Thursday, May 30, 2013

Life is messy. Kinda like my hair.

And my closet.
I kinda like it that way.  It’s taken me half my damn life to feel that way.  I used to invent flaws so I would have something else to berate myself about.  Loathing who I was on the inside and outside was a full time job.
I was obsessed with changing myself – at my very core.  Not just my hair or my weight or my clothing – but internally – I wanted to change who God Himself had set me out to be. 
Who the hell was I to tell God that He screwed up?
I mean essentially that’s what I was saying.  That the person He had made was worthless.  I treated myself worse than I’d treat Satan.  What a slap in the face to the Creator, huh?
I just couldn’t find a way to accept the definition of me.  I looked in the mirror and only saw flaws.  In fact, for a long time…I avoided mirrors.  The reflection looking back was too painful to acknowledge.
Hating everything about yourself is like living in a nightmare.  It is exhausting. 
 And shameful.
Yet it’s so human nature to judge – ourselves and others. 
Women are the worst with each other in my opinion.  If I see a woman at work who has no problem tooting her own horn or being aggressive to get what she wants – do you think I go find the highest mountain and yell YOU GO GIRL for her?
Nope.  I usually shake my head and tell myself, “Geez, she’s an arrogant bitch who thinks this place can’t run without her.  She needs to take it down a notch.”  We are each other’s worst enemies and our own worst critics.  Where did that come from? 
I don’t know. 
What I do know is that with age has come great insight into the person I am. 
And with that – finally?  Acceptance.
Little stuff like sure, I’d love to lose 15 more pounds by the time summer rolls around but if I don’t – meh.  Oh well.  I’ll still go to bed every night next to a man that makes me feel like a model.  And I believe that is truly how he sees me.
I spent years telling Rambo he didn’t love me.  When he’d say I was beautiful or sexy, I’d say something like “are you blind?” or “no, I’m not” or “you’re crazy”.  I’m surprised he still says anything after years of that.  I never believed him.  Ever.  I just couldn’t.  I still have a hard time believing that he won’t wake up one day and realize he made the biggest mistake of his life with me….but I’m getting there.
I believe he means what he says.
I believe that he loves me despite my stupid flaws.  Like how in the 23 years we’ve been together, I have never ever changed the toilet paper roll.  I’ll get a new one and set it on the back of the toilet – but I won’t put it on the thingy.  No reason.  It’s just a thing.  A flaw.
It used to kill me to know or feel like anyone didn’t like me or love me…and now I can live with that. 
Hell – I spent years not liking myself…how can I tell other people not to do the same?  LOL 
I’ve found out that people can despise me and hate me and the thing is – I’ll keep breathing.  I won’t die.  I won’t even crumble or fall to my knees.  I will survive.  I’d love everyone to love me BUT that only happens in Care Bear Land.
I make mistakes.  Big ones. 
I lose people I swore I’d love forever.  I lose touch.  I hold on to grudges and anger that have spanned decades.  I use words like “never” and “always” and I mean them – until I don’t.  Until I grow up and get older and realize that I was foolish.
I used to live on pride and now I spend most of my time swallowing it because I’ve figured out it’s not worth losing people over.
I say and do things I never used to say or do out of fear of losing people or things…because I’ve finally learned that I can’t live my life in fear. …and losing people and things is the cycle of life.
I’ve learned to let go of things that don’t matter like words spoken in anger or hateful actions done in the heat of the moment – and learned to hold on tighter to things that do matter….like my little girl’s tiny hands.
I’ve realized that my pain about my childhood will probably never go away -  but I don’t have to live in it or use it as an excuse as an adult.  It sure as hell may be my biggest flaw that I can’t let go of some of that pain but it’s also one of my biggest strengths in that I break cycles every f*cking day because of those memories.
I think I’ll always fear never being good enough but as I get older I get less afraid of that fear.  The truth is that my heart is good and my intentions are true.  Hell yes – I have bad days and say bad things and I hurt people.  And hell yes – I regret all of those things.  I don’t believe people when they say they have no regrets.  Bullshit.  If someone gave me the chance to redo some wrongs I’ve done – I sure as hell would.
Entering politics in a small town has been good for me.  It’s flat out in your face truth that people don’t like you – for absolutely no reason – and that’s a helluva lesson to learn and live with….and accept….and most of all not die trying to change all those people’s minds.  I have to go to bed at night knowing I have done the right thing as I know it and just trust.
I do the best I can with what I have every single day. 
Sometimes I suck balls at it and other times I kick ass.
But every day I’m still me.  I’m just living and being me.  Freely. 
I used to feel like my own life was a prison.  I wanted out.  I wanted to literally be someone else.  It’s a terrible, exhausting way to live and real, pure joy is hard to come by….because every single moment is spent finding fault in your own every move.
It’s so freeing to be getting past that.  It’s nice to know that when I change now – it’s to be a better, more true version of me where before my goal was to be a completely different me.
This is who I am.  I am perfectly flawed.  I am changing every day.  I am living and conquering and I’m forgiving and apologizing and celebrating.  I am covered in scars – mentally and physically – and every one feels like an honor now instead of a disfigurement.
My eyes are more wide open than they’ve probably ever been and my heart actually feels peace a lot of the time.
That’s something I never imagined I’d have.  First of all, I never thought I’d live this long because I never thought I deserved to….but peace?
Real, true, internal peace?  Me?
Who would have thought?
How about you?  Do you feel real peace? 
As you get older…does your entire outlook on who you are and your life change? 
 In what ways?

