Thursday, December 15, 2011

Happy Holidays?

I soooo envy my kids right now. This time of year is's magic... it's...a lot of work to be a magician! I am exhausted. I don't remember having 'magician' as a required skill in my parenting job description. If there was a factual job description for parenting out there, I don't think there would be one person that would apply to an open position, even in this tough economy.

I'm so glad my kids still believe in Santa, however, I don't think I've ever wished that fat bastard was actually real, as much as I do now. I am a terrible liar. It's tough not to feel a little stressed around this time of year, since this has become some sort of sick game trying to keep the magic alive.

My kids are getting older...they are asking questions about the jolly old soul that brings them presents for being well behaved, which ironically, they really are not this time of year.

“How does he get all those toys on his sled?” Well, he umm...
“What makes the reindeer fly?” Well see, they uhhh...
“How does he do it all in one night?”

Damn it! Stop drilling me! It’s MAGIC OK?!

Then comes the joy of giving...

               "You know what I'm getting for Christmas?", they ask, and then catch me completely off guard with something that was definitely NOT on their Christmas List. I hate that list by way, that list of things they feel they deserve. Especially since we really can't afford most of them, and in a way they base their receipt of some of these things as a reflection of the type of person they are.  No pressure though pressure...

                                Oh Really??, I think, as I watch them putting each other in headlocks, rolling on the floor, jamming the others face in the their armpit. Well, you certainly deserve it since you are CLEARLY so well behaved...

I try so hard not to get stressed. I really want to enjoy the Christmas, but it really has turned into such an obligation...

I'm not sure why, but my Christmas card causes a little stress each year. Well, I do know why, it's because I like to include a picture, which requires my sons to cooperate for one. I am assigned the task of finding a split second where there is an image of them actually behaving.

But, I put myself through the pain of trying to capture them at their best. Here's how it started this year...

Umm, guys can you try to stay still?
Then this...

Umm, can you not put your hand there?
Then this...

Then this...

Umm, sorry honey, Mommy didn't mean to yell. Hot chocolate anyone? Tell Mommy again what Santa is going to bring you...Joy to the World.

Based on how I feel about Christmas this year, I wanted to just send this card to save me the time and stress of getting a good picture, and I think it portrays the spirit of the season...

Oh well, I will just crop one of the crotch grabbing ones, and call it a day. Well, that was fun.

As if this time of year isn’t stressful enough, this year I got the added bonus of unrelenting sicknesses running rampant through the family. Stomach bugs, colds, and this week …strep. Super. I’ve got to say though, it is very considerate for the schools to send those little joy filled notices home with the kids.

‘There has been a reported case of strep throat in your child’s classroom’.

Thanks for the heads up. Basically, I should count on them having it in… about…. say a day or two? Cool, I’ll plan accordingly.

I tried to shake my holiday blues the other night by planning a little trip. I put the kids in their pajamas, made them some hot chocolate, and set out to view some of the light displays in the area.

It sounded like a good idea, but it went a little something like this:

My first turn out of the neighborhood and there was a horrible shriek that came from the back seat.

“MOM! You turned too fast and I spilled my hot chocolate!”

Deep Breath…

“It’s OK, just try to hold on to it for the rest of the ride”

Don’t go back home… just keep going it will be fine.

I guess now is a good time to remind you that I have no sense of direction. But, I felt very brave this particular evening. I traveled across town and decided to turn down a random street off the main road to see if we could find any cool displays. Naturally, I picked the neighborhood with a bunch of bah-humbugs. Every 20th house or so had a couple of lights on it.... Boring.
My kids were pretty quick to let me know that I had screwed up too…

“Why did you turn down this road mommy?”
“There are no lights on these houses”
“This sucks”

Deep Breath…

“OK, we’ll turn around and look somewhere else”

At this point I had traveled fairly deep into a neighborhood I was unfamiliar with. Oh shit! I’m lost!

Panic was starting to set in. Do I take a left here? How do I get out?

