. My son has never been one for stuffed animals so we were a little hard pressed to find one for him. I told him he couldn't take the Princess' "Teddy" so he settled for a Beanie Baby named "Batty". Keep in mind that I've had this thing since he was a baby and he has never played with it. It ended up in a bin underneath the Princess' bed and is rarely seen.

Oh, but yesterday a battle was waged. Suddenly she wanted it. It was "my bat my bat my BAT!" Trying to remain patient and calm, I explained that he was going to take it to school and bring it right back so she could play with it. Yes, you guessed it: she could have given a shit. Screams followed.

You'd think he would have had the sense to at least hide it and keep it out of her sight, yes? Oh, no, not so simple. When coming up the stairs he held it tightly to his chest, not even bothering to cover it up with his hands. It couldn't have been more visible if we had pinned it to his shirt. More screams, both from her and me at this point.

This was all before 8 am.

I pick him up first after work and I ask him politely to please let her play with Batty. He responds with, "Well, I could just hide it so she doesn't see it!"

Uh, no, let her play with it. You had it all day and all she wants is to hold it. Again, his answer is to hide it. He's holding it out the window pretending that it's flying. I'm hoping at this point that the damned thing falls out of his hands and I won't go back for it.

"No, let her have it," I say, trying to keep my voice even, "I don't get it, you've never played with this thing before...why do you want it so badly now?"

"I've played with it lots," he replies as wind whips through his hair and Batty flies beside the van.

"Just give her the bat!" I finally say.

Upon strapping her in her seat, I reach around and give her the beloved (?) stuffed animal. She is overjoyed and all is well in the world.

Until she says the doomed, "my bat my bat" in a cheerful little voice.

"Actually," the Boy says to his happy little sister, "it's my bat."

Now, keep in mind that I was driving and I didn't actually see the demon enter my car but it's obvious it's there as she screams, "NO MY BAT MY BAT MY BAT!!!!"

Fuck me running.

I still had to drive home, make dinner, deal with my spastic dog, and talk to my husband. I'd been off work less than an hour. And yesterday was 85 degrees.

And? No alcohol in the house.

Again with the fuck me running.

Okay, made it through dinner with only a few pleads and whines and was enjoying watching my kids and husband play outside. The Boy then asked me to give him something to do. I told him to run really fast down to our neighbors (Diane and Charlies, 2 doors down) and back 3 times and I would time him.

"Well, could I run to that car down there?" He points to a car I can't see.

"Is it past Diane's house?" I ask him.

"Well, yeah, but I could I run there instead?"

"Are you allowed past Diane's house?"

"Well, it's just right there!"

"Yes, but is it past Diane's house?"

"Yes, but I can run there!"

"No, you cannot. Either you run to Diane's house or you don't run at all." I'm losing my patience at this point. In my mind, he asks me to give him something to do, I give him an assignment and all he can do is question it.

Okay, so he gives in and runs a few sprints. He comes back and asks to do something else. I suggest jogging one block with Daddy (see, it's my subtle way of getting my husband to do a bit of exercise, too...evil evil wife.) He excitedly agrees.

Until he realizes that jogging is a slow run. In the 45 seconds it takes them to get to the stop sign and halfway back, he has gotten bored and wants to runrunrun! I hear him start howling (which is his version of crying) and I'm baffled. What in the hell has happened in under a minute and right in front of me that is causing him such grief?

His dad told him to just jog. Yes, I too wanted to call Children's Services right then and there! The balls on this man!

See, my son has gotten into the very bad habit of doing whatever he wants when we're around. It's especially bad because my husband is both his soccer and baseball coach. So while he is trying to teach all of these 6-8 years the fundamentals while also trying to keep their attention, our son is goofing off. It's frustrating as hell.

So he's howling and yelling and tears are flowing and his heart is just absolutely broken! What's a good mom like me do? I told him to shut his mouth and go inside because I didn't want to hear it.

Yes, I did.

I'd had it. I could take no more whining, no more demands. If I heard one more peep come out of this child's mouth I was going to lose it. The Princess just looked at me. I think she knew not to give me anymore shit that night.

We ended up having a little "talk" after he'd had a shower and was told that no, you don't get dessert and no, I won't be reading to you in bed. He was not a happy camper.

But, as the saying goes, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." Deal with it.

To say I'm looking forward to some "me" time is the understatement of the year.

I wonder if wherever my bgf is taking me has IVs flowing with vodka?

Homeowner

2007-05-08T13:28:00.000-05:00

I bought my house when it was just me and my son. It was a perfect 793 square feet (not counting the finished basement) for us. With a fenced in back yard and a corner lot, the yard was also perfect. In my area of town, it's a rarity that my property boasts a 2 1/2 car garage to boot. My favorite spot is my "Florida" room, a patio that is enclosed. I spend countless hours out there, reading books or just watching the kids play. I have a patio set out there and until the weather gets too hot or too cold, that's where we eat.

But.

I wish I had put more thought and effort into the process of buying this particular house. Looking back, I realize I was more than a bit green and that the whole transaction was rushed, too rushed.

I'd been living in my hometown and commuting 45-60 minutes each way 6 days a week. My ex boyfriend and I started looking for apartments and houses to rent in this section of town and quickly realized that the low end would go for around $800/month for a 2 bedroom. His parents provided him with money (good thing since he hadn't found a job since he'd gotten here 6 months earlier) and I was busy earning mine. I just wanted to find a place so that I could stop spending nearly $100/week in gas.

That's when my realtor sister in law stepped in with this "perfect" little house for me and my son. The ex was never mentioned because, quite frankly, no one liked him and he was/is an ass. I took one look at it and fell in love. It was quaint and I instantly pictured how I would make it mine.

I'd never even thought of buying a house, though. Made perfect sense to do it, I had excellent credit and though I didn't have much in savings, my bro and SIL agreed to forgo her usual take and put it towards the down payment. She was earning double as she was both the buying and selling agent. That and the fact that my ex wouldn't even come look at the house with me made me want it even more. He didn't put one red cent towards the house and his name was never on the deed.

The woman who was selling had just bought the house the year before but her husband ended up getting transferred to Pittsburgh so she needed to sell. I was assured by my SIL that I wouldn't need an actual house inspector b/c this chick had just had it done the year before. Instead, I had my brother inspect it...cheaper that way, ya know...no license = no fee for inspection?

First mistake.

Because it was a first time homeowners loan, FHA sent out their own inspector. Good thing, too, because he found termite damage. That got repaired, thankfully. What didn't get repaired was a faulty ceiling fixture. It's in the contract to be fixed but she left town before the closing ever happened and I never found her again. Ah well. Lessons learned, right?

Her leaving town didn't stop her from sending her parents to my house a week after closing to come into my garage to get her stuff. Stuff that was legally mine at this point. I was too stunned to even call the cops. They even had keys to the house!

Okay, so don't let that stop you from enjoying your new house. Eh, the house is a little chilly...let's replace all the windows to a tune of a few thousand. Oh, wait, the walls are freaking freezing in the wintertime. What's that? These houses were built with no insulation? Greeeeaat. Well, can't afford that, but we probably should replace the doors with brand new ones because you can actually see light through the cracks. Just another thousand or so.

Er, taxes going up makes your house payment go up, too? Yes, as a matter of fact, I am a dumbass. Holy shit, this whole owning a house thing is expensive shit.

But, I can earn more money and I'm pretty confident that whatever money I put into the house, I'll earn back when I sell it.

What I didn't count on were the asshole drivers. Drivers who have been known to come up into my yard because they're too rushed to actually slow down around the corner. See, people use my side street as a short cut to avoid a 3 minute light at a somewhat major intersection. They fly through the "Yield" sign or they use my driveway as a turnaround.

I have seen no less than 5 accidents in a years time in front of my house. (Side note: you know those laws that state that you must carry insurance otherwise you'll go to jail? Bullshit, all bullshit. We had a hit and run driver who not only had no insurance but no license and was sent on his merry way simply because there's "no room at the jail.")

We used to have a HUGE Rose of Sharon bush on the corner that we very rarely cut simply because people would have to slow down to look around it.

The city came and cut it down because someone complained. I told them precisely why I kept it that way and was told that it would be at least a year before someone would even come out to assess our neighborhood to see if "Stop" sign was warranted.

My husband bought one of those annoying "Slow - Kids at Play" signs and stuck it right on the corner and I've been known to yell, "SLOW DOWN ASSHOLE!" at a few cars.

I am a freaking mess thinking about my kids being out there playing and having some ignorant asshole not pay attention and...

So, what's the point of this whole post? I don't know. Maybe it's to let someone, anyone, know to slow the fuck down. Be aware that although you're on a city street, it's where people live, where they come to relax.

I can't relax if you're speeding through my street, not paying attention to where you're going or just generally being rude. Asshole.

Oh, and if you're going to buy a house soon, take more than a few days to really check it out. Just sayin'.

Face Up and Legs Out

2007-05-01T09:13:00.000-05:00

I've figured out what's causing my aversion to blogging: Spring time. The time of year when the sun finally comes out long enough to warm my skin and turn it from a slightly bluish tint to a warmer looking bronze. The birds are singing, the flowers seem to reach skyward and everyone is suddenly in a much better mood.

I am an outdoorsy person. I love being barefoot and could spend hours just fiddling around in my yard or taking walks with my kids.

That being said, to be cooped up indoors is enough to drive me apeshit, batshit or any other type of animalshit. I fidget, I sweat, I drive myself nuts looking out the window as I sit here at my desk doing nothing more than answering phones and filing papers. Last week, I asked my boss if I could take a FedEx package to the drop box just so I could get outside. Seeing the crazed look in my eyes, she readily agreed.

Luckily, I do have a wonderful park right next to my workplace. I go there on my lunch breaks to eat and read a book. I've been known to change into my workout gear and walk during this time but right now...oh, right now I stretch out onto the park bench and soak up the warmth. I pull my pant legs or skirt up to my knees and just be. I know I must look like a complete moron sitting there like that, but I don't care. It feels so good.

So, spring is my distraction right now. I spend my days yearning to be outside but my nights and weekends are filled with the beauty of nature. I am absolutely in love with the world right now.

And you? Do you love this time of year? The renewal, the birth?

Smoooooch!

2007-04-26T08:52:00.000-05:00

You know how you get those annoying emails from friends that contain "cyber hugs" and most of the time you just delete them because you really don't believe that bad luck will befall you if you don't send them to 11 people within the next 8 minutes? Or sometimes you don't delete because some actually bring a tear to your eye but you still don't forward them because you don't want to be that annoying friend?

No?

Must just be me, then.

Well, I have a friend across the blogosphere that needs a cyber hug and mucho encouragement. She's having a hell of a time right now, a period in her life where nothing seems to be going right and she's bearing the brunt of a lot of it because, well, she's the mom. But she's also a wife, a daughter-in-law and a friend.

Head over there and give her a bit of your shoulder, would you? Hers are pretty loaded right now.

Tissues, anyone?

2007-04-25T08:48:00.000-05:00

HAPPY EARLY MOTHER'S DAY TO MY FAVORITE MOMS!!!

Before I was a Mom, I never tripped over toys or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom - I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom, I never held down a screaming child so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom, I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put them down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom, I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom, I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love, the heartache, the wonderment or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much, before I was a Mom.

This was sent to me via email from another mom...thought I'd share it with you.

Creative Title

2007-04-20T12:36:00.000-05:00

It's a well known fact within the community that is me that I am a bad finisher. I love starting new things, getting all fired up about it, gung-ho, etc. I enjoy that initial feeling of newness, the wonderment that is a path not taken before.

But then I lose interest. I'm a suck.

Case in point: I have, on two separate occasions, sold both Longaberger and um, toys. No, not the educational type, unless you count learning how good tiny little vibrating rabbit ears can feel as educational.

Side note: did you know that if you tell your 5 year old that your vibrator is a heating pad when he finds it one morning that it'll actually suffice? Neither did I until 3 years ago.

Back to the story. Both times that I did these home parties, I would get extremely excited about selling and would go to all lengths to get more sales. And then the boredom and tedium of running a business would set in and I'd let it go. I had awesome sales with both of these and why wouldn't I? Seriously, can you tell me of one other woman you know who could sell both baskets and kinky bedroom toys with the same fervor? I didn't think so, thank you very much. My secret? I knew my product. Intimately.

Sorry...tmi?

I do this with alot of stuff...I get all caught up in the moment and want to hit the ground running. If I could just pound it into my purty little head that you use more energy going fast, fast, fast all the time!

What in the fuck is the point of this rambling post? That sometimes I just can't blog. I have the best of intentions, I get thoughts started in my head and want to share with the world, but then I burn out before I even write them down. I just let the ideas die.

Same goes for reading your blogs. I want to read them, want to see how your days are going or if you have some epiphany that you have or possibly just to snort with laughter. Some days I just can't.

I don't know if it's that I can't muster up the energy or that I get so caught up in the mundane details of my exciting life or what. I know there have been times that I've been in a funk and don't necessarily feel like sharing (these are the dark days...some of you know what I'm talking about.) Other times it's simply that I sit in front of a computer for 9 hours a day and by the time I get home, I don't feel like sitting there anymore.

So, if you don't see me for a few days, don't give up on me. I'm still here, I'm just bored right now. It's not you, it's me. I'll get revved up again soon, I promise.

But, Ty? I still read you everyday, sister. I'm just having a hard time putting together a coherent thought to let you know I'm thinking of you. I guess I just did.

I'm skeered

2007-04-17T10:38:00.000-05:00

Ty nominated me for a Thinking Blogger Award.

This scares me, mainly because most of my posts are strictly the thoughts of a million little people running amok in my brain. I sometimes put finger to keyboard before thinking about what I'm writing, but it needs to be get out of my head before I explode. So the thought of making someone else actually think about the posts I've written is a little, well, intimidating.

Honestly, I started this blog in the hopes that a) I could escape some of the pressure that was building up inside of me and b) that if there was just one other mommy out there that could let me know that, yes, these thoughts are normal and that perhaps I could help them.

So, I guess I accomplished that.

You want to know how strange it is for me to get this award? I've had this post in my mind for 4 days, afraid to write it out. I'm weird like that.

So, the rules are as such:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

The first person who came to mind that makes me think was TB. I found her early in my blogging "career" and she always made me see the bright side of things. It was also interesting to know that she was living in my city and then moved onto another place where I used to live.

I always look forward to reading Mrs. Chicken every day. I like reading of her daily adventures with the Poo, American Airlines and Chambana. Not necessarily in that order.

Butrfly makes me think of global things and all the ways in which I wreck this world on a daily basis. Damn you, butrfly, for giving me a conscience!

I heart Karen. 'Nuf said. No, not really. She's always a positive force in my sometimes negative blogging and I look to her writings to reassure me when I'm feeling a little under.

Queen makes me think of the days of carefree living and loving life. Even if her life is not always mayhem-free, she certainly makes me think it is.

I'm not sure if the list above is one of "hmmm, I'm going to sit here with my chin in my fist and ponder over what I've just read" or if it's just one of admiration. All of the women above are ones I read on a daily basis and ones that I can associate with as well. I love how they write and how they can evoke emotions from me, whether it is sadness, understanding or silliness.

And that's how I think.

The Difference

2007-04-12T10:19:00.000-05:00

When I had my son, I was a 26 year old happy-go-lucky young woman who was in a relationship that I didn't want. I wasn't scared, just unsure of how life was going to go from that moment.

I managed to get out of the relationship and move forward with just me and my son. We moved from Florida to California to Ohio. We explored the world together, pretty much both growing up at the same time. Unfortunately, this meant that while I was trying to figure out things, I often overlooked the fact that he wouldn't be a baby forever.

I've only recently realized this as I watch the Princess grow from a drooling, pooping, eating machine into a little girl. Though I can still remember exactly where the Boy learned to walk and that he was only 10 months old, I don't recall reveling in this feat as much as I did with her.

He used to say "dubbage twuck" for garbage truck and he knew all of the construction vehicles by name.

I would rock him to sleep most nights by singing several songs back to back, including "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" "ABCs" and "Bah Bah Black Sheep" all of which are essentially the same tune. Also, he would ask to take a nap or go to bed...seriously. Every night at 8:00 he would come to me and say, "I wanna go ni-nite, mommy" and lead me to the bedroom. He memorized "Sleepy Dog" by the time he was 3.

I would hide an Altoids tin filled with pennies and candy and send him on "treasure" hunt in my dad's back yard. To this day, he still thinks he found real pirate booty.

So why do I feel as though I'm celebrating the Princess' baby years with more enthusiasm? Why do I get more giggly with her? Why is it that I find myself snuggling more and wanting to keep her "as is" for longer. With him, I couldn't wait for him to get older so that we could do more things together. With her, I get anxious at the thought of her growing up.

Is it a boy/girl thing? Perhaps it's that I'm older and more secure than I was when he was a baby? The one thing I do know is that I feel a certain guilt to enjoying her babydom more than his. I'm more of a "mom" with her than I was with him. Or maybe it's that I now recognize what it takes to be a loving, caring mom.

He's 8 now. Although he still loves for me to read to him at night and I still get the kisses and hugs that I require, I can see he is getting more and more independent and self sufficient. Whereas I once grew weary of always being the one to clothe, feed, bathe, gather, etc I now accept that this is my lot in life for the time being. I enjoy these things as opposed to abhorring them.

Honestly, I think I'm afraid of disappointing him. It horrifies me that he may think I love her more than I do him, that he'll grow up wondering if I have the same affection for both of them. I try my hardest each and every day to show him how much I do love him, how much I adore his curls and the way he makes me laugh.

I just hope it's enough.

A Good Day

2007-04-10T08:47:00.000-05:00

So. I'm finally in my mid 30s. I feel a renewal on life for some unknown reason. Perhaps it's that I wrote that letter to my mom (it made her cry by the way) or maybe because I've accepted that I'll never relive my youth (oh, the freedom!) but I definitely believe it has to do with looking around me and feeling truly blessed.

Easter Sunday was not exactly all happiness and fuzzy bunnies for me. I'd had a misunderstanding with my brother and was feeling very hurt. I spent the better part of the day in the dumps, crying and on edge. That night, however, was spent with my husband's family and I ended up having a great time. My husband worried about me the entire time, coming up to me and wrapping his arms around my waist, asking if I was okay. He would take me aside and kiss me to let me know he loved me. It was what I needed and he came through with flying colors.

I woke yesterday to him holding me, whispering, "Happy Birthday, Baby." You know that feeling when you just know someone loves you? That warmth and security? I couldn't have asked for a more perfect way to wake up. Well, breakfast in bed complete with coffee and pancakes would have been lovely, but that would've meant him not snuggling me as I woke.

My mom took me to lunch and we just had a good time being together. Amazing what a little grown-up talk with no tiny voices screaming for crackers will do for the soul.

I came home to an already cooked meal courtesy of my mother-in-law and screams of "MOMMY'S HOME!!!" via the kids. You know you're loved when you open that door and little ones fly around the corner and into your arms.

My MIL was joking, saying that this wasn't exactly the greatest birthday dinner (chili, salad, fruit) but I told her that any meal that's cooked for you is cause for celebration. And it was damn good. I have big shoes to fill with that woman's cooking. My mom brought over a DQ cake, which I haven't had in ages...so, good! I love that middle crunchy stuff. So, dinner with my two moms, husband and kids...I couldn't have asked for anything better.

My mom bought me some jewelry and a gift card to Kohl's (yay!), my in-laws gave me some cash (which I will spend at Kohl's) and MIL is knitting me a cool bag. My husband brought home some flowers and had me open this. It's so pretty and so petite. I'm a very simplistic person when it comes to diamonds and this gift was perfect for me. Actually, it was perfect for yesterday and I could tell he really wanted me to have this particular necklace. It's not overly showy or gaudy and it's just big enough to throw off some sparkles. I absolutely love it.

The night ended with a showing of "Happy Feet" and popcorn. I think I had my own happy feet all day long.

So, yes, it was a good day.

From a Baby to her Mama

2007-04-06T09:55:00.000-05:00

This is the letter I will be giving to my mom on Monday...

April 9, 2007

Dear Mom,

Today is my 35th birthday. It seems I’ve spent most of the past year looking back on my life and how I’ve lived it. I’ve seen some regrets, some dreams played out and some adventures lived. I’ve developed new dreams and accomplishments this year as well.

Throughout it all, I couldn’t help but think of you and how far you’ve come in your own life. It sounds so cliché, but I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for you and the lessons I’ve learned by watching you.

I see in you a woman who has overcome a lot of obstacles that so many others would be too weak to face. As a child you didn’t have what others did, you had to live a life that is so foreign to me. You grew up quickly, learning to adapt to whatever life handed you. I didn’t know you during this part of your life, but I see how it shaped you into the woman you are now.

I knew you as an adult and even though I was one of your children and you were my mom, I always felt a connection with you. One that somehow made me realize that were more than just a mother, you were a person, a deeply loving person who would go to the ends of the earth for me.

As an 8 year old girl, I knew why you had to leave Dad. As a 5th grader, I knew the reasons behind leaving Ohio. As a young adult, I knew why you stayed in the relationship you were in.

Now, as a mother, I know why you do the things you do for us kids. I see the reasoning behind wanting happiness and yearning for more out of life. I understand the need to go back to school and make yourself bigger than you’ve ever been, at least in your eyes.

You see, Mom, you are my hero. When I describe you, I say that you are my best friend and my inspiration. That you understand me like no other person. That, despite having 3 kids, a crazy ex and an emotionally absent husband, you remade your life. At the age I am now, you got your GED and put yourself through school, all while holding a full time job.

You have done so many things on your own, kept your head held high when life knocked you down and throughout it all, have encouraged me to do whatever I want.

Do you see now why I admire you so much?

So, on this day when I turn 35, I want to thank you. Thank you for giving birth to me, for showing me unrelenting love and support. Thank you for loving my kids the way you do and for helping me to raise them the way they need to be. Thank you for just being you.

I love you forever,

B

Busy Beeeee

2007-04-03T08:33:00.000-05:00

WWEEEEEEE, what a weekend! I started on Friday by going down to the "boats" with my husband's office. His boss gave them all the day off and took them gambling, so I went too. I found out that a) I don't really like giving my money away, b) Indiana laws suck in that they make you pay for your drinks while gambling and c) you know the place isn't all that great when looking around and realizing that you're the classiest person in the joint. Seriously, the folks there were ROUGH. Given that it was a Friday and more than likely payday for alot of them, it was full of people with high hopes and low expectations.

I guess you could say it just wasn't for me. I seriously took $80 to split between me and my husband. $20 was spent on drinks so that was money well spent. I mostly wandered around, watching people in our group play roulette, craps or $5 blackjack. That part was fun, I just had a really hard time actually, you know, gambling. I'm cheap like that.

