So this week has been a less than stellar week involving all things me. I will always be the first to admit defeat so it's okay. I can take the blame when shit goes awry because I wasn't on my A-game (if ever I really am on it), and so I will admit now that I've just let everything fall to the wayside. Everything from barely giving an effort at the gym, if I make it to the gym at all, not caring what goes in my mouth for food let alone keeping track of what I'm eating, to serving leftovers to the family on more than three occasions, and let us not forget how long it took me from the time I smelled that shitty diaper to the time I actually decided that if I don't change the boy, his ass will surely turn into a fireball. There's tons of things I didn't mention, but I'm sure you get the idea by now.
So this morning starts out a little different so I take advantage of the extra 30 minutes I have and sleep in. I didn't feel guilty that I could have used that time more wisely, for this 30 minutes was indeed used quite effectively. Rockstar has school today *squeee* and my favorite spin class is today. I am going to rock this day I say. It's Friday, and I figure better late than never. While I'm getting dressed, and surprisingly able to get into my gym pants, which I was certain were not going to fit after the past few days, I heard Jillian and Andrew in the living room. I had asked her to help him get on his sneakers, and while she was doing that I heard her say, "Doodle, doodle, doo -- doodle, doodle, doo." I stopped dead in my tracks and just listened to him giggling at her little sing song. My eyes teared up listening to her because this is exactly what my late grandmother, lovingly referred to as G, used to do to the babies when she was playing with them. In that moment I realized that this was my sign that G was hanging around here letting me know she was watching us and saying hello.
So I stood up, smiled, said a silent thank you, I miss you and just what I needed at that moment to my G, and I dug out a very dusty, but thankfully still available cape that allows me to be, usually, supermom -- of course. I figured this time I would use it to be super me. I know that's so wicked super corny, and no, I don't literally have a cape. I was just basically "pulling up my big girl panties," and getting this show on the road. I dropped the kids off at their schools, I turned the radio up nice and loud on the way to the gym, I kicked that stair climber's ass and I hopped on that bike ready to ride and ride it I did -- so much that I have an aching in my ass, but that's okay. That's what I was looking for.
So, now, I best be finishing up my lunch, which by the way, since I'm keeping track (for today at least) is homemade chicken soup and homemade little pizza (and who cares if there's extra cheese -- at least I am keeping track of it) and before this burst of energy leaves me or that G feels her job is done and moves onto the next family member to lift up, I better get a move on and put a huge dent into my work projects. I want to enjoy my weekend with my kids, meet up with some new friends and keep on being this spot-on girl that I am today. Of course, I'm realistic and know that I will have something to bitch about before the day's end, but I'll ride on this high for the moment because that's all I have -- this moment.
*cheers my friends*
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Dear Today:
I was just hoping that you and I could be friends, but I see now that you are just an evil little son of a bitch.
The positives of today are as follows: said puking girl child woke up this morning as if she had never had her face in the toilet bowl and wanted to go to school; rockstar has play school today - enough said with that.
So I realize that today is the last day I have to go pee in a cup for a drug test for a job that I have been told that I have (pending said drug test of course), but since I am sure I haven't smoked any pot or stuffed an eight-ball up my nose recently, I'm going to pass and start the job. I figure I'll take girl child to school and drop rockstar off at his school and then make the 25 minute trek to the pee place. How hard can this be, right?!
While driving girl child to school she informs me that it's pizza party day, and my mind goes quickly to last night's puking episode. I tell her not to eat too much to which I get a quick reply of I won't to which I know that she will stuff her face full of pie (just as I would). She gets out of the car and waves and blows kisses to me excited about her pizza party escapade. I then bring rockstar to his play school which is at the high school. *sigh* Oh, the sights and sounds of teenagers bustling through the hallways; the too short skirts, the UGG boots with said too short skirts -- and while trying not to sound old, I just don't get that trend of a cold ass and legs but snuggly feet and ankles -- and let's not forget the F bombs being dropped around my toddler's ears. Yeah, yeah, *MY* F bombs are much different than hallway echoing F bombs so don't even go there with me. Rockstar heads straight for the sand table without so much as a kiss and I am off to my episode, and do you really think it didn't turn into some type of episode?