“Are we lost Mom?”

“NO!! Now keep quiet for 2 seconds so I can THINK!”

Did I mention the kids hot chocolates were in cups that light up? Oh yeah, crazy flashing lights. Not only was I pissed that I can never figure out where the hell I am, the whole ride felt like I was being tailed by the cops. I secretly wished that I was. I would pull over, surrender, and spend the night in solitary confinement. Sounds like the ideal situation right now...
Wow, this was a kick ass idea to help de-stress…

After another half hour of aimless wandering, I gave up and turned on the GPS. What a loser. Well, that was fun.

Now on to the stress of shopping and an effort to show the kids they are really good people. We have gone out and bought as much as we could find from their list of entitled toys. I may even throw in a couple of gift cards this year, to cover that toy that I find out about on Christmas Eve.

Some unknowing family member will undoubtedly ask "So what is Santa going to bring?"

A WHAT ? Really? No, it's OK, don't panic, Santa brought the gift card this year. That should cover it...

“Did you have that on your list honey?”

“Oh no, but Santa knows what I want”

Great, now I have to be a fucking mind reader too. I’ll be sure to add that to my skills on my resume. It may come in handy when I threaten to walk off the job someday. I bet someone, somewhere, would appreciate the skills I have.

I give my parents a lot of credit for doing all this work when I was growing up. I now feel "initiated" into the group of people that know Santa is not real, but wish like hell that he was, and who also know that 'Christmas Cheer' actually means having a good buzz.

Speaking of 'Christmas Cheer', since I can't seem to get any going for Christmas, I might as well let it build up until it explodes on New Years Eve. Now THAT is a day to look forward to. No stress involved in tying one on, plus it helps bring the stress level down from the debacle known as Christmas.

Bring on the booze...and lets begin a new year that gives me almost twelve months to ignore this stressful time of year!

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Which Child? The Hairy One.

The thing about the title of this blog post is that it could be misunderstood to mean that I am referring to one of the children I gave birth too. What's worse is that if there was a distinction that could made between my two boys, one could very well be described as "the hairy one". Unfortunately, he most likely gets that from me. Well, not me in particular, our heritage. Although, I would like to refer to myself as a mutt, since I have a wide ethnic variety in my heritage, it is tough for me to deny that I am Portuguese. It's not that I would deny it, it's just that well...I couldn't. It's likely that when you see someone with porcelain skin, red hair, and freckles you might think they were Irish. Portuguese probably wouldn't enter your mind at all. I may be going out on a limb here, but when people see me I have a feeling they don't think I'm Irish. I know this for a fact actually because I once almost got into a fist fight with a girl on St. Patrick's Day who insisted that I could not possibly be Irish. I am Irish too, but it wasn't worth the fight since, in her defense, I look more like a Cinco De Mayo kind of girl.

I fit right in where I grew up. I looked like I belonged, with my black hair, dark brown eyes...and my hair. I could technically still have been viewed as a minority in my city in that I didn't speak Portuguese fluently. When I would visit out of state as a child I wondered if I was actually hairier than other girls, or if it was that my hair was so dark that it was more noticeable. I decided on the later...especially because it wasn't even an issue in the summer, since apparently the Portuguese tan well and you could barely see the hair.

When I moved to the city I live in now, I definitely felt like a minority. I had known a few blonds growing up, but there seemed to be an abundance of them in this particular area. I felt a little different...and well...hairy. I was able to get over it when I watched the fair skinned beauties getting torched on the beach in the summer while using baby oil to try to get "darker". I tried to let some of them know that purple did not equal tan, it meant third degree burn in their case. I on the other hand was getting less hairy by the minute as I tanned right up through SPF 15. Take that!

