Since reentering the workforce 4 years ago, I've really struggled in the area of stress reduction. For me stress is related to my perfectionist side. Looking back, the whole reason I gave up my career at Hewlett Packard after my son was born was because of my unresloved issues with perfectionism. After spending 3 months on maternity leave, an offensive thought dawned on me as I dressed in my work clothes for the first time since becoming a mother. Like a brick falling on my head from the sky, I realized I might have to make some (gasp!) compromises in the way that I would like my child taken care of and how my job duties would be performed. I realize how ridiculous it was for this to occur to me so late into the process, but there it was. And it was unacceptable - I must choose one and do it as perfectly as possible and make no compromises. Since you can't (and wouldn't) put the baby genie back in the bottle, my choice was made before I even left the house that morning. After two days at day care and an impassioned plea to my sister-in-law, my son spent the next 10 months with his aunt each day while I figured out how to transition our finances into a one income household and myself into a stay-at-home mom. What happened in the intervening 5 years is an entire series of blogs.
Fast forward from 1998 to 2003 - my son is in Kindergarten and my daughter is in 2/3 day church care, and I finally reenter the work force. And the stress demons are back. Making great strides with my perfectionism in the last 5 years (two children will do that to you), I attacked the stress demons head on. I read books on stress reduction, I tried nightly bubble baths with candles, I tried herbal supplements... you know the drill. Finally what helped the most, was getting up an hour earlier each day to read and pray. Some people would call it meditation, but my mind jumps from one thing to the next so quickly that there is no way you could call what I do meditation. I really rediscovered my faith during these early morning sessions. Today, 4 years later, I never miss a weekday morning doing something that helps rejuvinate my spirit. I cannot tell you how much this has helped me in parenting, in my marriage and at work.
However, one of the biggest mysteries in my life is why my faith, love, patience and all the other fruits of the spirit for that matter (including self-control) evaporate at the same time each morning. I mean, the exact moment my minivan hits the carpool line, I loose any semblance of the ususally balanced person I am. I want all you mothers to know that if you see yourself in the paragraphs below, I love and support you and pray for you and cheer for you the MINUTE you're out of the carpool line... but if you do any of these things... please for the love of Pete and everything that is right in the world, STOP.
There is NO circumstance that justifies honking and/or passing in the carpool line... carpool is NOT a normal roadway, in case you do not know this. It is driven by 99.9% women in SUV's or Minivan's with young children in their cars. This in and of itself, is very frightening. Add to this that said women are under some time pressure, haven't had their 2nd cup of coffee, and someone in their car has surely left something at home and what you've got is a very volatile situation. Forget going postal.... I'm ready to go carpool... I swear, if the same chick who passed me this morning had also been the one who honked at me, it would have, let's just say, "been addressed".
The school sends out the "Carpool Flow" map for a reason. If you're not good with maps, ask your husband or a friend who is. Its really very simple - follow the arrows. DO NOT go against the flow. This is not the time to push the envelope and be a trailblazing maverick. If the map says enter from the south and turn right - DO NOT enter from the north and try to turn left. By doing this, you're making me into someone my children should not be around.
And while we're on the subject... Hummers and carpool lines are really not compatible. Seriously, is it necessary to take your kids to school in a tank??? Environmental concerns aside, I have yet to see a child exit a Hummer in carpool without careening out if it and spilling him or herself and the entire contents of their backpacks out onto the sidewalk. If there is a school project involved, we the need to freaking National Guard to clean up the mess and get traffic moving again. I can tell you from experience that this does nothing to faciliate a smooth carpool flow or my heart health.
And another thing, carpool is NOT a valet service. A valet service is where you leisurely drive your car up to the attendant and he opens the door for you and gently helps you out. Carpool is nothing like this, so stop acting like it is. I don't see you tipping the poor teacher that has been stuck with the horrendous job of carpool duty. The goal of carpool is to unload as many children as quickly as safety will allow. This means if you stop anywhere close to the front of the line, your little prince or princess needs to get out of the car and WALK the rest of the way into the school.
I assure you Ms. Passer and Ms. Honker, these tips will help eliminate your obvious early morning stress. And mine.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Voicemail
I asked my husband last night if he had read my blog yet. He is insisting on feigning confusion about the whole blog thing. He's asking questions like... "What are you writing about?", "Why ARE you blogging?, "Is anyone reading it?", "Who knows about it?" What all of this is about is that he is afraid... very, very afraid. Afraid of what I'm going to write about one subject... him.
Anyway, I expected this and I'm really fine with it. We've been married long enough and I'm secure enough to accept that we don't always have the same interests. I admit, I barely showed any interest at all in his recently acquired Ipod (until the credit card bill came anyway).
He is occaisionally every bit as funny as I am though. Last night we're having the whole discussion about if and when he's going to check the blog out when he says:
"It just sounds like stuff you'd say to yourself. Why don't you just call and leave yourself a voicemail?"
We may be further apart on this than I thought.
Anyway, I expected this and I'm really fine with it. We've been married long enough and I'm secure enough to accept that we don't always have the same interests. I admit, I barely showed any interest at all in his recently acquired Ipod (until the credit card bill came anyway).
He is occaisionally every bit as funny as I am though. Last night we're having the whole discussion about if and when he's going to check the blog out when he says:
"It just sounds like stuff you'd say to yourself. Why don't you just call and leave yourself a voicemail?"
We may be further apart on this than I thought.
Another Day
Yesterday was another day for ridiculous questions... one from each of my children. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the fact that my children feel like they can talk to me. Having my children feel this way is very near the top of my "Things I Want to do Differently from my Mother" list. However, as with most things in life, any thing worthwhile is often a challenge. So yesterday I was challenged once in the morning while waiting in the carpool line and once last night at bathtime.
Act I - Carpool
My Daughter: "Mom, is celebrating Halloween worshiping the devil?"
Me (adjusting the rear view mirror so I can make eye contact while trying to not drive up onto the curb because I'm suddenly really irritated): "WHO told you THAT?"
(I need to know this information way more than I need to answer the question. This mother is someone I want to avoid at all costs. I never EVER want to find my two martini self at a dinner party with her. It will not go well.")
Her: "Kevin"
Me (dreading the answer to this): "Is he in your class?"
Her (to my dismay): "Yes"
(CRAP! Now I have to see this mother at class parties and open houses. Just super. Ok, now to answer the question without disclosing the age inappropriate information, that I do not believe in a personified devil, so I don't see how it could be possible that celebrating Halloween could be worshiping something that does not exist.)
Me: "Well, what do you think?"
Her: "Welllll, I don't know."
(To my Son's credit, he is doing his best eye roll in the seat beside her. Thank you God, that he already gets this.)
Me: "Well, do you have fun on Halloween spending time with your family and your friends?"
Her: "Yes"
Me: "Do we do anything bad on Halloween? Do we hurt people's feelings or say bad things or do any of the things you know God doesn't want us to do?"
Her: "No"
Me: "Do you think God likes for us to have fun and enjoy ourselves?"
Her: "Yes"
Me: "Well, then I don't see anyway possible that celebrating Halloween could be worshiping the devil."
Her: "Good. I like Halloween."
Me: "Me too. Let's REALLY decorate our yard a lot this year so ALL your friends from school can see it!!!!!"
Act I - Carpool
My Daughter: "Mom, is celebrating Halloween worshiping the devil?"
Me (adjusting the rear view mirror so I can make eye contact while trying to not drive up onto the curb because I'm suddenly really irritated): "WHO told you THAT?"
(I need to know this information way more than I need to answer the question. This mother is someone I want to avoid at all costs. I never EVER want to find my two martini self at a dinner party with her. It will not go well.")
Her: "Kevin"
Me (dreading the answer to this): "Is he in your class?"
Her (to my dismay): "Yes"
(CRAP! Now I have to see this mother at class parties and open houses. Just super. Ok, now to answer the question without disclosing the age inappropriate information, that I do not believe in a personified devil, so I don't see how it could be possible that celebrating Halloween could be worshiping something that does not exist.)
Me: "Well, what do you think?"
Her: "Welllll, I don't know."
(To my Son's credit, he is doing his best eye roll in the seat beside her. Thank you God, that he already gets this.)
Me: "Well, do you have fun on Halloween spending time with your family and your friends?"
