If anyone has ever been harassed by creditors, it's really not fun. They're just mean. We had one once insult Chris' deceased mother, say that he was a no good loser, I mean, just really not nice people. This week, they took it to a whole other level.
This week, we were contacted by a creditor. They knew I'd moved to Georgia, they knew about the situation with my ex, they knew everything. They knew it because I told them, or I'd written it on my blog and they'd found it. Apparently, they've been reading about our life and deciding how they should respond. Violated doesn't even begin to describe how I feel.
I mean, yes. Writing on a blog isn't private. I know that, I've even talked about it before. But I thought I'd done everything right. I made it so you can't see my last name or address when you to the website owner search, I've NEVER said my last name, my husband's last name, or my children's last name, I thought I'd done everything right. But when they said that they knew all this stuff, and that they were making decisions based on my blog...it just really creeped me out. If they can find me that easily, anyone could. It's not that I'm hiding, I'm not. It's that I kind of thought there was some filter between internet life and my real life. There isn't. That's crystal clear. And that scares the shit out of me.
This isn't about what we owe or who we owe it to. It's about the ease in which my life was able to be pryed into by someone I didn't know. By the way, had these people asked where we lived, I would've told them. I never tried to hide. My issue isn't that they "found me" (because we were in phone contact with them almost once a week, so it's not like we were MIA), my issue is, that they threw my life in my face. My issue is, they pretty much said, "we know you live in Georgia, we know that you did such and such. We know everything. We read your blog". If they can find it so easily, who else can? If they know all this, who else does?
Where does this leave me? Where do I go from here? Can I write the way I want without fear from retribution? Is this just part of the territory? Is just the nasty underbelly of the internet that I've just not seen before? Is it even worth the trouble? I don't know. I just don't know. All I know is I feel completely violated.
Answered prayers
It's almost my birthday again and once again, I've been thinking about what is, what was, and what could've been. Specifically, I've been thinking about me and Chris' baby. About 3 years ago, we tried to have a baby. After several months of diligent practice, I finally missed my period. When I was about 2 weeks late, I took a pregnancy test. Negative. Another couple of days went by, I took another one. Negative again. When I got to the 3 week mark, still no period and about $100 spent on pregnancy tests, I went to the doctor. Negative test again. They said that doesn't mean anything, maybe it was too soon to tell. Fair enough. I didn't need a test anyway. I knew, I just KNEW I was pregnant. I felt exactly like I did the first time when I was pregnant with the kids. I went almost 5 weeks without a period, then I started bleeding. At first it was just a little, but then I started getting major cramping and something felt wrong. I went back to the doctor who told me that I needed to have a D&C. She said if I ever was pregnant, I wasn't anymore. She said that 1 of 2 things happened: 1. either my period was just screwed or 2. I was pregnant, it "didn't take" (her words, not mine), and now my body thought it was still pregnant. Either way, I had to have a D&C. It was horrible, awful pain, both physically and emotionally. But me being me, I just didn't deal. Chris chose to deal by deciding that I never was pregnant, I was just mistaken. I chose to deal by pretending the whole thing never happened, but my heart ached for what could've been. Chris and I decided that we couldn't do it again, it was too hard, too dangerous for me (they said that if we tried again there would be more problems because of all the scarring I had from my first pregnancy), and we'd just adopt when the time was right. We left the door open to try again, never say never and such. None of that changed what was in my heart.
His name is Luke (a nod to his Southern roots, he's named after Luke Duke from the Dukes of Hazzard, who incidently I had a major crush on when I was little. I even had blue footie pajamas that said "I Love Luke" with a heart and Luke Duke's picture on them) and we're completely in love with him. He's brought me so much joy. And knowing that we saved his life...I just don't even have words. Sometimes the answer isn't all what you thought it would be. Sometimes it's better.
I knew in my heart that we had a baby, but it was gone. Just not meant to be. But it was there, and it's stayed with me for the past 3 years. I think about it sometimes. When I see a baby, my heart whispers wistfully, that's not for you. Your baby is gone. I sometimes think what his name would be (I imagine it as a boy), and what his name would be (Matthew Christopher, Matthew because it's my favorite book of the Bible, and Christopher, after his daddy). He'd have dark hair (like his parents) and crystal clear blue eyes (like his daddy). I usually try to push those thoughts out of my mind quickly. But the door was always open to try again, right? Well, the more time passes, the more I know that the previously open door is slowly closing. I'll be 31 this month, getting a little too old to start over again. The kids are 10 after all. Last Sunday I was sitting in church, and there was a baby a few rows in front of us. I smiled as it cooed and looked at his momma with his big beautiful eyes. I was surprised how fast tears sprung to my eyes. As I blinked them away, I heard a voice saying, let it go. It's time. Let it go. I didn't say anything to Chris, it's been an unwritten rule that we just don't talk about what happened, and I didn't want to upset him, or worse, make a scene in church by being a big crybaby mess. That voice kept repeating over and over in my head to let it go, and I tried (unsuccessfully) to ignore it. Finally, on Monday night I broke down and talked to Chris. I let it all out. How hurt I was that we'd never really talked about it, how I knew that we had a baby, but it was gone, how I knew it was a boy and that his name was Matthew. I did pretty well, every time I felt those hot tears in my eyes, I tried to blink them away, when I failed, I tried stealthily wipe them before they hit my cheeks (have I ever mentioned I HATE crying?). Chris patiently listened, nodding at all the right times, then he stood up, put his arms out and just said, come here. He hugged me and rubbed my back and assured me everything was ok, I was ok, and that he was so sorry for not helping me deal with this at the time. (This my friends, is why I'm completely and madly in love with him. He's my best friend, my biggest supporter, and the greatest guy in the world.) I felt better, and that night I prayed. I prayed for strength, I prayed for answer, I prayed for peace.