I've lived here for over ten years now and my friends still like to bust me up for being "different". It was funny at first because it was as if none of them had ever seen one of "my kind" before. Last year I even had a friend ask if she could dress up as me for Halloween. I'll admit, I wasn't sure if I should be insulted at first. I secretly prayed that she didn't come dressed like a gorilla and confirm my fear that I was noticeably hairier than "her kind". Then she showed up dressed like this:

I can live with that. She makes me look pretty cute, and thankfully she is unaware of my fear of being referred to as "the hairy one" and spared me a penciled in uni brow, which would certainly drive home the point that I have an abundance of hair. It's also possible that she feared my retaliation. That also works for me since I would have hated replacing her sunblock with baby oil and ruining her summer.

From what I know of Portuguese traits they are considered dominant. I never would have believed you if you told me I would have a light haired, blue eyed, boy. Turns out the mutt in me came forward in the making of my first child. He takes after his Dad. The second child, that takes after me, displays the dominate traits, and when he was born he looked like a baby gorilla. He was so hairy and dark. Even now, I try to scrub what I think is dirt off the back of his neck, only to realize he is tan. His brother needs SPF 50 applied every 2 hours or he may blister.

The actual child I am referring to in this post is not one of the ones I gave birth to. There are a lot of people who refer to their pets as their children and I've come to realize that I am one of them. I don't usually refer to my dog as my child, but I certainly treat him as if he were one of my children at times. I think I may have noticed the parent/child type relationship when I would ask things of other people that at I once I asked about my children. "Did he poop today? Was it diarrhea?" Naturally, if he did have diarrhea I would have to keep him home from daycare. Yes you read that right...I take him to daycare to "socialize" him while we are away from home. Whatever. I haven't gotten to the point of throwing him a birthday party or anything. I do love to entertain though...OK, I did consider it briefly and I can't rule it out in the future quite frankly. At the present time my dog/child is weighing 95lbs, at age one. I know about the dog years crap, but I can't refer to him as being seven. He has been alive for one year, and he is the size of a small adult human. This combination doesn't always work the well, especially now that I am his "owner" and I should be able to control whatever he does. 

When we first got him he was out of control. He would run and knock down small children...and small adults. The first thing we did was have him neutered to help control all the humping, however he was still full of energy and obsessed with other dogs. I would try to walk him to get some of the energy out, but it turns out that the lady he peed on in the pet store was right; a harness promotes pulling. We got him in November and there was snow and ice on the ground all winter. I seriously considered wearing a helmet to walk him because he would run toward anyone he saw. I decided my course of action to "control" this would be to take him to obedience training. When I told my mother I would be bringing the kids to these classes also, she misunderstood and thought I would bring the children so they could learn to be obedient. We laughed for a while...then brainstormed about how profitable an actual obedience school for children could be.

DISCLAIMER: Before you leave a crazy comment about how terrible I am...thinking that children should be obedient and blah, blah, blah. I'm joking. We didn't actually consider starting an obedience school for children. That said, if someone does happen to become profitable at doing such a thing, let the record heard it here first. Also, I am in a Judge Free Zone here. Advice is welcome, I have a suggestion box that can be used for highly opinionated views about what I am doing incorrectly as a parent. I call it my 'Bitch Please' bin. I am also trying to go green with it so I recycle the craziest advice to other mothers so they will not ask for any more help from me.

The first obedience class I brought him to, the children did not attend. The way that class went I may have had a nervous breakdown if I had brought them. My puppy was one of the youngest, yet one of the biggest, and apparently the one in desperate need of obedience. He barked constantly and pulled me around so much when we got there that the owner of the place put us in a little office by ourselves, almost like a time out. While we were in there I tried to get him to look at me and just asked "Why? Why are you doing this and making a spectacle of yourself" It reminded me of the times I was out with my two year old children and they would flip out in a full blown tantrum in the middle of the supermarket. In a familiar way I was looking at the people around me and apologizing as if I somehow had actual control of this scene.

The children joined me for the second class. I debated all day on whether or not to go. I was going to have to try and control this puppy while also trying to keep my kids focused on what they needed to do. At the suggestion of the trainer I brought lots of treats for the puppy. It definitely worked because he did not take his eyes off me the whole class, doing whatever I asked to get a treat. I then realized how much he was like me. Responding to food...and hairy. I then took notes on how I could get this dog to do whatever I desired by offering him food and put it in my business plan for the child obedience school...What?