Her: "Yes"
Me: "Do we do anything bad on Halloween? Do we hurt people's feelings or say bad things or do any of the things you know God doesn't want us to do?"
Her: "No"
Me: "Do you think God likes for us to have fun and enjoy ourselves?"
Her: "Yes"
Me: "Well, then I don't see anyway possible that celebrating Halloween could be worshiping the devil."
Her: "Good. I like Halloween."
Me: "Me too. Let's REALLY decorate our yard a lot this year so ALL your friends from school can see it!!!!!"
Act II - Bathtime
So last night we had TWO 6PM soccer games at fields on the opposite ends of town. Not a doubt in my mind that Kevin's mom somehow has control of my children's soccer schedule. I mean, for the love of Pete, how is a working mom with a 45 minute commute supposed to get two kids anywhere by 5:45 PM? Much less, dressed in soccer uniforms complete with the ridiculously difficult shin guards and cleats. Oh, and don't forget they each also need their soccer balls and water bottles. The only thing that could have made it any better would have been if it had been my night for snacks. Anyway, we all survive this drama... each of them get where they need to be on time, thank you very much to my son's friend's mother who got my son to his game, my boss for saying "ok" to me leaving at 4:15, and my husband who also left work early. We get home, get some food and get the kids in the bath. My daughter - downstairs in my bathroom so she can use the jetted tub and bath pillow I've yet to use - My son upstairs in the bathroom that connects his and his sister's bedrooms. Then this:
Me (walking into where my son is taking his bath to make sure he is washing his hair and not just playing with the 12 action figures that are lined up for battle all around the tub): "You need to stop playing and wash your hair. If you need help getting all the shampoo out, just let me know."
Him: "Mom, is it true that if you only have one ball in your ball sack that you can't get married?"
(Father in Heaven, please let me get through this with a straight face.)
Me: "WHO told you THAT?"
Him: "Michael"
Me: "Why????"
Him: "Because he thinks its true."
(Ok, at this point I'm going to let this line of questioning go. I really do not want or need to know if Michael or someone in his family has experience with a uniball. It does not help my straight face that my mind keeps picturing Michael's dad, who looks a little like Lyle Lovett, naked with only one ball.)
Me: "No, its not true."
Him: "How do you know?"
Me: "I'm married and I don't have any balls OR a ball sack."
(Ok, I know this was a stupid thing to say, but honestly, what you have done in my shoes?)
Him: "That's different. You're a girl."
Me: "Ok, that's fair. I do not BELIEVE there is any reason that a boy only having one ball couldn't get married."
Him: "Can you confirm that with Dad?"
Me: "Ok."
I cruise downstairs and pose this question to my husband, who is blissfully car shopping on the internet. He won't read my blog but can spend hours looking at the same 3 cars. Well, he couldn't confirm or deny for laughing his butt off, so I took that as confirmation, climbed back up the stairs and found my son getting dressed for bed. I say, "Dad agrees with me. Besides, you have two balls, aren't getting married anytime soon and don't need to worry about this anymore tonight. I love you. Good night."
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Two Kinds of People
Now, I like to think myself complex... you know more than meets the eye. I like to think I have a wide view of the world. The biggest insult anyone could ever give me would be to say that I was narrow minded or ignorant. However, there are some things that people either ARE or ARE NOT. Most of the world's issues are a shade of grey, but these things fit into a nice neat little box.
You Either Are A:
Wadder or Folder... this applies to just about any type of paper. Toilet, towels, Kleenex, notebook. I'm a wadder, husband's a folder.
Liberal or Conservative... I don't buy this moderate bullshit... anytime I hear someone say they are a moderate, they either don't know what they are or are a Republican trying to act like they have a clue... that is to say a Democrat. I'm a liberal, husband is still in the closet.
Worker or Slacker... there is nothing that irritates a worker more than a slacker and nothing that is more of a buzz kill to a slacker than a worker. Both the husband and I are workers... that is to say we could use a little more fun in our lives. This is why God gave us children... we're busy trying to take the slack out of them.
Clean Automobiler or Minivanner... This is not to say that someone who is a clean automobiler cannot have a minivan or a minivanner has to drive a van. A minivanner is someone who uses their car to LIVE - which includes having enough goldfish, old french fries, chicken nuggets and partially drank bottles of water on the floor of their car to survive if they become stuck in a blizzard. A clean automobiler is some who who carries baby wipes in their glove box and expects you to "touch up" before exiting the vehicle. I'm a minivanner, husband's a clean automobiler.
Emailer or Caveman... Some of you may not know this, because if you actually read blogs you are probably an emailer... but there are people who do not like to communicate via email. I know, SHOCKING. What's worse, when they do email you they do not understand the subtle act of having an email personality and continually offend you. My boss will send me one word emails that say, "print", "ok", "forward" or "calendar". I mean, would a "please" or "thank you" or a minor explanation kill him? It's not like I'm expecting an emoticon or anything. I am, as you have guessed, an emailer. Husband is a Caveman whose favorite past time is responding to my very information and helpful emails with "What?"
Reader or Watcher... Seriously, the other day I saw a study (which I READ) that said 54% of Americans don't read books because they would rather watch tv or movies. Well, that explains a hell of lot. I'm a reader... Husband's a watcher, although in his defense he does try to read, he just does it really slow or sticks with magazines. And he does know WAY more about music than I do - so actually, maybe he's a listener... just not to me.
You Either Are A:
Wadder or Folder... this applies to just about any type of paper. Toilet, towels, Kleenex, notebook. I'm a wadder, husband's a folder.
Liberal or Conservative... I don't buy this moderate bullshit... anytime I hear someone say they are a moderate, they either don't know what they are or are a Republican trying to act like they have a clue... that is to say a Democrat. I'm a liberal, husband is still in the closet.
Worker or Slacker... there is nothing that irritates a worker more than a slacker and nothing that is more of a buzz kill to a slacker than a worker. Both the husband and I are workers... that is to say we could use a little more fun in our lives. This is why God gave us children... we're busy trying to take the slack out of them.
Clean Automobiler or Minivanner... This is not to say that someone who is a clean automobiler cannot have a minivan or a minivanner has to drive a van. A minivanner is someone who uses their car to LIVE - which includes having enough goldfish, old french fries, chicken nuggets and partially drank bottles of water on the floor of their car to survive if they become stuck in a blizzard. A clean automobiler is some who who carries baby wipes in their glove box and expects you to "touch up" before exiting the vehicle. I'm a minivanner, husband's a clean automobiler.
Emailer or Caveman... Some of you may not know this, because if you actually read blogs you are probably an emailer... but there are people who do not like to communicate via email. I know, SHOCKING. What's worse, when they do email you they do not understand the subtle act of having an email personality and continually offend you. My boss will send me one word emails that say, "print", "ok", "forward" or "calendar". I mean, would a "please" or "thank you" or a minor explanation kill him? It's not like I'm expecting an emoticon or anything. I am, as you have guessed, an emailer. Husband is a Caveman whose favorite past time is responding to my very information and helpful emails with "What?"
Reader or Watcher... Seriously, the other day I saw a study (which I READ) that said 54% of Americans don't read books because they would rather watch tv or movies. Well, that explains a hell of lot. I'm a reader... Husband's a watcher, although in his defense he does try to read, he just does it really slow or sticks with magazines. And he does know WAY more about music than I do - so actually, maybe he's a listener... just not to me.