The next morning I was doing my morning reading online, and I read that over 10,000 dogs were put to sleep in an animal shelter in the next county over. I was horrified and broken-hearted. There I was, emotionally drained from the past 2 days, now crying over these damn dogs, like I don't have enough issues. This was what I prayed for? This was my answer? Angry now, without even thinking, I clicked on the county website to find out more about this animal shelter. Before I knew it, I was looking through the available dogs for adoption. There were so many sad faces, so many dogs that needed homes. I just sat there crying. Then I saw this black puppy, with big blue eyes. I tried to ignore it, I tried to go do something else, but my mind (and my heart) kept going to this one particular puppy. I sent Chris an email with the dog's picture and said, I think we need to adopt this puppy. He wrote back, Me too. Find out what we need to do. He got off work early and we went to the shelter. It was so sad, both of us being dog lovers, we just were so broken hearted to walk through the aisles of homeless dogs, most doomed for death. Then we saw him. There was that sweet face and blue eyes, sitting quietly, not barking and jumping around like the other dogs, like he was just waiting for us. I said, that's him. Chris looked at me and nodded.
After we filled out the paperwork, the lady behind the desk smiled and said, you saved two dogs today, the one you're taking home and the one that can take his spot. Congratulations on your new baby. We just smiled. She was right, he was our baby. The answer to our prayers. He's even got blue eyes, just like his daddy.
His name is Luke (a nod to his Southern roots, he's named after Luke Duke from the Dukes of Hazzard, who incidently I had a major crush on when I was little. I even had blue footie pajamas that said "I Love Luke" with a heart and Luke Duke's picture on them) and we're completely in love with him. He's brought me so much joy. And knowing that we saved his life...I just don't even have words. Sometimes the answer isn't all what you thought it would be. Sometimes it's better. Stripped
When I first started writing this blog, I had 2 readers, my mom and Chris. Writing was fun, my way to share funny stories, or just for me to have a place to let loose with my thoughts. I've always wanted to be a writer, and I felt like I had good, important things to say, and honestly, I just love to write. Gradually, over the course of the next year I gained more and more readers, and while readership was a good thing, I think I got sucked into the whole "blogger" thing. I started writing posts and telling stories (even though they were true) because I knew they'd be funny material on my blog, not because I thought they were really worth sharing. If nothing funny happened that day, I'd struggle to find something, anything to write about. Yes, sometimes I wrote posts that I wanted to, sometimes I really enjoyed it, but for the most part, it was a chore. For the past month, it's been a burden. One more thing that I just really don't want to do.
For instance, when we moved here, there have been so many fun projects I've worked on, that I'd love to write about. I've worked hard on them, I've really surprised myself that I could do them at all, and I'm proud of myself. I want to share them. But I've felt like I couldn't. My blog hasn't ever been one about decorating or home projects. I'm learning to cook, Southern style, and I'm having so much fun with it, but I don't share because my blog has never been a cooking blog. The other day, there was a deer walking by the creek that runs through our backyard. The Earth seemed so quiet, so peaceful. I felt like I was witnessing the beauty of nature, the way God had intended it. I felt like it was an incredible gift that I'd been given, the feelings I had, the thoughts I had, I wanted to share them, I wanted to write about it. But I didn't because my blog has never been a spiritual blog. I read an article about how moms are more and more likely to become alcoholics because of their wine drinking obsession. I wanted to write about my own fears, about how I abused alcohol, and about how joking about having to have a glass of wine every night to be able to cope with your kids isn't funny, it's just sad. But my blog hasn't been a public service message, and I didn't want to piss off any of the more popular "mommy bloggers" by calling them out on it.
Somewhere along the lines, I stopped writing for me. Just the other day, a regular reader of my blog said, you don't seem like you're as funny as you used to be. I said, you didn't like my post? This person said, no, it was ok. Just not very funny. In the past if I got any kind of negative feedback, I made sure my next post was funny. And even if I wanted to write about something not funny, I apologized for it ahead of time. When did that start being ok? Since when do I have to apologize for writing what I want to on MY blog? I mean, I pay for the domain, it's my name in the title, doesn't that give me some right to write about what I want? And I know that I've said in the past that I'm going to write about what I want, but I couldn't. I wanted to be popular, I wanted to have a popular blog. I wanted my own 15 minutes, and I didn't think I could do that if I was too read. Somewhere in the past 2 or 3 months, something has changed. I'm not the same. I used to be a horrible cook, I'm kind of good now. Anything that even resembled crafting was a nightmare, but now, even though I still have a fear of glue guns, I'm pretty good at it. And more importantly, I'm a damn good mother. Out of anxiety, or fear, or maybe just because I thought it played better, I went to self-deprecating humor. I viewed my parenting skills as lacking because they weren't like other people's.
I know I rambling, but I don't care. I'm not apologizing anymore. If you don't want to read my blog anymore, don't. I'm at a point in my life where I have to be true to my authentic self, even if I'm still figuring it out. I have spent so long trying to be something else, and I just can't do it anymore.
I don't know the direction I'm going in, I don't know that I even have a "theme" anymore. I've never been much for labels anyway. I don't want to give up writing because it makes me happy, and I feel like that's the alternative. I thought about starting a different blog, but I like this one, it has my name in the title, and of course with all the pink and whatnot. I still may, I don't know. What I do know is, from now on, I'm stripping it all down. I'm done with the bullshit, I'm done with writing for other people, and I'm done with not being true to myself.
For instance, when we moved here, there have been so many fun projects I've worked on, that I'd love to write about. I've worked hard on them, I've really surprised myself that I could do them at all, and I'm proud of myself. I want to share them. But I've felt like I couldn't. My blog hasn't ever been one about decorating or home projects. I'm learning to cook, Southern style, and I'm having so much fun with it, but I don't share because my blog has never been a cooking blog. The other day, there was a deer walking by the creek that runs through our backyard. The Earth seemed so quiet, so peaceful. I felt like I was witnessing the beauty of nature, the way God had intended it. I felt like it was an incredible gift that I'd been given, the feelings I had, the thoughts I had, I wanted to share them, I wanted to write about it. But I didn't because my blog has never been a spiritual blog. I read an article about how moms are more and more likely to become alcoholics because of their wine drinking obsession. I wanted to write about my own fears, about how I abused alcohol, and about how joking about having to have a glass of wine every night to be able to cope with your kids isn't funny, it's just sad. But my blog hasn't been a public service message, and I didn't want to piss off any of the more popular "mommy bloggers" by calling them out on it.