Turns out we ended up dropping out of obedience classes. I don't need him to be obedient. He just needs for me to be fun, and active, and enjoy having him with us and he responds. He's like a child that way. He loves to be walked and almost seems to ask when he stands at the garage door and looks through it at his leash. When I don't really feel like it, I still try to force myself to go, because I know he needs the exercise, and it sure as hell isn't going to kill me to get some. He makes me walk in the rain, he gets me to run. He gets me to take a few minutes to clear my head . He brings me to places like this;

My kids do this too, when they bring me a book and sit, snuggled up against me, while I read. Sometimes when I have a million things running through my head in the car, they will yell for me to turn up the radio...and I do...and we sing at the top of our lungs without a care for a few minutes. My family reminds me to live every once in a while. This family now includes an additional, giant, hairy child.

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Saturday, April 9, 2011

I Don't Need A Nickname

I've come to the realization that I actually cause Lazy to happen. It could almost be considered a "condition" around here sometimes. The worst part is that it took me until recently to step back and see what was happening. I made a conscience effort to take a look at what I actually do to cause it. Most of the time the things I do are so irrelevant, that the people I do them for would never consider themselves Lazy for not doing them. Frankly, I don't blame them. I am an Enabler. I've never had a nickname in my life, but if there is one out there that applies at this point, that would be it.

I would first like to blame my own Lazy on most of this. It is possible that this affliction spread from me to them. It just so happens that most days start off bad, simply because I procrastinate when it comes to starting it. Hopefully this isn't contagious also. Lazy, I believe spreads through the fact that I am a Snooze Button Whore. Please, do not decide that this is a more applicable nickname for me...After all, I have impressionable young children and I would prefer to avoid having them call me a Whore.

If you were to follow my day you would realize that I have very limited options for a nickname. Here's how one might go:

I start my day after pushing the snooze button on numerous devices. You read that right, I like the snooze button so much that I set 3 alarms at slightly different intervals on 3 separate devices. I hit snooze on each one at least once, and possibly twice on a couple of them. This is where the Whore aspect creeps in. I like the snooze button so much that I took on multiple partners.

Back to my day...

Today my day started as I ran into the bathroom. I knew things were going to need to move swiftly this morning to get the kids ready in time for the bus. Curse you snooze button!...Call Me. My dog was hot on my heels. I turned on the water for a shower, got undressed, and sat on the toilet. As soon as my ass hit the seat my youngest son walked in, rubbing his eyes and mumbling something about a school day. "Yes, it's a school day" I said as I quickly grabbed some toilet paper to cover my chest. What?...I'm surprised he didn't tell me he liked my shirt...Instead, he started screaming that he didn't want to go to school, stormed out of the room, and slammed the door. Awesome...he's in a good mood. No doubt he will be a lover of the snooze button when he gets older.

I guess this is as good a time as any to point out that a decision to be Lazy and stay in my bed for "just a few more minutes"...causes the constant need the rest of the day for me to multi-task. I've always been proud of being able to do so many things at once, but lately I've come to the conclusion that I complete a majority of these tasks in a way that would be described by many as "mediocre". I am a half-ass, multi-tasker (An additional nickname option I suppose).

I was about to step in the shower when I noticed my dog looking a little fidgety, circling about looking to see where he would go to pee if it came down to it. Shit...OK... I'll be quick, I promise puppy. I grabbed my razor off the counter, and saw my toothbrush. Yep, I can cram that in too. I put toothpaste on it and jumped into the shower. I was going to perform multi tasks, not only at the same time, but in a window of time that was quickly closing.

