Who Am I Kidding...

Generally speaking, I try to stay somewhat light and somewhat humorous when I blog. The following blog is neither light nor humorous. If slightly depressing chronicles of my life bring you down, then you may want to consider moving on to "It's Lovely, I'll Take it...A Collection of Poorly Chosen Photographs From Real Estate Listings", as available to the left in the "My Favorites Sites" section...Otherwise, don't say I didn't warn you. This is after all, my free therapy. I don't have time to worry about your issues.

So, today I got sick. Well, I should say I am starting to get sick, something that I dread. I am perfectly aware that nobody really likes to get sick, except maybe hypochondriacs and people with Munchhausen's Syndrome by Proxy (although what they really want is for other people to get sick). I dread getting sick for two main reasons: One, I still have to go to work. I hate calling out sick for work. When I am not at work I feel like I am missing out on something, plus, I know that when I am not there, they talk about me. They talk about me when I am there, but at least I get to hear it first hand. And two, when I am sick, nobody takes care of me. I am the chief caregiver in this house, and when I am down for the count, everything else just goes wildly out of control. Some of this is my doing, I understand. I am the ultimate micro-manager. I have set the standard...a bar that couldn't possibly be that high... that no one can do it (whatever it may be at the moment) as well or as efficiently as I can. Therefore, no one tries. Which leads me to tonight's point to ponder...At what point do people stop trying? Where is the proverbial line in the sand? I am certain that the threshold is different for everyone, but I am still puzzled by what makes a person simply give up, and just stop trying.

Oh, but who am I kidding? I think we all know that I gave up trying a long time ago. And I am pretty sure that the reasons not only escape me, but were not that puzzling to begin with. But why? Will I ever try again? Did I ever really try to begin with? Ahh!! Too many questions! Seriously though, I have never been one for doing anything that is too "hard". I procrastinate on things that I consider too difficult, or even too time consuming, until they become a burden. I coasted my way through a good percentage of my youth because I didn't feel like trying. I wonder what I could have accomplished with my life if I had actually put effort into anything I did when I was younger. My Mother often laments that I have wasted whatever misperceived skills and talents I may have had on my particular brand of laziness, or not-gonna-tryness. And, you know, it's true. I am a big fan of instant gratification. If I have to work intently at something to achieve it, there is a pretty good chance I wont really want it that bad. The things that come "easily" to me or require very little true work or thought are the measures I use to rate success and desire. I am only able to micro-manage my family because I have intimidated them all into thinking that I know what is best. Again, who am I kidding.

Is it really any wonder then, why I am where I am? This is indeed the Summer of my Discontent. And damn it, that is not what I want, but all of the effort that must be put out to be content is just too much. And if attempting to commit to contentment just makes you frustrated than please explain to me, "what's the point"? I think the point is medication, but I don't like that about as much as I don't like trying. However, because I am smart enough to realize all of this is psychotic, I am going to go out on a limb...and try...

Tomorrow is the first day, the tiny baby step, in the long walk that is trying. Effort. Maybe a sense of accomplishment...It will be in sharp contrast to the rattling around that I do in my giant "So-called Life" pinball machine, but I am thinking it will be worth it. Will I make it? We shall see, but I can't continue in the manner in which I have grown accustomed. It was never my plan to make those around me share in my discontent, but you know what they say about misery and company. So, I am committing to try. If you see me around, look for the difference...I wonder if you will see it? I wonder what it would even look like if your could see it. Maybe I will smile at you instead of looking at the ground, maybe I wont roll my eyes at anything that seems to require effort. Maybe I will just seem happy. Not that I am unhappy, per say, but if you know me, then you know what I mean. But that is all behind me now! I am finding the cure for my malaise! Starting tomorrow! Well, tomorrow really isn't a good day for me, I have some meetings in the morning, and I have to stay late at work...Later on this week is no good, I have some evening plans, and some things I need to help my Mom with. Maybe next week! Well, no...the girls start school next week, so next week is out...Hmmm

Oh, fuck it. I give up!

And the Bottle Let Me Down Yet Again...