Somewhere along the lines, I stopped writing for me. Just the other day, a regular reader of my blog said, you don't seem like you're as funny as you used to be. I said, you didn't like my post? This person said, no, it was ok. Just not very funny. In the past if I got any kind of negative feedback, I made sure my next post was funny. And even if I wanted to write about something not funny, I apologized for it ahead of time. When did that start being ok? Since when do I have to apologize for writing what I want to on MY blog? I mean, I pay for the domain, it's my name in the title, doesn't that give me some right to write about what I want? And I know that I've said in the past that I'm going to write about what I want, but I couldn't. I wanted to be popular, I wanted to have a popular blog. I wanted my own 15 minutes, and I didn't think I could do that if I was too read. Somewhere in the past 2 or 3 months, something has changed. I'm not the same. I used to be a horrible cook, I'm kind of good now. Anything that even resembled crafting was a nightmare, but now, even though I still have a fear of glue guns, I'm pretty good at it. And more importantly, I'm a damn good mother. Out of anxiety, or fear, or maybe just because I thought it played better, I went to self-deprecating humor. I viewed my parenting skills as lacking because they weren't like other people's.
I know I rambling, but I don't care. I'm not apologizing anymore. If you don't want to read my blog anymore, don't. I'm at a point in my life where I have to be true to my authentic self, even if I'm still figuring it out. I have spent so long trying to be something else, and I just can't do it anymore.
I don't know the direction I'm going in, I don't know that I even have a "theme" anymore. I've never been much for labels anyway. I don't want to give up writing because it makes me happy, and I feel like that's the alternative. I thought about starting a different blog, but I like this one, it has my name in the title, and of course with all the pink and whatnot. I still may, I don't know. What I do know is, from now on, I'm stripping it all down. I'm done with the bullshit, I'm done with writing for other people, and I'm done with not being true to myself.
Out with the old, in with the new
As usual, I'm late to the party. I had planned on doing this post, oh you know, about 2 weeks ago, but I apparently suck at time management. So yeah, it's a new year and I like to think that before we can move forward, we have to look at the past, so we can reflect and learn. I don't really think that. I really think that what's done is done, no sense crying over spilled milk, why would you buy the cow when you can get the milk for free...no wait. That's not the right saying. I've derailed.
Without further ado, I present to you my Best Posts of 2009 (in my humble opinion of course). Here we go.
10. 10 Years - This was to my babies on their 10th birthday, who aren't so much babies anymore as wonderful little young people.
9. Karma gets you every time - Poop. Tampons. Toilet overflow. Is there anything else to say?
8. Domestic Bliss - An ode to crafting. And you know what? Fuck crafting.
7. Kicked out of the Cardigan Club - I still don't fit in with these Coach wearing/carrying bitches. Apparently, a lot of you don't either. This is was one of my most commented, most e-mailed about, most talked about posts in 2009.
6. Get your boobs off my donut - The title really says it all...
5. Scrooge McDuck and Magellan do Boston - Tunnels, near death experiences, Boston...what else could it be? ROADTRIP!
4. Animal Voodoo - More near death experiences.
3. Furry buzzing overlords - A guest post written by Chris, that makes me laugh so hard I pee my pants. He's freaking hilarious.
2. The scary truth about Fiber One - I am an AWESOME mom
1. My Story - I shared my experience with domestic violence with Violence UnSilenced. It was the hardest and most rewarding thing I've ever done. Closure, finally, is a beautiful thing. Thank you Maggie, for giving me the opportunity.
Without further ado, I present to you my Best Posts of 2009 (in my humble opinion of course). Here we go.
10. 10 Years - This was to my babies on their 10th birthday, who aren't so much babies anymore as wonderful little young people.
9. Karma gets you every time - Poop. Tampons. Toilet overflow. Is there anything else to say?
8. Domestic Bliss - An ode to crafting. And you know what? Fuck crafting.
7. Kicked out of the Cardigan Club - I still don't fit in with these Coach wearing/carrying bitches. Apparently, a lot of you don't either. This is was one of my most commented, most e-mailed about, most talked about posts in 2009.
6. Get your boobs off my donut - The title really says it all...
5. Scrooge McDuck and Magellan do Boston - Tunnels, near death experiences, Boston...what else could it be? ROADTRIP!
4. Animal Voodoo - More near death experiences.
3. Furry buzzing overlords - A guest post written by Chris, that makes me laugh so hard I pee my pants. He's freaking hilarious.
2. The scary truth about Fiber One - I am an AWESOME mom
1. My Story - I shared my experience with domestic violence with Violence UnSilenced. It was the hardest and most rewarding thing I've ever done. Closure, finally, is a beautiful thing. Thank you Maggie, for giving me the opportunity.
I got mad skills, yo.
I know that my posts are kinda few and far between lately, but I have a good reason. I've taken on yet another new role: General Contractor. Yep, that's right, Miss I Suck At All Things Home Improvementy is now a general contractor. The good thing about being a general contractor is that I don't have to use a glue gun like for stupid crafting. The bad thing about being a general contractor is that I don't get use a glue gun like for stupid crafting because that would be way easier than the other tools I find myself using.
For instance, last weekend I put up tile in the kitchen (BY MYSELF thankyouvermuch). So I went to Home Depot and asked the tile guy for help. He kept asking me all these questions like, do you have a grout float? I was like, dude. I don't even know what grout is, let alone why I'd want to float it. Or what I'd float it in. Or why. Why don't you just tell me what I need. Ok? Thanks so much. He was like, oh, ok. So you've never done this before. Good call buddy. So he gets me this stuff, which was basically like a big sheet of double-sided tape, and assured me I could do this. So not believing him, I was like, if you say so. What's next? He gives me this big box of powder (which is apparently what grout comes in before you add water and make a horrible mess all over your new floors). I told him I REALLY wanted the premixed kind, he said I didn't. I suppose he was right about that, because it was really fun mixing it with the drill bit extender stirrer thngy (see how I've learned all the technical names for tools now?). $120 later and I was off to hopefully not wreck the kitchen that I'd spent almost a month fixing. It really was easy, way easier than I thought it would be. I did stick my head to the wall a couple of times (that double sided tape stuff is REALLY sticky), and I did get black grout everywhere. And I did ruin some of the tile when I threw across the room because it wouldn't go on the wall straight. But I did it. BY MYSELF. Did I mention I did it by myself?