The short version of this is that I exited the shower having only shaved one leg...and with a new found liking of brushing my teeth while in the shower. I know...I didn't understand it before either, turns out that if you aren't a priss when it comes to brushing your teeth, constantly wiping spittle off your chin...and yes, I would picture you using the word "spittle"...shower tooth brushing can be OK. I personally like to scrub them frantically while using my other hand to shave a leg. Well, it turns out that when the water rinses the froth off your chin, it travels down the front of your body, leaving you feeling minty fresh on your front half for a good part of the day. Who knew??

Oh right...back to my day...

I didn't take much time to decide whether or not I was going to abandon the shaving mission. By now my poor puppy was practically crossing his legs to go out. I ran down the stairs, still not dressed, since that skirt was out of the question with this one shaved leg. I ran back up the stairs, threw on a bathrobe, and went to the kids room. I now realize that I dressed them like they were still 6 months old. I mean...I didn't lay them down on the floor like I was changing a baby, but I physically stood them up, undressed them, and put their clothes on. I'm not sure why I was so alert to all this but I even noticed that I would tap each leg and they would lift it up, in and out of their clothes. Unreal. In my defense, they would need to wake up 5 hours before school started in order to be dressed on time if I didn't help. Even if I was not a Whore...for the snooze button that is.

Now we are on to Breakfast, and I am finally dressed, because I dressed while walking down the stairs. Turns out this multi-task was successful on both fronts. I got their breakfast ready and as soon as I put it down in front them, I say "Eat". I repeat the work "Eat" every five minutes or so until they are finished. I do this because...and I have tested it....if I don't they will drift off and think of something to ask or talk about and actually "forget" to eat. I need to verbally guide them to keep the pace right for catching the bus. I then have them brush their teeth, which surprisingly, they do without guidance...however, at some point intervention is required. Water can be distracting. Then I tell them to put on their shoes. I am a bit embarrassed to admit this, but my kids wear Velcro shoes, simply because tying of shoes in the morning would completely come between me and my snooze button. Go ahead...say it...Whore. I'm not proud. I'm also a little confused why I was embarrassed to reveal that, but not to discuss the whole shower tooth brushing thing.

In the end, my Lazy, causes them to appear Lazy, as they walk out the door just as the bus is rounding the corner down the street. The theme to Chariots of Fire plays through my head as they run in slow motion to make it to the bus stop. I stand in the door and lift my arms in victory. It is then that I realize my stairs/dressing multi task was, in fact, an epic fail.  I somehow, half assed it, and neglected to put on a shirt. The neighbors look on while trying to shield the eyes of their children. I'm sure that my nickname will come from an event like this....

Or, it will just come right from my blog. Given the number of times the words Lazy and Whore were mentioned here, I have come to the conclusion that I would like to remain without a nickname for the remainder of my days...

Saturday, April 2, 2011

An Evening With The Ladies

I was going to use Girls Night Out 2, but that seemed a little lame. Besides, it's really not a sequel. The word "girl" to me indicates a child, or at the very minimum a much younger me. An Evening With The Ladies makes it sound a bit more we are classy broads, ya know? I should really just call it what it is...Moms Night Out . The rare occurrence of spending time with people who will not require cleaning, feeding, or refereeing. Although... that isn't necessarily a true statement, as I am pretty sure I have done all of these at some point when out with ladies.

Let me start with a little upfront information for the men out there. When a woman wants to spend a night out with her friends, please don't take it personally. It's not because she doesn't want to spend time with you, or that she's going out on the prowl looking for another man. It's just that there is something about being around girlfriends that revitalizes us. We need that time to just be ourselves and talk about whatever is on our minds. Believe me, you should be happy that we do not want to discuss most of these topics with you. For example, I know just as much about my friends "lady parts" as their gynecologists. Frequently used terms in our discussions include; uterus, discharge, menstrual cycle, and spotting. I could be wrong, but I'm guessing these are not things you would like to talk about, so that're welcome.