Something bad is happening to my body chemistry. It seems that I either don't like, or can't drink, beer anymore. I understand that you might be wondering how that is a problem, but trust me, it is! I am from Alabama, after all! All my people drink beer! My friends drink beer, my family drinks beer, my 6 year old daughter once asked me when she could drink beer. (I advised her that she best wait til she is 21, or she would end up in a state-run Women's Detention Facility...She may NEVER drink.)So, for me, drinking beer is more like a social statement. It says, "hey, I am a cool girl, I drink beer. I don't gotta be classy." And although I do enjoy a glass or two (or three) of Cabernet, I still always go back to beer...or at least, I used to. I think I might be able to trace back to the night that beer stopped being my friend, but I am not sure I really want to relive it. It involved vomiting. I am in my 30's and drinking to the point of vomiting is really no longer acceptable. I can remember a time when I would drink excessive amounts of beer, enough to induce the dreaded room-spinning sensation, go puke, then continue drinking. The next morning I would eat Taco Bell, and all would be right with the world. Ahh, good times.

Those good times are long since past, and I am faced now with the inevitable task of acting like an adult. For the most part, I do act like an adult. I work, take care of my children, argue endlessly with my spouse, etc...Sometimes, though, I don't want to act like an adult and drinking beer reminds me of my youth. And I am talking YOUTH people...Like 18, 19, 20...A little history of me: I got married at 23 and had my first of two children at 25. Although both the marriage and the child were meticulously planned and eagerly anticipated, while I was wedding and birthing, a good many of my friends were still partying. Now, don't misunderstand, I don't really want to go out and party anymore. Once during my partying years, I went home with this "pharmaceutical representative" that I met at a bar called "The Booth", and it's a miracle I didn't end up in the trunk of some abandoned car...So youth + partying doesn't always = good decisions. I don't really have any explicit desire to relive that nonsense. I think it's just the promise of wild abandon that I often long for. Trust me, if I drink 3 or more Stella Artois, wild abandon is what you will get! It's not pretty. And the next day, well, that's just plain ugly.

So, I just might be giving up the beer-addled ghost for good. It makes me sleepy, gives me a hang-over, and causes me to gain weight at a rate that is just not cool. Nobody wants to see a beer belly on a woman...Men can get away with this anatomical disturbance, but women just can't seem to pull it off. I know several men with very impressive beer-bellies, and they are still good-looking guys. In fact, I kinda like that they are chubby...It makes me feel much better about myself! But no matter, Miller Time is up, and there is no more High Life in store for me...Sigh. And that was the champagne of beers, too. All of this blogging about giving up my youth has really stressed me out...

I think I need a beer.

My Love Affair with Sleep-Deprivation.

Ahh. Exhaustion, we have known each other for some time now. You have been with me night and day, through thick and thin, and yet...I am thinking something is missing from our relationship. Oh, yes...That's right. Rest. I have been missing our old friend, Rest. After that falling out that the two of you had, Rest really hasn't come around much anymore. I would really enjoy spending some time with Rest right about now. It's not that I don't love you, Exhaustion...In fact, I really thrive when you are around. I am able to multi-task like a strung-out, hallucinating tweeker when you are with me. Granted, I don't seem to accomplish any of said multi-tasks with much attention to quality (that whole, if you're gonna do it, do it right thing just goes right out the window), but it's really amazing the quantity of things I attempt to do.

You have helped me achieve just the right pitch when I am screaming that only dogs can hear...I believe this to be true, because my children certainly don't seem to hear me...

Exhaustion, since you are here I might as well thank you! Thank you for helping me realize that showers really aren't necessary when the alternative is an extra 10 minutes of sleep. And although I know you really do begrudge me that little bit of time I spend with Rest, it is you who goes to Starbucks with me. Every morning. Who is by my side when I deliberate whether or not to wear a bra to Starbucks? No one other than you, Exhaustion. And really, what better way to start my local Barista's day than with the lovely vision of me...No shower, no bra, no Rest. Isn't it great the way we are always thinking of others?

I am certain that my co-workers enjoy having you come to work with me, Exhaustion...Although they have not said it in so many words, I know that when you are with me it really makes their day brighter. It has been suggested that I can be assertive and argumentative, but I know that when you are with me, I just don't care to argue. Really then, don't we all win? And the amounts of company bought coffee that you and I go through is mind-boggling. With Rest, I would have never consumed those copious quantities of caffeine, and where is the fun in that?!