This week I've been working on staining the cabinets. I think I'm completely high on the fumes, but the cabinets look great. I'm thisclose to finishing the kitchen, and I can't wait to show y'all how awesome it is. In the meantime, please be patient with me. This whole homeownership thing is way more time consuming than I'd thought it would be. On the other hand, more validation for my awesomeness is never a bad thing.
For instance, last weekend I put up tile in the kitchen (BY MYSELF thankyouvermuch). So I went to Home Depot and asked the tile guy for help. He kept asking me all these questions like, do you have a grout float? I was like, dude. I don't even know what grout is, let alone why I'd want to float it. Or what I'd float it in. Or why. Why don't you just tell me what I need. Ok? Thanks so much. He was like, oh, ok. So you've never done this before. Good call buddy. So he gets me this stuff, which was basically like a big sheet of double-sided tape, and assured me I could do this. So not believing him, I was like, if you say so. What's next? He gives me this big box of powder (which is apparently what grout comes in before you add water and make a horrible mess all over your new floors). I told him I REALLY wanted the premixed kind, he said I didn't. I suppose he was right about that, because it was really fun mixing it with the drill bit extender stirrer thngy (see how I've learned all the technical names for tools now?). $120 later and I was off to hopefully not wreck the kitchen that I'd spent almost a month fixing. It really was easy, way easier than I thought it would be. I did stick my head to the wall a couple of times (that double sided tape stuff is REALLY sticky), and I did get black grout everywhere. And I did ruin some of the tile when I threw across the room because it wouldn't go on the wall straight. But I did it. BY MYSELF. Did I mention I did it by myself?
This week I've been working on staining the cabinets. I think I'm completely high on the fumes, but the cabinets look great. I'm thisclose to finishing the kitchen, and I can't wait to show y'all how awesome it is. In the meantime, please be patient with me. This whole homeownership thing is way more time consuming than I'd thought it would be. On the other hand, more validation for my awesomeness is never a bad thing.
Things I've discovered since being domesticated
Since I've been staying at home, being all domestic and stuff, I've learned all kinds of interesting things about myself that I never knew before. I don't know, maybe the drugs are finally starting to wear off, or maybe the effects are just kicking in...
1. I make a kick ass grilled cheese sandwich. I mean, it's GOOD. Like restaurant good. I didn't know that. I've made grilled cheese for Chris and the kids, but I'd never eaten one I'd made before. Since being home all day, I get really hungry for lunch, and you can only eat Chef Boyardee so many times before you have to cave and make real food (yeah, grilled cheese counts as real food). I don't know why it's so good, probably because I'm awesome, so it only stands to reason my grilled cheese is as well.
2. No matter how many loads of laundry I do, there's always more. Always. No matter what. The other day, I spent the whole day doing laundry. When I finally finished, I was strutting around, so proud that I'd finally conquered the Battle of the Laundry. To my utter dismay, there was a sock...ONE freakin sock...in the basket. I don't know how it got there. I don't know where the other one was, I didn't have any extras, everything I'd folded had a match. I'm convinced that there is some evil sock gnome that is just not playing fair. When I find him, I'm going to punch him in the face. I'm just sayin...
3. The UPS guy is even more exciting now than he was before. A couple days ago I got a package from Pottery Barn (more on that in a minute). And while I was excited about my package, I was thrilled to see the UPS guy. I was all, Hai! How are you today? He's all, here you go ma'am, have a nice day. I'm all, wait! Don't you want to have a cup of coffee? I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich! He's all, no thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day. He starts pulling the door closed and I'm like, wait! Don't go! Talk to me! Are you enjoying the weather? I just moved here from Maine, it's cold there. My favorite color is green. I like sunsets and puppies, please don't go, please talk to me! He's all walking quickly to his truck, furtively glancing over his shoulder to make sure I'm not following him, which I totally am. By the time he gets to his truck, he's at a near sprint. Maybe I scared him, I don't see why though. I just wanted some human contact. I get kind of lonely during the day. And it's not like I was going to chase the truck ALL the way down the street...
4. I love, love, love Pottery Barn. I'm trying to make my whole house an homage to the perfection that is Pottery Barn. Last night I was looking at their catalog for the zillionth time, trying to decide if $129 for velvet drapes was really too much to spend, and Chris was like, you know the whole house doesn't HAVE to be from Pottery Barn. I was like, YES IT DOES. YOU SAID I COULD DO WHATEVER I WANTED TO AND I WANT POTTERY BARN! WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM? He's like, um...first, you're nuts. Second, I like it too, but don't you think it's a little expensive? I scoffed, it's not like I get a paycheck anymore. The least you can do is pay me in Pottery Barn. He's all, but we have a mortgage now...blah, blah, blah. I love Pottery Barn. I want more Pottery Barn things in my house. That's all I have to say about that.
5. I'm still as crazy as before (as evident by this completely rambing nonsensical post). I still break out into dance in public. I still bust a move in the kitchen when I'm making dinner. I still burst into song randomly. The other day we were in the car and Chris was talking to the kids about the Panama Canal (I forget why, but I readily admit it's an odd subject to be discussing in the car...or at all, for that matter), and I'm just contently looking out the window, when all of a sudden, Panama! Panama-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! PANAMA! You know, a la Van Halen? It just kinda came out. Kat started laughing, and I was like, what? She's like, mom, you're nuts. Ain't that the truth.
1. I make a kick ass grilled cheese sandwich. I mean, it's GOOD. Like restaurant good. I didn't know that. I've made grilled cheese for Chris and the kids, but I'd never eaten one I'd made before. Since being home all day, I get really hungry for lunch, and you can only eat Chef Boyardee so many times before you have to cave and make real food (yeah, grilled cheese counts as real food). I don't know why it's so good, probably because I'm awesome, so it only stands to reason my grilled cheese is as well.
2. No matter how many loads of laundry I do, there's always more. Always. No matter what. The other day, I spent the whole day doing laundry. When I finally finished, I was strutting around, so proud that I'd finally conquered the Battle of the Laundry. To my utter dismay, there was a sock...ONE freakin sock...in the basket. I don't know how it got there. I don't know where the other one was, I didn't have any extras, everything I'd folded had a match. I'm convinced that there is some evil sock gnome that is just not playing fair. When I find him, I'm going to punch him in the face. I'm just sayin...