Aside from all the gyno talk, we also discuss our kids at great lengths. We talk about our kids a lot anyway, but lately the discussion seems to be almost exclusively about them. We talk about sickness, including types of cough, such as dry, hacking, or productive. We discuss rashes as if we are pediatricians asking each other questions like "Did it start on the trunk and then move to his extremities?", and "Did it look like spots under the skin, or raised, fluid filled, bumps on the skin?" Then there is the riveting talk about mucus and which colors are good and which ones require medical attention. I promise guys, you're not missing out on much.

The most recent night I had out with the girls had a few elements that stuck out to me. First, we actually carpooled. That's right. We all fit in a vehicle together. Not because it was a small group, but because one of us had a vehicle that was big enough to accommodate us all.

Also, in anticipation of this event, I actually put myself through a training of sorts. In order to prepare for the hours of dancing I rode a stationary bike everyday the week leading up to our big night out. I had to build up some stamina. I didn't want to be embarrassed from becoming winded after dancing to two songs, or from clutching the back of my thigh screaming "I'm cramping!"

Next, was the fact that I did not bring a purse. I believe this is due to the fact that my kids are getting older and I don't feel the need to be overly prepared for everything. Plus, some of my friends still do have very small children. This translates to them having enormous purses which are more than capable of handling the few items I would like to take with me.

Also noticeably absent was the one lady that may have overindulged a bit too much. Either that or we have just become professionals at getting our drink on. No more holding someones hair while they puke, or dragging them off the dance floor because they are making a spectacle of themselves. If you were to look up the term "cock block" in the urban dictionary you would see that it gives a perfect description of the role of an inebriated woman's girlfriends. Gone are the days of having to form a virtual "shield" around a drunk friend on the dance floor to prevent her from falling victim to the guy that combs the bar looking for easy prey. Friends don't let friends get dry humped.

We've also become quite skilled at the art of avoiding a hangover. The key ingredients include a hearty helping of greasy food on the way home, a full glass of water, and two aspirin. Sunday morning we are up, dressed, the kids are fed, and we are on our way to church. We are practically professionals at this.

So ladies, if it's been a while since you've gotten together with your lady pals, what are you waiting for? It's a necessity. Plan something soon, it's good for the soul. Plus, don't forget to invite me...Of course my only motive is to gather material for my blog. Yeah, that's it. I like to think of myself as an investigative journalist...

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

My Easy Button Is Broken

It may just need new batteries. Or, it's more likely that my kids simply removed the batteries and put them in one of their toys. It is also quite possible that I have completely worn the thing out. If that is the case, I believe the burn out was caused by the number of times I used it in my early twenties. Life sure was easy then. It's funny though, I don't ever remember using it then. Maybe it was in my trunk with something set on top of it, pressing it constantly. There are times during the day when I throw out a prayer that my kids have easy buttons that I could just "borrow" while mine is not working but, so far no luck. As a matter of fact, I think maybe they are using mine and wearing it out on me. Whatever the case may be, it definitely does not seem to be working at the present time.

Here is an example of how something seemed easy, but turned out to be very difficult.The other day I decided I would take the dog for a walk. Perhaps my misstep came in verbalizing what I was thinking of doing.

"Can I come Mommy?"
"I want to come too"
Umm, OK, sure...
"Yeah, we'll both come with you...and we can ride our scooters"
Hold up...the Easy is rapidly exiting from my original plan.

Well, alright then, lets take this traveling circus on the road.

As I stepped outside I realized that Mother Nature was going to rip the easy out of this also, by claiming to be 'Spring' and actually being a cold bitch. Obviously, I didn't verbalize that...I just like to swear here. My kids are not fluent readers, they would never think that anything their Mom was writing is something they would want to read.