I decide as I'm driving that I suddenly have pee anxiety. How do *I* have pee anxiety when I am constantly heading to the bathroom, I don't go to any playground that doesn't have a bathroom type thing, and my husband hates taking long drives with me for I will inevitably end up squatting behind a tree on the side of the highway or hovering over a random McDonald's toilet. I digress, I now realize I have pee anxiety, and so I know that a coffee will most certainly help my situation. While I'm in the convenience store I figure, hell, I didn't win the Mega Millions last night so I'll buy a ticket and some tic tacs for my bangin' coffee breath I'm sure to have in a few minutes. Excuse me, but since when do I have to purchase a lottery ticket with cash only?! I only have my debit card. Insert sinking heart feeling here because I cannot purchase said lottery ticket that was printed out, and with my luck, I just know in my heart of hearts that THAT is the mother fuckin' winning ticket. I just know it. If I see that convenience store come up this weekend as the store that sold the winning ticket, I suggest you look for me on the news for I will have headed straight for the nearest bridge. Okay, that's a bit dramatic, but I can't imagine the intense therapy I will need to get past this. Regardless, I leave with my coffee, tic tacs and a pouty face.
I get on the road still downtrodden about this damn ticket that I just know is the winning ticket when I am grateful that said coffee is lukewarm so I can swill it down like a well-made margarita only that now I'm sad that this is not a well-made margarita. I digress, yet again. I'm on the highway when I am blinded by this bright yellow sign from [insert law firm I used to work for name here] and I almost go careening into the guardrail. What a dick I think because that bastard couldn't pay me shit but can dole out hundreds, perhaps thousands, for a bright yellow ugly ass billboard, but then I think what a tricky smart move because how many people are going to get blinded like I was by such ugliness and crash into each other and lo and behold, there is that 800 number screaming at you to call now. Hmm, well played dick lawyer, well played.
Now I realize my exit is coming up and I don't feel the need to pee yet. How in the hell can this be happening?! I also realize that I am heading towards the state prison and oh dear lord am I going to be taking a piss test with a bunch of parolees. Somebody save me. I finally find the place, walk in and realize I'm all alone. Oh good, let's just get this over with. Some smiley girl from behind the window tells me to come back and do this and do that, and here's the cup and pee to this line and then we'll have you sign X, Y, Z and you can be on your way. Oh good, I say, let's just hope I can give you the best pee of my life. Whose phone rings while they're peeing in a cup the size of a Dixie cup?! *sigh* Fast forward to I guess I don't know why I had pee anxiety because here, here, take this cup and let me get the hell out of here.
Sign this, sign that, give me this, take that, here's your ID, good luck, and I'm free. For heaven's sakes get me out of here and back to my little hovel of an office before I have to go pick rockstar up from play school. I'm driving home thinking about how it's all downhill from here because I have a lot of work to do today, which means I can hide in my office and talk to myself, and for once I am happy about this. While I'm thinking how absolutely, positively lame I am I see a guy, on the highway, riding a bicycle. Isn't that shit illegal?! I think if I had the pick-up truck I'd have offered to take his ass to wherever the hell he was pedaling to the poor bastard, but with my luck I'd have been dumped into the river.
So I still didn't get my Mega Millions lottery ticket, but before I get into my workout pants and take off my bra, I suppose I should do just that, and I will try really hard not to hit up the liquor store before the end of my "work day."
*cheers my friends*
The positives of today are as follows: said puking girl child woke up this morning as if she had never had her face in the toilet bowl and wanted to go to school; rockstar has play school today - enough said with that.
So I realize that today is the last day I have to go pee in a cup for a drug test for a job that I have been told that I have (pending said drug test of course), but since I am sure I haven't smoked any pot or stuffed an eight-ball up my nose recently, I'm going to pass and start the job. I figure I'll take girl child to school and drop rockstar off at his school and then make the 25 minute trek to the pee place. How hard can this be, right?!
While driving girl child to school she informs me that it's pizza party day, and my mind goes quickly to last night's puking episode. I tell her not to eat too much to which I get a quick reply of I won't to which I know that she will stuff her face full of pie (just as I would). She gets out of the car and waves and blows kisses to me excited about her pizza party escapade. I then bring rockstar to his play school which is at the high school. *sigh* Oh, the sights and sounds of teenagers bustling through the hallways; the too short skirts, the UGG boots with said too short skirts -- and while trying not to sound old, I just don't get that trend of a cold ass and legs but snuggly feet and ankles -- and let's not forget the F bombs being dropped around my toddler's ears. Yeah, yeah, *MY* F bombs are much different than hallway echoing F bombs so don't even go there with me. Rockstar heads straight for the sand table without so much as a kiss and I am off to my episode, and do you really think it didn't turn into some type of episode?