Things I Hope to Teach My Children
1) Pokemon Trainer is not a real profession
2) There is no profession I will approve of that includes a pole
3) Tithing is a gift you give yourself
4) Sometimes the only way out of something is through it
5) Life isn't fair, but you've gotten a better start than 99% of the world's population
6) Money will not make you happy, but it can make your life a whole lot easier (so work hard)
7) If you're not getting what you want, trying giving someone else what they want
8) Sarcasm is encouraged
9) Gratitude is required
10) Your life will not turn out how you planned
11) #10 is a good thing
12) Be thankful for your tragedies, they teach you more than anything else ever could (Thank you Cameron for teaching me this)
13) God has a sense of humor and expects you to have one too
14) While honesty is the best policy, knowing when to shut up is just as critical
15) Be kind to waitstaff, they have hard jobs and they have control over the food you are going to put in your mouth
16) Faith is a choice - choose wisely
17) Alcohol, a piece of plywood, a flight of stairs and a fire extinguisher should never be used at the same time
18) Tatoos are permanent, piercings are not
19) What happens in Mexico does not ALWAYS stay in Mexico
20) Vote
2) There is no profession I will approve of that includes a pole
3) Tithing is a gift you give yourself
4) Sometimes the only way out of something is through it
5) Life isn't fair, but you've gotten a better start than 99% of the world's population
6) Money will not make you happy, but it can make your life a whole lot easier (so work hard)
7) If you're not getting what you want, trying giving someone else what they want
8) Sarcasm is encouraged
9) Gratitude is required
10) Your life will not turn out how you planned
11) #10 is a good thing
12) Be thankful for your tragedies, they teach you more than anything else ever could (Thank you Cameron for teaching me this)
13) God has a sense of humor and expects you to have one too
14) While honesty is the best policy, knowing when to shut up is just as critical
15) Be kind to waitstaff, they have hard jobs and they have control over the food you are going to put in your mouth
16) Faith is a choice - choose wisely
17) Alcohol, a piece of plywood, a flight of stairs and a fire extinguisher should never be used at the same time
18) Tatoos are permanent, piercings are not
19) What happens in Mexico does not ALWAYS stay in Mexico
20) Vote
Life Is Better
There are certain things in my life that don't quite make the cut onto the Things I Love list. However, the following things I really, really like and they make my life SO much better than it otherwise would be.
Big Girl Panties - Seriously, my friends are just lying out of their asses when they try to convince me that having a piece of dental floss stuck in their crack all day is more comfortable than NORMAL panties. If you are that against panty lines, just go commando. It's not like your thong is doing anything anyway, wedged as it is between your labia majora and labia minora.
My Minivan - You have NOT lived until you've pulled up to the car pool drop off spot and pushed a button that ejects your children and then closes the door again without the threat of someone's hand being lobbed off. I do not need that drama at 7:45 AM. Furthermore, when picking up said children I do not have to Houdini myself into the backseat to open the door... no one wants to see my ass stuck in the windshield while trying to open the back door for my kids.
A perfectly toasted egg bagel with real vegtable cream cheese made at the REAL Jewish Deli that is on my way to work.
Dancing with the Stars - I know.... I can't explain it.
Cowboys Football
My flat iron - I cannot believe I spent all that money in the 80's perming my naturally straight hair... NOW I spend my time straighting my wavy hair that is really grey under the hair color. That timing really could have been better.
Underwire bras - we've already established my need for this product.
Technology - my digital camera, the internet, email, my cell phone, cable, Gameboys and Game Cubes (what did our parents do when we got on their nerves?) DVD's and the DVD player in my MINIVAN.
Tim McGraw - yum
Bare Minerals Makeup
Glide Dental Floss - I cannot imagine how grumpy I would be if I had to go around my who life with crap stuck between my teeth.
Joyce Meyer - who tells it like it is
The remote control
My maid - not because she cleans my house but because she makes life bearable for my husband who is the Felix of our odd couple.
My Schwan's Man - Dusty, you keep my family fed and I'm CONFIDENT I do my part in keeping yours fed.
Big Girl Panties - Seriously, my friends are just lying out of their asses when they try to convince me that having a piece of dental floss stuck in their crack all day is more comfortable than NORMAL panties. If you are that against panty lines, just go commando. It's not like your thong is doing anything anyway, wedged as it is between your labia majora and labia minora.
My Minivan - You have NOT lived until you've pulled up to the car pool drop off spot and pushed a button that ejects your children and then closes the door again without the threat of someone's hand being lobbed off. I do not need that drama at 7:45 AM. Furthermore, when picking up said children I do not have to Houdini myself into the backseat to open the door... no one wants to see my ass stuck in the windshield while trying to open the back door for my kids.
A perfectly toasted egg bagel with real vegtable cream cheese made at the REAL Jewish Deli that is on my way to work.
Dancing with the Stars - I know.... I can't explain it.
Cowboys Football
My flat iron - I cannot believe I spent all that money in the 80's perming my naturally straight hair... NOW I spend my time straighting my wavy hair that is really grey under the hair color. That timing really could have been better.
Underwire bras - we've already established my need for this product.
Technology - my digital camera, the internet, email, my cell phone, cable, Gameboys and Game Cubes (what did our parents do when we got on their nerves?) DVD's and the DVD player in my MINIVAN.
Tim McGraw - yum
Bare Minerals Makeup
Glide Dental Floss - I cannot imagine how grumpy I would be if I had to go around my who life with crap stuck between my teeth.
Joyce Meyer - who tells it like it is
The remote control
My maid - not because she cleans my house but because she makes life bearable for my husband who is the Felix of our odd couple.
My Schwan's Man - Dusty, you keep my family fed and I'm CONFIDENT I do my part in keeping yours fed.
Apology
Because I feel guilty about everything, I apologize a lot... even if it has nothing to do with me. I'm sure you know people like this, because I do. While I recognize I myself have this problem, it irritates the hell out of me when someone else keeps apologizing to me for stuff that they had nothing to do with. I know that's a little hypocritical, but even the best of us suffer from what I like to call "If you can spot it, you've got it."
However, there is some really legitimate stuff I feel badly about that I want to apologize for. If you know me and you're reading this, you'll know which of these applies to you.
I'm sorry I deliberately cried for Dad when you didn't give me my way. I know that must of sucked as a single mom.
I'm sorry after you drove 2 hours to get me for our weekend visit, I wouldn't go with you. I was mad at you for not being there when I didn't get my way.
I'm sorry I insinuated the dog poop in the front yard looked like chocolate ice cream. I never dreamed you would take a bite.
I'm sorry I chased you with scissors and then insisted, until now, that I didn't.
I'm sorry I dropped you on the kitchen floor when you were 9 months old. You turned out ok, but that bump on your head looked like it hurt like hell.
I'm sorry I kissed your old boyfriend. I would not have appreciated it if you had kissed mine. Oh wait, you did... never mind.
I'm sorry I told you that ridiculous replica of Princess Di's wedding gown looked great on you. I'm especially sorry that you wore it to the prom.
I'm sorry I broke up with you in 10th grade to date your best friend. He was a lot nicer to me than you were, but it was still not good form.
I'm sorry I broke your heart when I left for college. You really didn't want to marry me anyway, I would have divorced you eventually for being a Republican and making me live in a trailer.
I'm sorry I didn't come to your wedding or send a gift. I was mad that I wasn't one of your TWELVE bridesmaids while you were one of my four, but still that wasn't nice.
I'm sorry I haven't made more time for you this summer.
I'm sorry when you said I was a bad mommy and you didn't like me, I said I didn't like you either. That could not be further from the truth.
I'm sorry I moved you to a new school where you have to make all new friends. I still think in the long run this will be the best thing for you, but I'm sad you're sad.
I'm sorry when you said you were going to run away, I asked if I could drive you anywhere. I would be heartbroken if you didn't live in my house.
I'm sorry that when yellow dog puked scrambled eggs all over the rug last night I made this your responsibility to clean up. I'm also sorry I was then too irritated about this to thank you the way you wanted to be thanked for making all that puke disappear.
I'm sorry when I noticed a new menu item at the local sports bar called "The Homewrecker", my internal filter did not catch, "Hey, look! They've named a hot dog after you!" Oh, and for calling you a dumb ass in email yesterday. I don't think you are a homewrecker or a dumb ass.
However, there is some really legitimate stuff I feel badly about that I want to apologize for. If you know me and you're reading this, you'll know which of these applies to you.
I'm sorry I deliberately cried for Dad when you didn't give me my way. I know that must of sucked as a single mom.
I'm sorry after you drove 2 hours to get me for our weekend visit, I wouldn't go with you. I was mad at you for not being there when I didn't get my way.
I'm sorry I insinuated the dog poop in the front yard looked like chocolate ice cream. I never dreamed you would take a bite.
I'm sorry I chased you with scissors and then insisted, until now, that I didn't.
I'm sorry I dropped you on the kitchen floor when you were 9 months old. You turned out ok, but that bump on your head looked like it hurt like hell.
I'm sorry I kissed your old boyfriend. I would not have appreciated it if you had kissed mine. Oh wait, you did... never mind.