But lately, Exhaustion, I have grown concerned about the direction our relationship is headed. I am worried that you have grown too...lets just say...co-dependant. It's almost as if you couldn't exist without me, and that's just scary. Plus, I think Mark might be on to us. When he comes to bed at night, and I explain that I am too tired to talk, I know he wonders if we have been together. I don't want to lie to him anymore, Exhaustion. Yes, I know that he has spent a lot of time with his beer drinking buddies, Frustration and Temper-Tantrum, but he has assured me that those days are behind him (although now that I think about it, I am beginning to wonder if all of those late-night phone calls are from Temper-Tantrum...). All he can do is try, Exhaustion. All he can do is try...

I guess what I am trying to say is that I can't be a part of this relationship anymore. It is just too difficult for me to live this way. I know it always goes back to Rest, but I really need Rest in my life. I am sorry if you feel betrayed, but I just know there is someone else out there that will nurture you the way I did. No, no...Don't cry...I know that when it comes to break-ups, Exhaustion, you make everything seem 100 times worse than it actually is...So, I'll make a deal with you...I will meet you ONE MORE TIME at Starbucks. Tomorrow, 8:00 am. But then that's it, Exhaustion. You will be out of my life for good.

And, no...I will not meet you without my bra.

Oh, Darlin' I...I Can't Get Enough of Your Blog, Baby...

Now you will be humming that tune all night long. No, no, you can thank me later, it's cool.

I have some things that I cannot get enough of. Blogging has become one of them, but there are others. I would like to list some of those things here, if you don't mind...Well, I don't really care if you mind or not. It's MY blog:

1. Fage Greek Yogurt. Pronounced Fay-yeh (I think pronouncing it fag-ee is more fun, if not especially politically correct), I like the version with strawberries. The strawberry goop is portioned away from the actual yogurt so you can add as much or as little as you like. I like to add it all, cause I am a glutton like that. The yogurt is so creamy and rich, it's almost like eating Cool Whip right from the tub. I eat it (the yogurt, not Cool Whip) everyday for breakfast. It only has 120 calories and 17 carbs. Try it. I promise you will like it, and if you don't I will eat your leftovers (again with the gluttony), as long as you don't have any active cold sores.

2. L'Oreal Skin Genesis Deep Action Night Complex. I work for *whisper-whisper, mumble-mumble*, so I have access to the very finest (and most expensive) skin care products in the world. I have tried many of them. Through the grace of genetics, I have very sensitive and youthful skin (that's right, hate me later), and most of the fancy-schmancy products are too intense...they just make me look red and scary. The L'Oreal is not only very gentle, it has visibly diminished my pores and has given me smoother and more supple looking skin. I am not making this up. L'Oreal is giving me no freebies, although they can, if they would like, but they almost wouldn't even need too...this stuff only costs $17 at Target. Amazing.

3. Tweezerman Tweezers. I am obsessed with the care and grooming of my eyebrows. Quite frankly, I am obsessed with the care and grooming of your eyebrows, too. Go get some of the angled Tweezerman Tweezers. STAT.

4. Yoga Toes. Yoga toes are these crazy looking silicone toe dividers (for lack of a better description), that forcibly separate your toes to help improve circulation in your feet and legs, and reduce the dreaded (and nasty) hammer-toe effect that comes from wearing towering high-heeled shoes all day, like I do. I, however, do not suffer from hammer-toe. I wear my Yoga Toes religiously, plus, I have nice feet. I am sure that when I am 60, 70 or 80 my feet will look like the cloven hoof of the Devil...but by then I simply will not care. My vanity plans to leave me by age 45...I know this, she told me so. Until then, we are BFF!

5. Johnny Depp. He is just fine in every movie he is in. I am not sure that this placement in my list isn't somehow influenced by the fact that I am watching Chocolat right now, but who really cares...It's Johnny Depp! I love Edward Scissorhands, all of the Pirates of the Carribean movies, Willie Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow...You name it. I even quite like Corpse Bride, and that was just his voice. To be honest, though, I have been living and would continue to live without him if required to do so. So, scratch number 5 then. Erase it from your mind...You are getting sleepy...Give me all your money...

6. Bacon. Really, there isn't much more I can add to that. I can't get enough bacon.

I hope that you have enjoyed my list of "favorite things", such as it is. I may not be Oprah, but I hope that you will give some of these things a go, I think you will be quite pleased with them! Especially bacon. You are gonna LOVE bacon!!