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

The well being of Sheniqua's ass....

I haven’t updated you recently on the size or reduction of Sheniqua’s ass, have I?  Are you afraid that said ass fell off the health wagon and into a huge vat of Skittles? 
Well – do not be afraid.
My ass is still on the correct wagon.  I took a teensy weensy detour and instead of losing, I maintained for a couple weeks.  I suppose that is better than gaining – however – it messes with my anal OCD spreadsheet of where my weight loss should be.
I had a span of about 3 weeks where I got at least 4 migraines a week.  New meds, possible botox or acupuncture are all on the agenda at this point.  All I know is that it’s hard to live any kind of life in that much pain 4 days a week…and I’m so over it.
This week I have renewed enthusiasm and vigor.  << My God – that’s a stupid-ass word.  Vigor?  I mean who uses that word?  Whatever.
Last night I got my ass on the treadmill and I nearly drowned in my own sweat. 
 I was duh-eye-ing. 
I did some HIIT intervals and ran my short, stubby little legs at 6mph sprints just to see if I could define self-inflicted torture.  I was soaked.  Thank your lucky stars I didn’t take a picture by the way. 
However, I felt amazeballs when I was done.  Why do I forget how much I seriously love how good working out feels?
Anywhoozle….do not worry your pretty little heads about Sheniqua’s ass.  It is still shrinking.  I recently had to buy a dress for the upcoming wedding shower I have to attend and I’m pretty sure that’s where the renewed “vigor” is coming from.  The summer events I want to look hot at are coming FAST. 
There’s no time to waste.  My ass needs to be running every night. 
Oh and I did get my two custom made chevron items from Etsy and neither of them fit.  I accidentally didn’t give her the right measurements of my bahoobies and I can get them on but I have a uniboob.  It pisses me off BAD because one is mint green chevron and one is grey chevron and they are adorbs!  I want to shank my own boobs….so they’ll deflate so that I can wear the outfits. 
I plan to sell the shirt and dress on Ebay unless someone here is interested.  The tag says large and I told her to make them a size 10 but my boobs apparently needed to be factored in.  Oopsie.
Here are my latest stats:
I’ve worked out 76 days this year for a total of 3,845 minutes and 23105.5 calories. 
I have logged 196.4 miles towards my yearly goal of 400.
I didn’t weigh today (running late for work) so I’m not sure of my total loss BUT I think I’m still at 15 lost or more.  We’ll see next week!
How are your summer weight loss goals coming along?

Thursday, May 23, 2013

The gas in my life.

Rambo called me from work the other day and when I asked how his day went, he said,
“It’s been a really shitty day.”
Immediately – I’m scared. 
Shitty days in a super max prison are a whole different kind of shitty then most people’s shitty days.
I braced myself for what “shitty” meant.
He said, “I got exposed today at work.”
Exposed to me means that he got spit on or urine got thrown at him or feces got on him and it connected with his bare skin or a facial cavity. 
Most of the men at the prison have things like Hepatitis C or AIDS or things like that.  When a guard is exposed – it’s a big deal with consequences that can last a lifetime.
But that’s not what happened this time.  Thank God.
Rambo meant that he got exposed – to gas.  The vent system didn’t work properly and so after an inmate was gassed – the gas traveled to the cage where Rambo was and he couldn’t leave that post or get out. 
The inmate wouldn’t listen to Rambo and actually said to the guards – “Let’s do this thing.  You guys are going to have to come in and gas me and get me.”
So they did.
Idiot.  He has asthma even.  Can you imagine getting gassed with asthma?  Idiot.
Anyway – for the rest of Rambo’s shift his head was in a trash can and his eyes burned and dripped tears and snot dripped and he was coughing and hacking and vomiting.
Shitty day indeed. 
Rambo had a chiro appt after work and just by touching Rambo, the chiropractor got exposed a little and he was coughing and hacking.  The gas stays on you.  We can’t touch Rambo until he showers and the worst part is that when you get wet and shower – the gas reactivates all over again. 
He coughed even 2 days later from the gas in his lungs.
It sucks donkey balls.
I felt bad for the guy. 
The thing about Rambo is that it doesn’t even seem to get to him. 
Let’s just put it out there that if I had been gassed at work…well I wouldn’t be able to do dishes, cook, clean, work, sleep, talk or move for about a week.  I’d be out of commission.  Forget being a mother and wife and career woman.  I was gassed man – I can’t do anything BUT recover!!
Not Rambo.  That same night after Rambo showered and went through all the pain and discomfort again from the reactivation, he went outside by the girls who were on the trampoline.
I heard screaming and giggling…more than the usual anyway.  Like all kinds of commotion and excitement.  So I went out to see what was going on.
Rambo was in the trampoline.
Bouncing around like an idiot.  And I think he even surprised himself at how fun it was because he was laughing every time he flew in the air like he couldn’t even stop if he tried. 
And the girls?
You couldn’t have stopped them from smiling or laughing no matter how hard you tried.  Their Dad was jumping in a trampoline with them.  Sometimes Watermelon was laughing so hard AT him that she couldn’t even jump.
Big ‘ol from the gut laughs – from all of them.  And from me watching.
For them – this is normal.  They have a Dad who does silly stuff like that and isn’t afraid.
For me – I watch with tears in my eyes and my breath caught in my throat.  I know that for me – this was not normal.  This did not and would not ever happen.  I wouldn’t have believed it if it had.  And I certainly wouldn’t have known what to do with the moment had it occurred.
That’s okay.  It is what it is.  It is different than what my girls have – and that’s what matters.  They won’t wish for a father who does things like this – even after a downright shitty day at work.    They won’t wish for a father who laughs with them and hangs out with them – and notices that they are alive.
Long before I ever had kids – I made promises to them.  Even unborn yet – I told myself that if I had kids, they’d never feel some of the same pains that I did.  I may suck a fat baby’s ass in a lot of areas in my life – but this particular area – I conquered.
I made good on a promise to my little girls before I even knew they were little girls.
If I could some day write that on my headstone….I just might.  It is without a doubt – one of my greatest achievements.  Even if it doesn’t come with a trophy for the shelf.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Purse closet sale - Mostly Coach - One Michael Kors!!!