I decide as I'm driving that I suddenly have pee anxiety. How do *I* have pee anxiety when I am constantly heading to the bathroom, I don't go to any playground that doesn't have a bathroom type thing, and my husband hates taking long drives with me for I will inevitably end up squatting behind a tree on the side of the highway or hovering over a random McDonald's toilet. I digress, I now realize I have pee anxiety, and so I know that a coffee will most certainly help my situation. While I'm in the convenience store I figure, hell, I didn't win the Mega Millions last night so I'll buy a ticket and some tic tacs for my bangin' coffee breath I'm sure to have in a few minutes. Excuse me, but since when do I have to purchase a lottery ticket with cash only?! I only have my debit card. Insert sinking heart feeling here because I cannot purchase said lottery ticket that was printed out, and with my luck, I just know in my heart of hearts that THAT is the mother fuckin' winning ticket. I just know it. If I see that convenience store come up this weekend as the store that sold the winning ticket, I suggest you look for me on the news for I will have headed straight for the nearest bridge. Okay, that's a bit dramatic, but I can't imagine the intense therapy I will need to get past this. Regardless, I leave with my coffee, tic tacs and a pouty face.
I get on the road still downtrodden about this damn ticket that I just know is the winning ticket when I am grateful that said coffee is lukewarm so I can swill it down like a well-made margarita only that now I'm sad that this is not a well-made margarita. I digress, yet again. I'm on the highway when I am blinded by this bright yellow sign from [insert law firm I used to work for name here] and I almost go careening into the guardrail. What a dick I think because that bastard couldn't pay me shit but can dole out hundreds, perhaps thousands, for a bright yellow ugly ass billboard, but then I think what a tricky smart move because how many people are going to get blinded like I was by such ugliness and crash into each other and lo and behold, there is that 800 number screaming at you to call now. Hmm, well played dick lawyer, well played.
Now I realize my exit is coming up and I don't feel the need to pee yet. How in the hell can this be happening?! I also realize that I am heading towards the state prison and oh dear lord am I going to be taking a piss test with a bunch of parolees. Somebody save me. I finally find the place, walk in and realize I'm all alone. Oh good, let's just get this over with. Some smiley girl from behind the window tells me to come back and do this and do that, and here's the cup and pee to this line and then we'll have you sign X, Y, Z and you can be on your way. Oh good, I say, let's just hope I can give you the best pee of my life. Whose phone rings while they're peeing in a cup the size of a Dixie cup?! *sigh* Fast forward to I guess I don't know why I had pee anxiety because here, here, take this cup and let me get the hell out of here.
Sign this, sign that, give me this, take that, here's your ID, good luck, and I'm free. For heaven's sakes get me out of here and back to my little hovel of an office before I have to go pick rockstar up from play school. I'm driving home thinking about how it's all downhill from here because I have a lot of work to do today, which means I can hide in my office and talk to myself, and for once I am happy about this. While I'm thinking how absolutely, positively lame I am I see a guy, on the highway, riding a bicycle. Isn't that shit illegal?! I think if I had the pick-up truck I'd have offered to take his ass to wherever the hell he was pedaling to the poor bastard, but with my luck I'd have been dumped into the river.
So I still didn't get my Mega Millions lottery ticket, but before I get into my workout pants and take off my bra, I suppose I should do just that, and I will try really hard not to hit up the liquor store before the end of my "work day."
*cheers my friends*
Friday, March 23, 2012
CAKE DECORATING, MY WALLET AND MY BENEFITS
So oldest child, as some of you may know, wanted to take an after-school class for Cake Decorating because my little entrepreneur wants to be a baker just like Buddy from Cake Boss. Well, said little after-school class is a whopping $75.00 to take for something like eight weeks. After some pleading from her and some hemming and hawing on my part, I decide to write out the check (that will eventually bounce I'm sure), but in exchange for said yet-to-bounce check she was to step it up in the chore department. She didn't flinch, and I was amazed at my new power I didn't realize I had.
So up on the dry erase board goes a daily list of chores (that I don't want to do) such as empty and fill the dishwasher, start the washer/dryer, you know, things of this nature. She also gets a daily extra chore once a week of shit I totally 100% do not even do, such as clean the baseboards. Who in their right mind does that weekly? I bet you often wonder what the hell a baseboard might even look like and refused to move the toys out of the way to even bother to check it out. Now, I can tell you that her idea of doing chores correctly and my way are two completely different versions, but I really do struggle with my OCD monster when I see her sweeping the floor at .2 miles per hour. Come on, come on girl, get the hell out of my way and finish these chores. I digress -- she does them and most of the time without a face.