I'm sorry I told you that ridiculous replica of Princess Di's wedding gown looked great on you. I'm especially sorry that you wore it to the prom.
I'm sorry I broke up with you in 10th grade to date your best friend. He was a lot nicer to me than you were, but it was still not good form.
I'm sorry I broke your heart when I left for college. You really didn't want to marry me anyway, I would have divorced you eventually for being a Republican and making me live in a trailer.
I'm sorry I didn't come to your wedding or send a gift. I was mad that I wasn't one of your TWELVE bridesmaids while you were one of my four, but still that wasn't nice.
I'm sorry I haven't made more time for you this summer.
I'm sorry when you said I was a bad mommy and you didn't like me, I said I didn't like you either. That could not be further from the truth.
I'm sorry I moved you to a new school where you have to make all new friends. I still think in the long run this will be the best thing for you, but I'm sad you're sad.
I'm sorry when you said you were going to run away, I asked if I could drive you anywhere. I would be heartbroken if you didn't live in my house.
I'm sorry that when yellow dog puked scrambled eggs all over the rug last night I made this your responsibility to clean up. I'm also sorry I was then too irritated about this to thank you the way you wanted to be thanked for making all that puke disappear.
I'm sorry when I noticed a new menu item at the local sports bar called "The Homewrecker", my internal filter did not catch, "Hey, look! They've named a hot dog after you!" Oh, and for calling you a dumb ass in email yesterday. I don't think you are a homewrecker or a dumb ass.
Mecca
In my previous post, Things I Hate, I noted stupid people. Particularly, stupid people who somehow interact with me... either by talking, driving or invading my TV. You would think that if I were serious about avoiding stupid people I would avoid, at all costs, SPM - Stupid People Mecca... If you've never been to SPM, then you are the only living person in the United States that has never been to Wal-Mart. I think I shop at Wal-Mart to punish myself for past sins... but that's another post.
Today, on my lunch hour I went to SPM to buy my daughter's birthday presents. Her birthday is this week and I was pretty sure that everything on her 7 year old list was contained on some aisle at SPM. Let me set the scene... I'm having a GREAT day. I'm in a good mood, its the first day this fall that the weather has a cool breeze, kids were happy when they hopped out of the van this morning, I made it to work on time and I'm having a 'I think I look good day'. I get a good parking space, pick up a cart and head for the toy aisle. Sure enough... jackpot... Aqua Dots Play Set, check... Electronic Keyboard, check... the MUCH desired and heavily advertised Blendy Pens, check... The Disney Princess CD Player, check. God, my life is FABULOUS! I head over to the CD section to pick up High School Musical 2, The Cheetah Girls and Hannah Montana/Meet Miley Cyrus for the above mentioned CD player. I have all three CDs in my hand and am about to drop them into the cart when... STUPID PERSON ENGAGES ME. This chick, who I assume works at SPM's hair salon because of the smock she is wearing, stops at my cart and asks... swear to God... if the Disney Princess CD Player is a CROCK POT. Yes, a crock pot... you know one of those things housewives use to cook an otherwise desirable piece of meat into an oblivion and then pass off as stew?
AS IF!
a) I would purchase a crock pot and
b) if I did, I would by a pink one.
I could not make this shit up. Oh but wait, wait... it gets worse. After I explain to her that nooooo, it is NOT a pink crock pot sporting Belle, Jasmine, Ariel, Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty... the bitch looks at me... Me, who is wearing 3 inch heels, a skirt above my knee caps, make-up and freshly colored hair in a pony tail, and then says....
"Whoooooo Weeeeeee.... Your, little grandbaby is sure gonna love that!"
I don't fancy myself a MILF, but a Grandma?.......... DAMN!
Today, on my lunch hour I went to SPM to buy my daughter's birthday presents. Her birthday is this week and I was pretty sure that everything on her 7 year old list was contained on some aisle at SPM. Let me set the scene... I'm having a GREAT day. I'm in a good mood, its the first day this fall that the weather has a cool breeze, kids were happy when they hopped out of the van this morning, I made it to work on time and I'm having a 'I think I look good day'. I get a good parking space, pick up a cart and head for the toy aisle. Sure enough... jackpot... Aqua Dots Play Set, check... Electronic Keyboard, check... the MUCH desired and heavily advertised Blendy Pens, check... The Disney Princess CD Player, check. God, my life is FABULOUS! I head over to the CD section to pick up High School Musical 2, The Cheetah Girls and Hannah Montana/Meet Miley Cyrus for the above mentioned CD player. I have all three CDs in my hand and am about to drop them into the cart when... STUPID PERSON ENGAGES ME. This chick, who I assume works at SPM's hair salon because of the smock she is wearing, stops at my cart and asks... swear to God... if the Disney Princess CD Player is a CROCK POT. Yes, a crock pot... you know one of those things housewives use to cook an otherwise desirable piece of meat into an oblivion and then pass off as stew?
AS IF!
a) I would purchase a crock pot and
b) if I did, I would by a pink one.
I could not make this shit up. Oh but wait, wait... it gets worse. After I explain to her that nooooo, it is NOT a pink crock pot sporting Belle, Jasmine, Ariel, Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty... the bitch looks at me... Me, who is wearing 3 inch heels, a skirt above my knee caps, make-up and freshly colored hair in a pony tail, and then says....
"Whoooooo Weeeeeee.... Your, little grandbaby is sure gonna love that!"
I don't fancy myself a MILF, but a Grandma?.......... DAMN!
Monday, September 10, 2007
It Has a..........
Okay, fast forward 5 months and its now my son's 3rd Christmas. I'm not pregnant yet, but I'm due to ovulate on New Year's Eve and plan to party like its 1999... which it is. I'll regret this in September of 2000, when I'm in labor and would have had a better chance of winning the lottery than finding an available anesthesiologist in my hospital where quite the little baby boom was going on. But, when my daughter is old enough, it will be a funny story to tell her that she was conceived on the eve of the new Millennium.
Anyway, over the fall my mother had come to understand, if not accept, that my son WOULD be receiving a kitchen from Santa. Santa is not a homophobe and has nothing against chefs, so when my son requested a kitchen from Santa at the mall a few weeks earlier (prompted by his loving mommy) it was not a problem. What my mother WAS unprepared for was the baby doll he was getting from me and my husband on Christmas Eve.
Understand, I was at the time only the mommy of a boy. I had not ever once purchased a baby doll. I was a little surprised to see that 99.9% of them were pink or at least dressed in pink. I didn't have anything against the pink baby dolls per se, but when I saw this cute little one in a blue and green striped outfit it seemed right for a boy, so I purchased it. It was in a box and I wrapped it up, put it under the tree and didn't give the little ticking time bomb another thought, until.......
Its Christmas Eve and my son unwraps the doll. He likes it... not the reaction we received to the new Thomas the Tank Engine toys, but he likes it. He holds it, plays with it a bit and then decides as any 2 and 1/2 year old would, to undress it. The little blue and green striped outfit is snug and my son is having a hard time getting it off. Enter stage right, my mother. She swoops in to help my son undress the doll. Suddenly, without warning, the following ensues on my living room floor back lit by the idyllic Christmas Tree, in the slow motion version only granted to those, like me, who can occasionally see what is about to happen, but not in enough time to adequately intervene.
(As the outfit pulls across the doll's head...)
My Mother (Sputtering): "uh... uh... uh... this uh... doll... has a... a... a..."
My Son (clearly, without reservation and proud to help my mom find her words): "A PENIS!!!"
Now, to this day I'm not sure if my mother was more upset by the fact that the doll did indeed have a penis or that my son said "THE WORD". There are many things that are NEVER spoken of in my mother's presence and penises are at the top of the list. Suddenly, that damned kitchen she had given me SO much grief about was looking pretty freaking good.
Anyway, over the fall my mother had come to understand, if not accept, that my son WOULD be receiving a kitchen from Santa. Santa is not a homophobe and has nothing against chefs, so when my son requested a kitchen from Santa at the mall a few weeks earlier (prompted by his loving mommy) it was not a problem. What my mother WAS unprepared for was the baby doll he was getting from me and my husband on Christmas Eve.