3. The UPS guy is even more exciting now than he was before. A couple days ago I got a package from Pottery Barn (more on that in a minute). And while I was excited about my package, I was thrilled to see the UPS guy. I was all, Hai! How are you today? He's all, here you go ma'am, have a nice day. I'm all, wait! Don't you want to have a cup of coffee? I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich! He's all, no thank you, ma'am. Have a nice day. He starts pulling the door closed and I'm like, wait! Don't go! Talk to me! Are you enjoying the weather? I just moved here from Maine, it's cold there. My favorite color is green. I like sunsets and puppies, please don't go, please talk to me! He's all walking quickly to his truck, furtively glancing over his shoulder to make sure I'm not following him, which I totally am. By the time he gets to his truck, he's at a near sprint. Maybe I scared him, I don't see why though. I just wanted some human contact. I get kind of lonely during the day. And it's not like I was going to chase the truck ALL the way down the street...
4. I love, love, love Pottery Barn. I'm trying to make my whole house an homage to the perfection that is Pottery Barn. Last night I was looking at their catalog for the zillionth time, trying to decide if $129 for velvet drapes was really too much to spend, and Chris was like, you know the whole house doesn't HAVE to be from Pottery Barn. I was like, YES IT DOES. YOU SAID I COULD DO WHATEVER I WANTED TO AND I WANT POTTERY BARN! WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM? He's like, um...first, you're nuts. Second, I like it too, but don't you think it's a little expensive? I scoffed, it's not like I get a paycheck anymore. The least you can do is pay me in Pottery Barn. He's all, but we have a mortgage now...blah, blah, blah. I love Pottery Barn. I want more Pottery Barn things in my house. That's all I have to say about that.
5. I'm still as crazy as before (as evident by this completely rambing nonsensical post). I still break out into dance in public. I still bust a move in the kitchen when I'm making dinner. I still burst into song randomly. The other day we were in the car and Chris was talking to the kids about the Panama Canal (I forget why, but I readily admit it's an odd subject to be discussing in the car...or at all, for that matter), and I'm just contently looking out the window, when all of a sudden, Panama! Panama-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! PANAMA! You know, a la Van Halen? It just kinda came out. Kat started laughing, and I was like, what? She's like, mom, you're nuts. Ain't that the truth.
Seismic shift
I never really wanted to be "someone's wife". And I never really wanted to be one of those moms whose days revolved around her children. I wanted my own life, I wanted my own interests, and more than anything else, I wanted to retain my independence. When we moved, everything I thought I was, everything I thought I wanted, everything in my life completely shifted. My days are now filled with laundry, dishes, vacuuming, ironing, sewing buttons and thinking about healthy meals and snacks for my family. Sometimes I find myself feeling like I'm living someone else's life, I mean, this is Merritt. 110% independent, snarky, and a total disaster when it comes to anything domestic related. Or at least that's how I thought I was. Maybe I'm not at all who I thought, and maybe that's not such a terrible thing.
This morning I got up with Chris at 5:30 to have breakfast with him before he went to work. Granted it was Eggo waffles, but the old me would've never done that. I would have half-heartedly said goodbye to him as he left, not even bothering to open my eyes. When it was time for the kids to get up, I would have gotten them up and gone back to bed, confident that they could take showers and get ready themselves, certainly capable of getting their own cereal. Now, I get up before them so I can make them a hot breakfast, usually something along the lines of scrambled eggs, peanut butter toast and some kind of fruit, that I've peeled and sliced for them. They eat at the table, with the tv off. We chat about what they have going on at school, I quiz them on vocabulary or spelling words, and they're seeming to love every minute of it. What's nuts is, I am too.
I'm taking great pride, I'm talking GREAT pride, like I live in the freakin Taj Mahal pride, in my home. I'm painstakingly choosing everything that goes into this house. For instance, it took me 3 weeks, no exaggeration, to choose a backsplash. It took me 2 weeks to decide on the wall scheme of shelves for the kitchen. I've arranged pictures, then rearranged them again to make sure that they're perfect. I make my bed every single day, complete with frou frou pillows and a puffy comforter, just like in a magazine. You know, I actually even considered ironing my sheets, but I thought that might be overkill. The table no longer has laundry folded all over it like it did when we lived in Maine. It's folded and put away immediately.
So what's the difference? Is it because I'm not working and my only job now is to be a wife and mother? Is it because the climate is warmer and I don't feel the need to hide under blankets to stay warm? Is it because the day light lasts longer and I don't feel that familiar depression creeping in? Maybe it's all of it. Maybe it's none of it. But for the first time in my life, I don't care why. I don't need to analyze. I'm happy, and I'm exactly where I want to be, where I need to be. I'm still crazy, and I still rock my pink bathrobe like nobody's business, but something's just different. And I like it.
This morning I got up with Chris at 5:30 to have breakfast with him before he went to work. Granted it was Eggo waffles, but the old me would've never done that. I would have half-heartedly said goodbye to him as he left, not even bothering to open my eyes. When it was time for the kids to get up, I would have gotten them up and gone back to bed, confident that they could take showers and get ready themselves, certainly capable of getting their own cereal. Now, I get up before them so I can make them a hot breakfast, usually something along the lines of scrambled eggs, peanut butter toast and some kind of fruit, that I've peeled and sliced for them. They eat at the table, with the tv off. We chat about what they have going on at school, I quiz them on vocabulary or spelling words, and they're seeming to love every minute of it. What's nuts is, I am too.
I'm taking great pride, I'm talking GREAT pride, like I live in the freakin Taj Mahal pride, in my home. I'm painstakingly choosing everything that goes into this house. For instance, it took me 3 weeks, no exaggeration, to choose a backsplash. It took me 2 weeks to decide on the wall scheme of shelves for the kitchen. I've arranged pictures, then rearranged them again to make sure that they're perfect. I make my bed every single day, complete with frou frou pillows and a puffy comforter, just like in a magazine. You know, I actually even considered ironing my sheets, but I thought that might be overkill. The table no longer has laundry folded all over it like it did when we lived in Maine. It's folded and put away immediately.