The dinner afterwards was wonderful, though. Ribs at a Cincinnati landmark, The Montgomery Inn. That was some good grub.

My in-laws are due in Thursday evening. Normally I would do a little cleaning and tidying up because the majority of the time is spent at my husband's cousin's house (that's where the in-laws stay.) This time they're staying with us. In our tiny little house. When I say tiny, I mean under 800 square feet. I bought this house when it was just me and my son. It's now me, my son, my daughter, my husband and our dog. And visiting in-laws. Good times!

I really don't mind having a small house. It keeps us all together. The problem with a small house is that if you have one thing out of place, it looks chaotic. So, combine that with the fact that I'm not a big fan of cleaning in the first place and you come up with 3 whole days of intense, sweaty, dust bunny eliminating cleaning. And I still have to wash sheets and do the kitchen and bathroom floors again. I say again because, ya know, we have a dog (mud machine.) And I'm tired of feeding the dust bunnies who reminded me of the scary images in Watership Down.

I'm so fucking sick of cleaning.

On the good news front it's ALMOST MY BIRTHDAY!!! It's next Monday so if you planned on getting me something, perhaps some alcohol or a lovely bouquet of flowers, you'd probably better get on the ball.

I'll be turning 35 this year. I have lived 35 years. It's been 17 years since I graduated high school. I now look at the 20 year olds and am reminded of how I used to think that 35 was old, man! I want to squish those 20 year olds. I want to stop time.

It's not that I'm bitter about being this age. As a matter of fact, I feel more comfortable with who I am than I ever have. I guess I'm just realizing that I may have wasted a lot of time and that, half way thru my lifetime, I'm still unsure of where I'm going. I think of my mom and how she started over at this very age. I am so incredibly proud of my mother, she is my inspiration. You see, she never graduated high school because she got pregnant with my sister. She spent her early adult years raising children, doing menial jobs and putting up with my dad's bullshit.

At 35, divorced and alone, she got her GED and started nursing school, all while supporting us kids. She is the superwoman to me. I will say it once again: she is my inspiration.

I'm thinking of her alot as I, her baby, turn 35. If I am feeling my age, what must she be feeling? How will I feel when the Princess turns this age? Perhaps I should turn my birthday into a tribute for my mom.

A Deeper Shade of Me

2007-03-30T07:52:00.000-05:00

So I agreed to be "interviewed" by T. Because I hold highly secretive information about her, she is taking it easy on me. Damn it, I was hoping for a bit more.

You meet God in an elevator. What is the one question you would ask Him?

Hmmmm, I'd like to say that I'd be all about the everafter or perhaps asking what Lucifer is really like in person...but I'd probably be all,
"Dude, seriously. Why'd you have to make my one fear spiders? I mean, a fear of heights wouldn't be so bad. It's not like I spend my days on top of skyscrapers or mountains. Even a fear of dogs...I could just kick them or their owners. But spiders? Those fuc....I mean, those suckers are everywhere! And they're fast! And some of them jump! On me! Youdammit! Your Son! Yeah, not cool."
I guess that's more of a complaint than a question.

What's the most rebellious thing you have ever done?

Seeing as how I didn't drink until I was 21 or try pot until I was 26, I was a pretty tame kid. My dad put the fear of God (hollah!) in me and knew where I was 24/7. Well, almost. I have been known to push my dad's truck out of the garage in neutral and fire it up to go to my boyfriend's house when he was asleep. To go have sex. Cuz I like sex. I was a horndog and the closer I got to getting caught, the better it was. The greatest scenario was my first "love" and I in the back yard, 3 inches of snow, full moon...we totally could have been seen.

Have you ever had a run in with the law?

Only when caught having sex in the backseat of my boyfriends car. Good times. Especially since the cop knew my dad.

Describe the worst dating experience you have ever had.

Oh, this one is soooo easy. A few years ago when IMing and internet dating first started up, I agreed to meet this guy for dinner. I told him I'd meet him in a parking lot (cuz I'm safe like that) and described to him my car and me. He told me he drove a kick ass ride and that he had blond, wavy hair and said he stood 6 foot.
So, I get myself all dolled up. In pulls this dude driving a Ford Escort. An ESCORT. 4 door. But he did add the "whale tail" to the back, so he thinks it's cool. Compared to my cute little blue tracker, not so much. He gets out and as he approaches I notice he's wearing acid washed jeans. This is not 1986, folks. It is the year 1998. Yet, combined with the mullet he's sporting, I am taken back to junior high.
Fuck.
I also notice that the 6 foot frame he described must have been measured while wearing KISS boots.
Okay, so I'm not a total bitch and seeing as how he must obviously be attracted to me and my hotness, I tell myself to move forward with the date.
We take my car to Fort Myers beach and he complains the whole time about the traffic. It's Friday night, in season, so of course there's going to be traffic. I suggest parking in a lot a mile or so away from the restaurant so we can walk along the beach. I pay.
We get to the restaurant and I order something to eat. He doesn't. I order a Rum Runner (with a floater of 151, of course) and he orders two beers. Two. Seeing as how he's not talking, I continue to fill up the voids with my own idle chit-chat.
After an hour of this painful ordeal, the bill comes. 4 beers, 2 rum runners and a appetizer of peel and eat shrimp comes to about $30. He looks at me and says, "Uh, I only brought a 20" and holds it out. I snatch the 20 from his hand and put the rest on my card.
We drove back in silence.

The. Worst. Date. Ever.

What has been the longest er, dry spell you have ever had without any sexual contact? And why?
A month, maybe? I don't do well without sex, so it's either call up an old flame or whip out BOB. I don't have a good answer for this one.

A Mommy Hangover

2007-03-29T10:42:00.000-05:00

After dealing with yesterday's disappointment I was damn tired last night. I had raged and ranted inside my head for the better part of the day. Then I realized how stupid I was being after hearing from my husband that my son was doing just fine. After only a half hour. Great.

I won't lie, I'm still a little upset. For the most part, though, I'm good. My job now is to encourage him to do it again next year and to submit his invention to his grandpa, who will be here next week. They'll do the patent submission and go from there.

Part of what was going on with me yesterday was an inner struggle that I hadn't yet acknowledged. See, I push and encourage my son to try everything and try it with all of his being. He's played just about every sport, with the exception of football, and he excels at all of them. He is above average in every subject in school and has always been on the high end of age expectations.

The problem comes about when he doesn't win or he can't get something naturally. It's as if he can't cope with failure. If a video game is not cooperating, he'll get mad to the point of near tears. When he can't quite understand a problem, he gets exasperated and immediately wants to give up. I have to stand over and get him to look me in the eye to calm him down.

He is just like me.

I was the child who never got below an "A" until I discovered the lovely socialization of high school and even then, if I got a "C" or below I was grounded until it came back up. I had a 3.55 in college. Two classes were my downfall: Statistics and Ethics. Stat because I worked until 7:30 am and had class at 8 am. The fact that I understood zero of what the prof was teaching had absolutely nothing to do with it. Ethics I understood. I was just going thru a period in my life where I was totally obsessed with an ex and spent hours IMing back and forth with him. Who needs ethics anyway?

You know in college when they give you a test at the beginning of a class to see where you stand in your knowledge of that subject? Every time I was either the first or second person to complete the test. In Stat, I was one of the last. I was in tears. I'm not kidding.

I don't like when I can't complete something the exact way it's supposed to be finished. I hate when I prepare a meal that is nasty and will stress over the fact that I may not get recognized for being a better employee than someone else. This is not to say I'm a Type A personality, I'm probably the furthest thing from it. My house can be completely cluttered and covered in dust bunnies and I'm good. I don't have to be doing something all the time. I just like to do things the right way.

So, yesterday was not only a learning lesson for my son, but for me as well. I gotta learn to chill. I can't fight all of his battles for him and I've got to let go of being so sensitive to what can hurt him.

Yeah, I'll keep you posted on that.

A Fat Rant.

2007-03-28T15:05:00.001-05:00

I stole this from Lotta. It needed posting.

Soccer Mom Times 10 Bajillion

2007-03-28T12:56:00.000-05:00

Today I became "that" mom.

I wrote awhile ago about this Invention Convention that my son has been preparing for. It was alot of hard work on all of our parts but mostly him. He had to come up with an invention, do the research to make sure it hadn't already been made, check the patent office, test it out, get testimonials, etc.

He and my husband had to be there at 8:30 this morning to set up and from there it was a "hurry up and wait" kind of day. His invention got judged at 10:30 and no parents/adults were allowed inside while this was happening. We tried our best to get him to speak up and clearly.

I was able to join them on my lunch hour to see the awards ceremony. They did the usual "you're all winners" speech and even had a guy who is the president of the local inventors club come to speak. Two things that he said stand out:
1) the judges here today don't necessarily represent all judges. You could come back tomorrow with a different set of judges and the outcome would be totally different.
2) make sure that when you invent something to ask people other than your family and friends. The other people won't cushion the response to keep from hurting your feelings. This cracked me up because the Boy came up with no fewer than 5 inventions prior to this one and they all got shot down by us. I tell it like it is and I certainly don't want him growing up to be some sort of pussy...not that there's anything wrong with that.

So, the time came to announce who would be going on to regionals. Out of 247 inventors, only 98 made the cut. I was so nervous, chewing my nails, rocking back and forth, watching him as he sat with his fingers crossed. Some of the other kids from his school got awarded and because I knew what their inventions were, I was sure he was in.

The last name to be called?

Not his.

I nearly burst into tears. I was trying to get to his table to comfort him but this lady with an overly large ass was blocking it. It took all I had inside me to politely ask her to move aside. By the time I got to him, his head was in his hands and his eyes held tears that he was desperately fighting back. I gave him the usual pep talk...you did your best, it's okay, blah blah blah.

But inside, I was one pissed off bitch. Now keep in mind that I support my child in everything that he does, but if he loses a baseball game and decides to throw his glove down a ravine in a hissy fit, I make his ass go get it. I don't sugar coat anything with my son. I teach him actions/consequences. I was fighting that particular episode hard today.

His invention was truly unique and totally do-able. He thought of a problem that has to do with our dog and what he came up with was that every time you play ball with a dog, the ball comes back all nasty and gooey or doesn't come back at all. He came up with a pretty damn good solution. We even ran it past my FIL who markets new products. Not one to sugar coat either, he approved it. To give you a rather broad description, it's an indestructible ball that, until the dog is done playing with it, you never have to touch.

So, what inventions did he lose to? I can only admit to knowing the inventions of three kids from our school. Two of which, frankly, are bullshit.

One was a portable hamster carrier. Pretty cute, huh? She invented a little cage or purse so that you can take your hamster any where you want. Personally, I think they already invented that, albeit just in a larger scale. It's called a dog carrier. Ask anyone who's ever traveled with a pet or perhaps just Paris Hilton.

The other is the one that has my fucking blood boiling. The kid who "invented" this showed up at the first round not having his journal, his display board, nothing but a lump of 4 different colors of play doh with a pencil stuck in it. Yep, a pencil holder made out of play doh. Now, perhaps his parents didn't really participate in this with him and that's what accounts for the lack of preparedness, but for a lump of play doh with the finger prints still in it to win over my son's invention? Seriously?

So, yeah, I'm "that" mom. I really don't give a shit who thinks it either. You wanna know what makes me feel just a little better about all of it? After holding my tongue and keeping all of these hateful thoughts inside, my son says through his tears, "Mom, I just don't get it...so-and-so didn't even work at his! How can he get rewarded for such a crappy invention?" I didn't have an answer.

The encourager in me told him that we'll just submit his invention to Grandpa and he'll take it from there. He'll beat them all, I told him. So, sayonara, bitches!!!

Personally Speaking

2007-03-27T13:21:00.000-05:00

When I first started this blog, it was strictly for getting anxieties, worries and other bullshit off of my chest and shoulders. I had only recently come across the blogging world and I quickly jumped on having one of my own. I had no idea there were so many different types of journals and shortcuts and doo-dads and gizmos (gee, can you tell from my boring template?)

I had long played with the idea of writing stuff down so that others could read it and get comfort from knowing their fucked-up thoughts were not alone. I wanted to read how different moms reacted to every day life and the stresses of just "being." I needed inspiration when I was at my lowest and the ability to lift others up when they were at theirs.

I recently read some of my early posts and found myself both sad and happy at the same time. Sad that I spent so much of my time being the person I was. I have spent the last 8 years being depressed about my station in life, wondering what could have been and dwelling on negative thoughts about me and my situations. I hate to say this, but it started with my getting pregnant with my son. I can see now that I suffered from PPD and wish that I could have a "do-over" for this part of my life.

I think that by putting down my feelings for me to see (rather than just obsess over in my mind) it has definitely helped clear things up for me. I'm looking and processing things in much more positive manner. I am able to get over situations more quickly and with less hatred/sadness.

I also commend other bloggers for helping me cope. Although they may not realize how they've impacted me, I've gained strength and knowledge through them. I hesitate to list names on here for fear of forgetting someone. I have learned to appreciate what I have, to accept others as they are and to grasp life by the balls and live it how I want to. I can say what I want, when I want because, quite frankly, the blogosphere can be quite anonymous if you want it to be. And if you choose to forgo that route, well then you choose to realize that an opinion is just an opinion. The whole point of having my own blog is that it's mine to do with what I want. As a fellow blogger, you get that.

So, although I know that I will struggle with depression from time to time or that I will have bitchy, piss-ant days, I can see how I've grown from this simple practice that started out as a stress reliever. For example, I like my job now. I have a clearer picture of what I want to be when I grow up. I enjoy the little nuances of every day life with a sometimes annoying husband, a goof-ball 8 year old, a pissy but hilarious 2 year old and a superdog whose nose must constantly be up my ass.

It's nice to look back and see yourself in a different light, isn't it? After all, isn't the whole point of planting a seed is to see who beautifully it grows into a flower?

P.S. I am working on a "100 Things About Me" list. It's harder than I thought!

Higher Learning

2007-03-21T09:47:00.000-05:00

For some time now, my husband and I have been thinking about making church an every week thing. The problem is that he was raised bone-dry catholic and I was brought up in some serious bible-thumping, hallelujah screaming churches. We've had some problems finding that happy medium, suffice it to say.

We decided on a Methodist church and have attended a few times over the past year. I've struggled with the whole organized religion thing, being brought up to believe that you will go straight to Hell if you so much as litter, and I've shied away. However, I went with an open mind and heart this past Sunday.

Before the sermon starts, the pastor gives you a minute or two of silence for prayers, reflections, mentally preparing your grocery list, whatever. I prayed that God would open me up to learn whatever it was that was being taught that day. I needed to feel something so that I would want to come back. I do want to learn valuable lessons, if nothing else.

The lesson, fitting for Easter time, was on the Prodigal Son. The pastor put a spin on it simply because he realized that every year at the same time, this tale gets told. He told it from the younger son's point of view first off, then of course mentioned the older son's reaction.

This story made me think of my sister. My sister, the oldest of us 3, who is a complete and total fuck-up. She has managed to tarnish both of my parents' credit score, has made just about every person in our family feel like shit, has pushed so many away that she no longer has any friends and the list goes on and on. Nothing is ever good enough for her, she is always the victim and is never the person at fault.

I no longer talk with her. I haven't for almost 2 years. For my personal feelings and those of my children, that was the decision I had to make. As of right now, the only person she speaks with is my dad but that's because he lives next door to her and is helping to raise her son.

It's no secret that she has a mental problem. Though I'm no psychiatrist, from what I've read she seems a likely candidate for bi-polar. She will shout to the rooftops what medications she's been on and which ones work or don't work. The problem is that she will be doing fine on a particular med, but the moment she has a "bad" day, she'll yank herself off of it and demand a new prescription. My question is, "who doesn't have bad days, regardless of whether you're on meds or not?" I have tried so hard in the past to understand her and how her mind works, and to be sympathetic to her needs, but how much can one take?

This story made me think of her, though. It put her into a new light for me. Heck, it almost made me want to pick up the phone and call her. Almost. I will always regret that my relationship with her wasn't a better one and that, for the life of me, I cannot understand how a sister/sister dynamic is supposed to work. I'm envious of those who have just that sort of relationship...ones who go shopping together, who raise their families side by side. What I wouldn't give to have a sister who would be the first person I call upon hearing any sort of news.

It's sad, these thoughts. Normally, on a day-to-day basis, I don't give much mind to it. But Sunday, and ever since, I've had nothing but thoughts of her in my mind. I wish I could make that call and all would be well. I know better, though. I know that at first it will be great, we'll go to craft fairs and I'll go to her house and bake cookies and all that other domestic shit. Then she might have an episode or someone might mistakenly point out a wrong doing...then the proverbial shit will hit the fan. Or maybe the literal shit...you never know with her.

For now I think I'll just keep on with this life without her. I'll try my hardest to think positive thoughts of her and wish her well. When I start to remember the bad times, perhaps I'll counteract it with a good memory. It's all I can do for now.

So, did I get my prayer answered? I guess you could say, "yes, you did." Just goes to show you that the answers aren't always pleasant.

Me in the Raw

2007-03-14T12:27:00.000-05:00

As humans, I think it's innate that we compare ourselves to others on a daily basis. Whether it be to make ourselves feel better or to push us to be bigger is what I question all the time.

I'm guilty of it. I look at others' lives and either want or am glad I'm not in their situation. It's never a "Oh, we're just alike, only different!" I've only recently (within the last year or so) told myself that this a highly destructive attitude to have...one of superiority or inferiority.

The reason I started changing my attitude was kindergarten. Specifically that my son went to kindergarten. As toddlers, you go by their development (how they're walking, talking, etc) so you've already got some sort of timeline that you're going by. The Boy was always ahead of the "right" timeline and I was damned proud of that. I give most of the credit to his pre-school teachers, as they spent most of the time with him. Sure, I would count in both english and spanish to him, read books, do all the "normal" stuff, but they truly taught him.

We have this program in our school that allows him to leave his regular classroom for part of the day to go the next grade. It's awesome in that the kids who read at grade level get the attention that they need and the ones who need more of a challenge, get just that. Several of my friends' kids are also in this program, except for Lulu's son. It was a specific conversation that we were all having, laughing and joking, that I realized how judgemental I was. As we proudly sat talking about our sons, I looked at her and asked, "What did you do wrong?" She laughed, we all did.

But, as soon as the words came out, I hurt. They were meant to be joking. I should never have said them. She is one of the most awesome mothers I know, spends all of her time with the kids, often times with mine in tow. What made me say such a thing?

I was being judgemental. As if what I did with my child was far superior to her parenting ways. Why do we do this? Why do we look at a child and automatically judge the parents for the way the child is behaving? Yes, sometimes it is the parents fault...whether it is that they don't discipline or that they allow their child to eat junk rather than regular food...but who gave me the right to judge? We're only doing the best we can.

My nieces are two of the pickiest eaters ever. My sister in law is picky, too, so they've only learned what they've been taught: that everything gets covered in ketchup and that nothing green is to be eaten. So why do I get so upset that this happens? It's their home, their rules, why do I judge her so? Why do I care that they don't have a bedtime? What business is it of mine that her kids don't go by the same rules as I do?

I am being a parenting snob. That's it. No going around it. I am looking at other moms and dads and silently berating them for not being better. As if I'm Queen Mother of all Parenting Issues and you must bow down to me.

In reality, we are all just learning as we go. We ask our parents or other moms and dads how they do it and we tweak it to fit our family. What works for one child doesn't mean it's going to work for the other. I would never want someone else to look at me and say, "Good lord that woman raises her voice too much to her children!" or "I can't believe she lets her kid run around with mud in her hair!"

I guess I shouldn't throw stones from my glass enclosed porch, huh?

My First Meme Evah

2007-03-12T14:43:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Annie I get to write my first ever meme.
I give you...

NAMES, NAMES, NAMES

and might I just say that this was hard because I go by my middle name. I used my middle for all of them. I'm a rebel like that.

YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (first three letters of your first name, plus-izzle)

Broizzle

YOUR "FLY Guy/Girl" NAME: (first initial of first name, first two of your last name)

B-Ha (so funny)

YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, Street you live on now)

Brooke Jeffrey (somehow I think they'd convince me to change my name)

YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 3 letters of your first

name, first 3 letters of mom's maiden name)

Harjencla (gee, can you figure out my real name yet?)

SUPERHERO NAME: (favorite color, favorite drink)

Red Rumrunner (I'm a pirate)

STRIPPER NAME: (first pets name, street you lived on while growing up)

Bridget Utah (I mostly do westerns)

WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother & father's middle name)

Marie Woodrow (my dad hates his middle name so I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear this one)

Pee-pee pants is my Nickname

2007-03-12T09:41:00.000-05:00

I love being a mom. I love knowing that these cute little humans are all mine and that I can make them giggle and cry at will. I love the snuggles and lovins and boo-boo kisses that only I can deliver. I love watching them grow through the different stages and even love the challenges that come with these growing pains.

What I don't love is the fact that I can no longer control my vagina muscles. Oh sure, if I feel the urge to pee I can hold it in just fine. It's only when I'm doing something silly, like sneezing, that I lose the control. You tell me...how is it possible to both sneeze and squeeze at the same time? I have yet to master that pilates move.

Yes, I know I could do Kegels and all that, but seriously...who has the patience to sit there and contract and release their vagina for 10 minutes a day? At about the third round of doing this, I've moved on to wondering about what's for dinner or looking at the pretty, pretty birds outside. The count is lost and I'm back to peeing my pants.

I pee when I laugh. I pee when I'm startled. As I found out yesterday, I pee when I play tag with my son and husband, which probably accounts for why I was "it" the majority of the time. I was too afraid to run because every time I did, a little bit leaked out. Well, it could have been that I'm completely out of shape, but I'm blaming it on the pee problem.

Would I give up the sweet baby smell and proud elementary moments for a life of dry underpants? Not for a second. But it still pisses me off.

Empty Pockets

2007-03-09T09:34:00.000-05:00

On Monday I attended a summer camp fair put on by our school district. First off, let me just say that spending an hour in very close quarters with 1,000 other people is not my idea of fun. I felt like I was going to be squeezed to death. 3 feet of personal space, people, 3 feet!

I thought I would spend some time talking with each representative, getting a feel for what their program is like, what the hours were, the costs, etc. Yeah, no. After struggling to even get within 2 feet of a table set up with cheerful pictures of kids smiling and balloons waving overhead, I decided to just grab pamphlets and RUN!