I told the boys I needed to run back in and grab some gloves. I may have left out some additional information, or instructions like "Stay right there, don't move, I'm going to take two seconds I know exactly where they are", but I figured it would take just as long for me to say that as it would to get my gloves. It was enough time for them, apparently, to take off. I walked out the door and they were gone. My heart fell into my stomach and instantly scenes of them being abducted ran through my mind. Not because I feared that would happen in my neighborhood at all, but because of how quickly they disappeared.
I started running in the direction I guessed they may have headed and quickly realized I was right. I relaxed a bit and mentally scolded myself for a second.
You HAD to go straight to an abduction, didn't you?
What?! It happens!
As I got closer to them I noticed my five year old going into a neighbor's driveway. No big deal. I started to pick up my pace to catch up with them. When I got to the corner a car came to the intersection heading toward the driveway he had just gone up, and stopped.
"Stay there" I yelled
Just as the car started moving again my five year turned around and started flying down the driveway.
What the hell!!
Thank goodness, the driver saw him and stopped well before getting near him. Meanwhile, here he comes with a huge smile on his face having a great time, oblivious to the car even being there. I love that my street has hardly any traffic, but it's a moment like that when you realize it could be a bad thing....Or...that you are going to have to remind them every single day that they need to watch for cars.
As he got closer to me I was trying to keep my cool and told him for the 23,764th time that he needs to watch for cars. He just smiled his biggest smile back and said "Wow, did you see that mommy? That was fun!"
"Yep, it was a blast"
Then...I knew it was coming and started to cringe.
I was about to be on the receiving end of a verbal assault, from no doubt a mother herself, as she was driving carefully down a street that tends to have lots of kids around.
"Is that your son?"
I'm ashamed to admit that for a brief second I thought... what would happen if I say no?
I would have an opportunity to gain some advice from a veteran. We could talk about this child's mother and what rookie mistake she was making. Yeah, that's it.
Crap. He called me out already.
"Yes...he's mine"
"Your lucky I was going slow. He went right in front of my car"
"Yes, I appreciate your driving slowly in this area. Sometimes the kids don't pay attention"
What I decided to keep to myself was: 'Certainly, you can't believe that as I was getting ready to leave the house to walk and I said "Hey guys, do mommy a favor...when I go inside, take off while I'm not looking, and ride your scooters in front of any cars that may come down the street". I assure you this wasn't the conversation that took place. As a matter of fact I have now realized how much instruction I left out in speaking with them. I apologize. They make terrible decisions sometimes. By the way, my plan was to walk the dog. My parenting mishaps today were a) saying I wanted to go for a walk and b) having cold hands. I didn't want to say no to them, but it would have been much easier if I was just walking the dog. What?! Why am I crying?! I don't know!!'
I'm glad I kept this as my internal dialog. I think she may have noticed the distressed look on my face because her look softened. She even smiled and said "I know how it is...It's not easy"
Ain't that the truth.
It's possible that I used up all of my easy when I was a child. No doubt my mother played a huge roll in making things easy for me when I was young (Hey, maybe SHE was using my easy button. That's fine, I'm sure she needed it, I'll let it slide)
Maybe life isn't meant to be easy. Maybe the hard things in life are what make it worth while. Hey, now that I think of it, I believe we were discussing that at "Girls Night Out" the other night. OR, maybe that was a reference to somethings else... never mind, I'll save that for my next blog.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

"Thank You Facebook"

It really just depends on how you say something. I've thanked Facebook in some different ways over the last few weeks. There was the "Gee, thanks a lot Facebook" as I witnessed all the ladies my husband went to high school with, friend request him. Or the "Wow, thank you Facebook", as I got to see what my family and close friends were up to. Then there are the other friends on Facebook that most people have, those that you knew, but may not currently recognize while out and about. If you did, you would most likely stop and chat for a second or two. It would be possible that many of my Facebook friends may not recognize me, since I tend to post only pictures that I feel I look OK in....which are most likely from 10 years ago. What's great about Facebook is, regardless of how well you know someone, if you have a conversation with someone you haven't seen in while it's nice and, well..brief. Don't get me wrong, it's not because you don't genuinely want to talk to someone, it's that life just doesn't allow for it most of the time. Say, for example, the time you run out to Walmart to buy...well...pretty much anything...and you don't happen to notice someone because you are hot on the trail of your child...who is attempting to exit the store and possibly about to set off an alarm because they figured they REALLY wanted a new video game...and that in itself should be reason enough to have it. If that's not the case and you don't have the distraction of children, it's OK. Facebook can definitely shorten up a conversation for you too. It stops you from having to lead in with..."So...What have you been doing with yourself for the past 15 years?" Those that are not complete  social voyeurists will at least let you know a little about what is going on in their life on Facebook.