So what's the difference? Is it because I'm not working and my only job now is to be a wife and mother? Is it because the climate is warmer and I don't feel the need to hide under blankets to stay warm? Is it because the day light lasts longer and I don't feel that familiar depression creeping in? Maybe it's all of it. Maybe it's none of it. But for the first time in my life, I don't care why. I don't need to analyze. I'm happy, and I'm exactly where I want to be, where I need to be. I'm still crazy, and I still rock my pink bathrobe like nobody's business, but something's just different. And I like it.
Airline fun
So the other day, well not really the other day, more like two months ago (I just didn't post it because I'm super lazy and have been totally enthralled in my own personal drama...read: moving 1800 miles), I told you I'd tell you about Chris almost getting arrested by TSA. Here goes.
Ok. So. Chris and I were traveling to Georgia to get some painting and stuff done on the house. The whole trip really started poorly because I'd had a huge fight with the kids' dad, his car died, which meant that he couldn't watch the kids while we were gone, so we had to let him borrow our car while we were gone and have him pick us up at the airport when we got back. Of course now, like 2 months later, it really doesn't sound like a big deal, but at the time, it was. The tension was so thick in the car, you could've cut it with a knife. So Chris and I were already pretty stressed when we got to the airport. We tried to check in through the little self-check-in kiosk, but it of course didn't work. When we got to the counter, the grouchy little man was all, did you try the self-check-in? I was like, yes, we did. It didn't work. He lets out this big obnoxious sigh, and walked the 4 feet around the counter to help us. When the tickets were printed, we noticed that our seats weren't together. We asked if he could fix that for us. Now, keep in mind, we aren't world-class travelers, but we do travel quite a bit. We had a long distance (1800 miles) relationship for over a year, so flying isn't a new thing. Anyway, we always sit together, and no airline, ever, has had a problem fixing our seats. Well, this douchebag did. He was all, I can't change your seat without permission. I'm like, well, get permission. The guy's all, ma'am, we don't do that. I was like, it's fine, we'll just ask at the gate. Then the guy goes into this 10-minute diatribe about how they don't do that. I was like, dude. Whatever. We'll ask at the gate. We good here? We got through security and made it to the gate with time to spare. Then it went really bad.
Now, Chris is just about the most charming person on the planet. He always gets what he wants, he's polite, charming, smooth talking, the whole deal. He never raises his voice, and people always bend over backwards to help him. This time? Not so much. We walked up to the desk and Chris all, excuse me, ma'am? I just have a quick problem I'm hoping you can help me with. You see, I would like to sit with my wife on the plane, but our seats aren't together. The gentleman downstairs said that you might be able to help me. This woman, snorted and said, No. I can't. Chris said, do you think you could check again? She was like, No. Chris raises his eyebrows, takes a deep breath and says, is there some reason we can't sit together? She sighs and says, I'd have to change someone's seat. And I'm not doing that without asking them. Chris says, well, can we ask them? She's all huffy at this point, and snaps, Fine. Then she picked up the phone and called the angry little man that we'd already talked to downstairs, who apparently was a "manager", if manager meant douchebag. They talk for a second on the phone and then she smirks at Chris, and says, no. You can't change seats. Chris opened his mouth to say something, then she walked away...like mid-conversation. We were like, uh...what the fuck? If the day hadn't already been absolute crap, we probably start laughing. I didn't find it even remotely funny. I burst in to tears. I was like, I can't sit next to some stranger on the plane! I hate flying and you know how I feel about enclosed spaces! I can't do this, please don't make me do this! Chris was like, I know baby, I'm gonna fix it. They always change it for us. This lady is just a bitch, I'll fix it. Don't cry. So I walk over and sit in the chairs, totally pouting.
The lady didn't come right back, so Chris patiently waited at the counter for her. When she finally came back, she was helping other people, so Chris continued to be patient. When she was done helping everyone, making phone calls and trying her level best to ignore Chris, she finally was like, can I help you, sir? Now, I didn't hear what else was said, I was too busy pouting in the chair. The next thing I knew, Chris was walking quickly toward me, shaking his head. I was like, what happened? He was like, that fucking whore just threatened to call TSA on me! This, I found a little funny. Apparently, he asked to speak to a manager, and she said, if you don't stop bothering me, I'm going to report you to TSA. You can explain to them why you're terrorizing me. She picked up the scary red phone to call them, and he walked away. I feel sure I'm not making it sound nearly as scary as it actually was...
So maybe the moral of the story is, airline personnel, quit being dicks. Don't use TSA as a threat so you don't have to deal with people. TSA is there for security, not for your personal bodyguard. Because here's the truth, that lady was a straight up bitch, she didn't even TRY to help us, she was rude and absolutely unprofessional. Chris didn't so much as raise his voice, and she was nothing but nasty. That's not TSA's fault, nor is it their problem. Or maybe the moral of the story is to never fly with Delta again, EVER (we usually use AirTran because they're cheaper and have THE best customer service of any airline we've ever used, and Delta has never given us anything but problems), no matter how cheap they are. Or maybe the moral of the story is, don't bother with airline personnel, just put on your best sad face and manipulate total strangers into doing what you what them to. Which is what we ended up doing.
Once we were on the plane, Chris said to the lady in the seat next to his, ma'am, my wife is terrified of flying, and may have a panic attack if she can't sit next to me. Can you please switch seats with her? She didn't seem to be too happy about it, but one look at me, complete with red puffy eyes, sniffling and wet cheeks, she moved. I slept the whole flight.
Ok. So. Chris and I were traveling to Georgia to get some painting and stuff done on the house. The whole trip really started poorly because I'd had a huge fight with the kids' dad, his car died, which meant that he couldn't watch the kids while we were gone, so we had to let him borrow our car while we were gone and have him pick us up at the airport when we got back. Of course now, like 2 months later, it really doesn't sound like a big deal, but at the time, it was. The tension was so thick in the car, you could've cut it with a knife. So Chris and I were already pretty stressed when we got to the airport. We tried to check in through the little self-check-in kiosk, but it of course didn't work. When we got to the counter, the grouchy little man was all, did you try the self-check-in? I was like, yes, we did. It didn't work. He lets out this big obnoxious sigh, and walked the 4 feet around the counter to help us. When the tickets were printed, we noticed that our seats weren't together. We asked if he could fix that for us. Now, keep in mind, we aren't world-class travelers, but we do travel quite a bit. We had a long distance (1800 miles) relationship for over a year, so flying isn't a new thing. Anyway, we always sit together, and no airline, ever, has had a problem fixing our seats. Well, this douchebag did. He was all, I can't change your seat without permission. I'm like, well, get permission. The guy's all, ma'am, we don't do that. I was like, it's fine, we'll just ask at the gate. Then the guy goes into this 10-minute diatribe about how they don't do that. I was like, dude. Whatever. We'll ask at the gate. We good here? We got through security and made it to the gate with time to spare. Then it went really bad.