It's Closet Sale time!  Let me just say that this closet sale is bittersweet.  I'd like to keep everything forever but purses like this should be used - every day - instead of sitting in a closet.....AND there ae more purses I *need* to buy so I must part with these!

Here we go!  First come first serve!
First up is one of mine.  Coach Zoe editorial size which is XL.  Seriously - to die for.  I had to fight for this sucker on Ebay because everyone wanted it.  I might cry when this sells. 
No lie.  Deets below.

This one is my friend's item.  Smoke-free, pet-free home.  She takes great care of her stuff.

This one is my friend's bag too.  It's the next size down from the camel one I'm selling above.  Mine is editorial (xl) and this one is large size. 

Another one of my friend's items (goes with purple Coach purse below):



Another one of my friend's items.  Matches wallet above:


Friend's item again:



My beloved MK purse....I might need a tissue for my tears.  LOL

That's it for today!  Happy Shopping! 

No returns.  Paypal or money order only. 

Comment below if you want an item or
shoot me an email at and we'll exchange info!

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Ten Things Thursday!!!

1-I went for my first outdoor run of the season last night since it was 80 degrees.  I ran 3 miles and walked up a steep mother-effing hill for .5 miles.  It felt good – and hard.  But mostly good.  The amount of stuff I strap on when I go for a run is reedick.  HRM strap and watch.  Cell phone holder strapped around my waist.  MP3 on my upper arm and headphones.  Water around my one hand and mace around the other hand.  It’s cray cray.
2-Watermelon is still away at camp and this morning I went to wake Banana up and she wasn’t in her bed or on the couch.  I found her – snuggled up in Watermelon’s bed….because she misses Watermelon.  Cue the “awwwwws”.

3-Somehow online I found mini fairy garden pictures.  Seriously people.  Cutest idea evah.  Miniature furniture and gazing balls and fire pits and paths and gazebos and cottages – that you put in a pot with tiny green plants.  A miniature world for fairies.  Sort of like Care Bear Land in dirt.  I can’t wait to get started.
4-I bought my girls an outdoor trampoline with a net.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to log as much time in there as they do.  Should be fun.

5-Rambo and I have a benefit motorcycle ride all day Saturday.  I can’t wait.  Nothing better than being on the back of the Harley with my boy in my pink blinged out skull pants….for a good cause.
6-I have the day off tomorrow.  The only thing on my agenda is getting my nails done, shopping and napping.  It’s okay to be jealous.  I’m jealous of myself.

7-Our last cement pad is being laid next week and our backyard oasis should be complete.  I ordered an outdoor cooler and trash can along with a huge table and chair and umbrella set.  I got a smaller table to go by the grill and two end tables for drinks.  Finished up with an outdoor radio system and we’re good to go.  Donezo for the summer.  All that’s left to do is enjoy. 
8-I’m counting down the days until our anniversary trip that Rambo planned for us.  He’s taking me to an outlet mall and a live theatre production and a hotel for 2 nights.  My God I cannot wait.

9-I may be getting botox for my migraines soon.  I’m having more than 15 a month and that’s what you need to qualify.  Living in chronic pain is mentally exhausting and emotionally it drains me.  I hate it.  Totally.
10-My Etsy chicky-poo finished up my custom chevron dress and tunic and shipped them yesterday!!  I cannot wait to see how they look!