Can One Live on Fruit Roll-Ups Alone? I Think the Answer You Are Looking For is...NO!

My children want to eat nothing but crap. They want to eat crap in the morning, crap in the afternoon, and crap at night. In between their regularly scheduled, pseudo-healthy meals, they want to snack on...you guessed it, crap. I would like to believe that most little kids are like this, but I have seen other people's children eating healthy food without so much as a cross, sidelong glance from the attending parent. So, I am thinking it's just mine. And I don't really know how we got to this point...well, actually I do know, but Mark has enough guilt in his life as it is...So, this morning, after our daily 15 minute cuddle session in the bed, Isabella expressed a desire for breakfast. She said she wanted Toaster Strudel. I know that Toaster Strudel is just plain bad, but I am not capable of cooking a complete breakfast every morning, so get over it. I mostly like to make breakfast for dinner, and that is because I am not capable of cooking a complete dinner every evening. (you can see how this vicious cycle perpetuates, right? Right.) So, I dutifully made the Toaster Strudel and Isabella dutifully licked off all the frosting and decided she didn't want the remainder of the pastry. She then requested a piece of cinnamon toast. She licked off all the cinnamon, and didn't want the bread. This was followed by a request for a fruit roll-up and then for a granola bar (before you get excited, it had chocolate chips). Yes, I let her have them. I am a baaaad Mommy.

Believe it or not, I actually work very hard to provide healthy food/snack choices for the girls. There is always fresh fruit in the fridge and Isabella’s favorite cracker is the Triscuit, and although I too love the Triscuit, it is much like eating a basket. I have committed to cooking dinner every night for the girls, (even though some nights, like tonight, dinner = breakfast) to avoid falling in to the dreaded Kid Cuisine rut, and I will call Mark two (maybe three) times a day to find out what he has fed the girls for lunch. Generally, I am unimpressed.

Despite all of my efforts, I encounter tears (TEARS, for Pete's sake) over denying them chocolate, gummy worms, and my personal favorite, spraying Redi-Whip directly in to their mouths. When did having these things become normal? Even now, at 10:00 pm, my oldest daughter is standing in the hallway begging me to rewind the Addams Family themed dark chocolate M&M's commercial. That's just sad. So, we are focusing on making snacks the exception, not the rule. I actually blame all of this on my Mother. Partly because she is not here to defend herself against this liable, but also because it's true! When Amelia was younger, we could not (COULD NOT) go out to eat with out the obligitory ice cream dessert...regardless of how much nutritional food was eaten during the meal, there was always dessert. My Mom would justify this by stating "it's because Abba is visiting". Well, Abba...You're not here right now, and I am still expected to pony up the dessert! Why? Why would you do this to me? Oh, that's right...I remember now. I have suddenly flashed back to my youth, sitting in my room pouring Pixi Stix in my mouth and chasing it with Dr. Pepper...Mmmm. I remember the rush when the fizzy goodness hit the back of my tongue, the excitement over getting the next fix, the panic when I realized all the Pixi Stix were gone!! Shit, now I am hungry.

Well, I gotta go now, there is some Ben & Jerry's in the freezer, calling my name. And although Abba isn't here right now, she is out there somewhere, and she says eating ice cream is okay...even if you don't eat a proper dinner. Thanks Abba. I'll do that.

Native Americans Really Needed All Those Accessories, Mommy!

Ah, Kaya. You are SO the coolest American Girl. Well, you are so the Native American girl, which I guess makes you the most authentic of the American Girls, at the very least.

Amelia chose Kaya above all the American Girls, and can I tell you, I was quite proud of my little munchkin...Appreciating and celebrating all cultures! If you aren't familiar with American Girl, it is just about the best (and easily most expensive) doll program out there. The franchise is so gigantic, it's been on Oprah, and even my Dad knows all about it (that should tell you something right there, on birthdays and holidays the man still sends me $40 gift card to stores that aren't even in my tri-county area). I have even schlepped my daughter all across NYC on a weekend long American Girl themed birthday extravaganza...Once bitten, twice shy.