Understand, I was at the time only the mommy of a boy. I had not ever once purchased a baby doll. I was a little surprised to see that 99.9% of them were pink or at least dressed in pink. I didn't have anything against the pink baby dolls per se, but when I saw this cute little one in a blue and green striped outfit it seemed right for a boy, so I purchased it. It was in a box and I wrapped it up, put it under the tree and didn't give the little ticking time bomb another thought, until.......
Its Christmas Eve and my son unwraps the doll. He likes it... not the reaction we received to the new Thomas the Tank Engine toys, but he likes it. He holds it, plays with it a bit and then decides as any 2 and 1/2 year old would, to undress it. The little blue and green striped outfit is snug and my son is having a hard time getting it off. Enter stage right, my mother. She swoops in to help my son undress the doll. Suddenly, without warning, the following ensues on my living room floor back lit by the idyllic Christmas Tree, in the slow motion version only granted to those, like me, who can occasionally see what is about to happen, but not in enough time to adequately intervene.
(As the outfit pulls across the doll's head...)
My Mother (Sputtering): "uh... uh... uh... this uh... doll... has a... a... a..."
My Son (clearly, without reservation and proud to help my mom find her words): "A PENIS!!!"
Now, to this day I'm not sure if my mother was more upset by the fact that the doll did indeed have a penis or that my son said "THE WORD". There are many things that are NEVER spoken of in my mother's presence and penises are at the top of the list. Suddenly, that damned kitchen she had given me SO much grief about was looking pretty freaking good.
What if He Grows Up to be a Chef?????????????
The Christmas that my son was 2 and 1/2 there were lots of things on his Christmas list. A few of the items were actually things he himself added (anything remotely related to Thomas the Tank Engine, Scooby Do slippers, a firetruck, a construction truck Lego set). Being his mother, I was naturally clairvoyant regarding a few items he was going to love but that he, at 2 and 1/2, didn't have the life experience to know yet that he really wanted. And two things that he really wanted were a baby doll and a kitchen.
Now I KNOW what you're thinking.... "here we go, PC liberal feels a need to bring out the feminine side in her son. She wants to make damned sure he doesn't grow up not knowing its OK to cry. She really wanted a girl so she's going to make him a substitute. She's mad at men so she's going to 'fix' the one she gave birth to." Well, NOPE... none of the above. No big agenda here. Here's the deal... I was trying to get pregnant with my 2nd child and wanted my son to have a baby doll so we could practice what it was like having a baby around the house... you know.... "we rock the baby, we're GENTLE with the baby, babies wear diapers and sleep in cribs and ride in strollers." I wanted him to have a kitchen for an equally practical purpose.... so that he would have somewhere to play in the REAL kitchen without emptying my cabinets and trying to "help" me cook each evening.
So anyway... the J-U-L-Y before the above mentioned Christmas, my mother calls and this is what follows:
Her: "What does he want for Christmas?"
Me: (obviously, forgetting who I was speaking with): "A Kitchen"
Her: "What??????????????"
(I admire the consistency with which she feigns deafness every time I say something she doesn't want to hear, which is just about every time she calls.)
Me: "A Kitchen"
(What happens next is about 20 minutes of her trying to talk me out of buying him a kitchen. It was established immediately that SHE would not be buying him a kitchen and then the conversation quickly shifted to her trying to convince me this was an unnecessary gift for me or anyone else to buy for my son. Right away I picked up on the fact that she thought this was a gift only appropriate for girls. However, she wasn't saying that. She became supremely frustrated and finally....)
Her: "WHAT IF HE GROWS UP TO BE a... a... a... a... CHEF?????????"
Me: "Do you mean gay?"
Her(Exasperated and Breathless): "What?????????"
(She really needs to see an Otolaryngologist about this intermittent deafness.)
Me: "Gay."
Her: "I didn't say THAT."
Me: "Is that what you meant?"
Her: "NO!"
Me: "Good. I'm okay if he grows up to be a chef."
(I add silently): "Or Gay."
Now I KNOW what you're thinking.... "here we go, PC liberal feels a need to bring out the feminine side in her son. She wants to make damned sure he doesn't grow up not knowing its OK to cry. She really wanted a girl so she's going to make him a substitute. She's mad at men so she's going to 'fix' the one she gave birth to." Well, NOPE... none of the above. No big agenda here. Here's the deal... I was trying to get pregnant with my 2nd child and wanted my son to have a baby doll so we could practice what it was like having a baby around the house... you know.... "we rock the baby, we're GENTLE with the baby, babies wear diapers and sleep in cribs and ride in strollers." I wanted him to have a kitchen for an equally practical purpose.... so that he would have somewhere to play in the REAL kitchen without emptying my cabinets and trying to "help" me cook each evening.
So anyway... the J-U-L-Y before the above mentioned Christmas, my mother calls and this is what follows:
Her: "What does he want for Christmas?"
Me: (obviously, forgetting who I was speaking with): "A Kitchen"
Her: "What??????????????"
(I admire the consistency with which she feigns deafness every time I say something she doesn't want to hear, which is just about every time she calls.)
Me: "A Kitchen"
(What happens next is about 20 minutes of her trying to talk me out of buying him a kitchen. It was established immediately that SHE would not be buying him a kitchen and then the conversation quickly shifted to her trying to convince me this was an unnecessary gift for me or anyone else to buy for my son. Right away I picked up on the fact that she thought this was a gift only appropriate for girls. However, she wasn't saying that. She became supremely frustrated and finally....)
Her: "WHAT IF HE GROWS UP TO BE a... a... a... a... CHEF?????????"
Me: "Do you mean gay?"
Her(Exasperated and Breathless): "What?????????"
(She really needs to see an Otolaryngologist about this intermittent deafness.)
Me: "Gay."
Her: "I didn't say THAT."
Me: "Is that what you meant?"
Her: "NO!"
Me: "Good. I'm okay if he grows up to be a chef."
(I add silently): "Or Gay."
Sunday, September 9, 2007
What I Hate
Slamming my finger in anything
Sinus headaches
Vicoden and Valium require a doctor's prescription
Stubbing my toe
Cellulite
The slapping noise my breasts make against my rib cage if I run up the stairs without a bra
Morning sickness
Babies die
Stay at home mom's who feel sorry for my children. (Don't worry about my kids, worry about your own that don't get much of a chance to be away from you.)
Greed
Prejudice
Bigotry
Poverty
Homelessness
Hunger
Ann Coulter
Big Ears
The Dick that lives at Number One Observatory Circle
PTA Mom's (I believe their secret mission is to make life hell for mothers who work outside of the home. In the spirit of full disclosure, I am a member of the PTA. But, let's be clear. I am a member only so that I can have access to the school directory and have my children's information included in said directory. Otherwise, I punish my children by being unable to invite their friends to their birthday parties and my children will not be invited to the PTA mom's parties because they do not know how to contact us.)
My mother insisting on asking what I'm bringing to Christmas dinner - in J-U-L-Y. (If you ask me in July, the answer is NOTHING.)
My mother insisting on Christmas shopping for my children - in J-U-L-Y. (Who the hell knows what they will be into in 6 months or what size they will be then? If you force me to give an answer in July, its your own damned fault they don't like your gift.)
Stupid people who drive, talk to me, shop where I shop, are elected to any position of power, or are on TV.
Cell phone stalkers (I have caller id and know how to check my missed calls and access my voicemail. I am not deaf and if I didn't answer, its NOT because I didn't hear the phone.)
Closed casket funerals (If you die, and I care enough about you to actually put on panty hose and attend your funeral, I want to see you dead. This helps me know you're really dead and to get closure and not expect to see you again. It also helps me to focus on the wonderful things the minister says about you during the service instead of wondering what your mother-in-law has dressed you in and if you your body is destined to spend eternity wearing a color of lipstick that is less than flattering.)
Sports bras worn as "bra tops" (There is NO SUCH THING AS A BRA TOP. There are bras, tops and tops that contain built in bras. It's a bra and you're wearing it without a top. You wouldn't wear just your thong around the gym, please don't wear just your bra. I understand we all have nipples, I don't need visual confirmation of yours.)
Men who insist on taking up a pedicure chair that would otherwise be available to me (You make more money than I do, you've never had a period, a baby or a pap spear and you can have an orgasm as easy as you can snap your fingers... get the F out of my chair.)