11-The PT work that Rambo and I do just took on a whole new shitstorm of stress last night…and there’s a potential for me to take on more work BUT the problem is that it is probably at least another 20-30 hours a week.  Physically and emotionally the 3 jobs I have now feel like enough.  BUT mentally a part of me wants the challenge that the work will provide and I know I could excel at it.  But at what cost?  I have NO idea.  Ugh.  Just ugh.  Rambo has a lot to decide….and so do I.

PS – my plan is to put a bunch of Coach stuff and even my Michael Kors bag online this weekend so get ready to shop!

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Like sharing nachos with Jesus Christ.

This whole growing up and aging thing is freaking weird.
At the school in our town, every year the 6th grade class goes away to camp.  Seniors from high school get to be counselors and the kids get to repel, canoe, hike, and learn to rough it.  One night the parents come visit camp and the kids put on skits and they get to show us their “digs”.
It’s a rite of passage in our town.  Everyone knows about camp and everyone has great memories of the time there.  Every 6th grader wants to grow up and be a counselor when they are a senior in high school.
As a senior you have to apply and be picked by your teachers to be a counselor.  Rambo went as a senior and so did I.  No – Rambo wasn’t picked by his teachers….not by any means.  Other senior boys were picked and they got caught drinking so Rambo was second choice. 
We laugh about it now.
I’ll never forget when Rambo was away at camp as a senior counselor and I was left at school without him as a junior….and he sent me a dozen roses every day that he was gone.
Anyway – today Watermelon left for camp.  Last night she told me she was 50% nervous and 50% excited.  She’s a home-body for sure.  If we don’t see her in 24 hours – she starts to miss us pretty badly.  Me, Rambo, Banana – even stuff like her things and her room. 
She’s been away before but not this long.
I remember a lot of the girls at camp got homesick - including me - …and I wonder how Watermelon will do.
She hugged all 3 of us a lot last night.  A lot a lot a lot.
I made sure to stay upbeat and happy and excited for her.  She kept saying she’d miss us and I’d say right back “we’ll see you for skit night so don’t worry”. 
 Inside – I felt the oddest twinge….that I ignored.
See I’m not an emotional parent in front of my kids.  I’m a goofy ass.  Like I break out in the chicken dance randomly or start belting out my favorite song on the way to school in the mornings.  I’m not sad often or scared often about them or in front of them so my kids mostly see me being goofy with them or Rambo.
This whole “OMG – my kid is going away to camp and I’m getting old and this is a huge milestone” feeling  and all those kinds of things that kept running through my head – suck grasshopper dicks. 
I don’t like how it feels.
This morning as we got ready, Banana sat in Watermelon’s room just chatting.  About camp and what happens there and I heard Watermelon say to Banana that she could sleep in her bed while she was away if Banana wanted to.  I know Banana will.  She will sleep in Watermelon’s bed and she will most likely wear something of Watermelon’s too.  She’ll miss her bad.
When Watermelon hugged her goodbye – Banana cried. 
Big, fat, silent, eyes pleading please don’t go sissy  tears.
Watermelon walked out and yelled, “Don’t forget to sleep in my bed, ok?”
We were almost to the car before Watermelon said, “Mom.  I gotta go back and hug Banana one more time, ok?”
Before we left home the first time, Watermelon saw that Rambo had written a message on the fridge white board for her.  It said, “Be careful and have fun.  I love you and I’ll miss you.”
She just smiled.  He couldn’t hug her at 4am when he left so he wrote her a note.
They aren’t allowed to take any electronics so no phone or ipod or anything.  She’s probably fine but not knowing how she is or what she’s feeling or having any contact with her is really hard.  Like I feel like someone cut off my left arm.  She usually texts me all day long even if it’s just to say, “Hey Mom – I’m eating lunch!”
I dropped her off at school and got out her 3 large filled to the top bags (that’s my girl!) and I hugged M who was standing there first.  I silently hoped to God that her parents show up for her for skit night.
Then I hugged Watermelon.  She threw herself into my arms and turned her head into my chest and held on tight for a few minutes.  I told her I loved her and would see her for skit night and she never looked at me.
She said, “Goodbye Mom” with her eyes down and walked over by M.
She didn’t cry.  I know because I drove away and looked back and she was smiling with M.
She’s stronger than I was back then. 
 I cried when I left my mom and I cried at skit night when I saw her again.
Score one for me – my kid is stronger than I was.  That’s what I’ve always wanted for her.
Me?  Well – screw strong.  If I want to miss my kid and be sad that she’s not everywhere I turn and I can’t even hear her little voice or see her texts or hear her in her room – well dammit – I will.
I got into bed last night with Rambo and I laid there and I said, “I’m going to miss her so much.”
He just said, “I know.  It’ll be okay.”
Yah.  I know.  But still.  My heart hurts already.  What the hell am I gonna do when she goes to college or gets married?  I never thought I’d feel this way.  I’m too selfish and need and love ME time too much to feel this way!?
Skit night can’t come fast enough.  I can hardly function with my left arm cut off,  you know?
I just keep focusing on when I get to pick her up to come home.  It’ll be a great reunion.  Bliss.  About as good as going to a football game with Jesus Christ and sharing nachos with him.
Yes – that good...for realz.