I ended up with two bagfuls of flyers, pamphlets and dvds portraying why their camp is the best. That meant I had to sit with the husband for the next hour and narrow down the choices according to our needs:

Hours must be compatible with our work days, I have to be at work no later than 9 and we both get out around 5-5:30
Fees must be within our budget
Program must be something our son would like...or at least like for 2 months
Camp must be somewhat near our places of work

After going through what seemed like 583 pieces of literature, this is what we found:

Most programs go from 9am to 3pm. Some do offer before and after camp care.
Most fees are somewhat within our budget. Those that are closer in range are those that offer before and after camp care. That costs additional, of course.
The camps our son would adore are either outrageously priced or somewhere in eastern Virginia
Since a residential camp is out of the question (not a "mommy's gonna miss you" thing, more like a "holy shit look at these prices" thing) we must go with one here in town. The ones that are affordable and interesting are 30 minutes in the opposite direction of where we work and live.

Here is where we are right now: the papers are all stacked in a pile on our kitchen table, having not been looked at since Monday night. I'm freaking out because a) I know we've got to decide soon because they all book up quickly and b) between two kids, I'm going to be broke for the next 8 months. Seriously, broke.

The Princess' sitter charges us $25/day...a bargain. That's $125/week or $500/month for your brainiacs. The cheapest, somewhat interesting day camp we found for the Boy is going to run us approximately $140/week after we sign up for a membership fee of $18.50/month for a youth pass to this facility. We all have one in our towns...think Village People song. So, $140/week, that's $520/month plus $18.50 equals $538.50. Combine that with the Princess and you've got...

$1,038.50 in child care costs!

How in the fuck do people do it??? I am serious when I ask this question. Jeheezus!

Anyone?

Saturday Night's for Fightin

2007-03-06T09:30:00.000-05:00

Saturday was going to be a busy day. As soon as my son's hockey practice was over, we had to drive 40 minutes to get to my friend's house to surprise her for her birthday. A panic had ensued on Friday because, after all her moaning and groaning, she suddenly had plans for not only Friday night but Saturday as well. Her sister called me, telling me that she'd call the friends she had plans with and just cancel them. "No, no, absolutely not, we're just going to be there for a little bit. She needs to go out," I told her. I just bumped up my arrival time by a few hours, no big deal.

Some background information for you: BGF (Best Good Friend) is the youngest of 5 kids, has never married and no kids. She just turned 46 so there is an 11 year difference in our ages. The entire time I've known her (over 10 years now) she's never been in a serious relationship but not for lack of trying...she has just never had the opportunity. She has always come and gone as she's pleased, partied wherever and whenever. The loneliness set in at times and often she's felt like the third wheel, but she's welcomed all the time by everyone. She is also very generous with both her time and money. Although I have never asked her for anything, she has spoiled me with gifts in the past.

She and I have our best relationship when it's just us...no outsiders. That's not to say that she wasn't happy when I met my husband, but the hustle and bustle of married life definitely put a dent in the partying time. Well, that and being knocked up. I have a variety of friends and often times I'd invite her along when we would all go out. To say it can get awkward is quite the understatement. It's happened numerous times but I continue to invite her our because she's my friend, she's fun and I want her to share in my life with me.

The worst time was my birthday a few years ago. She, my sister, my husband and I all went out to dinner. I called my new friends (fellow kindergarten parents) and asked them to meet us at a local bar. All in all, there were around 15 of us and although I introduced her and everyone was outgoing and friendly, she was miserable. I don't know if it's because she's shy or jealous, but it was uncomfortable for those who were not drunk.

As I said, until recently she has had complete freedom to do whatever, whenever. Last year, however, her mom fell and broke both of her hips on two separate occasions. Her mother is the sole caregiver for her sister, Holly, who was born with cerebral palsy. She had to move in and take care of both of them so she went from single chick to, well, being a mom. Although she loves her sister and mother dearly, she resents being in this position. I can understand why she was upset that she had no plans...she just wanted out of the house.

Holly is, obviously, in a wheelchair and has very jerky movements. She thinks just the same as you and I, but cannot form words the same. BGF has always, from their childhood on, been able to understand her. It's amazing to watch. However, because of the wheelchair or movements or whatever, some children are frightened of her. The Princess is one of those children. I don't know why and I don't know how to "cure" her of it. The Boy has never been, but then again you could put him in a pit of venomous snakes curled around boy kissing girls and he wouldn't think a thing of it.

She's only seen Holly once or twice and the last time she cried and hid her eyes the entire visit. She put herself to sleep, actually. I thought I'd try it again, though, to see if it was a fluke thing or if she was truly scared. I also knew I'd catch grief if I left her at home so I brought her along.

Cry? Try scream. As soon as she caught sight of Holly, she screamed and could not be consoled until my mom wrapped her up and held her eyes away from the rest of the room. Again, she put herself to sleep. Meanwhile, they've wheeled Holly into the kitchen out of sight and she is crying and very upset. I go in there to console her, to tell her it's not her fault, that the Princess has just never been around wheelchairs and doesn't know what to think. I offered to leave, but BGF's older sister tells me not to.

I go back out into the living room, leaving Holly, BGF and their sister in the kitchen. Now it's just me, my mom, a sleeping Princess and BGF's mom. Her mom starts in on the fact that she just doesn't get why kids get scared...and not in a nice, momly sort of tone, either. I try to explain that not all kids are alike and tell her to look at the difference in my kids and how they react. She's bitter and pissed and it's being directed at me and my daughter. At least I take it that way anyway. I can tell my mom is getting a little upset now so I decide that it is time to leave.

Good-byes were said and thank yous administered. But I left with a very uneasy feeling. I haven't heard from my friend since then so I may put out a general inquiry email.

So after that wonderful visit, I got a call from my SIL to go out with a group of girls. As I needed to recover from my invention sign making, I gladly agreed. We ended up at this little bar that is supposed to have karaoke on Saturdays. Well, they didn't that night. The bartender, who was this awesome, very-generous-with-the-pour chick, told us that the jukebox, pool and darts were free due to this.

The rest of the group decides to leave because they want to dance and sing. My SIL and I stay put because we've already started drinking. This guy comes in and starts chatting it up with us. Soon he asks if we want to play darts so we head over that way. Now, it's free, right? Well, it's not working so we call over the guy that we've seen working behind the bar. He's about 5'5", I'd guess in his mid 40s and sounds like Froggy from the Little Rascals. He comes over to check out the problem and then, in all of his superiority, announces that, "Well no wonder it ain't workin, you ain't got no fuckin' money in it!" My SIL tells him that it's supposed to be free. With a furrowed brow, he moves closer to her and barks, "AIN'T NOTHIN' FREE IN THIS FUCKIN' LIFE HONEY!"

I'm not kidding. I cannot make this shit up.

So, I butt in and tell him what the bartender told us earlier. He calls me a liar and goes off behind the bar to yell at her. I hear him scream, "who the fuck is gonna pay for it? you gonna take it outta the till?!" I'm embarrassed for him at this point. The bartender quiets him down and tells him, yes, it's all free due to them having no karaoke.

He comes back around and says that yes, it is free. My SIL, who is no pushover, smiles and asks, "So, are you going to apologize to me now?" Oh shit, I swear to you this guy's blood vessels are damn near bursting as he gets in her face and croaks/bellows, "I DON'T APOLOGIZE TO NOBODY, YOU HEAR ME?!" The nice guy who has been chatting with us has to hold him back, with both arms.

I grab the bartender and let her know what's going on. I tell her I want our tabs closed and that we're leaving due to this asshole. Godloveher, she's so apologetic, paying for the drinks on the house and letting me know that he's a regular who's helping her that night and he's going thru a hard time. Oh, well, okay. Wait, did you just say that he doesn't even work here? And he's acting like the fucking dollar for darts is coming out of his pocket!

He gets escorted to the back and, I'm assuming, reamed a new ass. He comes out a few minutes later and does indeed apologize. He then gives his entire life story to my SIL.

Again, I cannot make up this shit.

The rest of the night was good, though...because we decided to leave, we got the rest of the evenings drinks paid for by our conversationalist friend who didn't want us to go. I think I remember the rest of the night being filled by the usual drunk talk of religion, race, and some sex talk. Good times.

Inventor Update

2007-03-05T13:50:00.000-05:00

Just to let you all know that he (we) made it to the districts. Every kid did. I thought it was a bit sad that out of all of those kids in all of those classes, there were only 6 who actually participated, which probably is the reason that all of them are going on. All of the inventions were pretty cool, though.

I'm a little disappointed in the turn out. I understand that some of the parents didn't want to be stuck doing the whole thing by themselves, but I knew that when my son signed on to do this it meant a chunk of our time, too. It gave us the opportunity to learn with him, to teach him how to do things a certain way. When I was in school, I was the one who always got all gung-ho when something like this came along but soon fizzled out when I caught onto how much work it actually meant. I look back now and I wish my parents had pushed me a bit more, that they had taught me to follow through. I'm still bad at this.

I push my son. I don't let up on him on certain things, including the above assignment. They had a pretty cool reading contest earlier in the year and when he saw the prizes, he quickly signed up. The Blue Jackets sponsored it and for every 200 minutes you read, you'd receive a prize. The first three were little, a book mark, a pencil and folder, etc. But, if you reached 800 minutes by the deadline you received a free ticket to a game, a hot dog, and a few other things. He was sooo excited.

Well, to read 800 minutes in the time allotted equaled out to 30 minutes a night. I love to read so he and I would snuggle up in his bed and we'd read our books. Pretty soon it became evident that a) sighing and wiggling around would start around the 10 minute mark and b) he might have been "reading" the words, but he wasn't comprehending the book. I'd quiz him on a few pages and he couldn't tell me what went on.

I told him that he signed up for this contest and that just because it was getting a little hard, didn't mean that he could just quit. Every night we'd still read and pretty soon it became easier for him. He reads more now.

So, yeah, I don't let up on him. I don't want him thinking he can just because it's getting hard. In my mind I thought that the invention convention was a little over his head, but his gifted and talented teacher (that's right, I'm one of "those" moms) told me that he'd do just fine. Fine, he did. He groaned and moaned a bit, but in the end that invention is his idea, his hard work.

I know that some might say that I may forcing him to do something he doesn't want to do, but that's not the case. I didn't strap a book onto his head and get all Clockwork Orange on him. I taught him to imagine the words on the page coming to life, what the scene is, how the people feel. I challenge him to think, to look beyond his PS2 and Star Wars movies. I know he's got an amazing brain because this child can tell you every single character, machine and scene in all 6 of those movies. At 2, he could tell you what the name of all construction vehicles and spell his name. Am I bragging? Hell yeah, that's my kid! I know he can do things when he puts his mind to it.

On another note, I told my husband to call his father in regards to getting a patent. My FIL does marketing for people with new and innovative ideas. The reason for the call? You know that nifty thing you hang inside your shower and it sprays cleaner all around? It was a stolen idea from a science fair.

At least that's what I heard. And I'm not risking my (his) millions.

I'm Really a 2nd Grader in Disguise

2007-03-02T13:30:00.000-05:00

This week has brought about two projects for the Boy in his class. We've known about both for a little under a month and while we've worked a little on them, we pretty much waited until this week to finish them. And by finish them, I mean do 90% of the work this week.

The first wasn't so bad because he did most of the work at school. Each child had to stand up in front of the class and parents and play a historical figure. Our guy was Tecumseh, which wasn't so bad. Tecumseh was born in Ohio and fought some mean fights to save his land...and there's a kick ass outdoor play (named "Tecumseh!" appropriately) down in Chillicothe that features some pretty hooootttt guys. Yeah, I'm a history buff, at least for half naked buff men I am.

All I had to do was fashion him a little outfit. The teacher asked us not to go buy anything, so I didn't. No feathers to be found, except for my boas (woot!) so I printed one from an image file. I also found a head band that way. Slap those things on a red toboggan and I've got one dorky looking Tecumseh. Yes, I just called my son dorky looking, but only because he was. Once again, I am providing you with fodder for Mom of the Year. He thought he looked just like Tecumseh, but try as I might, I couldn't get him to take off his shirt to show off his 6 pack or his neon white skin. Although I insisted that Tecumseh has burnished, bronze, scrumptious skin, my husband wouldn't let me take our son to tanning. Eh.

He did great, by the way. Watching second graders recite 4 lines of stuff they've rehearsed for weeks is hiLARious. They were all so excited and embarrassed at the same time. Kids are funny.

Onto the second, lengthier and much more brain consuming project: the Invention Convention. This was offered to kids 2nd-5th grades but honestly? I thought it was a bit much for 8 year olds. The Boy wanted to do it, however, so we signed up. I think we were the only ones in our class because all the parents said they didn't want to be stuck with doing all the work. I agree that we did do some of the work, but when it came to figuring out the invention and how it would or wouldn't work, it was all our son. We challenged him to think, got him to admit that some things just wouldn't do well or that others had simply already been created.

He got discouraged at first and wanted to give up. He's got a bad history of taking on something but at the first sight of hard work, he bolts. I made him stick with it. I'm hoping it's some sort of life lesson...or that it teaches Mommy not to pull out her hair. We looked around the house for things we use daily, things that give us trouble.

We zoomed in on Zeke the wiggle butted dog. He invented a dog toy! I can't let out the secret just yet because, well, you might steal it and my thousands. You can practice saying, "I knew her and her kid when..."

After talking about the options and all of that other stuff, came the hard part: research. I let my husband handle this because I hate it. Now, the tri-fold board? I was alllll over that. While the boys were in the basement doing the boring stuff, I was typing and cutting and taping and making a wonderful, gorgeous display. I, we, had fun.

The big learning part was that my son has to learn to READ DIRECTIONS before he starts something. He had to write his journal three times, in ink, before he finally got it. Three times, that means getting one additional copy from his teacher, then whiting both of them out after he messed them up and one trip to Office Max to copy the whited out versions. This was done last night, by the way. The assignment was today.

I think, after having to write the same stuff out three different times, he learned his lesson.

I'm awaiting a phone call from my husband to let me know the outcome of this project. I hope he does well. Mommy needs to retire.

Lousy Friend Update

2007-03-01T10:33:00.000-05:00

I decided that store bought gifts and going out to dinner aren't necessarily the best gifts. I decided on "surprising" her Saturday night at her house with some homemade strawberry shortcake and some cds that I've made for her workout sessions. My mom is going to send her flowers on Friday to her work.

I put in a call to her mom to give her a heads up as well as to one of her other sisters. Both agree that she's been down in the dumps and that this might just cheer her up.

Thank you for your suggestions...they were much appreciated!

As a Friend, I Suck

2007-02-28T16:17:00.000-05:00

Seriously.

Part of it is my fault, part of it is nature's fault, part of it is my husband's fault. Whatever. I suck.

I have reallllly bad habit of waiting until the last minute to buy or plan for friend's birthdays. I'm always scrambling around, searching for the perfect gift when that is obviously not going to occur at the local Target. I'm excellent at faking it, though.

This year (yes, the whole two months of it) I have managed to totally geek out on two of my best friend's birthdays. And my mom's. I'm 0-3. The intent for my mom's was to treat her to a massage at an upscale spa here in town. So, what did I do? I waited until Thursday to try and make side-by-side appointments. Did I mention this was the weekend before Valentine's? Yeah, so her birthday was Feb 5...she's still waiting.

Next up was Lulu. A bunch of us were all getting together to go out to eat. I couldn't due to lack of funds. This was my husband's fault as he paid the babysitter the money that I was going to use to go out. Granted it was due, but it could have waited until the next week.

Now it's my best good friend's birthday this weekend and again, I can't do it. It's mortgage payday everyone! The bad thing is is that she spoils me rotten every chance she gets. She's single, never been married, no kids. She's also turning 45 and is feeling every bit of the former sentence. Not one of her friends made plans for her. She's also been thrust into being the sole caretaker for her older sister (who has MS) and her mother who is no longer able to care for herself or her sister. She NEEDS to get out. I feel incredibly bad about this but she made me feel even worse by her email to me.

It stated, "When ever... that's my job to accommodate others... if next week end is good for you... I guess I can just pretend that this is not my birthday weekend.What ever... we really dont even need to do anything. After all... I am a big girl. (a really big girl...a really old big girl!)"

Yes, guilt trip galore. I deserve it. The sad thing is that even if I did somehow find the funds to treat her the way she needs to be treated, it would come off as looking like I was forced into it. So, what do I do?

I'm thinking perhaps show up uninvited to her house with a big ole chocolate cake on Saturday? Any other ideas?

Family - The Ties that Bind, and Choke

2007-02-26T14:08:00.000-05:00

Warning: Long ass post ahead.

I come from a divorced family, in more ways than one. My parents divorced when I was 8 and I "divorced" my sister a little more than a year ago. Honestly, neither instances affected me much or at least I don't think they did. I am who I am because of what I've been through, is my take.

When my parents divorced it shaped me, my brother and my sister, all in different ways. My sister, who is 7 years older than me, took as a personally as one could take it. Not in the "oh, I blame myself for my parents split and I'll forever feel guilt over it!" sort of personally. Hers was more like "great, now I have watch these two brats and how can you be so selfish" sort of personal. Never mind that my dad was an alcoholic and treated my mom like shit or that he was rarely home. No, it was all about her.

My brother is, and always has been, sensitive despite his machismo outlook and attitude. He cried and later rebelled in the form of fights and general asshole-ish ways.

Me? Shit, I didn't care. Just stop the yelling and move on. Oh, and where's my Play-doh? Did one of you fuckers hide it again?

My sister and I went to live with my mom, my bro stayed with my dad. Soon after the divorce, my dad introduced my first stepmonster, setting the pace for the rest of our lives. My sister had her boyfriend and would often times leave me at home by myself so she could go visit him. My mom didn't know any differently as she was at work and would call at the same times every day. My sister would just wait until she called (the first call was usually around 10am to wake her lazy ass up) and then leave. She would return around 3 to catch the second call. It wasn't until one day that my mom called at lunchtime to check on me that I answered instead of my sister.

"Uh, hi, sweety, where's your sister?"
"Oh, she's at Pat's house."
"WHAT????"

I do believe I heard her tires squealing out of the parking lot as she was hanging up the phone. Soon afterward, my sister moved in with my dad because my mom was being "unfair." She continued this pattern, back and forth between mom and dad's, depending on who pissed her off.
Eventually, she purposely got pregnant during her senior year because, and I kid you not, she "just wanted out of the house." She got married in January. All of her friends thought it was so cool and so romantic. I guess it was in 1983. Yay! Look, there's my sister, 9 months pregnant walking across the stage to get her diploma. She has continued to make these brilliant types of decisions throughout her life.

My brother always lived with my dad. He lived through 4 (count 'em) 4 stepmonsters. All of them came from "bible study" as my dad soon found God after his divorce. Through each of these marriages, my bro hung by my dad though not quietly. He's always been a loudmouth and would always tell these women exactly what he was thinking, never thinking about the consequences. He ran away from home at 12 and would be in and out until he was 22. He and my father would get into fist fights, bloody ones. Honestly, I do think my dad could have held his temper a bit more, but my brother pushed him and pushed him hard. I can see now how it would be easy to snap. My brother also antagonized me to no end, calling me nasty names and demanding that I give him money at times. As a result, I had a lock installed on my door because I found out that he and some of my step-siblings had been coming into my room. Oh, do I have stories.

Side note: He had a very bad habit of knocking on my door and then just coming in before I answered. I kicked him of this habit when one beautiful day he did it and walked in on me and my boyfriend in a very compromising position. Let's just say that he saw a side of his little sister that he never wanted to see.

Both of them have spent considerable time not talking to one or the other parent, sometimes at the same time. Both have been, in general, assholes who think that everyone else is an idiot.

Okay, so throughout all of this bullshit, we all remained somewhat close. Somehow I knew that both of them were a little fucked in the head and really, who isn't? I bore the brunt of their frustrations because I was the "baby" and I didn't know any better. To this day my brother, who is all of 18 months older than I, still treats me this way. I just take it and move on.I really think I'm a pretty good person for taking things like, "You little bitch!" or "Don't ever call me again!" or "I can't believe she wore a white dress in her wedding" in stride. Really, nominate me for sainthood. Bitter? A little.

Starting last year, I stopped taking it from my sister. I also started calling my brother out on things he would say, prompting an apology soon after.

My mom, however, still holds onto some of this anxiety. My siblings have always been jealous of me, for whatever reason. I hold that it's the fact that a) I never gave my parents much shit, b) that I'm basically easy going and c) that I've done things with my life that they never did. Because of this jealousy, my mom is always covering her tracks with my brother. If she takes my family out to dinner, we're not allowed to mention it to him. If she comes over to our house to hang out, she has to then go to his house to do the same to "equal" her time spent with us. Why? Because my fucking 37 year old brother is that big of a baby that if he hears of any of the above, he gets all pissy. This is the man who, when his wife has an appointment and he will be left alone with his kids for more than an hour, will call my mom to "help" him.

Now, my mom has always had a close relationship with my son and frequently has him for "sleep-overs" which usually involve a movie or a trip to Target or, more frequently, just hanging out. They had one Saturday night. She dropped him off around 10am on Sunday and went over to my brother's for the rest of the day. He just got "snipped" on Friday and would be alone with the kids all day so she decided to help him out. I thought it was wonderful.

What wasn't so wonderful was that when my son asked to go with her, her response was that she needed to spend equal time with them as she did with him and his sister. She didn't want him to get jealous she told him.

Huh?

I asked her about it today. I asked her what made her think that my son would get jealous of her spending time with all of them? What it came down to was this: my son is 8, his cousins are 4, 2 and 1 month old. He doesn't want to play dollys and all things girly, but he does like to wrestle. My brother gets mad at him because he won't play with the girls in the way they want.
He. Gets. Mad. At an 8 year old.

My mom then proceeds to tell me that we're all needy and she's just trying to please all of us. Excuse me? I'm not the one who keeps secrets. She freaks out if she spends more on my kids or me than his family. I've told her I could give a shit less if she spends $100K on someone other than me. It's her money and who am I to tell her what to do with it? I rarely ask her to babysit. I always ask her if she wants to come over for dinner and not just so she'll bathe my kids. If she does babysit and I tell her I'll be home by 6, I'm home by 6...not 7 or 8.

So, yeah, I'm pissed. I'm hurt. I will not be made out to be something I'm not, just because it's easier to generalize. I have a great relationship with my mom but this put a little ding in it. I'll get over it, I'm sure, but will I continue to hold onto it as I have the other things in my past? Probably.

That's what shapes me...the walls that keep out the hurt.

Haunted Past

2007-02-21T13:50:00.000-05:00

I have an amazing story to tell you. It's one to give you chills and possibly bring tears to your eyes. It does this to me every time I think about it.

My mother in law never knew her biological father. He was shot down less than a month after she was born while on his way to bomb Berlin in 1944. She grew up thinking that he never knew of her birth and, until recently, had never spoken to anyone who knew him outside of his family. Her mother was reluctant to talk about him and his family was not the warmest of folks. His father, especially, was an odd one. My MIL presumes it was because he lost his only son or that maybe he didn't like her mother. Either way, his life or death was just not discussed.