Now, Chris is just about the most charming person on the planet. He always gets what he wants, he's polite, charming, smooth talking, the whole deal. He never raises his voice, and people always bend over backwards to help him. This time? Not so much. We walked up to the desk and Chris all, excuse me, ma'am? I just have a quick problem I'm hoping you can help me with. You see, I would like to sit with my wife on the plane, but our seats aren't together. The gentleman downstairs said that you might be able to help me. This woman, snorted and said, No. I can't. Chris said, do you think you could check again? She was like, No. Chris raises his eyebrows, takes a deep breath and says, is there some reason we can't sit together? She sighs and says, I'd have to change someone's seat. And I'm not doing that without asking them. Chris says, well, can we ask them? She's all huffy at this point, and snaps, Fine. Then she picked up the phone and called the angry little man that we'd already talked to downstairs, who apparently was a "manager", if manager meant douchebag. They talk for a second on the phone and then she smirks at Chris, and says, no. You can't change seats. Chris opened his mouth to say something, then she walked away...like mid-conversation. We were like, uh...what the fuck? If the day hadn't already been absolute crap, we probably start laughing. I didn't find it even remotely funny. I burst in to tears. I was like, I can't sit next to some stranger on the plane! I hate flying and you know how I feel about enclosed spaces! I can't do this, please don't make me do this! Chris was like, I know baby, I'm gonna fix it. They always change it for us. This lady is just a bitch, I'll fix it. Don't cry. So I walk over and sit in the chairs, totally pouting.
The lady didn't come right back, so Chris patiently waited at the counter for her. When she finally came back, she was helping other people, so Chris continued to be patient. When she was done helping everyone, making phone calls and trying her level best to ignore Chris, she finally was like, can I help you, sir? Now, I didn't hear what else was said, I was too busy pouting in the chair. The next thing I knew, Chris was walking quickly toward me, shaking his head. I was like, what happened? He was like, that fucking whore just threatened to call TSA on me! This, I found a little funny. Apparently, he asked to speak to a manager, and she said, if you don't stop bothering me, I'm going to report you to TSA. You can explain to them why you're terrorizing me. She picked up the scary red phone to call them, and he walked away. I feel sure I'm not making it sound nearly as scary as it actually was...
So maybe the moral of the story is, airline personnel, quit being dicks. Don't use TSA as a threat so you don't have to deal with people. TSA is there for security, not for your personal bodyguard. Because here's the truth, that lady was a straight up bitch, she didn't even TRY to help us, she was rude and absolutely unprofessional. Chris didn't so much as raise his voice, and she was nothing but nasty. That's not TSA's fault, nor is it their problem. Or maybe the moral of the story is to never fly with Delta again, EVER (we usually use AirTran because they're cheaper and have THE best customer service of any airline we've ever used, and Delta has never given us anything but problems), no matter how cheap they are. Or maybe the moral of the story is, don't bother with airline personnel, just put on your best sad face and manipulate total strangers into doing what you what them to. Which is what we ended up doing.
Once we were on the plane, Chris said to the lady in the seat next to his, ma'am, my wife is terrified of flying, and may have a panic attack if she can't sit next to me. Can you please switch seats with her? She didn't seem to be too happy about it, but one look at me, complete with red puffy eyes, sniffling and wet cheeks, she moved. I slept the whole flight.
One small action at a time
Awhile back, I was contacted by Jon Brooks, of FOAR.US and was asked to cover their launch. Sadly, I was so busy and so wrapped up in our move that I dropped the ball...big time. I should've covered this before Christmas, or even during the big Christmastime push, but I'm wondering if this is maybe a blessing in disguise (disguised of course as an overworked, overstressed mom). The new year is just days away, and aren't we all looking for a resolution we can keep? Maybe this year, we can resolve to do the right thing. Maybe this year, we can resolve to make a difference in the world, one small action at a time.
FOAR.US is a clothing company that works with the non-profit organizations, War Child and Women Thrive to raise money for their organizations through the sale of t-shirts. According to FOAR's website, "Foar.us has the objective of redefining conscious consumerism and bring light to vital issues too often forgotten. Through fashion we give people the opportunity to have a voice beyond a simple aesthetic." In other words, you're going to buy t-shirts anyway, why not buy a t-shirt that makes a difference in the world? Incidentally, $10 from each t-shirt sold goes directly to the charity it was designed for (the t-shirts sell for $30-$35). Their products are also organic as well as sweat shop free.
I'm not going to rant or rave. I'm not going to beg and plead. What I will tell you is, these are really cool t-shirts. The charities they've been designed for are worthy and deserve more attention. Check it out for yourself. Maybe you'll decide that you want to put some of that Christmas cash to a new, awesome t-shirt. Maybe you'll just decide to check out their website and spread the word about what they're doing. Either way, I really don't think you'll be disappointed. I wasn't.
I also want to make sure this is crystal clear: I haven't been paid a dime for this post. I haven't been offered or promised any merchandise. This is a project I believe in, and all I've received is a great feeling for doing the right thing, and that's enough for me.
FOAR.US is a clothing company that works with the non-profit organizations, War Child and Women Thrive to raise money for their organizations through the sale of t-shirts. According to FOAR's website, "Foar.us has the objective of redefining conscious consumerism and bring light to vital issues too often forgotten. Through fashion we give people the opportunity to have a voice beyond a simple aesthetic." In other words, you're going to buy t-shirts anyway, why not buy a t-shirt that makes a difference in the world? Incidentally, $10 from each t-shirt sold goes directly to the charity it was designed for (the t-shirts sell for $30-$35). Their products are also organic as well as sweat shop free.