This has been going on two weeks now. Let us fast forward to yesterday's first cake decorating class. I go and pick her up from school and out she comes with three cupcakes all decorated pretty with fondant or some shit, and the light bulb, this thing goes off and burns bright up in my head. Wait, wait, hold on a second, this mom didn't even stop to think that she was going to bring said goodness home and that, of course, I get first crack at whatever she makes. Shut the front door, I'm amazed at this new idea. She will come home weekly with goodies that I get first dibs on??!!
So let's recap shall we: I get chores done around the house that I don't want to do myself and I get goodies once a week to devour?! I'm not seeing the downfall to this (other than the check that has yet to be cashed and if they want their money, they better hurry up and cash it while there's funds in my account).
Alas, I figured out that it is roughly $9.35 per tasty treat that I am eating, but you know what, $9.35 a week is a small price to pay for the slave labor and the smile that comes with the pretty face of my girl.
*cheers my friends*
So up on the dry erase board goes a daily list of chores (that I don't want to do) such as empty and fill the dishwasher, start the washer/dryer, you know, things of this nature. She also gets a daily extra chore once a week of shit I totally 100% do not even do, such as clean the baseboards. Who in their right mind does that weekly? I bet you often wonder what the hell a baseboard might even look like and refused to move the toys out of the way to even bother to check it out. Now, I can tell you that her idea of doing chores correctly and my way are two completely different versions, but I really do struggle with my OCD monster when I see her sweeping the floor at .2 miles per hour. Come on, come on girl, get the hell out of my way and finish these chores. I digress -- she does them and most of the time without a face.
This has been going on two weeks now. Let us fast forward to yesterday's first cake decorating class. I go and pick her up from school and out she comes with three cupcakes all decorated pretty with fondant or some shit, and the light bulb, this thing goes off and burns bright up in my head. Wait, wait, hold on a second, this mom didn't even stop to think that she was going to bring said goodness home and that, of course, I get first crack at whatever she makes. Shut the front door, I'm amazed at this new idea. She will come home weekly with goodies that I get first dibs on??!!
So let's recap shall we: I get chores done around the house that I don't want to do myself and I get goodies once a week to devour?! I'm not seeing the downfall to this (other than the check that has yet to be cashed and if they want their money, they better hurry up and cash it while there's funds in my account).
Alas, I figured out that it is roughly $9.35 per tasty treat that I am eating, but you know what, $9.35 a week is a small price to pay for the slave labor and the smile that comes with the pretty face of my girl.
*cheers my friends*
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Tween v. Mom
Let me start by saying that I have no doubt that I will, in fact, survive the teenage years, but at what cost and how many months, dare I say years, of therapy will it take for me to come out on the other side even as half the woman I was going into it. I also have no doubt that I will be the reason my daughter says to me at age 30 that she sat her ass in many-a-therapy sessions for the same teenage years. Of course, I will know that her version of the events that are to take place will be the exact opposite of my version.
I digress, for this day is the day I really begin to question if I am a capable of even making it TO the dreaded teenage years. Girl child will be 11 in a few months. Is she officially a "tween" at this point? I don't have a clue as I don't pay much attention to that as she's been a thorn in my side for at least a good part of a year now (and that's being kind). I sure as hell hope that at this moment she is not considered a "mini me" for if this is truth, I apologize to those around me for I am an asshole.
These are things that are baffling my sleep-deprived, toddler induced craziness in no particular order, and if I could say these things to her without the drama that would surely ensue I would:
1. Girl child, before you speak, would you please think about what it is you are trying to convey because when you start a sentence and stop five damn times trying to spit out what the hell it is you're trying to say, I have shut down and moved onto my next five things I have to do in the next five minutes. I surely have not heard a single thing you said as my brain is screaming "WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT" all the while keeping a nodding head as if I'm paying you any kind of attention.
2. When you go to the kitchen to get a drink, get a drink and move on. Don't stand in the fridge, hemming and hawing, close the fridge, go sit back down and wait for my ass to get up and say, "Oh, can you get me some water," and when I look at you like you've got 10 heads don't say, "what" as if you have no clue as to what the hell I'm perplexed about -- which is how lazy one kid can possibly be.
3. Seriously, dear girl child, if I have to look at that downtrodden face for the next six to eight years you will see me running naked across the golf course one morning pulling my hair out and speaking in tongues in the hopes that the white van will quietly pull up next to me and put on that awesome little jacket with the buckles and feed me pills three times a day. It's okay if you don't come visit because I think that the sight of you will cause me to convulse and be put into that special room that has soft walls so I don't hurt myself.