Monday, May 13, 2013

High maintenance my ass.

Sometimes I could totally live in the Brady Bunch house. 
The house of perfection – minus the live in cook and nanny named Alice.  I ain’t that lucky.
I mean, yes, there are days when my immediate and extended family act like, look like and talk like the spawn of Satan.  I can spend every waking moment dreaming of different ways to shank or sell all of them.  I live on the edge of full blown insanity a whole hell of a lot on most days.
However – sometimes – if I just allow my heart to be open and not filled with toxic shit from the past and unrealistic dreams of the future….the present moment is the definition of perfect. 
Like the Brady Bunch house you know?
I spent all of Friday and Saturday with my mom and sister and my two girls at our garage sale.  I laughed a lot.  I didn’t cringe inside or feel hurt or want to run away frantically even once.  I just made memories in the moment. 
On Mother’s Day, Rambo surprised me by taking the day off.  And though I’ve been called high maintenance by some people in my life – there’s a whole other side to me that requires very little except things that really matter. 
I woke up to my girl’s giving me cards that Rambo had helped them pick out with their little handwriting inside each one.  Banana said that “I’m the beats mom ever” which was precious. 
Then Rambo and I took about 20 minutes to text nearly every single Mom that we had in our contact list.
Watermelon cleaned the house for me and by 10am her friend, M had called to say that her mom was wasted already and was screaming at her and could she come over?   I said sure.
I’ve had a list of things to do outside in the yard and landscaping that is a mile long and it’s been weighing on my mind.  My gift from Rambo was to demolish that list.  We shoveled rocks, raked, dug up plants and replanted them in other spots.  We mowed.  We weed-wacked. 
 We moved mountains.
Okay – wait – no mountain moving.  But it felt like it.  Every few minutes – with me in my lovely camo pants and landscaping gloves, Rambo would grab me and kiss me and hug me without saying a word….and I’d just stand there in my dirt covered clothes with no makeup on and my hair in a pony – and feel like the sexiest woman on Earth – because of him.
Later we visited his Mom to say Happy Mother’s Day.  On the way home Rambo suddenly turned left and drove up into the woods on our land we plan to some day build on and he took me mushroom hunting.  Rambo knows wild mushrooms rank right up there with purses and shoes for me.  Banana walked with us while Watermelon and M stayed in the truck. 
We walked.  The three of us.  Banana in the middle holding our hands and the sun shining down on us.  Nature as thick as thieves.  Beauty everywhere you looked.  And then a little scream – “Mom – Dad – I found one!  I found a mushroom!!”  Jesus – you’d think she found a solid gold nugget.
We found enough to eat and we walked for a whole hour.  When I thought the day couldn’t get better – Rambo said that all the way down the forest road, he thought we’d pick up rocks.  Yes – I realize that sounds dumb to most of you BUT I’m a landscaper.  A big one. 
I have hundreds of hostas and just as many lilies and other gardens.  Rocks, wood chips and tire mulch.  Different sections with different breeds.  Plants bought for their names or planted because of their history.  Plants I painstakingly dug up one by one from my flooded childhood home and transplanted to my home because I refused to let nature take everything from me.  Gnomes and ceramic mushrooms and solar lights scattered everywhere.
And rocks.  Big, unique rocks.  Thoughtfully placed between the huge pieces of driftwood that Rambo has dug out of the river himself and surprised me with over the years.  Rocks that tractors and skidloaders and huge trailers to haul.
I love big rocks.  The bigger the better.  Just like the driftwood.
On the forest road there are tons of rocks.  Literally some as big as Rambo’s truck.  Rambo let me have my pick of the ones that he and I could lift together.  I picked about 15 of them and we loaded them in the truck while the girls watched.
My mom taught me landscaping and probably taught me to love rocks so I knew that I’d give her some of them.
We took them home and I called Mom and told her to come take her pick.  She was in HEAVEN. 
High maintenance my ass.  Rocks and mushrooms were free.  FREE. 
And I couldn’t have been happier.
Later my mom and I walked to my Grandma’s grave behind my house and put flowers on her grave with Banana.
Me and Rambo walked to my friend/neighbor’s house and gave her a huge bag of stuff for her baby son that I had found at the garage sale and we wished her a Happy 1st Mother’s Day.
My phone buzzed most of the day with amazing “Happy Mother’s Day” texts from bloggers, friends and family….and each one made my heart swell.
I took a big fat Skittle bath and Rambo made spaghetti and cheese bread for us.  Followed up by an episode of Jerseylicious and “dessert” with my man.  During my show – I sat with my planner and literally crossed off just about everything that had been undone on my list just this same morning.  I felt my stress level drop.  Pure f*cking bliss.
The night ended with me going to bed before it was even dark because Rambo said he’d put the girls to bed and close up shop so to speak.
I laid there – in my bedroom with darkness coming – and listened to the sounds of my house.  Banana’s footsteps.  Watermelon taking a shower.  Banana yelling “Daddy!” every five seconds for something else she needed.  Rambo saying “time for bed” and tucking the girls in.  Rambo shutting and locking doors. 
Sounds that I made a point to notice as I drifted off until I felt the bed dip from Rambo getting in.  Big arms wrapping around me and kisses on my neck in my half comatose state. 
 I remember saying thank you – for the best Mother’s Day ever. 
 And he said, “You’re welcome baby doll.  Now go to sleep.”
No problem husband.  No problem.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Blah. Blah. Blah.