When she finally got curious enough to ask about her father, she was 13 and her mother was getting remarried. MIL has never been one to make waves so she has spent her entire life with this wonder and worry and question bubbling underneath the surface.

Until now.

My brother in law was able to do an internet search and find some of her father's cousins. That led to more information about him, including getting in touch with some men in his unit. These men have stayed in touch over the years, getting together and keeping up to date via a newsletter. It was through this newsletter that a gentleman from Texas came across the request for information on her father. He is now 85 years old and remembers him like yesterday. Why?

He remembers the day that my MIL's father found out that she'd been born!

"I never saw anyone more excited in a demonstrative way. "Name's" personality changed because he was concerned if he would ever see his child"

It continues on to say that he became adamant about not flying. He didn't want to die without meeting his child and at that time, it was highly likely that he would die. In this gentleman's words, "When "Name" started worrying about not being able to see his new baby, this disparity brought him back to reality and he cracked. His make believe attitude burst. He had nothing to lean on. (Later on this attitude was determined to be related to combat fatigue).

He refused to fly but finally had to give in due to his superiors threatening him that he would not get his commission and would be court martialed. He finally gave in and was put on a mission the next morning.

His plane was hit by flak and broke in half. He was listed as KIA that night.

The gentleman telling this story has been haunted for years by my MIL's father and the image he saw as he changed. When my MIL first contacted him, she spoke with his wife. His wife burst into tears, saying that she has heard stories of her father for years and that her husband can finally have some peace.

Can you imagine? Can you just think of having to spend your entire life with the thought of your father not even knowing about you? You've spent almost 60 years with this mistaken knowledge and then WHAM! in comes this ray of light that, yes, he did know about and he did love and he did want you. It's amazing.

The good folks with this newsletter were kind enough to send us a copy and we received it yesterday. I got two sentences into the article and tears were running down my face. I called my MIL and told her happy I was for her. There is a definite difference in her demeanor, a more upbeat one. This is one inner demon let go.

It's highly unlikely that she'll make it to meet the Texas gentleman. We will all be going to Dayton to the USAF Museum in October to meet with this group, though. All three of her boys (whom she says all look like her father) with all three of us spouses and two grand babies in tow. Long way from being fatherless, huh? I can hardly wait.

And that? Is my tear jerker story.

Technicolor Dreams

2007-02-19T10:00:00.000-05:00

I have always been a dreamer. Not in the John Lennon sort of way, but in the dead asleep sort of way. I am a debunker of the "you only dream in the last 20 minutes of sleep and no dreams are in color" myth. I can dream long, intense stories while taking a 10 minute cat nap. They are full of color and conversations. There is rarely a night that I don't dream.

Side note: I think that people who dream alot don't experience deja vu. My sister has said she rarely dreams but has deja vu several times a day. On the other hand, I dream almost nightly and don't have deja vu as much. My focus group is HUGE, I tell ya.

This morning I had some of those dreams that just haunt you all day long. You know, the ones that wake you up and you're kind of freaked out?

It started out with me telling this guy that used to work with me good-bye. He was leaving for Iraq the next day and we were so close to confessing our love for one another. Problems with this? He's a good looking guy, but I've never felt anything for him. Secondly, he's about the furthest person who would ever join the army and fight a war (very cushioned life.) Thirdly, he's married with a kid on the way. Fourthly, I'm married with two kids already here! It was seriously a hush-hush sort of thing, one where we're torn.

After he left, I was attempting to give the Princess a bath but soon found that the water was too deep. She began sinking under and I jumped into the bathtub, clothes and all, to save her. (Why didn't I just grab her?) So, I sat in the bathtub giving her a bath with a sweater and jeans on when the guy's wife comes in. Now, keep in mind, this entire dream is happening in my incredibly small and cramped house. In my tiny bathroom, I am in the tub with my daughter, she is sitting beside the tub and there is now a blond woman there too. Eating. The wife confronts me, I deny anything ever happened because, technically nothing did. The blond gets water splashed right between her eyes and gets pissed.

Next scene occurs in my kitchen. I'm standing beside the sink with my bff and at the table sits my sister (!) and my father. I'm really pissed that my sister is in my house to begin with but get even more pissed because she is yelling at me about something that has to do with my dad. I ask my dad what the problem is...he says, "just forget it!" "How can I forget it if I don't even know what happened in the first place?!?" I yell. It's obvious I've done something but no one will tell me what. I storm out, but not after taking three slices of french toast that I slather with blueberry sauce. I don't really like blueberries but I eat it anyway, wondering the whole time why I'm eating them.

We get into bff's car and go to a gas station. I wake up.

So, now I have this uneasy feeling that a) I've done something to piss someone off b) I have feelings that I'm not really aware of and c) I'm eating food "just because." I already knew about c) though.

Ever have one of those dreams that stay with you?

Such a proud moment!

2007-02-16T11:47:00.000-05:00

The other night while preparing to make dinner, the Princess comes into the kitchen and says proudly, "Mommy, I WET!"

I think she may be nearing potty training time and I couldn't be happier.

But as she's telling me that she's wet, I realize she has something smeared on her right cheek. Again, she declares, "I wet Mommy, WOOK!" and points to her cheek. I then realize she's got it on her hands and has wiped it on mine. Well, shoot, it's Valentine's Day and Gma sent her some chocolate so that's probably it.

Yeah, until I smelled it.

She had poop on her hands. And on her face. And now on my hand. Which I had just wiped on my pants.

Needless to say, dinner was postponed while I gave her an impromptu "bubabath" complete with Cookie Monster bubbles and Crayola Bathtub Tints (red and blue make purple! and that's the only way she'll take baths.)

I've heard of kids creating masterpieces of art in their bedrooms while they were supposed to be sleeping. Masterpieces of poop that is. I hope my child does not turn into a tiny version of Picasso when it comes to this particular medium. I may have to never attend one of her professional showings if it comes to this.

For the record I hate the word, "poop." Hate it. So, my husband delights in saying it around me, numerous times. "Hey hon, Princess had poop in her diaper, ya know, poop. She told me she had poop, so I asked her 'do you have poop?' and she said, 'yes, poop.'" So loving.

Any, um, poop stories you'd like to share?

Sunglasses, anyone?

2007-02-13T11:02:00.000-05:00

Sigh.

I will be 35 in April. I still struggle with what I want to be when I grow up. That joke used to be funny when I was in my 20s. Not so much anymore.

This is the year to decide. The year that I commit to an occupation. An occupation that does not include answering phones all day or serving/making/cleaning up food.

My mom has long told me that she thought I'd make an excellent nurse. I have that caring and empathetic attitude that most nurses have. I say most, because some are just downright sadistic. I've always been able to calm people down if they're hurt and I'm especially good in crazy situations. But, I have this needle thing. I get, oh, woozy at the site of a needle entering flesh. I even had an ex boyfriend who was diabetic and during an "episode" of low blood sugar, I couldn't bring myself to inject him. I called the paramedics.

Most everyone I talk to says that you get over that fear. Most everyone says that there are very few people who actually enjoy seeing a needle. It's just part of the job, they say.

So, I may have decided on a career. I may have even called the local community college to inquire about classes. Perhaps I've printed off a FAFSA worksheet. I could possibly have interviewed several nurses that I know about above phobia. They all said I'd get over it and that I'd make an excellent nurse.

I hope my future is bright.

Wide Open Letter

2007-02-09T08:55:00.000-05:00

Dear Whoever Hit My Fence,
Thank you for allowing me to come home with two crazy kids in the back seat only to turn the corner and discover that you've destroyed the corner of my privacy fence. No doubt you slid on the ice and didn't actually mean to hit my property, but thank you anyway for doing it and then leaving the scene! I'm sure you flew down my side street to avoid that darn traffic light that would cost you all of 3 minutes of your precious time but I'm pretty sure that the damage done to your radiator (I saw lots of pretty green liquid in the snow!) is going to cost you more than that time would have. And much more than it will cost me to repair the fence. It's just a pain in the ass though, ya know because now I have to wait until spring to repair it seeing as how the ground is frozen! Oh, and now I can't carelessly let my dog into my fenced backyard because there's a huge hole where there didn't used to be. So, thank you, asshole.

Dear Boss,
Thank you for leaving for two weeks to go to the Keys. It really is much more relaxing around here without you barking orders. But was it really necessary to tell me to "answer the phones as much as possible" while you're gone? I mean, that's 98% of my job. I think I got it down pretty good. But, I realize that you have control issues and you had to say something to me, so thank you for confirming my suspicions of this.

Dear Princess,
Thank you for saying "poop" at the dinner table last night and when I asked if you had said poop in your diaper, you said, "no poop, Mommy." You denied it three times after that. Seriously, though, thank you for waiting until it ran down your leg and onto the floor before letting me know that, yes indeed, you did have poop. Thank you.

Dear Period,
Thank you for hanging around for so long. You start off with just a trickle. Just enough so that I have to wear a panty liner for a week and then BAM! you come at me full force for 2 days. Thank you for keeping the SuperMaxiMegaLong pad stockholders in Ferraris and fur coats.

Ahhhhhhhhhhmen.

Snow Day!!!!

2007-02-08T13:53:00.000-05:00

It's Thursday and the kids in this city's public school system have finally gone back to school. Monday and Tuesday were called off due to nipple-perking, snot-freezing, can't-feel-your-fingers cold weather. Yesterday was due to snow. A whopping 5 inches. To those of you who get oh, say, 20 or more inches on any given day, this is nothing. NOTHING. But to the fine peeps of this here city, it is terrifying! So terrifying in fact that a normal 20 minute commute now takes over 2 hours! What the fuck???

Many schools were having 2 hour delays today because it's still freezing ass cold outside but not ours, oh no. See, we have now used up 4 of our 5 allotted "disaster" days. Up above I've accounted for 3 of them. The other one? Bus driver shortage. Or finding out one of them had cocaine on the bus. While transporting kids. You pick.

Anyway, I had coverage for Monday and Tuesday, thanks to the 'rents. I could have had it yesterday, too, but I wanted to stay home. Seeing as how I finally have a job that gives me sick days and you don't suffer for taking them later, I gladly called off.

The boy, the Princess and I spent all day just hanging out. The first part we cleaned and by clean I mean that I scrubbed, wiped, dusted and sweated, the Boy wiped, swept and tried to figure out how to clean the floors by attaching wet paper towels to his slippers and the Princess went thru a roll of Lysol Sanitizing Wipes. Cheapest entertainment. Ever.

It was totally fun to just relax with them. We spend so much time going, going, going that we don't get that much.

We watched Fantastic Four in the afternoon and ate Jiffy Pop (I consider it homemade if I make it on the stove top.) They both set the table for dinner and even though it still had a half hour or so to cook, Princess sat patiently in her high chair. Well, for five minutes or so anyway.

I really enjoyed myself with them. I was much more patient than I have been in the past. I often wonder if I could make it as a SAHM because I know it requires an enormous amount of energy, patience and generosity. I have nothing but respect for those who choose this way of life because, to me, it is truly the hardest job in the world. The most rewarding, though. I tease my husband constantly that he'd better start making some money so I can stay at home and eat bon-bons while watching my "shows." In reality, to stay at home all day with a sometimes cranky, sometimes sweet as pie toddler, scares the shit out of me. I did it for 9 months when she was a baby, but she slept alot. So did I. Also, I had Lulu who would pick up the boy each day before and after school.

Sheesh, no wonder my ass got so big.

So, if I had the chance to stay at home with them I think I would say yes. I'd say yes because there's only so much time with them before they grow up and go away. I'd say yes because I miss them tons while I work and I'd say yes because I truly love spending time with both of them.

I'd say yes because of this little convo I have with my son as I'm cuddling with him at bedtime:

"Bubby, I hope you'll always love me like this, even when you grow up and it's no longer cool to hang out with your mom."
"Mommy, I'll always love you, no matter how big I get or how uncool it is."

Yep.

Daydreams

2007-02-05T10:02:00.000-05:00

The Princess takes naps very well at her sitter's house but not so much at ours. I think it's because her room is too bright. With two windows that only have roman blinds covering them, it's hard to get it dark enough. As it is, she plays rather than naps and we often hear her singing or talking and her bed is filled with toys when an hour or so has passed.

Her bed is pushed up against a wall and the other side is protected by a "guard rail." There is enough space at the end of the bed for her to crawl up into it that way but she prefers to scale this rail. She's quite adept at it, too.

Yesterday, my husband and I were enjoying a mid afternoon laze in front of the tv after we put her down for a nap. She goes willingly, often times saying, "Ni-Nite, Mommy!" and rolling over. We really wanted her to sleep because we knew we'd be at our cousin's house that night for the game. It really was no surprise that we heard the usual singing and playing.

"Princess, go nite-nite" I yelled towards her room.

I then got up to check on her. I had to laugh loudly when I opened her door to find her damn near jumping over that rail to scoot butt back to bed! It was just so freaking funny to watch this two year old pull a SEALS maneuver to avoid to wrath of Mommy.

As she sat giggling, I decided to lie down with her. I thought maybe if I did that, she'd sleep. Fat chance. I'm glad I did though, because it gave me some very quiet time with her, away from tv, the dog, the rest of the family. I pretended to close my eyes so she would think I was asleep but I kept one just barely open. I watched her. I watched the way her little mouth moves when she sings and I saw the dimples on her hands disappear and reappear as she would move her teddy from one side of me to the other. Her skin, so soft, underneath lashes so long.

She'll only be a baby for so long. Though I rant about the times when she just won't listen or when her back has somehow managed to become covered in poop, secretly I'll miss this age when she's all grown up.

I wish I had known how to cherish the Boy when he was this age. But I was single and struggling and all I wished for at the end of very long days of working and cooking and cleaning and doing everything by myself was for him to go to sleep so I could have some quiet. I wish I could go back and snuggle him the way I snuggled her yesterday.

I wish I could keep them babies forever.

Generational Gaps

2007-01-31T09:20:00.000-05:00

On Monday, my SIL gave birth to a gorgeous baby boy. After being in labor for a little under 8 hours, she brought my 9 lb 2 oz nephew into this world. I've been blessed to be at all three of her children's birth and was inspired to become a doula after the first one.

During some of the downtime I went to the cafeteria with my Dad for a snack and we proceeded to have a conversation about parenting issues. Particularly about how and when to talk to your kids about sex and drugs. It's not a tough subject for me, I'm just concerned about how much has changed even since I was a kid.

Although I was pretty well versed in the sex area, drugs are beyond me. I really think I was naive when it came to the amount of drugs that went on during my high school years, as I didn't drink until I was 21 and didn't try marijuana until I was 26. I remember getting into a huge fight with my best friend because after we had agreed that neither one of us would smoke, she went ahead and tried it with some other friends. I didn't speak to her for two weeks.

I've talked it over with some of my fellow parent friends and we all agree that we have to get to the kids earlier than we got the "talk." I'm just not sure how much earlier and I'm not sure how aggressive to be.

I looked to my dad to help me with this but soon regretted it. It seems he rates doing drugs or having premarital sex (even though he did both) right up there with committing murder. This, to me, is typical bible-thumping Christian behaviour.

He was appalled to hear about parents smoking weed with their kids when it came time for them to experiment. My opinion is that I'd much rather have my kid at home with me than someplace where I don't know the other kids and I don't know exactly where he got it from. He admonished me, saying "Well would it be okay with you if he kills someone in your home just because you're there with him?" What? I shook my head at him, telling him that was ridiculous. "To you, Dad, a sin is a sin...isn't that correct?"

He then went on to rant about teenage pregnancy, saying it all had to do with the rise of Planned Pregnancy. Again, I shook my head at him. I told him that you couldn't just pin it on one agency, that the rise of divorces, the fact that more and more kids are left on their own. I really needed to nail it to him, so I did with this: "Dad, according to psychoanalysts, I had sex at such an early age because I was looking for a daddy figure due to you being married and divorced so many times." His mouth fell right open. Do not fuck with me, is really what I was telling him.

Luckily, my brother came over at that time and I excused myself. I know that my dad is only trying to help, but his judging just kills me. He doesn't want anyone to judge him on the fact that he was an alcoholic and that he mentally abused my mom, he doesn't want anyone to talk badly about the fact that he was married so many times, but yet he's so quick to do it to others. I can't stand that.

So, anyone who reads this who may have advice for me, please pass it on. I appreciate all responses, just don't throw a bible at me.

Clear Headedness

2007-01-29T09:28:00.000-05:00

If you've ever taken the time to look back on my archives (and who wouldn't? I'm utterly fascinating!) you would've seen that at the beginning of this blog I was very unhappy. I hated my job, hated my outlook on life, wondered constantly about how others thought of me.

Things are changing. It's weird, but for once in my life the decision that I made to change my general attitude is actually working.

I like my job now. I learned to accept my boss just the way he is and to move past it. His superiority complex can be looked over by the fact that he is very giving. I think, too, that the way that I talk to him and treat him changed our relationship. I don't take shit from him or if he is giving it generously that day, I might act extra nice. Catching more flies with honey sort of thing, I guess. I also realized that I'm not going to achieve some of my goals if I continue to flit from one job to another just because I'm unhappy for a bit. I told myself to just suck it up, to save our money so that we could move out of our tiny house into our dream home. I can't move forward if I'm constantly starting over.

I've thought alot about school. I was so afraid of going back because 1) I'm still unsure of a career that will suit me and 2) I didn't want to be apart from my family for many nights/weeks/years. Again, though, if I want to move forward in life it's going to take some sacrifices on my part. My husband finished his degree after the Princess was born and I know he dealt with guilt issues. He did what he had to do. So, I'll be looking into school soon.

I've come to peace with the fact that I'll never have a good relationship with my sister. She is who she is and it's my choice if I want to be around her. I don't. She's poison and I get a real shitty attitude when I'm around her. My only regret is that she won't allow any of us to see her 4 year old son. So, I send presents home with my dad and he brings him over for visits without letting her know.

I guess the bottom line is this: I'm accepting life as it is. I can only change myself and my attitude and even then, those changes can only affect so much. I will take my "lumps" as they come and will celebrate everything else.

That, for now, is good enough.

Angry wife swap mom

2007-01-24T13:44:00.001-05:00

H E Double Hockey Sticks

2007-01-24T10:57:00.000-05:00

Lulu is doing very well, at least she was during our visit on Monday night. She was surrounded by 4 of us, listening to her talk about her witty, upbeat, spiritual sister. She talked about how she had only brought clothes meant for spending the week in a hospital (sweats, jeans, t-shirts) and how she ended up going shopping for a funeral outfit in a very small town. Her options were Wal-Mart and Maurice's. All small towns have a Maurice's. And a Fashion Bug. Oh, and a Deb's. We were all glad that she found a bargain because all of the cold weather clothes were on the clearance rack.

She has amazing faith, this friend of mine. Her heart was breaking because of her own loss, but she was so, so happy that her sister was in Heaven. It was wonderful to watch her animated face as she talked of how her sister couldn't possibly be feeling any more pain, how she is completely happy. She told us of how it makes her feel that Heaven must be wonderful and that her sister is looking down on her and not seeing the tears that are being shed, because there is no sadness in Heaven.

It made me think of my own upbringing and what went wrong in my faith department. I have never doubted that God exists, it's my own personal opinion. It's just that the way it was presented to me growing up that made me shrink away from religion. Heaven and Hell exist to me. But the Heaven presented to me by those bible thumping Southern Baptist and Wesleyan preachers was not obtainable unless you prayed every day for your forgiveness and never had transgressions and felt guilty every single moment of your day. The Hell was even worse for I was going to burn in the fiery embers and lakes of fire for these sins that I commit every day. I'd better pray that Jesus forgives me before I die because I'd be sorry for ETERNITY! And the Catholics? They just scare the shit out of me. What's up with scurrying to get your child baptised because if that newborn child dies before it's baptised, it'll be stuck in Purgatory or go to Hell.

I spent the better part of my youth and into my teenage years being scared witless of God and what could happen to me if I kissed Johnny underneath the bleachers (although that fear was given up soon and wooohooo did it feel good!) I worried constantly that Satan was just lying in wait, pitchfork in hand, ready to take my damned soul to Hell with him.

My father, after being a "sinner" for much of his youth, found God after my parent's divorce. We went to church Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night with occasional forays with the youth group. I'll admit that I had fun on most of these outings. Soon, though, I had a string of stepmonsters that my father met (all of them) at bible studies aka I'm-here-to-meet-the-next-loser meetings. I lived with my mom thru most of these, but it was still hard.

We would go to different churches, some being quite tame others not so much. The most memorable one was during a time when my dad was not married and he took my brother and I to one here in Columbus. I don't remember where it was but I do remember the look of horror on our faces when each and every congregation member stood up and started speaking in tongues! I swear to you, my brother and I started flapping our tongues out at each other going "lalalagoolala" because we honestly thought that was what we were supposed to do! Yeah. Good times.

The first time I remember actually resenting the whole religion thing was when I was 17. I had gone behind his back and bought tickets to see White Lion (Wait, wait!!!) before asking him. This was only the beginning of my rebellion...yeah, I was a loser. Anyway, I pulled up into the driveway and sat there watching him mow the yard. Finally I walked up to him and asked him if I could go to this concert. His response was, "Well the answer is the same answer to this question: would Jesus go to this concert?" What I should have said was, "Yes, Dad! Jesus loves everyone, even Aqua netted hair metal bands and their spandex covered fans! Yes, Jesus would go to this concert!" What I said was, "No, Jesus wouldn't go to this concert." And that was that. I was out $20 and my best friend sadly waved goodbye to me as she drove off.

I later told him that this was possibly the worst thing he could have done to me as far as religion goes. He agreed.

To me, religion and your relationship with God (Allah, Buddah, The Alien known as Mork) is exactly that: your relationship. No one wants us telling us how to feel about our kids or our husbands, why do we let them dictate how to feel about God? I cannot stand that religious freaks stand outside of concert halls or abortion clinics and try to tell us how our souls are going to Hell if we listen to that music or make a life altering choice. Does anyone watch Wife Swap? There was a crazy episode one time that involved a die-hard Christian and a Witch. Watch what happens when the Christian returns home. She freaks the hell out! Funny thing is, the Witch's family was much happier than the Christian's home because there wasn't all that pressure.

Fondling of young altar boys anyone? How about some extra marital affairs? Cheating on your taxes? As the saying goes, "Practice what you preach." These sorts of things make me sick, to have someone tell me how I'm supposed to live my life while they go about their own lives, wreaking havoc. Fuck you.

So, I will continue to have my own version of faith. It involves believing in a God who loves me no matter what, who has my best interests in mind, who trusts me to do what's right. And if I screw up, I'm not going to Hell. Hell is no longer an endless river of molten lava with demons of melting flesh waiting to torture me with their pointy arrows and rotten breath. It's a vast emptiness. A nothing.