Sinus headaches
Vicoden and Valium require a doctor's prescription
Stubbing my toe
Cellulite
The slapping noise my breasts make against my rib cage if I run up the stairs without a bra
Morning sickness
Babies die
Stay at home mom's who feel sorry for my children. (Don't worry about my kids, worry about your own that don't get much of a chance to be away from you.)
Greed
Prejudice
Bigotry
Poverty
Homelessness
Hunger
Ann Coulter
Big Ears
The Dick that lives at Number One Observatory Circle
PTA Mom's (I believe their secret mission is to make life hell for mothers who work outside of the home. In the spirit of full disclosure, I am a member of the PTA. But, let's be clear. I am a member only so that I can have access to the school directory and have my children's information included in said directory. Otherwise, I punish my children by being unable to invite their friends to their birthday parties and my children will not be invited to the PTA mom's parties because they do not know how to contact us.)
My mother insisting on asking what I'm bringing to Christmas dinner - in J-U-L-Y. (If you ask me in July, the answer is NOTHING.)
My mother insisting on Christmas shopping for my children - in J-U-L-Y. (Who the hell knows what they will be into in 6 months or what size they will be then? If you force me to give an answer in July, its your own damned fault they don't like your gift.)
Stupid people who drive, talk to me, shop where I shop, are elected to any position of power, or are on TV.
Cell phone stalkers (I have caller id and know how to check my missed calls and access my voicemail. I am not deaf and if I didn't answer, its NOT because I didn't hear the phone.)
Closed casket funerals (If you die, and I care enough about you to actually put on panty hose and attend your funeral, I want to see you dead. This helps me know you're really dead and to get closure and not expect to see you again. It also helps me to focus on the wonderful things the minister says about you during the service instead of wondering what your mother-in-law has dressed you in and if you your body is destined to spend eternity wearing a color of lipstick that is less than flattering.)
Sports bras worn as "bra tops" (There is NO SUCH THING AS A BRA TOP. There are bras, tops and tops that contain built in bras. It's a bra and you're wearing it without a top. You wouldn't wear just your thong around the gym, please don't wear just your bra. I understand we all have nipples, I don't need visual confirmation of yours.)
Men who insist on taking up a pedicure chair that would otherwise be available to me (You make more money than I do, you've never had a period, a baby or a pap spear and you can have an orgasm as easy as you can snap your fingers... get the F out of my chair.)
What I Love
God
My Family
My Yellow Dog
My Church
My Friends
My House
My first cup of coffee in the morning
Raspberry Martini's
NPR
Harry Potter
Oprah
John Stewart and Stephen Coulbert
My Blog
The Science Channel, The Discovery Channel, The History Channel, Public Television
Bill and Hillary, Barack, John and Elizabeth
The first glimpse of my children's bed heads every morning
Sushi
Pedicures
Anna Quinlan, Anita Shreve, J.K. Rowling, Harold Kushner, Greg Boyd, Gertrude Stein
Truth, honesty, hard work, good things happening to good people
My Family
My Yellow Dog
My Church
My Friends
My House
My first cup of coffee in the morning
Raspberry Martini's
NPR
Harry Potter
Oprah
John Stewart and Stephen Coulbert
My Blog
The Science Channel, The Discovery Channel, The History Channel, Public Television
Bill and Hillary, Barack, John and Elizabeth
The first glimpse of my children's bed heads every morning
Sushi
Pedicures
Anna Quinlan, Anita Shreve, J.K. Rowling, Harold Kushner, Greg Boyd, Gertrude Stein
Truth, honesty, hard work, good things happening to good people
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Moms for Kerry
I didn't choose Yellow Dog in a Red State as the name for my blog because I own a yellow lab (or more precisely, a yellow lab owns a piece of my heart I never knew existed prior to his arrival) and I live in Texas (the granddaddy of all red states), but rather because I am and forever will be a Yellow Dog Democrat and because of God's interesting sense of humor, I was born in Texas. Don't get me wrong, there are lots of good things about Texas. I hate to be cold and there is very little of that here. I also think had I not been born and raised in Texas, I could have never have known how much I despise certain things that there are quite a lot of here. There is a Kenny Chesney song that says, "I am what I am and I'm not what I'm not." I love that... because what you're not is sometimes way more important than what you are. And I, am not a Republican.
I live in a suburb where the median annual household income is greater than $100,000 AND most mothers do not work outside the home. Add to that the fact that the population is 98% white and the average age is less than 40 and that equates to a whole lot of young, successful white folk. In short, not a lot of diversity and a lot of men who have achieved a lot of success early. Oh, and they are 99.9% Republican. Don't get the wrong idea... I'm white too, my household income is greater than $100,000, but I CHOOSE to work outside the home and I, as we've already established, am a Democrat.
I'm really an undercover operative. On the surface, I look like all the rest. I have a lovely home, a fabulous church in which my family is active, we drive nice cars, I shave my arm pits, don't own any Birkenstocks, have never hugged a tree while eating granola, and believe that for me, a personally conservative life is what brings me peace and happiness. So, its not surprising that most people who are unfortunate enough to begin a political conversation in my presence, are stunned into at least a 2 minute silence. During this silence, my husband if he is present, will take the opportunity to distance himself from me as much as the physical space will allow. He's a Dem too (although he will not confirm this), but I forgive him this as God has not given him the same political anointing as me. Following the silence, the conversation usually goes something like this:
Unfortunate Republican: What??????????
Me (taking a deep breath because I'm irritated I have to repeat myself): I'm a liberal, a Democrat, and I'm mad as hell this country has elected someone, not once, but twice, who cannot enunciate his way out of a paper bag.
(Slightly less silence)
Unfortunate Republican (now thinking they are on some modern version of candid camera): Very funny!
Me (as monotone as I can muster): I don't joke about politics.
At this point, the unfortunate republican who has begun to resemble a deer caught the headlights will either engage me or run. If they engage me, I'm ok with whatever they throw out as its usually some lame bullshit about Hillary or Bill. Nothing serious. No social debate, no foreign policy debate, no health care, social security or Iraq... Nada... all in all, not very much fun.
I do occasionally get to have a little fun though. During the 2004 Presidential election, I worked in a very conservative office. Now, its not like there are any offices around here that aren't, but this office was run by an ex-Marine with a picture of him and George W. on the wall and his partner is a non-political good ole boy. Now, I liked them and they liked me and we bantered back in forth about Kerry vs. Bush. I had to be careful only to the extent that the Marine thought it was disrespectful for me to refer to the President as "Big Ears". So, I tried to watch that. Anyway, one day while signing up for the MomsforKerry email list, it occurred to me that I could sign the Marine and the Cowboy up too. Which, of course, I did. Now, I'm not advocating that anyone else do anything like that. But, it was the most fun I had the entire election cycle considering the unfortunate outcome.
I can only imagine what's going to happen when Hillary starts emailing them in a few months and their Christmas gifts ordered from yellowdogdemocrat.com arrive.
I live in a suburb where the median annual household income is greater than $100,000 AND most mothers do not work outside the home. Add to that the fact that the population is 98% white and the average age is less than 40 and that equates to a whole lot of young, successful white folk. In short, not a lot of diversity and a lot of men who have achieved a lot of success early. Oh, and they are 99.9% Republican. Don't get the wrong idea... I'm white too, my household income is greater than $100,000, but I CHOOSE to work outside the home and I, as we've already established, am a Democrat.
I'm really an undercover operative. On the surface, I look like all the rest. I have a lovely home, a fabulous church in which my family is active, we drive nice cars, I shave my arm pits, don't own any Birkenstocks, have never hugged a tree while eating granola, and believe that for me, a personally conservative life is what brings me peace and happiness. So, its not surprising that most people who are unfortunate enough to begin a political conversation in my presence, are stunned into at least a 2 minute silence. During this silence, my husband if he is present, will take the opportunity to distance himself from me as much as the physical space will allow. He's a Dem too (although he will not confirm this), but I forgive him this as God has not given him the same political anointing as me. Following the silence, the conversation usually goes something like this:
Unfortunate Republican: What??????????
Me (taking a deep breath because I'm irritated I have to repeat myself): I'm a liberal, a Democrat, and I'm mad as hell this country has elected someone, not once, but twice, who cannot enunciate his way out of a paper bag.