I suggested to my husband that he join Facebook. In hindsight, I may have wanted to wait for a better time, well...for me. You see, this time of year tends to cause me to accentuate my curves a bit. By that I mean, my ass gets a bit larger. It's sort of like the "freshman 15", only it doesn't give up after that one time. It's what I like to refer to as the "winter 15"(this year possibly...20). It's the extra poundage I pack on to deal with the miserable cold and dreariness of winter. I tell myself it's not my fault. My body just tries to desperately insulate itself to fend off the cold. It's natures way. But, this year has been especially brutal. Not only am I dealing with a particularly crappy, snowy, freezing winter, I also quit smoking. I often wonder why I would ever smoke in the first place. I've heard it is to be blamed on an oral fixation.Unfortunately for my husband, that does not translate into something beneficial for him, contrary to the way it sounds. To his dismay, I choose to appease my fixation need with FOOD.

Here's how this all relates to my sarcastic thanking of Facebook. Having my husband join at a point when I wasn't feeling my most secure may not be the best idea. I look at Facebook a little differently now. I see some of my friends on Facebook and what they post, or pics they put up, and think, hmmm, what do his friends post? Some of my female friends look smokin hot in their pictures. It's OK for me to view women that way because, women judge other women...everyone knows that. But, I just don't know if I want my husband looking at his "friends" and thinking that. I picture them all looking so great, especially the ones that have kids. Naturally, they gained 14 lbs for each pregnancy and wore their "skinny jeans" home from the hospital. Meanwhile my hubby has visuals of me during my pregnancies, with ankles that.....well...there were no ankles. Deep down I hope that some of his female "friends" complain constantly on Facebook, or they share more than you could possibly want to know about them on a social network. They are always posting about how sick they are, or guessing that rain may be on the way, because when it is, their c-section scar flares up. It helps me out to think this way. It stops me from worrying that he may lose interest in me, I'm really not too bad when compared with that. It also stops me from being concerned that my last correspondence with him was a text to see if he could pick up feminine products for me on his way home.

I can thank Facebook for motivating me. I have a sudden desire to hop on my diet wagon, strap on the seat belt, and shed this "winter weight". Watching all these people on Facebook hitting the gym, dieting, or not doing a damn thing and still looking skinny. Of course, I am taking baby steps. Walking the dog a little longer each day...eating better. Then there is my favorite exercise, going out to see a band and dancing so long that my thighs hurt the next day. The only draw back to that exercise is that it goes hand in hand with beer for me. When I can't go to the bar to get some cardio, I turn to doing a game on Wii that has you follow the dancer on the screen and earn points if you can keep up with her. I think my kids remotes are broken though...the score clearly does not reflect my performance in most cases.

There are people on Facebook that I may not have gotten to know outside of it. Sharing the same "likes" must make people feel more connected to one another. One friend in particular, was like this for me. We shared a lot of the same interests. She was also really supportive when I started this blog. She would send me messages to say how much I made her laugh, and I could always count on her to encourage me to write more even if it was just to click the "like" button when she read one. She passed away suddenly two weeks ago. I still see her picture when I look through my friends on Facebook. This is the first time I will write a blog that she will not comment on. Even something like this makes me thankful for Facebook, I may not have gotten to know her the way I did without it.

Regardless of what you use Facebook for, try to have some fun with it. Use it to share your thoughts, your stories, your gripes, to sing a song. Tell your friends whatever you like...unless you are a friend of husband...then you might want to reign it in a little. Also, go easy on the sexy pics, he really hates those.