Yes, I have faith. I have faith that there is good in the world, no matter what you believe in. I have faith that for every action, there is a reason, good or bad. I have faith that God gives you no more than you can bear, even Redneck Mommy. It makes us stronger.

Mostly I have faith that I am provided with friends like Lulu who show me the good in people, who judge you not on your actions, but on you. I believe her sister is in Heaven and that one day, so will I.

So, after reading all of this, I pose a question to you that was asked first by the Boy: when you go to Heaven, do people see you as you are when you died, or as they remember you?

Life as we know it

2007-01-22T09:29:00.000-05:00

With all this talk of losing weight and getting healthier it's easy to get caught up in the idea that if you do such things, you'll live forever. I know this isn't true nor would I necessarily want it to be so. But, I would like to be around long enough to watch my daughter grow up to torment me during her teen years and to see my son play some sort of professional sport.

So, although I know that life is not a measured thing, it's still hard for me to comprehend when someone young dies. It's devastating when a person gets into an automobile accident or falls down a cliff or some other random act. It's unnerving, though, when someone contracts a disease that just seems to casually pick that person out of a group and says, "Tag! You're It!"

When I went back for my 10 year high school reunion there was a board that had pictures of classmates who had died. On it was a photo of a popular soccer player who had gone on to play on a semi-pro team. How did he die? Dropped dead of a heart attack while on the field playing soccer. Heart attack. 24 years old.

I had a very dear friend who died after battling sinus cancer for 4 years. She was 26 when she died and left behind a 5 year old son. Seeing her fight left a scar on my heart. I don't know that I'd be so valiant.

This weekend my wonderful friend Lulu had to go through her own heartache as she said a sudden good-bye to her younger sister. She had been diagnosed with leukemia in October and had just received the news that they found a bone marrow donor. Her body failed her before they got the chance to do the surgery. Lulu and her husband flew to Iowa on Tuesday and her sister died that night. She was 34, two children and a wonderful husband.

What do you say in these instances? Lulu is in her own battle right now: her heart vs. her head. She knows the hell that my friend went thru, so she's relieved that it was quick. But she just lost her baby sister! One of her best friends just left this earth and she will never get to talk to or see her again. She's left with a feeling of guilt that she's still alive, that her children still have a mommy and her husband has a lover with whom to cuddle.

It's not enough to say, "It's for the best" or "It was God's will" or the all time favorite, "It was her time." We, her friends, are trying to figure out what to do for her once she gets back. I believe it will involve copious amounts of alcohol and my ever-present wit and sarcasm. Her heart and head need to come to some sort of agreement and we're just the friends to help her with that.

Random Thought

2007-01-18T09:48:00.000-05:00

Is it just me or does every Beyonce song sound like it's a record playing in reverse?

Who we are

2007-01-16T10:23:00.000-05:00

Unlike many in the downtown area, I had to work yesterday on a national holiday. I didn't mind, I got alot of things done...like blogging, for instance. I was sent home at 1:30 and as I was driving on the somewhat empty freeway, I started thinking about this holiday and what it means now as opposed to years past.

I wondered if young people today understand the significance of what Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. did to help this country progress. I wondered if I understood it. And then I thought of how our ways of thinking are shaped by those who raise us and those who surround us.

I grew up in a small town and first went to a country school. All in all, because of my parents divorce and us constantly moving, I averaged a new school every 2 years. I was an easy going kid, adapting well to new environments and making friends was no problem. It wasn't until 6th grade that I encountered my first "racial" problem, though.

My best friend's name was Colleen. She was a black girl and she was one of the nicest persons I had ever met. When I would call her, her family was always polite to me and when she called me, she asked, "May I please speak with____?" We had so much fun together, giggling in class, talking about boys. I actually had a very embarrassing incident happen to me at this school and she was the first, and only, one by my side.

It was only natural for me to have a sleepover with her right? It didn't matter to me if it was at her house or mine. But, when I asked my mother, I was told no. "Why not?" I asked. "Because if your stepfather found out, he'd have a fit." "Why?" I asked again. The only reason? She was black. I didn't get it. I still don't. I remember having a sleep over with one of my white friends and now when I look back at that night, I distinctly remember seeing a bong (yeah, I know what that pretty glass thing is now) displayed on the coffee table. Hmmm...such a better influence those white trash folks are.

My second "racial" problem occurred when I was in junior high and it was this time of year. I was reading about Dr. King and I wanted to know how it was at that time so I asked my dad. He grumbled on and on about the problems that he caused, the riots, the shooting. "But, Dad, look at the influence he had on our country, on how we treat each other!" "Yeah, but he was a troublemaker!" A what? A huh? I kid you not, this is what he said.

The third "racial" problem came about, I believe, because of this sort of thinking that had been drilled into my head. I was very heavily influenced by those around me, namely my family, and have always been a "people-pleaser." I have to set this up for this story, you see. Anyway, I was about 19 and was working in a retirement home with a really nice guy. He was every girl's dream: handsome, athletic, disciplined, family oriented, polite, responsible. We hung out a few times and one night it got hot and heavy. I stopped him and said, "I can't." "Why?" he asked. "My dad," I answered. He understood. He lived in a rural area where he was the only black student in his school and although he was loved by all as being the kind of person he was, he was not loved by hillbilly daddies.

The fourth problem is one that got me pissed, because I was now a target. Three of my very best friends at the time were all dating black guys and I'd been with the same white guy for over a year at the time of this story. We were all 20, 21 and were cruising around in my Geo Tracker (don't hate on me) when Teresa spotted her boyfriend walking down the street. "Can we pick him up?" she asked me, breathlessly in lust. Why not? It's a gorgeous summer day, the top's off the car, we're having a good time, why not? So, he hops in and as we drive off he asks me why I don't have a black boyfriend. "Um, because I have a white boyfriend? I don't know!" "What, are you a bigot?"

SCREEEECH!!!! "Get the fuck out of my car."
"What, why?" he asks.
"Are you seriously going to sit in my car, the one that I'm giving you a ride in, and call me a motherfucking bigot?"
"Oh, come on, I'm just kidding around."

I don't know what pissed me off more: the fact that he called me a bigot or the fact that he was raised in an upper middle class neighborhood and got a ghetto tone whenever we came around. I went to school with this guy before Teresa even met him, I know what he's like. It changed me.

All of these incidents, and some less mentionable ones, have shaped my way of thinking. I give people a chance to present themselves before labeling them, judging them. And I'm less likely to judge even after meeting them. I don't know their lives, their past, their dreams. Most people don't know mine, so would I want some sort of judgement passed onto me?

Yes, Dad, there may have been riots and bloodshed during Dr. King's time, but what great revolution is without these things? What opportunities might I have missed by rejecting what could have been a great relationship with two separate people? I'll never know the answer to this one, but I learned to keep my mind open in my future.

Rub a dub dub, three generations in a tub

2007-01-15T09:41:00.000-05:00

I talked with my mom yesterday about the Princess' aversion to water as of late and the usual questions followed: do you suppose she's afraid of the sound of the water filling the tub? how about when it drains? is it too hot? too cold? has she indeed turned into Elphaba? She was sticking around for dinner at my place and I told her she'd soon see the spectacle that has become "Bathtime at my house."

It was agreed that I'd do the dishes while my husband gave her a bath. It's usually the other way around, whoever cooks doesn't have to do the dishes. My husband agreed to do his first ever baked chicken last night and I'm here to tell you, it was ba-lish-us! He really did a great job, even if he did choose the side dish of tabouli. Yech.

I digress.

So, as I'm sitting there picking apart the rest of the chicken, I hear the Princess start her screaming. I nod my head. Yes, I feel for everyone in that side of the house. It gets worse every minute. My mom is saying, "oooh, look at the bubbles, look at the duckie. What's that? I'm gonna get your heiney!" My mom then steps into the bathtub with her and tries to get her to calm down. No go. My husband comes out, looking likes he's just come out of a war zone, and tells me the ordeal. "Yes, I know, I can hear her."

She only calms down after getting completely dressed. She's freaking out over getting dried off and lotioned up, too. She comes running into the kitchen, "mommymommymommy" as if I can make it all better. And I do. I scoop her up in my arms, run my fingers thru her hair trying to comb it out of it's rat's nest and talk soothingly to her.

My mom, pants bottoms wet, leaves soon afterwards. I hope we see her again.

Deep down inside

2007-01-12T21:11:00.000-05:00

The princess had her 2 year check up with the doctor yesterday. I should have known that things were going to be bad when she started to throw a fit as we walked up the stairs.

She was fine in the waiting area, since there were toys, other kids and "tishies" to distract her. She was fine as we walked down the hall toward the room. She was not so fine once we walked through that door. She was definitely not fine as I carried her, kicking and screaming, to the scales. I wanted so badly to ask the nurse if there was blood coming from my ears, her screams were that loud. You'd think that in a pediatricians office that folks would be used to a toddler throwing a tantrum. Apparently not, because more heads turned as we walked through than at an all night showing of "The Exorcist."

Once back in the room, the nurse yelled to me the Princess' height and weight but I have no idea what those numbers were because I couldn't hear her! She hurriedly explained the shots du jour and ran out as she shoved the explanation sheets at me. Sigh

I was told to undress the Princess, leaving only her diaper on. Thinking, "well, hell, she loves this at home!" I eagerly reached for her shirt hoping for some sort of reprieve. No go. She shrieked, she howled. It sounded like a fucking zoo in that room, which was fitting given the wild animals theme of the wallpaper border. I believe Zeke heard her all the way at our house because when I came in later, he was huddled and shivering in the corner. I kid, of course. Sort of.

My dear, sweet, kind doctor came in with that look of understanding that I've always loved about her. After listening to this poor unloved child yell at the top of her lungs for 5 minutes as she examined her, she deemed shots not necessary for this trip. "Let's give her a positive experience here," she explained. Thank you.

We talked about this behavior, this "Little Miss P" attitude. This is the nickname my MIL gave her after a visit to their house this summer when the Princess decided to go to everyone but her, saying "nnoooooo" even while Gma bribed her with cookies and kisses and general grandma love. In case you're wondering, the P stands for Pissy. And it fits. The doctor told me, firmly I might add, that when she gets like this to put her in her room and tell her she can kick and scream all she wants, but I'm not listening to it. She'll eventually get the idea, or so I'm told.

I've mentioned before that the Princess is completely different than the Boy. It's frustrating on more levels than I can count. Perhaps it's that it was just me with him and now I can deflect some of the responsibility of child rearing to my husband. Perhaps it's that, as my mother likes to tell me, she is just like you at that age. Ppfffttt.

Here is my stripped to the soul, heart wrenching, make-me-feel-like-the-worst-mommy-in-the-world confession:

The other night she freaked out when I told her it was bath time. She usually loves bath time, playing with all of her toys and getting all soaped up. Sometimes the Boy gets in with her, sometimes me. We have all played with the bath crayons she got from Santa. But she freaked the hell out. Wouldn't sit down, screamed even when I got in with her, almost fell out of the tub trying to get out. I'm thinking, "what? did she turn into the wicked witch of the west?"

Tonight was bath time again, seeing as how she had maple syrup in her hair from earlier and spaghetti all over her.

"No, mommy, bubabath in mornin." This is the response I got even after telling her numerous times 1) no it's bath time now, 2) we're going bye-bye in the morning 3) oooh, look at the pretty new shampoo Mommy got for you, smell it, strawberry, see? 4) do you want to pick elmo bubbles or cookie monster? 5) come on, let's go! 6) fine, you want to scream? do it in your room 7) no, nope, I don't want to hear it!

Finally, after 10 minutes of "hard core" parenting, I grabbed her and put her in the tub. The water was fine, the bubbles were good, but she was pissed that I put her in there. I tried talking soothingly to her, I tried to gently run the water down the back of her head so as to not get it in her face, hell I even tried holding her down with one hand as I did the latter. "Sit down!" I told her. My husband eventually came in and got stern with her and still she could not be quieted. Her incessant screaming finally got to me.

I snapped.

"FINE!!!" I screamed as I threw the washcloth down into the water. She yelled even louder as I pushed my way past my husband and ran downstairs to my son's room. I closed the door and buried my face under the pillows, quickly soaking them with my tears. I could still hear her screaming and my husband getting more and more upset with her. "Princess, STOP!" "No, you need to sit down!" The more I heard, the harder I cried.

I gathered myself together and came upstairs to help get her dressed. "No, go on," said my husband, "I don't want her to see you crying." I went to my bed and cried even harder. I heard her ask "mommy try?" "Yes, baby, mommy's crying." And then she sobbed. No cries of anger or frustration. Sobs of sadness. Which made it even harder for me.

I heard him tell her that she can't do this anymore, that it made me cry. "Go tell Mommy you're sorry, baby." "Mommy, torry. Torry, Mommy, torry." I continued to cry. She nuzzled into me, the whole time saying, "torry, Mommy, torry."

I apologized to her, and to my husband who told me that I had nothing to be sorry for. But I do, I told him. I'm sorry I can't handle this better. I should be able to work thru these temper tantrums but lately, they've just been getting the best of me. I just can't seem to handle this screaming and it seems as though I've tried just about every trick in the bag. I'm out. I'm just all out.

I guess it shouldn't surprise you that the doctor told me to let her take her time at potty training because she's so "strong willed," huh?

Questioning

2007-01-10T11:12:00.000-05:00

This past Christmas I bought some toys for some of the children that are much more in need than I could ever imagine. I wanted the Boy to see that, even though we may not drive the fancy cars or live in a huge house, we have it pretty damn good compared to these often forgotten kids. My heart particularly breaks for the orphans, for our county ran out of funds this year and so many of them didn't get even one toy.

I had my husband take him to deliver the presents to our local fire department. On the way back they had a discussion regarding why we were giving presents to someone we didn't even know. They talked of how lucky we are to be able to read together in bed each night and how we are always there for him in every way, from boo-boos to soccer games. The Boy came home with the thought of wanting to volunteer somehow with these children, to spend time with them and show them the love that he gets on a daily basis. I couldn't have been prouder.

A few weeks ago, I approached him with the story of Tanner and asked him if he'd like to write a letter. He said he would love to do that. I left it at that, wanting him to make the first move, to try and get him to think about it on his own. I think sometimes I give him too much credit in the maturity department and I forget that 7-8 year olds won't do anything besides play video games, watch tv, or generally play unless prodded and reminded. So, last week I asked him again and he once again agreed.

But, I needed him to understand why he was writing this. When I talked to him about it, he nodded as if he knew what I was talking about. I asked him if perhaps he'd like to send him a little something, as in OSU stickers or maybe a picture of him. Thinking that I'd do two lessons in one (the second being money responsibility) I asked him to buy Tanner a present with his very own money. He visibly balked. He then walked into his room and came out with two dinosaurs that he'd gotten for a Christmas present.

It was now my turn to balk. I had an instant inner struggle. I wanted so badly to say to him, "Are you kidding me? I'm asking you to help this child know that we're thinking of him and all you can do is come out with some second hand gift?" But then the second voice was berating me for not teaching him charity. How could I possibly expect him to understand what I was wanting him to feel if I've never even mentioned this to him before?

"No, honey, he doesn't need toys. He's got plenty of toys. What he needs is something special from us, something that we can't hand to him. We need to send him our love and thoughts. I just thought perhaps we'd send him a little something from our hometown so that he'd have a momento of us." is what came out. I decided that another tact was needed, so I had him stand there while I read the story of Tanner.

Now, he's always been a very sensitive soul. In this regard, he is my child through and through. He goes through life happy-go-lucky, but the second that someone is hurt he is right there, soothing them or crying with them if it's really bad. When he was just learning to talk he would start bawling when I tried to teach him "nose." He thought I was saying, "no" and that he was in trouble. We have to be careful of what we allow him to watch on tv because if it's particularly heart-wrenching, he collapses in sobs of sadness.

Hence, it was absolutely no surprise that he burst into tears. I held him close to me and rubbed his back, letting his sadness soak my shoulder. I had him get it all out. I then asked him if he understood what I was asking of him and he nodded and said "Yes, Mommy."

Was this a cruel way to teach him something? I'm not sure. I know that just words do not do the trick at times and I needed to show him in a way that he'd feel. It must have worked because 5 minutes later he was writing a letter to Tanner. He wanted to send something but I told him that we'd have to ask Tanner's mommy for permission.

The day we sent the letters out, I read to him Tanner's reaction to the letters. It brought a huge smile to his face. He knew that he'd been a part of something to make a little boy's day a bit brighter. He asked his morning just how long it would take until Tanner got his letter from him.

I'm reading this over and I'm wondering if it sounds as thought I'm using Tanner as a life lesson. I don't mean for it to be that way. All I know is that because of him, because of the Boy's rocky beginning, because of a dear friend's death, I take very little for granted.

And I thank him.

Time in a Bottle

2007-01-08T09:02:00.000-05:00

Like someone I read daily, I've been having a bit of a problem with the Princess. Mainly the so-called "Terrible Twos." Having gone through these once before with the Boy, I know that this is only the tip of the iceberg, that we have yet to experience the Trysome Threes or the Fearsome Fours. But dealing with her is something altogether different.

I used to think that I had it bad with the Boy, but I'm here to tell you, he was an angel. Sure, we had the tantrums and the crying and such, but nothing like the ear piercing, blood curdling, make-you-wanna-curl-up-and-die screams the Princess emits. She can be downright defiant, running away from you if you want to put on her coat, averting her eyes as you talk to her even though you know she hears you. She even has the "I'm gonna do it one more time even though Mom just told me not to do it" game down. I honestly do not know what the difference is between my two children except to say one is a boy and the other is a girl. It's mind boggling and downright horrible at times.

But then...

Then I lay down with her in bed last night. I don't usually do this, mainly because I've seen others do this and it's years before they get a good night's rest because their children need them in their bed constantly. That's just not for me. Last night, I did. I lie next to her, her cd playing that has played ever since she was a newborn and the new gadget that her Uncle Jeff got her, a turtle whose shell lights up to reveal stars in the constellations all over her ceiling, glowing green. It was so relaxing to just lie there with her. We were like two girlfriends whispering to each other at a sleep over, even if it was just her holding her little finger to her lips saying, "sssh, Mommy, Daddy go ni-nite. Sssh, Mommy, Zekey go ni-nite. Zekey dood boy." I watched her lids slowly get heavier and her breathing become more even. Her tiny hands resting inside of mine, flexing ever so slightly. Her protests of "Nooo, Mommy, go ni-nite!" as I'd try to crawl out.

So, I surrendered. I gave in to her scent and the feel of her "babyness." I realized that I will never get this moment back. My eyes teared up as the thought of her in 12 years came into view: one where she won't come running to me yelling, "MOMMY!" whenever she sees me, one where friends become more important than me. It's heartbreaking. My husband reassures me that she'll always need me, that what I think is going to happen, won't. But I remember my youth, the days of getting off the bus and going not home, but to various friends' houses. The mornings of fighting with my dad over what I was wearing or who I was "going with" at the time. I was hardly ever home and when I was, I was in my room. Granted, my parents were divorced and in my teens I was on my second, third and fourth stepmonster, but I still remember thinking my dad knew nothing about me. I hope this will differ for me as a parent.

I want my babies to always want to be around me. I want them to always know that I would lay down and die for them. I want to keep the sweetness of their youth in the front of my mind always. This is what I will remind myself of when the Princess decides to kick the back of my car seat because I won't give in to her pleas or when the Boy finds that first true love, the one who I will want to kick her ass if she hurts him.

I need to figure out how, 20 years from now, I explain to them how the touch of their soft baby skin was what could bring tears to my eyes. Or how a diaper rash, skinned knee or any other "owie" brought out Florence Nightingale. How do you tell them about those nights where you lie in bed with them and just watched them?

So, I'll bear with the tantrums. I'll try my darndest to tune out the screaming. And I'll always return for the hugs and kisses that inevitably follow. It's who I've become.

Nothing to do for 3 more months

2007-01-03T14:50:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking of posting for a few days but, honestly, I've gotten lazy. As I drive from this person's house to that store or as I fold a week's worth of laundry while watching my kids play, I come up with issues or ideas to blog about...and that's all the further it goes.

It seems as though when something becomes too "heavy" for me, I let it go. I need to write my thank you notes to the guys in the office who gave me nice gifts and an even nicer bonus, but the cards are just sitting here on my desk. I need to get off my ass and take the dog for a walk, but it feels so good just sitting here. I need to figure out what in the hell to do with my life, but I'm kind of okay with where I am...not happy, but okay.

This past month saw my daughter turn 2 and my son turn 8, both events that I'd hoped to write about. I would sit here at work and would think of the words in my mind, but couldn't bring myself to type them out. I wonder why? I'm not depressed or down or sad. I think I'm tired.

I made an effort this year to slow down and actually enjoy the holidays. I wasn't out running around at the last minute buying needless gifts and we made sure to enjoy a few fires (while laughing at Zeke jumping every time the log "popped".) We drove around and saw the lights, I didn't push Santa on the Princess (she freaked out the first time she saw him) and I didn't even get Christmas pictures professionally done so as to send them out on cards and put them in frames for all of my loved ones. It was nice, actually.

The one thing that I wasn't happy about was my son's birthday party. His birthday was yesterday, January 2nd. Partner that with the Princess' being on December 14th and you've got a FULL holiday season. I was trying to convince him to let me throw him a "half" birthday party in the summer. We could still have the family party but we could have a blow out in the summer, where all of his friends could come over and we'd swim or do the 10 million things you can't do in the winter. But no, says his father, that's not fair to him. Not fair? Who doesn't want two birthdays in one year???

No, not fair.

Okay, well can we at least wait a few weeks after his actual birthday to have a party? Give me a break, him a break, all of his friends' poor tired parents a break? It's hell trying to organize a party, get the invites out and expect RSVPs over the holidays.

No, not fair.

Fine, fucker, you plan it. You do it all. Because I'm fucking tired and I think you're being an asshole about it.

(To be honest, I asked my son if he'd mind doing the half birthday thing or even waiting a few weeks and he was cool with that, but not. my. husband.)

So, it was decided that he wanted to go bowling (The hell?) School let out on Tuesday and on the Sunday before my husband looks at me and says, "Well, could you make up the invitations tomorrow at work?" Knowing I have nothing better to do and that I love messing with Publisher, I sweetly said, "No. This is your party, remember? Oh, and just so you know, his gift is over at Mom's when you're ready to wrap it."

I got a dirty look and a "Fine."

When it came time to do the actual invitations (Monday night and only after him calling me from the store to ask what kind of invitations to get) we decided to do a "boys only" party because he wanted Eliza there but she was Callie's best friend and he didn't like Callie so what should he do? He then asked me about each boy that he didn't know, namely 3 of them. I, being the ultimate mother, knew who they were and what their parents were like. I told him that I liked Luke and that Andy was a good kid even though his mom was ghetto but that I didn't like Jason or his mother.