(Slightly less silence)
Unfortunate Republican (now thinking they are on some modern version of candid camera): Very funny!
Me (as monotone as I can muster): I don't joke about politics.
At this point, the unfortunate republican who has begun to resemble a deer caught the headlights will either engage me or run. If they engage me, I'm ok with whatever they throw out as its usually some lame bullshit about Hillary or Bill. Nothing serious. No social debate, no foreign policy debate, no health care, social security or Iraq... Nada... all in all, not very much fun.
I do occasionally get to have a little fun though. During the 2004 Presidential election, I worked in a very conservative office. Now, its not like there are any offices around here that aren't, but this office was run by an ex-Marine with a picture of him and George W. on the wall and his partner is a non-political good ole boy. Now, I liked them and they liked me and we bantered back in forth about Kerry vs. Bush. I had to be careful only to the extent that the Marine thought it was disrespectful for me to refer to the President as "Big Ears". So, I tried to watch that. Anyway, one day while signing up for the MomsforKerry email list, it occurred to me that I could sign the Marine and the Cowboy up too. Which, of course, I did. Now, I'm not advocating that anyone else do anything like that. But, it was the most fun I had the entire election cycle considering the unfortunate outcome.
I can only imagine what's going to happen when Hillary starts emailing them in a few months and their Christmas gifts ordered from yellowdogdemocrat.com arrive.
You Think You Could Have Mentioned That?
I think all of us are pretty amazed at some of the stuff that comes out of people's mouths (our children's included). In fact, if you're like me, you're also amazed at some of the stuff that comes out of your own mouth (often helped along by one too many beautifully chilled raspberry martinis). You know... the stuff you wish that internal filter that normally exists in between your brain and your vocal chords would have caught. I, however, have been much more amazed at the stuff people SHOULD have mentioned to me and didn't. For instance:
Your mom is not perfect. Okay, this sounds obvious, but if you grew up in a home like I did, where your mother never alludes to even the remotest possibility that she could be wrong about anything, its understandable that you might think moms are supposed to be perfect. That is until the inevitable happens... you grow up. Then, with grown up eyes you start looking at her and well, its a shock. And what's worse, when you grow up believing your mother is perfect, you also believe that when you yourself become a mother, you must also be perfect. Now, that's pressure.
One day, unless you intervene surgically, your mother's boobs will appear on your chest.
Pregnancy and hemorrhoids are sorority sisters.
Pubic hair can also turn grey.
If you have a wonderfully easy baby, its not because your are a wonderful mother. Its nature... trust me on this... baby number 2 will prove this theorem as quickly as a PHD in math can solve the quadratic equation.
It is possible for your breast feeding boobs to become infected. What is worse, the doctor will tell you to nurse MORE and not less.
After giving birth, it is possible for your uterus to move south, not just for the winter, but to retire there for the rest of your life.
It is possible for an 8 year boy to recite, verbatim and in its entirety, the limerick entitled "There was a man from Nantucket", no matter how much you screen his friends.
Your children will cut their own hair and test your "theory" on how much of a pain in the butt it is to get bubble gum out of their hair.
It is possible for your son to have longer hair than your daughter.
Dogs have anal glands and they can and do get clogged. If you share this with someone, make sure you also tell them there are people they can pay to make this go away.
Your mom is not perfect. Okay, this sounds obvious, but if you grew up in a home like I did, where your mother never alludes to even the remotest possibility that she could be wrong about anything, its understandable that you might think moms are supposed to be perfect. That is until the inevitable happens... you grow up. Then, with grown up eyes you start looking at her and well, its a shock. And what's worse, when you grow up believing your mother is perfect, you also believe that when you yourself become a mother, you must also be perfect. Now, that's pressure.
One day, unless you intervene surgically, your mother's boobs will appear on your chest.
Pregnancy and hemorrhoids are sorority sisters.
Pubic hair can also turn grey.
If you have a wonderfully easy baby, its not because your are a wonderful mother. Its nature... trust me on this... baby number 2 will prove this theorem as quickly as a PHD in math can solve the quadratic equation.
It is possible for your breast feeding boobs to become infected. What is worse, the doctor will tell you to nurse MORE and not less.
After giving birth, it is possible for your uterus to move south, not just for the winter, but to retire there for the rest of your life.
It is possible for an 8 year boy to recite, verbatim and in its entirety, the limerick entitled "There was a man from Nantucket", no matter how much you screen his friends.
Your children will cut their own hair and test your "theory" on how much of a pain in the butt it is to get bubble gum out of their hair.
It is possible for your son to have longer hair than your daughter.
Dogs have anal glands and they can and do get clogged. If you share this with someone, make sure you also tell them there are people they can pay to make this go away.
Career Aspiration
Okay, I admit it. I secretly think I'm smarter than most of the population. Please don't hold that against me, I truly am pretty humble with the rest of my self image. I know that while I feel 20, I look 40 (yes, its a FOUR before the 0... I'm still getting used to it and hope the more I write it the more comfortable I'll get with it). I realize my rear end has a texture issue. I've accepted that my boobs will slip into my arm pits if I lay on my back while not wearing a bra. I know that if not for the modern wonders of Crest White Strips and Garnier Nutrisse Dark Natural Blond #70, I would have, in the words of my daughter, "golden teeth and silver hair". I, feeling that gold and silver should be reserved for jewelry, am religious about using these two products.
Because being smart is on my "Top Ten Things Needed to Succeed in Life List", I have high expectations for my children's careers. I think my kids are pretty bright. My daughter in a creative and inquisitive way and my son in a quick witted and biting tongue way. For the last two years, my daughter has said she wants to be a veterinarian. I think this is hysterical because the child spent the first 5 years of her life TERRIFIED of any animal on the planet. We had a very unfortunate incident with a live bunny and some Easter pictures the year she was 2 1/2. Neither the bunny nor the pictures made it out unscathed. But, she's moved on and I think its great she wants to be a vet. We'll see if I still feel this way if she's accepted into vet school and the tuition bills start to come. My son on the other hand.... well, let's just say he will probably take a less conventional route. And I'm really fine with that... within reason. I work hard to develop in him a work ethic without boring his free spirit to death. We talk a lot and its rare he mentions what he wants to be when he grows up... he's usually too busy having fun to be concerned with a downer like a career, so I don't push it. However, he recently brought it up all on his own. Here's how it went:
Him: "Who is Paparazzi?"
Me: "Who????? Pavarotti? Luciano Pavarotti? Well, he just died recently and he was a world famous tenor. Do you know what a tenor is? We could pull it up on the computer and listen to some of his singing."
Him: "Mom... Mom, Mom" (eye roll) "I don't care about some old opera guy. Paaaaa paaaaa raaaaa ziiiiii" (he says it real slow so an idiot like me can understand).
Me: "Do you mean THE paparazzi? Like the guys that chase around all the stars to get photographs to sell to magazines?"
Him: "Yeah, I think so.. there are more than one? Do they hide in bushes?"
Me: (deciding after the eye roll that he's probably not up for the clarification that if speaking of just one it would be 'paparazzo' and so by definition 'paparazzi' would be more than one): "Yes, there are more than one and as far as I know none actually have the sir name 'Paparazzi'. Yes, they hide in all sorts of places so they can get pictures of famous people."
(I'm about to continue this explanation with how I feel like they are parasites and how I secretly delight when one of them gets whacked over the head with an umbrella or their foot run over by a Mercedes, when he cuts across me and says....)
Him: "COOL!!!!! That's what I want to be when I grow up!"
(Silence)
(Finally) Me: "Well, that would be just super."
Because being smart is on my "Top Ten Things Needed to Succeed in Life List", I have high expectations for my children's careers. I think my kids are pretty bright. My daughter in a creative and inquisitive way and my son in a quick witted and biting tongue way. For the last two years, my daughter has said she wants to be a veterinarian. I think this is hysterical because the child spent the first 5 years of her life TERRIFIED of any animal on the planet. We had a very unfortunate incident with a live bunny and some Easter pictures the year she was 2 1/2. Neither the bunny nor the pictures made it out unscathed. But, she's moved on and I think its great she wants to be a vet. We'll see if I still feel this way if she's accepted into vet school and the tuition bills start to come. My son on the other hand.... well, let's just say he will probably take a less conventional route. And I'm really fine with that... within reason. I work hard to develop in him a work ethic without boring his free spirit to death. We talk a lot and its rare he mentions what he wants to be when he grows up... he's usually too busy having fun to be concerned with a downer like a career, so I don't push it. However, he recently brought it up all on his own. Here's how it went:
Him: "Who is Paparazzi?"