I’m stressed.

I mean it’s true that I walk around this Earth flitting around like a fairy on speed every day BUT today this fairy is on speed and meth and a Mountain Dew IV. I’m having heart palpitations – for realz. My blood pressure is high again and that isn’t helping either. I’m just overwhelmed. Sometimes it’s all too much.

M stayed at our house again last night. That’s fine and everything BUT part of me is irritated that her Mom and step-dad allow it. I’m mad they don’t miss her or want her home.

I feel like I let M down because our home isn’t perfect. She left a toxic home and yelling and screaming and drugs and crying and she came to our house. Which ain’t Care Bear Land. Last night both Watermelon and Banana had attitudes and made the mistake of talking back to Rambo.

He doesn’t tolerate disrespect and he told them so.
He raised his voice and pretty much said “that shit doesn’t fly here - so shape up.”

I agree with him 100% - and yet a part of me feels like we let M down. She left her house to get away from shit like that and now it’s here too. I mean that was it. We had a great night minus that one thing but still…she’s hurting so much that I *want* to give her CareBear Land…but I can’t. We still have to be parents – which means sometimes we have to be the asshole in the room.

I hate it. And though I love being there for M – instantly having 2 teenage girls is a hell of a reality slap in the face. Double showers, double clothes, double dishes, double food, double attitude, double someone needing something all the time. Plus the 7 year old still needs us too by the way.
Try not to forget about her in all this chaos.

Double emotion and stress and fear and relief and blah blah blah.

I have no idea how long this will last. That translates to me not knowing how emotionally invested I should become. I’m hoping her parents wake up today and WANT their daughter back.
She *needs* to be wanted by THEM.

A new kid in our house doesn’t mean that suddenly me and Rambo’s part time jobs disappeared so time and stress in other places would free up.

Nope. Not at all.

People are calling about how their water smells like sewage and the overwhelmed mom in me wants to say, “Then don’t drink it!” but the responsible woman in me relays the message to my lovely Mayor of a husband and we fix it.

People are constantly moving in and out of rentals so meters need to be read and billed all the time. People need to stop moving. It shouldn’t be allowed. Because I said so.

The guys at the plant need to get paid so no matter who is at my house tonight – payroll has to be finished. The Plant Manager will keep calling me all day about how much the DNR sucks ass.
I have to listen and try to help.

The internal Mayor/Clerk drama never ceases though we try our very best to keep quiet and keep our distance from people whose only goal is to spread negativity – we still feel some of it. It’s impossible not to.

A cement pad is being laid in our backyard to extend the pool/patio area and while this is good news – it’s also work. The spot was previously landscaped so that means it has to be un-landscaped. I have to shovel a trailer load of rocks. Pull up railroad ties. Dig up and replant over 25 hostas. Level the area. Call the electrician and contractor. Blah blah blah.

The Tahoe needs an oil change. The dishes never end. Laundry doesn’t put itself away. Though my kids are assigned to some of the chores – I can’t make them do them all. CPS frowns on that. Blah blah blah.

Watermelon leaves for camp next week with her whole class and the list of things she needs to bring is a page long. I keep wondering how much of the list I’ll have to buy and help M with.

I did hours and hours worth of audits and interviews at my full time job this week and I hated every second of it. A guy begged me to do it because of my certification status and asked me to train a new girl to take over and I reluctantly said yes because I have no idea how to say the word no. Me – the girl who hates talking to other human beings – spent the week interviewing management.
Yah. That’s my idea of fun. Jesus balls. On a stick.

Oh and Mother’s Day is coming.
Buy some gifts and wrap them while you’re doing all this other shit too, mkay?

Sleep is elusive. I crave it, need it and want it – and still it won’t come and if it does it brings nightmares with it. Enter the migraines. Blah blah blah.

But at least I look cute in my skinny jeans and nude wedges today, right?

A co-worker gave me a bunch of Coach things to sell too because I’m stupid and offered to do it….so I’ll be posting those soon.

My mom is having a garage sale so because I had nothing else to do – all week has been spent finding things to sell, loading them up, tagging them and hating the whole process. Then I get to spend two days sitting at the sale hoping people buy my shit. Again – because I have nothing else to do.

I hope to share what this week’s weight loss video was about and my weigh in results and all that good stuff tomorrow.