Oooh, a predicament. The boy wanted to invite him because he's popular. I didn't like his cigarette-dangling-from-the-corner-of-her-mouth-yelling-at-her-kid self and I don't like him because he's a trouble maker. I am not above being the bitchy mom just to avoid hurting someones feelings. Sorry.

I told my husband to do whatever he wanted but that he's the one running the show. In the end he opted out of inviting Jason because he realized that trouble would follow and that, ultimately, he'd be the one dealing with the mom. He also waited until Tuesday to send the invitations to school with the Boy and that was the day we found out about the rule of "If you don't invite everyone in the class to the party, then you aren't allowed to pass out invitation." Hmmm...now he's going to have to actually address them.

It's now January 3rd and he's gotten an RSVP from two kids. Two. This is what happens when you send out invitations over Xmas break. I know from experience. So he has to either call these kids or have the Boy ask them in school.

I'm sorry but dammit, I am always the one to plan the parties and although he will help with whatever ask of him, I'm still the one ultimately in charge. I did all of the Xmas shopping, wrapping and planning. I put together her birthday dinner, got both of their presents and made sure everything was just right. Would it have killed him to hold off on this one party??? Oh, and my mother thinks I'm being horrible for doing this. As if I give a shit.

I will say this: I'm hating not having any control over this party. But, it's for the best. I do feel less stressed and I'm hoping I got my point across. Though he'll never admit to it.

Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland

2006-12-28T11:01:00.000-05:00

Not.

It's been a really weird winter around these parts. The whole week of Xmas was near the 50's with rain and no sign of snow. It's finally "cooling" down but I can't help but wonder if these global warming freaks are on to something. It just doesn't seem natural to be visiting your grandmother on Christmas day wearing only a light sweater...wait, I wore pants and shoes, too! Get yer mind outta the gutter!

Let the record show that I will be regretting this post come February when I'm freezing my teats off and it hurts to breathe while outside. Let the record also state that because I am officially complaining of lack of snow/cold/bitter wind, the winter season will last well into April, thus eliminating any chance of a birthday spent frolicking nude in fields of daisies.

Not that I've ever done that.

Or that I fantasize about doing that.

Hot chocolate anyone?

2006-12-22T09:29:00.000-05:00

It's Friday morning at the workplace on a lovely, gray, rain drenched day in central Ohio. There is one (one!) guy here and me. There have been two phone calls to answer. I actually came in early with cinnamon buns in hand to greet whoever was here. Granted the cinnamon buns were from my neighbor and they are balishus, but I have so much fucking food in my tiny kitchen that I have to move some stuff along somehow.

Okay, so my boss said we'd close the office at noon. I guess I don't even get why we're open. Nothing is going to happen. I'd rather be at home doing what I do best: sitting on the couch, eating bon bons while I watch my "shows." No, really, that's what I'm best at. Actually, I'd rather be hanging with the Princess and the Boy, possibly wandering around Target to watch all the crazy people.

I really would like to take them to the main library and ooh and aahh there instead. Columbus has a really amazing library system and the main branch is a gorgeous old building made of marble and granite and other stoney material. Three stories of, well, stories. A kids' section that I would be perfectly fine just sitting in all day long. The best part? It's one building away from my workplace. Yes, many a lunch hour has been spent there.

Tangent...I can't think without one.

Anyway, I just think I'm a little bummed because when the office manager and I discussed the holidays, she said one of us would get the day before (today) Christmas and the other would take the day after off. She then took both days off. So, I'm here. On both days.

I really should be grateful because I'm no longer in the restaurant business where Christmas and Thanksgiving are the only guaranteed days off. But, no, I choose bitterness right now. Because I'm a grown ass woman, dammit!

But at least I get off at noon.

Harper Valley, 2 miles ahead

2006-12-21T11:23:00.000-05:00

This year, I decided to become more active in our school's version of the PTA. My son is now in 2nd grade and I avoided said committee because of one reason and one reason only: as fresh, excited, new elementary parents, my husband and I eagerly attended the first meeting of the first year of our son's schooling. We had our announcement of said meeting in hand, had arranged babysitting and arrived in our (somewhat) best attire...we wanted to make a good impression, ya know? We were so ahead of the game, getting there at 15 minutes til 7 at which time the meeting would start and we would begin our slow, but amazing takeover of all things parent related. Imagine our surprise and slow burning anger, when we got into the library only to discover that said committee had already started their meeting. Turns out that they figured out that day that the time was wrong (it was supposed to be 6pm) and they decided to go ahead and start the meeting. We, along with about 4 other kindergarten parents, were not happy. We sat through the meeting anyway, soon discovering that any and all suggestions were either nixed or downright ignored. Fuck this, I thought.

So, I quit going. Until this year.

I was sick, sick, sick of having stupid fucking fundraisers sent home every other month so I decided to join back up. A bright, young mom of a 1st grader has taken it over and I'm here to tell you, I get excited working with her. She's just so passionate about making our school a better one. She's also very unopinionated...she takes people as they come and is quick to thank anyone for any amount of help that they give. She's not your typical "soccer" mom...being as how she has short, brown, funkalicious hair and is on the heavy side. She's not married to her son's father, although they do live a very happy life together. I love this woman! She's just one of those few people in life who give off so much energy that you can't help but catch it yourself.

So, yeah...now I'm one of "those" moms. I'm totally Barbara Eden.

p.s.
I started this post off actually to rant about one of the moms on this committee. But then I realized that I suggested that we start a blog for our committee and linked it to this one. I deleted said blog but now I realize that I gave out the name...so who knows who's reading this one? I'd like to be able to squeal, "eeeeek! Now everyone will know all of my evil thoughts!" but seriously...do I really care? Part of the reason I started this blog was to rant and rave about my personal life and perhaps to give some voice to others who may have these same thoughts. So, if you're reading this and your from "my" school, have fun! I'll just pretend not to notice if you give me the evil eye at the next meeting.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do suck

2006-12-20T10:23:00.000-05:00

Good God...where did the past week go? It seriously flew by with just a few moments of sleep and even fewer moments of sanity. No, it's not the holidays...I've got the shopping done and with the decision made to stay home for Christmas, I'm okay. But with two kids and a sister in law having birthdays within a 3 week frame, it gets nuts.

Let's see:
Wednesday night: get cake for Princess' 2nd birthday and wind up wandering around Giant Eagle because I can't resist a "bargain." Hence, a $12 cake soon becomes a $96 grocery bill.

Thursday night: Take the Princess to Applebee's for her "birthday" dinner with Papa (my dad.) We're having a sit down dinner at my mom's on Saturday but he can't make it because his girlfriend is having her work Xmas party. Why Applebee's? She loves it there and the servers adore her and the Boy. My beloved gets mad at me because a) I forgot the diaper bag and b) I brought the presents to the restaurant. Doh! I did make up for (b) though...at least for the server. The presents, which we ended up opening at home because the Princess was near a meltdown, actually took up a booth during prime dinner rush. So I tipped the guy $25 on a $60 check. You can always tell a former server by the amount of their tips...remember this, people.

Friday night: Go grocery shopping (again) to get stuff for the actual birthday dinner. Lose all memory of what happened afterwards.

Saturday: All damn day, spend making said dinner and cleaning house for guests. Discover that the chicken you thought would be done by 5 won't be done until 7 and end up serving "Appetizers" (read: frozen shrimp kabobs quickly thawed in oven mmmmm good!) Rediscover that a 7 year old boy and 4 1/2 year old, 2 1/2 year old and now 2 year old girls can only stand each other for so long. Go to be exhausted at 9pm...I am so kick ass.

Sunday: Back to my mom's to help set up for my SIL's birthday brunch. Endure another round of 4 kids bickering and my brother throwing a fit because everyone started to eat without him. (Side story: he was supposed to bring bottled water and forgot so he had to run over to Kmart and ended up being gone almost an hour...wtf were we supposed to do?) Big fucking baby wouldn't eat with us and went upstairs to play video games with my son.
Made by husband to go to hockey shop just so I could see it (even though we'd been there before but he doesn't remember) Go home, make dinner and get on cleaning frenzy. Once again, this rebel is in bed by 9.

Monday: I was actually busy at work! Yeah for me! Blah for blog. Had both kids to myself because hubby had tix to Blue Jackets game. Up all night with the Princess.

Tuesday: Again with the "busy" ness (I was totally going to spell it "business" but then it didn't look right and I didn't want it to sound incorrectly in your head so I did it this way...James Dean has nothing on me.) Ahem...I'm actually doing work around here and it feels good! Went for a wax and facial because my "free" coupon at the spa school is going to run out next week and damn it, I'm hairy...and cheap.
Found out my friend, Michael, left her fiance. She stayed the night and we had all of our friends over. Also found out that it sucks having to work for a living.

So, how pathetic am I? So pathetic that I plugged this awesome act and didn't even get to bid. I suck...and not in the good way. I am going to sit down with the boy and write to Tanner. It's the least I could do being that I'm so sucky and all. I hope Tanner grows to like the Buckeyes cuz I plan on converting him.

Oh, Tannerbaum, Oh, Tannerbaum

2006-12-13T15:39:00.000-05:00

In this big ole world, there is a little boy named Tanner who is very much loved, not only by his family but also by the extended familial/friendly world of blogging.

I don't have many words for this little boy or his family. I can't express what it means to me (and I don't even know these folks) to see so many come together and support them in their time of need. All I do know is that I'll be right there with them, if for nothing more than to try and bid on some of these awesome items...most notably this because, well, let's face it...I'm so blaahhhhh.

Thanks to Julie for trying to help me with the button. Methinks I'm a blogdumbass....or that blogger hates me. No hard feelings, blogger...you fucker.

O-H

2006-12-09T21:02:00.000-05:00

I-O!

Troy Smith wins the Heisman!!!

With 845 first place votes, he beat the record formerly held by Reggie Bush last year.

He is awesome!!!!

Dejá Vú all over again

2006-12-08T10:09:00.000-05:00

I believe I've mentioned before that sometimes it only takes one little thing that someone says to me and my whole night can be ruined. I really, really struggle with this, telling myself not to be so damned sensitive. At times, though, my inner demon defeats the sensible angel.

Hubby's company Christmas party was last night and it was a wonderful time set in a gorgeous setting. Wine flowed, conversations were laughter-filled and everything was perfect. I was all dolled-up in a brand new outfit consisting of winter-white slacks (I recently turned 72, hence the use of the word "slacks") a same color shell with gold accents and a beautiful sheer red shirt that had a satin swash around it that tied in the back. I curled my hair and put a cute satin band to hold it back. I even put on make-up! Get out! I felt beautiful.

But, when you struggle with your weight and you are considered OBESE, you are always looking around at other people and wondering if they look at you in disgust or you wish you could look like them. It seems the rest of the world is skinny and you spend all of your time worrying about this one aspect of your life. Now, keep in mind that there were some bigger women there...but you don't notice these women. You only see the skinny ones.

I really am slowly learning to accept myself the way I am. I'm considered good-looking, having a Björk-like look according to my ex (the alcoholic, so take that anyway you want.) I love to make people laugh and my dog thinks I'm kick-ass. I just wish I didn't have the gut or arms or general body that I do. I know I need to love myself the way I am...but I was an athlete with less than 10% body fat when I was in high school. I weigh 50 lbs more than when I graduated. It's going to take a little time.

Okay, so the one thing that was said to me? My hubby (who also has to lose a significant amount of weight) says innocently to me, "I felt Scott's girlfriend's arm and man, is she solid!" WTF??? I got completely upset with the fact that my man was complimenting another woman's muscles. Not in a jealous way (I'm too old for that shit) but in a "motherfucker-how-could-you-have-let-yourself-go" sort of way. I instantly felt fat, suddenly conscious of anything that went into my mouth. Never mind that I had chicken breast, vegetables and a salad for dinner. I kept thinking that someone, somewhere in that room, was watching me eat and thinking "Yuck, watch that fat chick eat." It was so frustrating trying to talk myself out of this state of mind.

I can see how anorexics and bulimics get addicted to what they do. Food is a constant thought in my mind...how, when and what I should eat or how I shouldn't have eaten this or how I'm going to get this weight off, etc.

I guess I should do the proverbial "shit or get off the pot" with this weight thing. I abhor people who bitch about something they could change, but then do nothing about it. Can you say, "pot calling the kettle black?" Perhaps start a food/exercise log? I've sucked at that in the past, but that was when my life was busy and I didn't sit in front of a computer all day doing nothing. Maybe that's what I'll do.

I'm open for suggestions...or lashings...whichever comes first.

The hardest job in the world

2006-12-05T09:53:00.000-05:00

We watched that show, "Wife Swap" last night. I was actually crocheting the princess a blanket and E was checking his email, but the show was on and as usual, it catches and reels us both in. It constantly amazes me that there are so many "extremes" to the parenting spectrum. Last night had a set of parents who ran their house military style and the other set where she was a SAHM and he expected her to do everything.

The first wife and her husband were in total agreement that the kids (5 boys aged 6-14, I believe) had chore lists and could earn/lose points according to their behavior. An extreme end was the oldest boy lost his bed because of "poor" choices and was made to sleep on the floor. Otherwise, I agreed whole heartedly with this approach.

The second wife did everything for her kids (3 boys, ages 8-12, I think) and truly thought this was the way parenting should be. She packed all their lunches, did all their laundry, picked up their rooms and did the same for her husband. If something was not done the way they thought it should be, they ridiculed her. No rules, whatsoever. I definitely had a problem with this approach.

It all worked out in the end, of course, but it caused me to wonder about my own parenting techniques. E and I agreed that we would never be able to "swap" on that show because we don't take things to one extreme or the other. I honestly think we have a good balance. We've had our moments when we've looked back on the day and thought perhaps we were too hard on the boy that day or maybe we shouldn't have dealt with the princess's tantrum in a certain way. For the most part, we're okay.

My mom thinks I'm too hard on C. She says I don't cut him any slack, but I disagree with her. He gets away with things at times, but not without me telling him I know exactly what he's up to. I do, however, expect certain things of him. Politeness being number one. Empathy/sympathy are things we are constantly teaching him - "how would you like it if someone said that to you?" Responsibility is a big one, too. "Remember, C, actions=consequences." We're trying to teach him to think, think, think. With him, I don't want him being a jerk. I'll tell him that too, if he's being one. I don't use the words, "brat" or even "asshole" as I've heard one parent call their child. Some people may say that me saying to him, "You're being a jerk right now." constitutes mental abuse. Not when you've given him 2-3 chances to stop that behavior it isn't. I have some friends whose kids are, ahem, little assholes. I say this with all honesty. Their eldest child is very competitive and will make up his own rules as he goes to make sure he wins. If he doesn't, he lashes out physically and hurts others just because he's upset. His parents way of dealing with this behavior? Repeat his name over and over and over until he finally looks at them (a minute or two later) and tell him it's not okay to hit. Hit? He just pushed my kid down and jumped on his head!

I guess my view is this: if you've tried a particular method more than 5 times and it ain't workin, time to try another method. Personally, I've had to "spank" C about 10 times in his life, and even then it consisted of a small smack on the back of the leg (I think it was the sound more than anything.) I've learned that all I have to do with him is give him "the look" and it's pretty much done. With the princess, it's going to take something different, but we're working on that. Time outs are going well right now, but the screams...oh, the screams!

None of us want to hurt our kids. We don't like to see the tears and the anger, but let's face it...those buggers use that shit against us sometimes and they know it. We just have to be smart enough about it to tune it out. And that...is one the hardest aspects of this job.

A life of my own

2006-12-04T13:29:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I was able to experience some "me" time. My best good friend and I went out of town together to shop and relax while hubby stayed home with the babes. I was so excited Friday that I nearly wet my pants just thinking about no fixing meals, no "mommymommymommy" or "honey, where's the...?" No fighting or bickering. None, nunca, nil, nyet. Yeessssss!

She came across a deal a few months back being offered by a local travel agency. It was being touted as a "girl's weekend away" and with it you got a very nice suite, a cocktail party and a wonderful breakfast buffet. They gave you gift bags beforehand with goodies from the local shopping areas (outlets and all, yah!) and directions to all of these places. I was sooo excited!

My friend has been taking full time care of her handicapped sister ever since their mother has been in the hospital. It's exhausting to the point of her wanting to go to bed and cry herself to sleep. But, she takes it like a champ and takes better care of her sister than some do of their own babies. She does have two sisters and an aunt that help out, but when you work all day long and come home to do everything, it's really another full time job. It's very similar to what working mothers do, but with her sister, you're lifting an almost 100 lb. person every time you need to change a diaper. She can't feed herself, brush her own teeth or hair, dress on her own...everything is done by a caregiver. Her sister is one of the sweetest souls you'll ever find.

She told a little white lie to her sisters and told them we'd be going up on Friday. Instead, she offered to watch the munchkins while E and I went out on a...gasp...date! Yes, that's right, a real live one-on-one interaction with the love of my life. Even better? We had a $100 gift certificate to a locally owned Italian place! Score! And I will say this: even with a round of drinks, a bottle of wine, an appetizer and two meals, we still had money left. I'm so cheap.

We left there and went to an old haunt of his. It's so funny when he asks me where I want to go because by the time I'd moved to Columbus I was a single mom and never went anywhere. He, on the other hand, was a party animal. He knows all the cool bars and has talked alot about a particular one that he and his former roommate went to all the time. His roommate and her husband spent so much time there that it was one of their stops on their wedding day haha! Sad, maybe? So, we went there (a little overdressed, but I didn't care) and proceeded to imbibe. I kept my drinking to a minimum b/c a) he seemed to be slamming them and b) I was going to be leaving him with the kids this weekend so he needed a night, too. I'm such a good wife.

A few friends joined us and E downed one shot, then another, and yet another...four in total, I believe. We had soooo much fun! Laughing and getting pissed. He says he doesn't remember driving home (uh, thank God I was driving) and barely remembers me putting him to bed. My friend says she could tell he was drunk because he was playing our favorite game: pinball yourself off the walls!

Poor thing...he was very hungover the next day. We let him sleep until 10:30 when we finally left. I brought him out to the couch, gave him some aspirin and big glass of water and covered him up. Luckily for him, the princess decided to go down for a nap at that point. Daddy's little angel indeed. He told me later that he never really "woke up" until 3 or 4. He's truly grateful for big brother helping out.

The hotel we stayed in was gorgeous, with a view of the Cuyahoga Falls. We checked in and immediately got to shopping. It was alot of fun. This year has been the first in a long time where I've actually had some money saved in which to enjoy shopping. We're finally debt free and had some moolah in the bank. Ahhhhh, what fun!

We got back, car loaded down and prepared for this "cocktail" party. What should we wear? I've got to do my hair/redo my makeup! I need to look nice, for this is a cocktail party!

Um, yeah.

We go to the suite where it is being held and are presented with our choice of beverage: bud light in a bottle, chardonnay or my choice as a new drinker and thinking I'm oh so sophisticated 21 year old, white zinfandel. Eh, I'll take the chardonnay. Oh, in a paper cup? Peeeerrrrfect! Oh, and what might you have for appetizers? Why, it's an array of Tastefully Simple products, which one of the hostesses happens to sell, by the way. But, oooohhhh, there are goody baskets filled with scrumptious things, sure to be given away as door prizes! What? They're for sale? Ohhhh, I get it....the hostess who has whored her products to us now wants us to buy them! Um, no thanks. The hostesses spent the majority of their time in the kitchen, not bothering with introductions or little games or anything. So, we sat there, trying to make our ways into obviously tight knit groups who had been making this trip for years. Finally, I struck gold by mentioning my father's name (if I know someone who is from my hometown and I mention his name, usually a conversation follows.) Turns out this woman grew up with my dad's family, her family went camping with his and she even used to babysit my older sister! Woah! Oh, and she thought my mother was so beautiful (still is) and just adored her. It was good stuff.

This party lasted all of an hour. Basically, the travel agent told us she wanted to go to sleep and that there was a bar downstairs. Hmph, okay, I'll give up the paper cup for a real one. We head downstairs and drink a few more with this brand new group of friends. Other than that one hour of polite Hell, it was great time! The beds were wonderful and I actually slept until after 9! I know, I know...you're jealous.

We shopped some more on the way home (only to be interrupted my husband telling me to take it easy today b/c the bank account was getting a little too low for his liking...thanks, babe!) I got home around 4:30 and was surprised to see a fresh tree up, lights on, waiting for Mommy to come home to decorate it. There is nothing better than having your kids run up to you after not seeing you for a whole day...they hug you, kiss you. You have been missed.

Even better? Your husband did all the laundry himself while you were gone. Score!

What can happen in a week?

2006-11-29T09:40:00.000-05:00

Like a lot of the bloggers I read, I managed to take some time off and get away from the computer. What? Away from the computer? Yes, I had 4 and almost a half day off of work and I spent it gloriously cooking, shopping, traveling and just relaxing. I did do an awful lot in my time away from said 'puter so I looked forward to coming back to work. Did I say I missed work? No, I said I missed just sitting and doing nothing, for that is my job description: sit, answer phone occasionally, and read blogs. I'll get back to the work thing in a few.

I did have some ambition of writing a post last week of things I am thankful for, but I got too lazy. I've found that I have to write before I read other's blogs...otherwise, I get too caught up in their lives to be able to express mine. I did find out, however, that alot of junior high shit goes on in this blogging world that I've come to love. After reading of how there are those who feel the need to correct or cut down or just generally be nasty to the writers of some blogs, I've come to this conclusion: I started this blog to vent, to be able to say what others are sometimes afraid of expressing. I wanted to know if there are other moms or dad out there who experience the same feelings I have...and perhaps touch someone with my words. My thoughts on here are just that...my thoughts. I do not want to censor myself just to avoid hurting someone's feelings. Shit, part of the reason I write on here is because I find it hard on an every day basis to keep my feelings in check.

I've also figured out that with each and every blog I read, I find inspiration. I want to have a part of each person that I read in myself...whether one is poetic or another is a badass...I find beauty in all of them. I guess that's part of growing up: figuring out the different layers of yourself. I know that I will never be an optimist in the true sense of that word. I trust very little and tend to find flaws in a lot of people. I also want to laugh insanely at any little thing that happens to me. I want to go back and further my education. I want to love my husband fully, despite the fact that lately he's driving me apeshit. I want these things because I've been reading about them. I don't want to be them...I just want to touch base with the feelings they've brought to me. Make sense? No? Yeah, I think it makes perfect sense.