Anyway, Amelia slept with an American Girl catalogue for weeks before Kaya arrived. She was so set on that doll, that even my very best attempts to make her want Kit Kittridge fell on deaf ears. Before you send tribal warriors my way, it wasn't because I was opposed to Kaya, it was simply because I liked that Kit and Amelia looked alike. Yah. I am one of those Moms now. You know, the kinda Mom that allows her child to have one of those creepy-ass dolls that is like a mini-doppelganger. Shoot. When did that happen, and how do I make it stop! Well, at least I don't let her wear smocking, or embroider her initials on her underpants. Nothing but Juicy Couture, Burberry and Kors/Michael Kors for my Diva-in-training...Recognize!

So, I was super stoked that Amelia was so into her Native American Girl. I took every opportunity to talk to her about Native American people, their heritage, buffalo, etc...We bought her all the Kaya books and didn't stop there...Even still, Amelia is campaigning for all of Kaya's accessories. I mean ALL of them. She already has the tee-pee, the tall horse, the dog with the sled, the cold-weather clothing, the Native American food-stuffs...Today she has decided that she needs the slightly smaller horse and the chickens. The chickens. I have scoured the American Girl website and the catalogue, and I see nothing about chickens or how to purchase them. I have also spent the past two hours cutting out Kaya's paper doll likeness and all of her assorted bits and pieces...There have been no chickens to note. Any suggestions as to where I can get some mini chickens to complete Amelia's vision of true Native American living? Oh, just so we are clear, that vision also includes a cheerleaders uniform, a Hawaiian lei, swimsuit and ukulele, a small scooter, several pairs of shoes and a pink American Girl bed...You know, I wouldn't want you to get confused...Kaya is a MODERN Native American girl. In retrospect, I am thinking that Kaya and Amelia are more alike than I may have initially thought. It is quite possible that Kit Kittridge might just be too old-fashioned, I mean, she wears penny-loafers for goodness sake, and Amelia did not see any of those in the Fall Burberry catalogue.

Summer's Here! It's Hot!

Originally posted 6/01/2008

When I was younger, my Summer Break consisted of; sleeping until noon (possibly later), sitting around the house, eating cheetos & trying to find ways to get in trouble (trouble was situational to age at time). This summer, my older daughter has actvities planned up to the week before school starts. She has Summer Camp, Summer Camp with enrichment, Karate Camp, Science Center Camp and Swimming Camp. It's absolutely out-of-control! Am I wrong for glomming all of these activities on to her? She claims that she wants to do them, and that staying home with me is boring...which is totally true.

This summer, I will likely enjoy some sleeping...not likely the cheetos, and I somehow doubt the trouble. And you know what, I am kinda sad about that. I miss both trouble and cheetos. I remember the Cheetos Paws, they were these awesome, cheetah paw shaped (hence the name, right?) blobs of cheeto-ee goodness. They only came in the smallish bag, and were highly coveted by all members of my family, most specifically, my Mom, and Siska, the family dog. Siska was a wild (as in CRAZY) Siberian Husky. Cheetos were just one of her favorite treats. She also enjoyed day-old underpants, dirty socks, and anything she could fish out of the bathroom trashcan. She was gross. My Mom, not so gross, but sure loved HER cheetos paws. And they were, in fact, HERS. She did not approve of the kids eating the paws. She did not approve of the dog eating the paws either. She also did not approve of me getting in trouble.

So, one night, I was up to my usual shenanegans. I had a mad, huge party at my house in Montgomery. There were people dialing long distance, people throwing cheerios in the ceiling fan (oh, that was my sister, I forgot), and underage people sharing beer with my overage next door neighbors. So, the next day, after the party was mostly over, we began the cleaning process. Somehow, in all the frenzied cleaning cafuffule, Siska got her paws on THE PAWS and went berzerk. She was so desperate to get away from us, she tore through the screen door and out in to the backyard. She ran in circles with those damn cheetos in her mouth for 15 minutes or more. When we finally got her, and wrangled the Paws from her mouth, Mom was due home in just an hour. We forgot all about the rest of the cleaning, and spent about 30 minutes WIPING CLEAN THE CHEETOS PAWS WITH NAPKINS. We put the Cheetos back into the bag. No doggie slobber or dirt to be seen.

Mom, I am sorry. We let you eat the Cheetos Paws. The Cheetos Paws that were in the mouth of the dog that ate dirty panties and socks and God knows what grossness from the bathroom trashcan. I am so sorry. You understood about the ripped screen door and the stain in the hallway and even the cheerios that we found for years later in the cracks and crevices of the living room. But you would have never understood why we ate all the Paws. Never.