Thank God for Rambo. Thank God for his huge soft hairy chest where my face fits just right. Thank God for his lap that I fit right into if I’m in the fetal position. Thank God for his emails and phone calls and words of love and ability to do laundry and bunches of other shit I can’t fathom having the time to do.

Thank God for this space. Once in a while – I just need to whine and bitch and have a pity party and say “poor me” and write it out… I can move on, suck it up and be grateful and get it done.

I can’t fart gumdrops every single day. Well, I can but today they’ll come out black.

And come on – not very many people eat the black ones, you know?

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Parenting is a mindf*ck eased by a tiny hand.

I’m sorry for such vulgarity! And right in the title too. Eeesh.

Actually I’m not sorry.
It’s the truth and the word mindf*ck describes my parenting the last few days to perfection.

Monday night Watermelon and her friend M wanted to walk to the gas station to get ice cream. Sounds harmless, right? Well you have to cross a busy highway so my answer is always the same.

Nope. No and no.

Rambo and I don’t want our 12 year old cute daughter crossing a major highway or walking that far. Call us paranoid or strict or whatever. Watermelon thinks we’re crazy because at least 3 of her other friends are allowed to do it. All 3 of those girls have pretty much non-existent parents. Parents who could care less if their cute little girls are crossing intersections or highways because they only care about their daughters being out of the house so they don’t have to deal with them.

So I told Watermelon and M that they couldn’t go. That I cared too much about her to let her do that. She was mad. I let her be mad. But it sucked. Big ass donkey balls. I hate saying no. I hate being the bad guy in her eyes. I hate the feelings I felt. I hate that I ever got mad at my own mom for the same thing. Just yuck.

And it’s made so much more lovely by the fact that her friend M had to witness me being a jerk.

For a couple hours Monday night, I’m sure that Watermelon and M discussed how I must be Satan’s sister.

Fast forward to Tuesday night. Watermelon asks me to come outside. There stands M. Crying. Her step-dad took her 3 year old brother and left to get away for a bit. Away from M’s mom who is acting crazy and is supposedly on drugs. M doesn’t want to be there. Can M stay with us for the night?

I hugged M for a while. Told her I was sorry. I looked at Watermelon because I was actually worried she may feel jealous or left out and all I saw was Watermelon looking at M – with sadness in her eyes for M. Twelve year old girls shouldn’t have to deal with this shit. Ever. It’s just not fair. Ever.

I’ve been here before with M. She only lives a few houses down and so when things get bad – she runs to our house and Watermelon. I hate sending her back home on those nights – but I have to. She’s not my kid. I feel like I’m sending a soldier into a raging war…only the soldier is a kid with no weapons and the war has nothing to do with her.

Drugs and fighting and yelling and crying and leaving. I told M those are all adult things that she shouldn’t even know about. She should just be being a kid.

M is screwed up enough because her bio father has nothing to do with her. She is constantly seeking male attention. And now more of this?

I said if her parents okayed it – she could stay. I didn’t even have to wake her up this morning. Her and Watermelon were up and dancing and getting ready for school before the alarm even went off. I hugged them both goodbye and a part of me wanted to tell M that she never had to leave. That THIS right here was how her every morning should be. That THIS is what she deserves….but I have no power over that.

It has to be enough that I can give her one night of refuge I guess.

So I only had to take little Banana to daycare this morning. She rode in the front seat and was all excited. A few minutes in – I felt something on my arm. It was her hand reaching for mine. She never spoke a word.

I held on for dear life and she held my hand all the way there.

Such a small gesture – and yet – so big. For me, it felt like a lifeline from God. Like an opportunity to suck all the goodness out of a 7 year old that I could so I could refill my tank that had been emptied so much in the last 48 hours.

Have you ever held a small child’s hand for at least 15 minutes? It’s soft and perfect and just the right size and it fits in your hand like a glove. My hand that has seen pain and tears and 12 year olds who live in a toxic environment and loss and love and disappointment and joy – wrapped around this tiny hand that hasn’t experienced much of anything yet except childhood and happiness. Her little pure hand in my adult tainted hand….reminded me of when mine used to be pure.

She held mine tight. She never let go all the way there. She wore her flip flops today to be like me. She wore a dress today to be like me. She wore her cool shades all the way to daycare so she could look like me. She told me she wants me to go on her field trip with her next week because if I don’t she’ll miss me and Rambo.

The moment was perfect. And God how I wished I could stay in that moment and just feel the tiny hand in mine. Not go to work. Not worry about M and if she’ll stay at our house again tonight. Not think about any other jobs or duties or responsibilities.

I guess while last night we gave M some peace and quiet and security, Banana gave me some of that back this morning without even knowing it.

Those are the moments that matter. The moments we cling to in our darkest hours. The moments that make all the other shit worth it. The moments that can sometimes completely erase past pains or current heartbreak. The moments we hope will come around again.

The moments we never saw coming but needed desperately.

I went from being a hated mom to feeling heartbreak for M to relief that I could help her to sadness that I couldn’t help her longer to sanity and gratefulness for what I have that came in the form of a tiny hand reaching across the car for mine.

Parenting is a freaking roller coaster of emotions.