I thought alot about this as I spent all day Thursday making the perfect (and I do mean perfect) Thanksgiving dinner with my mom. I love my time with her...she puts up with alot of my shit and still inspires me ha! As we sat down to dinner, my family, my mom and my brother with his wife and two daughters, I gave thanks not for the usual things. I expressed my gratitude that my brother (who has been diabetic since he was 15) is able to have children. Because his "boys can swim" I now have two beautiful nieces and another Peanut on the way. I'm thankful because my mom, after living in Florida for 20 years, is finally here with us to celebrate all of these holidays. I'm grateful, obviously, that my two kids are healthy (okay, that's a usual thing.) I gave thanks because I found my husband...without him, I wouldn't have the princess and my son would be without the daddy he's come to love. Yes, I'm grateful for the wonderful food and my house, my job...but there aren't many times you can actually say to your older brother, "Hey, I'm glad you're okay and that your sperm are healthy."

I do think that both my brother and I made it a point to not point out the obvious things: that our father once again chose to spend a holiday with his girlfriend's family as opposed to ours (although, in fairness to him, the dinner was at my mom's house and we left it up to her to invite him) and that our sister wasn't present. Both of us, long ago, decided to not have her in our lives...too much drama for so little joy.

So, when people asked me on Monday how my holiday went, I say "Perfect" with absolute honesty. Because it was.

Remember that one time....?

2006-11-21T13:14:00.000-05:00

Last night one of my very near and dear friends came up from Florida for business. She was only here for one night so we made the most of our time over a bottle of wine and some good food.

I moved to Florida in my mid 20s and got a job working overnights in an area hospital's admission's department. Teresa worked second shift then, but often our work times would over lap and we became fast friends. Our friendship grew outward when she introduced me to her sister, Kim and then a high school friend of hers named Sherri. Soon, Nelson began working midnights with me and then Bridget came into our lives. We have other friends that are included but the ones named here are the "core" group...we know each other inside and out, have been thru ups and downs and have no qualms about telling one another how we feel. Sherri and I, for instance, lived as roommates at one time and I was the one who taught her to "think before you speak." She had a really bad habit of verbally vomiting whatever was on her mind and then immediately regretting what she'd just said. We all knew Nelson was gay years before he ever came out of the closet (what other man do you know comes to all the baking parties and attends all the baby/wedding showers with the best gift?) And we all went thru hand in hand (literally and figuratively) the death of Bridget.

I moved away from Florida in 2000. I've been back to visit but the last time we all got together at once was to help fulfill one of Bridget's last wishes: to go to Disneyland. You should've seen all of us chicks with chicklets in tow. The whole thing about the handicapped getting to go to the front of the line? Yeah, I don't think they banked on 20 of us doing it haha! We had such a fun time that day.

Teresa and I always connected on a level that was unique. It's strange, though, because she is what I'd call "high maintenance" in a way that it takes her forever to do her makeup, hair, clothes, etc. Me? Put on some jeans and a sweatshirt and I'm good. She put a deposit down to buy "Titanic." I bitched because I paid full price at the theater. She bragged about how little she paid for her Coach purse at the outlets. I asked her if she got a side of beef with it. Our warped sense of humor is our common thread. We find the stupidest things funny and we're both very animated. We laugh about the same shit every time we're together and it never gets old. Remember how you used to go roller skating and you'd link your hands with your girlfriend and go in a circle? Teresa and I can imitate that to a "t." We found out later that Bridget would look at Sherri or Kim and say, "watch this" and start to talk about roller skating...and then sit back to time us to see how quickly we'd do this move.

"Multiplicity" is our favorite all time movie, with "Forrest Gump" following a close second. We can both recite these movies word for word and, again, act out everything. We tried to get one of our friends, Cheeser, to watch it with us, but she just didn't get it. It could've been that Teresa and I were laughing before the scene even took place, telling her, "just wait it's so hilarious!" We were rolling on the ground laughing and Cheeser just looked at us. She's stoopit.

Seeing her last night was what I needed. This core group of friends is here to stay and regardless of how I act, what I do or who I'm with, they love me. Last night, we shared pictures of our babies and laughed at what they say. We reminisced about time spent at Shooters thinking we were all that when we'd order a White Zinfandel and sip at it in a plastic cup thinking we were sooo mature. We started laughing while talking about Bridget, then crying thinking about how much we miss her and all the shit she went through, but ending up laughing again.

We may have all scattered this way or the other and some of us may pass on to another life but this I know for sure: there is an awesome group of friends out there who love me, who miss me and who I wouldn't be who I am without the experience of their friendship. I love you guys.

TSUN

2006-11-16T09:21:00.000-05:00

We don't give a damn for the whole state of Michigan,

the whole state of Michigan, the whole state of Michigan.

We don't give a damn for the whole state of Michigan

'Cuz we're from O - HI - O!

Go BUCKS!!!

For those of you who give a shit, Ohio State plays Michigan this weekend in what is sure to be a crazy, outrageous and hard hitting game. Michigan is our rival and every year the Buckeyes look forward to this game. It's always the last game of the season (Archie Griffin attributes that to the fact that it such a physical one that he doubts anyone would be able to play the next week) and the hype is always present.

This year is different, however. Ohio State was ranked #1 in the BCS at the beginning of the year and played #2 Texas...an exciting game for sure, two huge teams going head to head. OSU won that game and kept hold of that #1 ranking. Michigan is now #2. So, not only do you have the two top teams competing against one another, you have them from the same conference. The Big Ten, baby! They are not only going for the conference title, but for the chance at the national championship.

The excitement in the city is contagious, almost electric. You could go anywhere and shout "OH!" and you're sure to hear someone say "IO!" Scarlet and grey are abundant on everything from clothing to car magnets to even cereal boxes. You see "Michigan Sucks" and "Ann Arbor is a whore" buttons and t-shirts. Tickets are going for upwards of $3,000 and not just for UM or OSU fans...there are folks who don't even root for these teams buying the tix just for a chance to see the game. Tailgating has already begun and if you want a keg...forget about it. Plan on spending at least 4 hours in line. It is definitely mind blowing.

If you're not a college football fan, you won't get this post. But if you ever want to feel this excitement, get yourself an OSU ticket, walk around before the game to people watch and tailgate and then feel goosebumps as the OSU marching band (TBDBITL) march out and do the scriptOhio. Feel the stadium rumble as the players run out led by Jim Tressel, ever poised in his sweater vest and impenetrable hair. Yell "O-H-I-O!" every time there's a kick off. Watch Brutus as he pumps up the crowd. And then, after the Buckeyes have won their game, sing along with them as they sing "CarmenOhio" to the band. Raise your hands to form an "O" then "H" then "I" and finally "O." Leave the stadium and head to anywhere in the area to continue partying with other avid fans.

If you're still not a football fan after this, that's okay. But you should at least try it.

GO BUCKS!!!

All it takes is a little puking

2006-11-15T14:31:00.000-05:00

I spent yesterday at home with the Princess because she woke up the night before vomiting. God love my husband...I had gone to bed at 7:30 (didn't sleep the night before because of rushing thoughts that wouldn't stop) and he put both kids to bed. At 10:30 I heard her crying and then the bath water started. What the hell? As soon as I opened my bedroom door I smelled it: you know, that sour cheese smell? The one that would make you vomit yourself but because it's your child you just suck it up and do whatever needs to be done. You barely notice it.

My husband had gotten her out of her crib, stripped her down and put her in the bath...all without waking me to help. I hate to say this because it sounds as though he's incapable of being a good daddy, but I was impressed. Not only had he done these things, but he did them without gagging! Ahhhh...my hero.

I cleaned up her bed and then stripped down myself to climb into the shower with her. The bath did only so much because, well, there were chunks floating in the water. I thought she would freak out...she's never liked to be in the shower before...but this poor baby just laid there on my chest and let the warm water run over her back. I just held her there for the longest time, letting her rest her head on my shoulder. She was just so exhausted and sick. This poor thing could barely lift up her head. My back was freezing as it was facing the back of the shower and it, along with my arms, were starting to cramp up from holding her in one position so she could relax. I didn't move, though. It's just one of the things you do for your child. You inconvenience yourself so that she/he will feel more comfort. I stood there and hummed lullabies so she could hear the vibration through my chest (one of the things that always comforted me when I was little.)

Eventually we had to clean her off and that meant shampooing her hair. As I continued to hold her, E reached into the shower and gently cleaned her hair, ears and face. It reminded me of when I was in labor with her. For a brief time one of the things that was comforting to me was to sit in the shower and have it beat down my back. I was visually being under a waterfall in a tropical setting, lush foliage and foreign sounds. That place was like this post from Tammie. My husband, fully dressed of course, stuck his hand inside the shower to hold my IVs and whatever else tubes in place so I could experience this temporary euphoria. He was soaked on one side by the time I was finished, but he never complained. He was soaked the other night too, but he wrapped up our baby girl in a towel and took her to her room to dress and comfort her. He never lost his temper or cool as she screamed and hit at him. His voice stayed low and he'd stop to wrap her up in his arms if she got too upset.

For all the times I get upset at our lack of communication, he gives me these moments to realize how good he is. He is a genuine person, giving more than receiving and loving our kids to death. I love him. I love him because of who he is and because of who he isn't. This incident? Makes me love him even more.

Oh, that and because last night when he was going over to Jay's to hang out and I politely and whiningly asked him to make me a bowl of berries with cool whip and he said, "c'mon baby, I gotta gooooo!" He then gave me a kiss, told me he loved me and walked out the door. I waited a few minutes and got up to get them on my own only to discover him standing in front of the refrigerator with devilish grin on his face. "Gotcha!" he yelled.

Yes, he did.

2006-11-09T16:21:00.000-05:00

I get all fired up sometimes about things I really shouldn't. Given my past posts, you can easily see that. My most recent incident involved the family reunion. I was so pissed at some of the things that happened that I decided to take it upon myself to plan the next one. Good going, sillychick.

I looked into some cool cabins and places on Monday but that's as far as I've gotten. I know I'll get even more done, but I've just been tired/lazy/bored/etc. I think that's how my PMS days go...it's not necessarily bitchy but more along the lines of a few days filled with anxiety, sadness and lethargy. I received (via my dad's email) the email that this year's reunion planner sent out. It was an upbeat one, but I found myself pissed that a) she didn't include me on the original email even though I provided her with my addy and b) there was only the slight mention of it being in Ohio next year although I was the only one who spoke of having it next year.

Anyway, I know I'll get out of this funk in another day or so and I'll start to kick ass on planning this shindig. Just sucks being here right now.

Asleep at the Wheel

2006-11-07T14:22:00.000-05:00

Every day I look at other's blogs and I feel guilty that I've not updated mine. I think I'm in a slump of some sort. I'm not down or depressed...I just don't feel like writing. I know I have to finish the last installment of C's birth (if for nothing else than to get it out of my head) but each time I try, I end up with tears in my eyes. I guess I'm not ready.

On lighter notes, Halloween went fabulously. Lulu and Jay always have the kids over for a party beforehand and then take them all trick or treating. It's a wonderful time, with kids screaming and parents partaking in the obligatory cider and rum. I opted to take the Princess home because it was raining and also to be able to pass out candy at my house. I'd never done that in the 4 years I've been there. I was disappointed in the lack of kids, but it was still fun. I love seeing all of the different costumes. It's funny how times have changed, though. I can remember my parents setting us loose in our neighborhood and we would RUN from house to house, ending up with a nearly full pillowcase of candy. Granted, I lived in a pretty tight knit community in the 'burbs, but it's still so disappointing not to see the excitement that once was.

My dad, his girlfriend, C and I made the long trek down to Ocala this weekend for a family reunion. Originally it was going to be my family driving down and then taking a few days to do some relaxing or perhaps Disney, but I found out that I didn't have as much vacation as what I thought I did. I personally wanted to fly down, but my dad said no one would be able to pick me up (huh? no one, out of about 50-75 people, could possibly pick me up?) It was decided that E would stay home with the princess and C and I would go. 15 hours down on Thursday and 15 hours back up on Sunday. It sucked my ass. As did the reunion. I knew no one and no one really volunteered to introduce the newbies. No name tags and the only game was one where you had to guess whose baby picture belonged to whom. Not a very exciting game for someone who didn't know anyone. Ahem. My brother and I did play a mean game of cornhole, though. I will say that the cabins at Silver River State Park are wonderful! That's a really nice park.

I was very anxious to get home to my other two babies, to say the least.

Anyway, that's me for now. Oh, and E's company is giving us an all expense paid trip to Cancun in February for making sales quotas. Nice, huh? I guess I'd better get on that weight loss!

How high up can you do your alphabet?

2006-10-26T08:49:00.000-05:00

I have always been "overly blessed" in the chest area. I got my first bra at 11 and have endured countless jokes ever since. You learn to just laugh with them...or punch them in the balls. Either one works.

A few years ago I was on the hunt for a new bra. I went to all the big name stores looking for a DDD...no one had them. I finally found a woman whose shop sold custom sized bras. As she measured me, I told her what I thought was my size: 40DDD. "Uh, no darling, you're a 36K."

What? Exsqueeze me? I didn't even know that was possible! I am soooo porn star material. Fatty porn star material, but we're not talking about guts, we're talking about TITS! Holy shit. My mouth dropped and stayed open the entire time she was fitting me with what can only be described as the mamajama of all bras. This thing is made of industrial strength material. None of that stretchy, pretty shit you can buy at Victoria's Secret. Uh uh. My girls were lifted and squished like never before. This bra has what is called a "shelf" - material that is stiff and actually holds up your boobs so that your shoulders don't bear the all the weight of said sweater puppets. It gives a whole new meaning to "over the shoulder boulder holder."

These babies cost $90. So, so worth it, as I'd been spending years trying to find a good bra that I didn't have to be constantly pulling and hitching up. My girls stay put now. But still, $90...and they have to be special ordered. They have a special though: anytime you order 2 bras, you get a 50% discount on the third. So, three bras for just over $200...contributions anyone?

I've long considered the option of a breast reduction and am usually met with the response from friends of, "can I be on the table next to you and get pumped up?" I would gladly give these ta-tas away. This response is just further proof that we are very rarely happy with our bodies and usually want what someone else has (or lacks.) I want this surgery for several reasons: 1) my back hurts, constantly, 2) it affects me weight wise...because my funbags are so big, I have to buy larger tops (forget about buttons, too) and you can "hide" your gut better, and 3) I feel very self conscious that everyone's eyes go automatically to my chest.

Breast reduction has been thought of in the past as "cosmetic" surgery and insurance companies wouldn't pay for it. It's gotten better now, but you still have to get recommendations from several doctors to be approved. My ob/gyn suggested several doctors but I've been either too lazy or too busy to call. Honestly, I'm scared to death of this surgery but I know it has to be done. My husband, thankfully, took it upon himself earlier this week to call the insurance company to see if it was covered and to inquire at several doctor's offices to see what measures needed to be taken.

The one doctor that my mother works with (she's a post anesthesia nurse) accepts my insurance and would be happy to work with me. The only requirement is that my BMI (body mass index or the amount of fat in proportion to total weight) must be 30% or lower. Now, I've mentioned that I have a gut, right? And massive boobies. I've always thought that my girls definitely contributed to my weight and there's no muscles in them, no way.

Here is where I reveal myself, no more veils. I am 5'7" and weigh 217 lbs. That means that my BMI is a 34 and that I am considered OBESE! I know I'm a bit chubby but damn...obese? I almost shit myself when I saw that...and probably should have cuz that would contribute to me losing some of my OBESITY.

So, how much weight do I need to lose in order to get down to a 30 and not be considered OBESE? 27 lbs, my friends. A whole child. In order to get my breasticles reduced. Which will probably be a 10 lb loss in itself.

So, I've committed myself like never before. I'm eating smaller portions off of salad plates and I've exercised every day this week. I'm trying like mad to encourage my husband (he's considered OBESE, too) by nudging him out of bed at 6am to walk Zeke and by making his lunches and dinners.

You want to know a kick in the ass for me this week? I had to find a costume for a party this weekend...and there were only about 10 things I could be. All plus sized women can be are: pirates, wenches, witches (they threw in some sexy witches to amuse us) and I found a Medusa costume. I'm sure there are more out there, but I doubt I could fit my jigglies into them.

So, watch, encourage, help. Or ignore...whatever. No, I need help. Thank you in advance.

on and on and on and on

2006-10-25T10:09:00.000-05:00

I have no idea why, but I haven't been able to log into Blogger for the last few days. I even tried it at home, but to no avail. My husband's laptop worked okay for it last night but I was too tired to write. After a few tries today, here I am!

Okay, so I had arrived at the hospital, bag all packed and breathing, breathing, breathing. I was all settled into the bed (as much as I could be anyway) when my boyfriend decided that he was going to go downstairs for a sandwich...I didn't cook dinner, after all. Whatever, I didn't care. As the nurse told me to lie on my left side so she could get a better bp reading, I felt my water break. It really was the whoosh you hear about. What I said to the nurse was something along the lines of, "Ummm, arrrrr, water, ummmm." Yep, she confirmed my suspicions. My boyfriend came back from EATING and was "disappointed" that he missed this step.

Since I wasn't "allowed" (or rather couldn't afford) an epidural, I was administered Nubain. It made me terribly nauseated, so for that I had Phenergran (sp?) Thankfully, my contractions were two minutes apart and I was able to sleep in between them. Two minutes or less is not a great nap but a rest well deserved. I was so thankful for my mom being there, although at one point I was out of my mind with pain and I looked at her and said (screamed?) "I can't do this anymore!" In her most loving, patient, nursing voice said, "Well, you're gonna have to!" She did say this, honest to God...and she swears she didn't. She was my rock during my whole labor. My other slightly smaller pebble was this one nurse that I absolutely, with every ounce of my being, hated who was saying, "pushpushpushpushpush!" Damn it, though, at one point she left the room and I figured out that she was my focal point...not that damn angel I so lovingly perched on a shelf across the room. I was focusing on her voice and she up and left me! I frantically searched the room for her, grabbing onto my mom and pulling myself up. Finally, thank the lord, she walked back in and resumed her gestapo approach to helping me get this child out.

I remember looking at the clock when I started to push. 11:30pm. I wanted to have this child on New Year's Day...so I set to it.

The doctor came in at some point...some woman who I'd never seen before and started feeling around, stretching me out, coaching me, if you want to call it that. She was not a familiar face and I kind of hated her for that. Midnight came and went. The last push, I pushed HARD and my baby damn near flew out of me. I saw the doctor scramble as the baby came out and my mom instinctively reached out. At 12:31am, I gave birth to my baby boy. I chose not to know the sex beforehand as I feel like this is one of life's greatest surprises...one of the last we get as an adult and it keeps you going as you're in labor.

"It's a boy. He's gastroschesic!" And then a flurry of activity. Nurses rushing around, the doctor handing off my baby. My mom looking around with alarm in her eyes. "Grandma, we need you over here," I heard the doctor say. As I'm being stitched back up, my mom comes over to me, holds my hand and I see she has tears in her eyes.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask her.

"His insides are on the outside." she tells me.

"What do you mean his 'insides are on the outside'?" I ask.

"He was born with his small intestines, stomach and colon on the outside of his body." she tells me gently.

The nurses, including my gentle labor class nurse, roll him over to me after they've bandaged him all up. I'm so tired I can barely see, I can just roll over enough to rub his little head. They've gathered up his "insides" and wrapped them in plastic wrap and then with gauze. After I welcome him to this world, they whisk him away to this tiny little hospital's version of a NICU. I rest for a few hours then make my way to the shower. I cry. I cry silently because of what I did or didn't do to my child. Did I eat enough vegetables? I never drank or smoked or did any drugs. Was this my punishment for having sex outside of marriage? My mom sat outside of the shower and waited for me, wrapping a towel around me as I got out of the shower. Her eyes, red, still shone with her own tears. Her embrace told me it wasn't my fault.

I walked across the hall to see this brand new baby boy. Other than the little "package" that was attached to him, he was absolutely perfect. 7#11oz, 21 inches long. 8s and 9s on the APGAR. Big, blue eyes. He grasped my hand as if to say, "Don't worry, Mommy, I'm okay." I tried my hardest not to cry. He was alive.

Because it was New Year's weekend and because I was not due until Jan 10th and because I didn't have a second ultrasound to pick up this little disaster, there were no pediatric surgeons in town. My baby would have to be taken up to Tampa to St. Joseph's in order to have the surgery. That's about 2-3 hours away from Fort Myers, so they had to fly him there in a helicopter. The two nurses and pilot arrived at approximately 6am and C's eyes were glued to their bright blue flight suits. Everyone seemed amazed that he was able to follow the female nurse around the room as she moved about. He never cried. He didn't fuss as they moved him into the portable incubator and he continued to stare at both me and that female nurse.

As I watched him roll down the hall to the helipad I felt numb. 'This isn't how it's supposed to be," I told myself. 'I'm supposed to be lying in a bed with him, smelling his new skin, marveling at how I brought him into this world.' My nurse wheeled me onto the maternity floor where I would sit until it was time for me to drive up to Tampa. My mom, after being up all night with me, drove directly up there so she could be with him when he came out of surgery. My boyfriend, C's father, went home to sleep...because he couldn't handle the stress of staying in the hospital.

To be continued...

ARGH

2006-10-24T20:25:00.000-05:00

Haven't been able to log in to Blogger the last few days...now that I can, I'm too tired to write.

Dammit.

Warning: Brain Dump Ahead

2006-10-20T12:36:00.000-05:00

I had something happen to me yesterday that damn near caused me to have a nervous breakdown. In order for me to tell it so that you understand, I must give you (extensive...sigh) background. This is a looooong story, so to spare you a set of bleeding eyes, I'll break it up into a few entries.

I've always had a very outgoing, bubbly personality...pair that with just the right amount of sarcasm and goofiness and you had a pretty good time with me. I'm so humble, I know. Most of the guys I've dated were the antithesis of me: loners, not many friends, no conversation skills, etc. These guys LOVED me b/c I brought "life" to them. Conversely, they sucked it right out of me. I viewed them almost as projects...let's see if I can get them to actually talk to someone at a party...how would they act around my brother?...can they make me laugh instead of the other way around? It always ended up with me breaking up with them b/c I'd either grown tired of trying to bring them out so much or I'd found another project. Having explained this, you should also know that I usually liked these guys alot and the sex was, for the most part, phenomenal...but that can only go so far as most married people can attest.

I should have known that when I met this particular guy that it was going to end up the same...that I should just move along and not string him on. But, no, not me. I had to go and make him have fun. He kept calling, we kept going out and eventually ended up in bed. Soon after, I found out I was pregnant. We were at my apartment and when I looked at that little stick, a primal scream went off in my head. I took one look at this guy and ran out the door. I walked, ran, cried for the better part of two hours, hoping the whole time he wouldn't find me or he'd be gone by the time I got home. I finally came home around 2am and he was still there, waiting along with my roommate. She is one of my nearest and dearest friends to this day and had been in my shoes 3 years earlier so she knew exactly what I was feeling. She sent him home and lay in bed with me that night, consoling me without saying anything...just being there.