4. Before I do get to the point of the above-stated golf course screaming scenario, would you please, for the love of all that is holy, get out of my ass, please. You know I work at home, and sometimes it is inevitable that I must work while you are home. Yes, dear girl child, my life is more than you. I know, I know how hard that is to comprehend, but I assure you, if you leave me be for 30 minutes, I will emerge from this dark hole I consider my office and tend to your every must-be-now desire. Also, yes, I have my headphones on and yes, I am typing, and yes, you are right, I am completely trying to ignore you, but your breathing on my neck literally is going to be the death of you. I know you are capable of being an independent human being for 30 minutes, and if you don't get out of my ass, you will find yourself adding an extra month onto your therapy sessions in your mid to late 20s.
These are just a few of the things I'm tossing around in my weary mind. There are tons more, but when I think about these few I get a twitch in my left eye. I do hope that this twitch does not become permanent as I realize people already look at me funny while I go about my daily life. I do apologize profusely to those I come into contact with as I know that any interaction with my frazzled mind must leave you dazed for a few minutes, and those are precious moments you cannot get back. Please forgive me if I don't care as I'm working on a few precious years that I will never get back, and as I stare at the mountain before me that leads to the Land of the Teenagers, please just push me forward and run far, far away because these screams of horror are just not becoming of me.
*cheers my friends*
I digress, for this day is the day I really begin to question if I am a capable of even making it TO the dreaded teenage years. Girl child will be 11 in a few months. Is she officially a "tween" at this point? I don't have a clue as I don't pay much attention to that as she's been a thorn in my side for at least a good part of a year now (and that's being kind). I sure as hell hope that at this moment she is not considered a "mini me" for if this is truth, I apologize to those around me for I am an asshole.
These are things that are baffling my sleep-deprived, toddler induced craziness in no particular order, and if I could say these things to her without the drama that would surely ensue I would:
1. Girl child, before you speak, would you please think about what it is you are trying to convey because when you start a sentence and stop five damn times trying to spit out what the hell it is you're trying to say, I have shut down and moved onto my next five things I have to do in the next five minutes. I surely have not heard a single thing you said as my brain is screaming "WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT" all the while keeping a nodding head as if I'm paying you any kind of attention.
2. When you go to the kitchen to get a drink, get a drink and move on. Don't stand in the fridge, hemming and hawing, close the fridge, go sit back down and wait for my ass to get up and say, "Oh, can you get me some water," and when I look at you like you've got 10 heads don't say, "what" as if you have no clue as to what the hell I'm perplexed about -- which is how lazy one kid can possibly be.
3. Seriously, dear girl child, if I have to look at that downtrodden face for the next six to eight years you will see me running naked across the golf course one morning pulling my hair out and speaking in tongues in the hopes that the white van will quietly pull up next to me and put on that awesome little jacket with the buckles and feed me pills three times a day. It's okay if you don't come visit because I think that the sight of you will cause me to convulse and be put into that special room that has soft walls so I don't hurt myself.
4. Before I do get to the point of the above-stated golf course screaming scenario, would you please, for the love of all that is holy, get out of my ass, please. You know I work at home, and sometimes it is inevitable that I must work while you are home. Yes, dear girl child, my life is more than you. I know, I know how hard that is to comprehend, but I assure you, if you leave me be for 30 minutes, I will emerge from this dark hole I consider my office and tend to your every must-be-now desire. Also, yes, I have my headphones on and yes, I am typing, and yes, you are right, I am completely trying to ignore you, but your breathing on my neck literally is going to be the death of you. I know you are capable of being an independent human being for 30 minutes, and if you don't get out of my ass, you will find yourself adding an extra month onto your therapy sessions in your mid to late 20s.
These are just a few of the things I'm tossing around in my weary mind. There are tons more, but when I think about these few I get a twitch in my left eye. I do hope that this twitch does not become permanent as I realize people already look at me funny while I go about my daily life. I do apologize profusely to those I come into contact with as I know that any interaction with my frazzled mind must leave you dazed for a few minutes, and those are precious moments you cannot get back. Please forgive me if I don't care as I'm working on a few precious years that I will never get back, and as I stare at the mountain before me that leads to the Land of the Teenagers, please just push me forward and run far, far away because these screams of horror are just not becoming of me.
*cheers my friends*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)