Me: "Who????? Pavarotti? Luciano Pavarotti? Well, he just died recently and he was a world famous tenor. Do you know what a tenor is? We could pull it up on the computer and listen to some of his singing."
Him: "Mom... Mom, Mom" (eye roll) "I don't care about some old opera guy. Paaaaa paaaaa raaaaa ziiiiii" (he says it real slow so an idiot like me can understand).
Me: "Do you mean THE paparazzi? Like the guys that chase around all the stars to get photographs to sell to magazines?"
Him: "Yeah, I think so.. there are more than one? Do they hide in bushes?"
Me: (deciding after the eye roll that he's probably not up for the clarification that if speaking of just one it would be 'paparazzo' and so by definition 'paparazzi' would be more than one): "Yes, there are more than one and as far as I know none actually have the sir name 'Paparazzi'. Yes, they hide in all sorts of places so they can get pictures of famous people."
(I'm about to continue this explanation with how I feel like they are parasites and how I secretly delight when one of them gets whacked over the head with an umbrella or their foot run over by a Mercedes, when he cuts across me and says....)
Him: "COOL!!!!! That's what I want to be when I grow up!"
(Silence)
(Finally) Me: "Well, that would be just super."
Worry
I admit it. I'm a worrier. Why do I worry? I've thought a lot about why I worry... or I should say, I've worried a lot about why I worry. Because for me, the boundaries that should exist between worry and thought are not well defined. But, before we delve into why, I want to make sure you have a clear understanding of the depth of my problem. See, if you knew me more than just through the blog, you might not suspect that I'm neurotic. I appear to function pretty well. That is the say, I'm able to keep myself and my family fed, clean, and where they are supposed to be most of the time. I pay my bills on time, show up for work each day, and have never forgot to pick my kids up when they need to be. On the surface, my life is controlled and predictable. However, worry is not at all about what goes on on the outside of someone... it is all about what is inside one's head. Here is just a taste of the craziness that lives in mine.
1) I believe I will be a widow. Not an elderly, walker-pushing, nursing home living widow whose husband dies a few years before me leaving our small doily covered room all to myself with blessed relief from his incessant snoring. I don't worry about that. I'm convinced that while I'm young, my husband will be killed in an accident. Most likely an automobile accident, although I'm open to the possibility of it occurring on his 4-wheeler. I also have not ruled out a heart attack or household accident. I have a friend whose husband was once trapped under a fully loaded trash bin in their driveway. Although her husband lived, I don't expect my husband to be as fortunate in a similar circumstance.
2) I believe I'm a bad mother and my children's lives will be ruined because of it. Now, understand that my children, seem to be doing well. They get good grades, are socialized enough that they have friends, enjoy playing soccer, and while they are not entirely issue-free, they have no major noticeable malfunctions. However, this doesn't mean that I'm not damaging them by my mere presence. I love my children with a ferocity I cannot describe. The way their hair smells is oxygen to my brain, the sound of their voices is food for my soul, the warmth of their little bodies is better than any electric blanket ever made, and their sense of humor is the closest thing to joy a worrier like me has ever been able to find. I tell them I love them, I do my best to show them I love them, and the truth that I do indeed love them could not be more precise. However, they will forget my love one day and only remember me as "Target Mom". You know "Target Mom"... you've seen her at Target yourself. She's easy to spot by the wailing coming from her shopping cart as she looses control and yells at her poor innocent children, who I'm sure up to this point have been perfect little shopping companions, sitting quietly in the cart and not asking for a single thing.
These are the two biggies that consume most of my worry time. However, when I get bored with these, I pick up the following and see if I can't develop them a little better.
3) My house will be destroyed by a tornado. (My husband, of course, does not survive as he is trapped in the car on the way home when the F-5 hits instead of tucked into the bathroom under the stairs with me, the kids, and the 70lb yellow lab.)
4) I will have breast cancer. I will survive, but not before my children are traumatized by the experience (this will be my fault for not beginning mammograms earlier).
5) I will be struck by lightening. Again, I survive, but my children witness the event. However, good will come of this because they will forever more obey me when I say "GET OUT OF THE WATER! I THINK I HEARD THUNDER!"
6) The one and only time my children are not properly buckled into their seats, I will have a catastrophic car crash. The mere fact that one of my children's seat belts are not buckled will inexplicably pull my minivan into on coming traffic where an 18-wheeler awaits. I must survive, otherwise I will be unable to punish myself for the rest of my life.
7) My children will drown while I'm not looking. Granted they can both swim, we don't have a pool in our backyard, and they are not allowed to enter the water without a responsible adult watching their every move. The fact that they may drown has nothing to do with their ability to swim and everything to do with my not paying attention for a split second.
8) My mother will outlive me, and will, therefore, gain complete and unrestricted access to my children and rob me of living any part of my life without her.
9) My husband will outlive me, which will mean all the time I spent worrying about becoming a widow was ridiculous.
10) I will outlive my children. If you're a mother... enough said.
1) I believe I will be a widow. Not an elderly, walker-pushing, nursing home living widow whose husband dies a few years before me leaving our small doily covered room all to myself with blessed relief from his incessant snoring. I don't worry about that. I'm convinced that while I'm young, my husband will be killed in an accident. Most likely an automobile accident, although I'm open to the possibility of it occurring on his 4-wheeler. I also have not ruled out a heart attack or household accident. I have a friend whose husband was once trapped under a fully loaded trash bin in their driveway. Although her husband lived, I don't expect my husband to be as fortunate in a similar circumstance.
2) I believe I'm a bad mother and my children's lives will be ruined because of it. Now, understand that my children, seem to be doing well. They get good grades, are socialized enough that they have friends, enjoy playing soccer, and while they are not entirely issue-free, they have no major noticeable malfunctions. However, this doesn't mean that I'm not damaging them by my mere presence. I love my children with a ferocity I cannot describe. The way their hair smells is oxygen to my brain, the sound of their voices is food for my soul, the warmth of their little bodies is better than any electric blanket ever made, and their sense of humor is the closest thing to joy a worrier like me has ever been able to find. I tell them I love them, I do my best to show them I love them, and the truth that I do indeed love them could not be more precise. However, they will forget my love one day and only remember me as "Target Mom". You know "Target Mom"... you've seen her at Target yourself. She's easy to spot by the wailing coming from her shopping cart as she looses control and yells at her poor innocent children, who I'm sure up to this point have been perfect little shopping companions, sitting quietly in the cart and not asking for a single thing.
These are the two biggies that consume most of my worry time. However, when I get bored with these, I pick up the following and see if I can't develop them a little better.
3) My house will be destroyed by a tornado. (My husband, of course, does not survive as he is trapped in the car on the way home when the F-5 hits instead of tucked into the bathroom under the stairs with me, the kids, and the 70lb yellow lab.)
4) I will have breast cancer. I will survive, but not before my children are traumatized by the experience (this will be my fault for not beginning mammograms earlier).
5) I will be struck by lightening. Again, I survive, but my children witness the event. However, good will come of this because they will forever more obey me when I say "GET OUT OF THE WATER! I THINK I HEARD THUNDER!"
6) The one and only time my children are not properly buckled into their seats, I will have a catastrophic car crash. The mere fact that one of my children's seat belts are not buckled will inexplicably pull my minivan into on coming traffic where an 18-wheeler awaits. I must survive, otherwise I will be unable to punish myself for the rest of my life.
7) My children will drown while I'm not looking. Granted they can both swim, we don't have a pool in our backyard, and they are not allowed to enter the water without a responsible adult watching their every move. The fact that they may drown has nothing to do with their ability to swim and everything to do with my not paying attention for a split second.
8) My mother will outlive me, and will, therefore, gain complete and unrestricted access to my children and rob me of living any part of my life without her.
9) My husband will outlive me, which will mean all the time I spent worrying about becoming a widow was ridiculous.
10) I will outlive my children. If you're a mother... enough said.
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