I didn't want to be tied to this guy for the rest of my life. Again, nice guy, but not THE guy. But, I had a voice in my head telling me not to get an abortion. For some reason, I was to have this child. It was a long, emotionally draining decision...but it was made. I put my chin up and took on this new chapter of my life.

My pregnancy went by without much ado. The only sickness I ever battled was I hated the smell of raw meat (which my mother shoved in my face one day when I was being particularly bitchy...thanks MOM!) At the time I worked for a major health care organization that was coming into SW Florida and buying up all the area hospitals and doctor's offices, then laying off people left and right. My mom was one of the casualties. Remember the heyday of HMOs? Yeah, same time. I was working in an outpatient PT clinic as the only receptionist and our manager assured us that we were safe as we were the only clinic actually bringing in money...thanks to my excellent billing practices, thank you very much. Can you imagine the surprise when we found out on a Thursday that we were getting laid off, too? To add insult to injury, a doctor from across the hall was the one to tell us b/c the company approached him about buying out the space. And further insult? A group of 4 people walked into our clinic on Friday, with patients still there, to tell each of us that we were being shut down. I didn't want to, but I started crying. I looked at my manager and said, "WHO IN THE FUCK IS GOING TO HIRE SOMEONE WHO'S SIX MONTHS PREGNANT?" He only looked at me and handed me a severance package worth one month's pay. I went home, called my mom, and immediately began the unemployment process. I also went to my doctor's office that day to let her know what was happening...she had an idea b/c she was also under the same company's umbrella. She acted as though it was no big deal.

The doctor I was seeing at the time was one recommended by a good friend. I didn't like her, though...I found her cold and uncaring. I'd come to her with questions or concerns and she'd blow them off. My boyfriend had two daughters from his previous marriage and the oldest had a head circumference of 11 cm (that's a little concerning, don't you think?) so she was taken by C-section. When I mentioned this, my doctor told me not to worry about it. My ultrasound was taken at 8 weeks to determine due date and she refused to give me a second one, even though I had a nagging feeling that I needed it. Remember, HMO.

I found out that because unemployment goes back 20 weeks of your paying job to determine your benefits and that the majority of my time was spent part time (I was going to school full time) that I would be receiving a whopping $86/week. COBRA was going to cost me over $200/month. Now, I'm not a mathematician but damn! So I begrudgingly headed to the welfare office.

I've never wanted to use public assistance. And, to some degree, I think that people who rely on it their whole lives are selfish and lazy. I was ashamed going in there and I felt like a complete failure. My parents both pointed out that it was there for a reason, to help someone in need, and besides, we'd all paid for it. My roommate told me to get all of my bills together and to tell the caseworker that I didn't know who the father was. What? She said, "Trust me, you won't get anything if you tell them you're with the father."

So, I put my good clothes on and was 20 minutes early to my appointment, all bills and paperwork stacked neatly in a manila envelope. Now, imagine the look on my face when I walk into this office and all I see are people in baggy clothes, gold teeth and kids running around unsupervised, screaming and yelling. Everyone looks at you like you're the biggest loser in the world yet are so unashamed at how they "own" this place. Jobs? Who needs a job? I got my check, bitch! The "clerks" are all behind glass windows and won't even look you in the eye when you speak to them. I found a seat and waited for my turn, wanting desperately to wipe snotty noses and beg their parents (where are their parents,anyway?) to keep an eye on the little ones.

I finally get called (an hour after my appt time) and follow some guy with a foreign accent back to his desk. Not even a cubicle...a desk. He asks me all the usual questions, with me answering as honestly and clearly as possible. I give him all of my stuff, explain what happened with the layoff. Then comes the father question:
Him: Who is the child's father?
Me: I don't know.
Him: What do you mean you don't know?
Me: I honestly don't know. It was a one night stand.
Him: You mean to tell me you slept with a guy and you don't even know his name?
Me: Yes
Him: I don't believe you.

I distinctly remember seeing red at this point. I stood up, slammed down my neatly packed folder and said,
"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF YOU BELIEVE ME OR NOT! I HAD A JOB, I HAD INSURANCE! DO YOU THINK I WANT TO BE HERE? DO YOU THINK I WANT TO BE BEGGING YOU FOR ASSISTANCE?

He then asked me sit down and told me they would be getting back to me. This was in late August. I was due January 10th. In early December, I still hadn't gotten word about any assistance and my doctor's office was being nothing short of a bitch even though I'd told them all of the steps I'd been taking. I left each of these appts with no joy whatsoever, thinking it was all me b/c my friend had had such a great experience with this doctor. I called to ask about the assistance and was told that it was the food stamps holding up the process. "The food stamps?" I asked. "Yes, you made $10 too much each month to qualify for food stamps." Now, keep in mind, they had all the information that I was making approximately $360/month and I wasn't going to qualify for food stamps, let alone Medicaid? "I don't care about the food stamps, I need medical coverage!" So now that I said I didn't want the former, they went ahead and okay'd the Medicaid. By the way, did you know that Medicaid does not cover an epidural and that if you want one, you're going to pay $700? Yeah.

Okay, life is good, relatively. I've got the medical insurance I need. Now, just sit back and wait for this baby.

On January 1st, 1999, around 2pm I felt a little "something." Then that something kept coming back. I started to write down all the times it would start and stop and start again. I was wayyy anal with this and still have this sheet of paper to this day. I called my doctor's office around 6 to tell them I was contracting 5 minutes apart. The answering service informed me that because it was a holiday, my normal doctor would not be there, but they were sending over Dr. BlahSoandSo. We arrived at the hospital about a half an hour later and sat in the ER waiting for someone to notice me. Funny how the admissions person can look at a pregnant woman who's breathing funny and who has a bag by her side but yet doesn't asked if she's been helped yet. Fucking hospitals. I'd already called my mom (who was working 4 7p-7a shifts that weekend and who specifically requested that I not have the baby this weekend haha) and she was on her way back from Naples.

Upstairs we went....to be continued. Please, try not to hold your breath.

In the mood to go to bed

2006-10-19T09:53:00.000-05:00

It's a bad day for me. I'm just feeling down and not myself. I don't know why. E and I had a teeny, tiny tiff this morning, but nothing to make me feel this way. I seriously think it's hormonal.

Before I had kids, I rarely had PMS symptoms. Cramps were not common and I don't remember being terribly moody (although you may have to check with ex-boyfriends on this one.) My sister celebrated when her daughter got her period, saying "Now you can be a bonafide bitch just like us!" I looked at her like she was crazy...although I think she really is. I always hated when women used the excuse of their period to be nasty to other people. I used to think it was controllable and that men were right in assuming that these women couldn't be handled.

Then I had C. I had more than the baby blues...I had post partum depression. PPD was just beginning to be really in the news at this time and I just remember wondering what in the hell was going on with me. I thought it was because I was in a bad relationship, although I'm sure this contributed to it. I couldn't get out of this funk, I couldn't concentrate, all I saw was black and white and no color in the world. I had joy in knowing I had this happy baby, but didn't experience it to it's fullest. I was scared to death and couldn't tell anyone. Why? Because I was the happy one...the crazy friend who always got you out of your own funk...laughter was always in abundance when I was around. I didn't think my friends or family would know how to handle me this way, so I kept it all bottled up. I absolutely hated my OB/GYN for a very good reason so I didn't tell her either. I just...suffered.

I, thankfully, grew out of it after a few years. I managed to do so with very little drugs, but I'm not saying that drugs are bad...I just saw my sister abuse them to the point that I swore I would never be like her. I still had my moments and they usually fell a few weeks before my period started. Hmmmm...what could that be?

Then I went and had another baby. By this time, I had received my doula certification and had helped with my two niece's births. Because of my own experience, I was keenly aware to watch my sister-in-law for any signs after both times. Luckily, she was okay. After my pretty princess came along I experienced a little PPD, but nothing like before. I was on top of it and made sure that both my husband and my doctor knew of my past. My doctor prescribed anti-anxiety meds and my husband watched for the signs. I got through it all okay, with only moments of blackness.

The PMS symptoms did get worse after her birth, though. I'm no scientist, but it only makes sense that your hormones are all over the place when you get pregnant. After giving birth, they go all awry again. In my case, each baby makes it worse. God, that sounds awful, doesn't it? I just get more moody, more sensitive, more (gasp!) bitchy. I hate every fucking minute of it. I fight it and fight it hard. My husband knows to leave me alone, to not push me. I break down in tears if we have an argument, out of pure frustration of not being able to control my emotions. It's pure hell and I'm thankful it only lasts a few days.

Although I'm sure my husband would tell you it lasts a whole lot longer than that.

Conundrum

2006-10-17T14:06:00.000-05:00

I know I shouldn't bitch again about this, but my job is really, really getting to me. Wait, my boss is really, really getting to me.

I take pride in whatever I do, whether that be as a day care teacher, a customer service rep or a restaurant manager. I want to work, I want to be happy at what I do. But my boss is spoiling this otherwise okay job for me by treating me as though I'm an idiot.

Here are some samples of what I've been subjected to just this week:

"I want everything in this pile copied and sent to this address "Sure, no problem," I say with a smile on my face. When noticing that one of the things he said to copy is our actual company profile book, I ask him if wants that copied too only to have him respond condescendingly, "Nooooo, do I have to explain everything to you?"
Hands me a list of four companies to find their website on Google. "You do know how to google, don't you?" he asks. I laugh and tell him yes, not mentioning that that's precisely what I do all fucking day long. I find 3 out of 4 and correct his spelling mistakes on the names. "Some of the names were spelled incorrectly," I tell him. "Well, of course," he says. What??? On the fourth one, he asks if I did this? Yes. And this? Yes. And that? Yesyesyes, you fucker!
Gets upset with me when he finds out his daughter (who runs a PR biz out of this office) is meeting with someone in the conference room when he has a meeting set up for that same room in 5 minutes, but didn't bother to tell anyone. "You need to go tell her to meet in her office, I NEED THAT ROOM!" I shrug and go off to tell her. As I tell her, the lady he's meeting with shows up. I show her to the room and ask her twice if she wants anything to drink. When I go to tell him that his appt is here, I get this: "Well, is she in the conference room?" "Yes" "Did you offer her a drink?" "Yes" I refuse to waste any more of my energy talking to him.

I'm so over this fucking job. I'm so over going through life not being happy with the 1/3 of my life spent at a job that I despise. I'm so over trying to Cover My Ass with this man, doing more than what is asked for, only to be treated like a dumb ass. I'm a fucking grown-ass woman! I deserve to be treated better.

I am so envious of people who enjoy what they're doing for a living. How did they know what they wanted to be? I've taken test after test for job aptitude (?) and it always comes back the same: a job where I'll be helping people. What the fuck does that mean? I think I'd love to teach elementary school, but Dennis thinks I'm not thick skinned enough for it and he's probably right. I've also thought about Occupational Therapy with kids. Whatever it is, it always leads back to working with children. Most of the things I'd like to do require me going back to school and I would love to do that but finances aren't right for it. I have an associate's with a 3.55 GPA so I know I'd do okay in classes...it's just the damn money. Which keeps me in a shitty job. I could go to school at night, which my husband did the first year or so we were together, but I honestly don't think I could stand to be away from my kids that much.

I guess it's all about sacrifice. Am I willing to cut our finances in half and work part time or to work full time during the day and go to school at night? What's the best option? Anyone?

Chammps: The Meltdown

2006-10-17T09:34:00.000-05:00

One of the great things about being a parent is the constant threat of a category 5 temper tantrum looming around. You never know what might bring one on: milk instead of juice, a toy not bought, the moon in a not-so-right phase. It's great, really.

In an earlier post I mentioned a story about my son and my soon to be husband. C was never really one to throw fits and so when he did, I kinda freaked out. I mean, I've worked in child care and I had a niece and a nephew who were born when I was a teenager so I've been around kids ALOT. I swore my child would never act like some of those brats...and I use that word sparingly but accurately...so when he decided to act up, I was quick to stop the situation. I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually spanked him and even those were little swats to the upper thigh to get his attention. You'd have thought I stabbed him the way he'd wail, though. I had the "look" which was usually enough to get him to stop. Chin down, eyebrows up, stare at him. I don't know why that did it, but I guess it was threatening to him. Whatever works, right?

E and I took C to Chammps to eat one day and C was bouncing off the freakin walls. Wouldn't sit still, wouldn't shut up, ketchup all over him...and he's 5. My nerves were quickly unraveling and I knew I had to do something or I would be put behind bars and would never see my son outside of prison walls and I'd be the subject of a documentary titled, "Bad Mothers Who Get Sent to Prison for Stabbing Their Children with Iced Tea Spoons and Give Birth to a Whole New Generation of Bad Children While in Said Prison." It's a working title, but you get the gist. The intro goes like this:

Me: That's it, we're going to the bathroom. (another trick of mine, some sort of threat to a child's mind I guess)

C: Nonono!

Stand up, grab C's hand and head away from table. Suddenly, C throws himself on the floor and starts to scream:
"NO MOMMY, DON'T BEAT ME!!!!"

I am fucking mortified at this point. My child, my precious little baby bumpkin, has just announced to the restaurant that he is terrified to go to the bathroom with me because he's afraid of a children's-services-are-taking-you-away kind of beating. So, I do what any other responsible parent would do. I keep ahold of his hand and drag his scrawny ass to the bathroom.

As I'm walking, I realize people are laughing. At him. They're with me. They like me, they really like me. These are parents who know exactly what I'm going through and who have done this themselves. We are unified in the fight against unruly children. I mentioned doing what a responsible parent would do. I knew I could not get down on my knees and beg for him to be quiet or to take him back to the table. He would have won and we would fight this battle each time we tried to go out. Sometimes these battles take place anyway, but I'll always be there, ready to fight my side. Eventually he learned that it's not worth it...Mommy rules all the universe.

At least that's what I'll keep telling him until he learns better.

A pickle, please

2006-10-16T12:27:00.000-05:00

I hurt my son's heart yesterday. I didn't mean to, but I hurt him nonetheless. The question is whether it was wrong or not.

We spent our weekend in Pittsburgh at my husband's uncle's house. He gave us 4 tickets to the Steelers-Chiefs game so it was my husband, me, our son and my husband's friend, Scott, going. It was the second game for C, a countless one for my beloved but the first game for both me and Scott. I wanted this to be a good time for everyone so I decided to go a bit lax on my son's behavior, letting him get wild and crazy, yell, hoop, holler...all that good stuff.

The game was a blowout with the Steelers beating the Chiefs 45-7 so that meant alot of Terrible Towels waving around. I was sitting next to C and that meant alot of Mommy being accidentally bumped into, jiggled, juggled and hit with said Terrible Towels. It got a bit boring towards the end so Scott and C were goofing around. I did say something to C about watching what he was doing (being ever mindful of folks around us) and he settled down only to have Scott egg him on again. I let it go, b/c I can't really reprimand C for something that Scott is doing too. I always hated getting in trouble for something someone else did, so I wasn't going to do that to him.

WHACK! Right in my still-open eye with a Terrible Towel. Hm. Me thinks I'll just ask E to trade places with me and let him deal with it. Nothing else was said. Slowly, but surely, C made his way over to me. I'd had enough of it and was in need of a little bit of "personal" space so I looked at him and said, "No, go back to your seat. I don't want to be around you right now." Well, off he went only to sit down in his chair and start to cry softly and silently.

My heart instantly went out to him but I had to remind myself that he needed to work this out. He can't go around hitting and pushing someone and expect them to want to be around him. I want him to be aware of his actions and what sort of consequences he may have to endure because of them. He's a 7 year old boy and 7 year old boys just don't think this way so it's my job to teach him. I would never deliberately hurt him in any way, but I honestly wanted him to hear how I was feeling at that time. I had E tell him this...it would sound differently if it came from Daddy than me. I hate to say this, but it would be GOSPEL if he heard it from him. So be it.

I wear so many hats as a parent. I'm the cheerleader, the nurse, the teacher, the play buddy, the cook, the maid, the disciplinarian, as well as so many other things that may not necessarily have a title. Each child is different, so what worked for one will not necessarily work for the other. It's a constant juggling act with some days making you thank the heavens that you have such wonderful children and others making you wish you could just set adrift and go away. It's the hardest thing you'll ever do...but it's also very rewarding.

Good thing is, even though I hurt him at about 7pm last night, by 7:30 I was back to being the "Best Mommy Ever."

A Tour of My Mind

2006-10-13T08:32:00.000-05:00

Starting this blog has been so therapeutic for me. I find myself thinking my myriad of thoughts more thoroughly now. I imagine what the jumble will look like on a computer screen. I try to read it from someone else's perspective. I've begun to wonder how my personality is portrayed.

I began reading blogs purely by searching randomly on blogger.com. I tended to gravitate towards women's blogs because I had the need to connect with someone...to almost verify the feelings I was having. I stumbled upon one after the other, some hitting home more than others. I was reading these online journals and learning that I'm not alone. I was also learning that I needed to accept myself better and, more importantly, not apologize for who I am. I'm beginning to wonder if I was feeling so repressed because I wasn't allowing myself to fully bloom.

A most freeing time in my adult life was right after I got out of a long term relationship and before I jumped headfirst into another one. Keep in mind, I'd spent from the age of 13 on in some sort of relationship. I was never alone. Even if I was "going with" someone in junior high, I always had a back up. I look back and realize I was so afraid of being lonely that I didn't care about other's feelings. Horrible, I know.

During this time in my life, I was attending school full time, working midnights part time and tutoring spanish. It was the first time I'd been out on my own, living with my good friend Sherri. She was a single mom and I helped when and how I could but it was great to be able to leave when I wanted without having to answer to anybody. I would go rollerblading at 10:00 at night, sometimes for 10 miles or more. I would jump in the car, put the top down and just drive. I went up and down the west coast of Florida on Route 41, stopping at little towns just because I could. I would hook up with a guy for a (gasp!) one night stand. I was free. I was more in tune with myself than ever before. I guess it was because I had no one else to occupy my mind.

I don't know that it would have become tiresome for me. I got pregnant with C after about 2 years of this and it came to an end. I never resented him for that and I've always tried to be very free with him, help him when needed, but allow him to explore on his own without too much interference. I will say this: when Mommy says you'd better stop jumping on the bed and you don't heed her advice and end up in the ER because you fell and split open your eyebrow, you won't jump on the bed anymore.

I've come to the realization that with each change that life throws at you, it allows you to learn. For every up, there's a down and vice versa. I've changed alot during the past ten years. Gone are the days of big hair sassed up with extrasupernuclearhold Aqua Net. Now I'm lucky to blow dry my hair. Adios to eating chips and laying around listening to music all day...I'll pay for it later. Sayonara to random road trips and to staying out all night with your girlfriends.

But...

Hello to morning kisses and late night snuggles. Bienvenue to hearing "MOMMYMOMMYMOMMY! when I walk in the door at night. Wilkommen to enjoying a nice glass of wine or the occasional bowl with my beloved.

I'm back to me, albeit a different version. But I kinda like her.

Dainbread Fun

2006-10-12T15:29:00.000-05:00

Ever have those days when your mind has just turned to mush but you're too restless to lie down?
I bring you the latest addicting webgame:

http://ic1.deviantart.com/fs12/f/2006/266/6/f/engin2_16devart.swf

You can thank me later

I didn't forget

2006-10-10T09:52:00.000-05:00

I couldn't imagine walking into my house and not being greeted by my husband. Nor could I fathom the idea of going to sleep without him. The idea of not getting those daily hugs, kisses, butt squeezes breaks my heart.

Tragedy

2006-10-10T09:22:00.000-05:00

My husband got the horrible news yesterday that one of his good friends from high school died in a car wreck. He and a friend left his house to go down to get some cigarettes and never came home. I still don't have the entire story yet, but they were on a road nowhere near the store...perhaps to do a bit of joyriding in his friend's Porsche. Apparently, these cars take a special touch to operate b/c their engines are in the back and they tend to be dangerous because of this feature.

He had left his wallet and cellphone at home. Around 2am, his wife called a mutual friend who lived just two blocks away, asking if he'd seen him. She had no idea and I don't believe she was notified until after he'd already passed away at the hospital. The driver, who got the horrible news after waking from surgery, had to be sedated and restrained. He may lose part of his leg.

My husband's friend left behind a wife, a 4 year old and an infant.

Life changes in a blink of an eye. We don't expect our friends to die at such a young age. We, well at least I, still view myself sometimes as an immortal, invincible 18 year old. As we grow up we start to realize the consequences of our actions and that, coupled with growing older, slows us down. We may mourn the passing of a grandparent or even a parent but we're more "okay" with this because, well, they're older. You're supposed to die when you get old. You're not supposed to die when you're in your mid 30's with babies still at home.

I put a life insurance policy into place when I was still a single parent and before I bought my home. The value would pay off my house, but nothing else. My husband's work gave him a policy that will pay out 300% of his annual salary. Sounds like a lot, but in reality it would not provide me with much. I would have to sell my home and move in with one of my parents. Life as we know it would completely change.

Look around at your life right now, just as it is. Now look around without your spouse. My day would go like this:
Wake up at 5:30 (my usual wake up time is 7) to get my shower, let the dog out, get dressed, start to wake both kids. Put on coffee, pack lunches (limited budget means no more take out) and feed dog. Go downstairs to put in load of laundry and get C going. Go upstairs, carrying a basket of said laundry and gently wake K. Get out her clothes, change her diaper and clothes. Put her in front of TV (though I wouldn't be able to afford TiVo anymore to record Barney, Blue's Clues, Dora and Play with Me Sesame) and get dressed myself. Get everyone's teeth brushed and thank the lucky stars that K's sitter and C's school provide breakfast. Let dog out one more time, settle him down, pour the coffee and load up everyone. Take K to sitter, drop off C at school and head to work.

And that's just the morning. All by yourself. This is typical for a day of a single parent and that's exactly what I'd be. Couple that with mourning and love lost and you could possibly be set up for a lifetime of heartache.

My heart ached for my husband last night. I spent all day yesterday wanting to hold him and comfort him. I found him lying on the couch when I got home, tears in his eyes. He was mourning his friend and his wife. He was watching K play. And when I lay down beside him and held him in my arms, he was thanking God I was still there. I babied him all night and told C why Daddy was so sad. C, in his infinite sweetness, went to him and hugged him, saying "Whatever you need, Daddy, just tell me." All 4 of us embraced one another and K, seeing me wipe the tears from Daddy's cheeks, mimicked me. It was one of the most tender gestures I've ever seen.

My husband lost a good friend last night, but gained some insight. Sometimes we can't, or don't want to, understand the saying, "Everything happens for a reason." I don't even have to tell you my reason for this tragedy.

Embrace the ones you love.