It is a complete and total mindf*ck.

It is not for the feint of heart. You can go from asshole to savior in a matter of seconds.

And if you’re like me – you often wonder if you can pull off this thing called parenting? You wonder if you’re doing anything right. You wonder how you’ll ever survive this.

Then the Universe gives you a little encouragement that you didn’t see coming.

In the form of a tiny hand. Reaching for yours.

And in that moment you know that you have to keep on trying….because you love the little girls behind the tiny hands more than the air you breathe.

Be it asshole or savior – the love you feel never lessens.

And the mindf*ck continues.

As it should I suppose.

Friday, May 3, 2013

What I learned in this week's video....

It’s no huge ass secret that we eat when we’re not hungry and it’s usually based on some emotions we’re trying to fix or stuff down or not feel or whatever. Most of us can be eating a bag of chips while our mind is literally screaming: “YOU’RE NOT EVEN HUNGRY – WHAT ARE YOU DOING – YOU’RE GOING TO REGRET THIS!”

It’s easy to admit that we emotionally eat but not so easy to stop it.

This week’s video had a good point in that we are taught at a very, very early age that our feelings aren’t valid or real or that we shouldn’t be feeling what we feel…and that most anything we feel can be fixed with food.

For example – let’s say a 7 year old girl has a tiff with her 7 year old best friend and she comes to her mom and says, “Ugh Mom – I hate Mary! She took my crayons! I’m never talking to her again!”

What would most Moms say to that? I know that for me, I’d say, “Honey, don’t say that. You don’t hate Mary! She’s your best friend!”

In doing so I told her she wasn’t really allowed to feel what she felt, that it was wrong and not true. I unvalidated everything she just said instead of just listening and saying, “Oh that sucks about the crayons!”

And then a lot of us would go even further and say, “Here. Have a cookie and go play with someone else for now.”

For women – way back in the day – they were often taught never to feel anger or be mad. Real women don’t act that way. Read ladies are polite and dainty and don’t yell or scream or get pissed off and want to shank people. Put the shank away – just hold it in – or eat it gone, right?

For men – in olden days and I still believe now – they were taught never to show fear or be scared. They were taught to buck up, be brave and strong for the dainty women, never show fear or be scared of anything. Keep the terror inside – or eat it gone, right?

Has anyone ever given you permission to just feel exactly what you feel – right or wrong?
How many people say, “you shouldn’t feel that way – you’ll hurt someone – that’s inappropriate – you’re over-reacting – there’s nothing to be mad about – you’ll be fine – you’re worrying for nothing”?

We all listen to people have feelings and then we try to FIX them and make them go away because feelings are damn uncomfortable and it’s hard to see people we love hurting.

So yah – we all know we emotionally eat and we’ve all been told that before we reach for the Oreos that we should ask ourselves if we are really hungry?

Instead of asking that – this woman in the program says that of all the emotions in the entire world – when we eat and we aren’t hungry – there are only FOUR emotions we are feeling. Anything we feel when we reach for our 300th Skittle can be tagged as one of the FOUR emotions or a combination of them. You don’t have to try to decipher what you are feeling from an entire dictionary of words that describe what you are feeling.

It’s not that complicated. It’s simple.

You are feeling:

Mad – angy, frustrated

Sad – depressed, down

Glad – excited, euphoric

Scared – anxious, tense

That’s it.

So reach for a pop tart after you just ate breakfast and ask, “Crap – am I mad, sad, glad or scared?”

Answer yourself and then sit. Five minutes.

With and in the feeling you just decided you were. If you have to – tell yourself out loud – I give myself permission to feel this feeling.


Once you sit with it and own it – you can more easily let it go.

After five minutes – do you still want the food?

Hopefully not. Will you want it again in 10 minutes because you’re still mad or sad? Probably.

Repeat the steps. Ask yourself the question? Answer it. Sit with it. Own it. Then disown it.

Do it over and over until you can let it go for good.

If you eat out of emotional hunger, you’re going to be hungry again in 10 minutes. It was never real hunger so you can never really satisfy it with food. You have to find another way – to satisfy the emotional need emotionally.

And if you’re feeling mad, sad, glad or scared – how is your list of SEVEN vital needs looking? If you could rate your needs on a scale of 1 to 10 – would some be 5s or 2s or 9s or 10s? If you have 3s on 5 out of your 7 needs – chances are you’re reaching for food because you’re emotional /vital needs aren’t met and filled up so you are searching desperately to feel better …and your brain says food will get you to a 10.

Your brain is wrong. Eat the food. Check your 7 vital needs and see if they went up on your meter of being fulfilled. They didn’t. You didn’t work to fulfill a vital need by bingeing – you just ate food. Period. You ate unnecessary calories.

Your vital needs meter never moved an inch. In fact, it may have gone down because regret is now on your radar.

Here’s a drawing to help explain!

Anyway – that’s what this week was about in a nutshell.
Probably not necessarily new stuff BUT old stuff said in a different way.
I thought it was interesting.

What do you think?