I'm not going to rant or rave. I'm not going to beg and plead. What I will tell you is, these are really cool t-shirts. The charities they've been designed for are worthy and deserve more attention. Check it out for yourself. Maybe you'll decide that you want to put some of that Christmas cash to a new, awesome t-shirt. Maybe you'll just decide to check out their website and spread the word about what they're doing. Either way, I really don't think you'll be disappointed. I wasn't.
I also want to make sure this is crystal clear: I haven't been paid a dime for this post. I haven't been offered or promised any merchandise. This is a project I believe in, and all I've received is a great feeling for doing the right thing, and that's enough for me.
Sadly, Santa didn't leave me any Xanax
So Christmas is over (huge sigh of relief). We got through the day with no tears, which was fantastic. The days leading up to Christmas were pretty difficult. I had a couple of days there that I could hardly even get out of bed. I just felt so completely done with everything. I think it was a mix of the stress of moving, being a little homesick, Christmastime, our house not being finished, the whole mess of everything just kind of fell down on me. Christmas day though, we decided there'd been enough wallowing time, and we went to go see some of Chris' family that I'd never met before. They were so wonderful, saying all kinds of wonderful things like, baby, that dawg bit the fool out of me!, and well, he was just fussin and fussin at me, but I didn't pay him no nevermind, or well ain't you just the prettiest thang. I really love Southern accents, and his family his very, very Southern. They were just so kind and welcoming, and just so much better than I thought they'd be. Like his Aunt, who is the one who said that the dog bit the fool out of her, is so sweet. She said to me and the kids, y'all just call me MeMaw. Which is awesome, because 1. I've never had a MeMaw, and 2. MeMaw is an awesome name.
So in the post-Christmas haze, we're attempting to get back to normal. I've decided that I'm not going to be depressed, and I'm not going to be lonely. I'm certainly not going to be bored, the kids are making sure of that. They've been fighting. A lot. Like constantly. I feel like I've been anointed the new warden of asylum. Like this morning, they were fighting because Kat was making thank you cards, David was playing his Playstation. Kat asked David how many presents her uncle got her (so she could make sure to include them all in her note). He said 2, she thought it was 3. They started screaming at each other about it. Or like last night, they were playing Battleship. Kat told David that she wanted him to tell her again all of the numbers he'd already called so she could mark them down (or some such thing), David said no, Kat said yes, and they nearly came to blows about it. I don't know if it's too much candy, not enough sleep, Christmas, or a combination of all three, but those two have lost their damn mind. And I'm not too far behind.
I find myself missing the time when I have too much to do before they get home from school, or the blissful quiet that settles over the house as they leave for the bus stop in the morning, having a cup coffee in the morning without anyone nagging at me, the mundane tasks that I do during the day...when I'm COMPLETELY ALONE. Incidentally, there are 8 more days until they go back to school, I hope. This morning, my dreams of peace and solitude were shattered. See, the state of Georgia says that the kids need some special form filled out by their doctor, verifying that they've had all their shots, etc. It can't be a Maine shot record, it has to be a Georgia shot record. So they don't need shots, just to have a Georgia doctor say that they had their shots in Maine. Confused yet? Me too. Anyway, this has to be done within 30 days of when the kids start school, so their appointments are this week. When their new pediatrician called to verify the insurance information, they told me that the number I gave them is inactive, essentially they have no insurance. When Chris transferred down here, apparently, his insurance didn't. There was some crap about how this center uses a different carrier, I don't know, I glazed over at the thought of another week of the kids bickering. Well, anyway, the lady is all, let's just reschedule so your husband's work can get this all settled. I was like, NO! The school says if this isn't done by January 5, they can't go back to school! She was like, ma'am, if there's no insurance on file, you'll have to pay cash. I was like, fine, I don't care. I'll pay cash. She was all, well...it's going to be at least $250 per child, you may end paying well over $500 for this. A small price to pay for my sanity.
So in the post-Christmas haze, we're attempting to get back to normal. I've decided that I'm not going to be depressed, and I'm not going to be lonely. I'm certainly not going to be bored, the kids are making sure of that. They've been fighting. A lot. Like constantly. I feel like I've been anointed the new warden of asylum. Like this morning, they were fighting because Kat was making thank you cards, David was playing his Playstation. Kat asked David how many presents her uncle got her (so she could make sure to include them all in her note). He said 2, she thought it was 3. They started screaming at each other about it. Or like last night, they were playing Battleship. Kat told David that she wanted him to tell her again all of the numbers he'd already called so she could mark them down (or some such thing), David said no, Kat said yes, and they nearly came to blows about it. I don't know if it's too much candy, not enough sleep, Christmas, or a combination of all three, but those two have lost their damn mind. And I'm not too far behind.
I find myself missing the time when I have too much to do before they get home from school, or the blissful quiet that settles over the house as they leave for the bus stop in the morning, having a cup coffee in the morning without anyone nagging at me, the mundane tasks that I do during the day...when I'm COMPLETELY ALONE. Incidentally, there are 8 more days until they go back to school, I hope. This morning, my dreams of peace and solitude were shattered. See, the state of Georgia says that the kids need some special form filled out by their doctor, verifying that they've had all their shots, etc. It can't be a Maine shot record, it has to be a Georgia shot record. So they don't need shots, just to have a Georgia doctor say that they had their shots in Maine. Confused yet? Me too. Anyway, this has to be done within 30 days of when the kids start school, so their appointments are this week. When their new pediatrician called to verify the insurance information, they told me that the number I gave them is inactive, essentially they have no insurance. When Chris transferred down here, apparently, his insurance didn't. There was some crap about how this center uses a different carrier, I don't know, I glazed over at the thought of another week of the kids bickering. Well, anyway, the lady is all, let's just reschedule so your husband's work can get this all settled. I was like, NO! The school says if this isn't done by January 5, they can't go back to school! She was like, ma'am, if there's no insurance on file, you'll have to pay cash. I was like, fine, I don't care. I'll pay cash. She was all, well...it's going to be at least $250 per child, you may end paying well over $500 for this. A small price to pay for my sanity.
I'm back, and I'm still a badass
Nearly 30 days since my last post. Honestly, I thought that maybe I'd stop blogging. I thought that with all the changes, the new set of expectations, and my new "job", I just didn't have time to write. Well, this is my second day home alone, and really, you can only wipe off the counters so many times before you get bored.
So here I am. In my new house. In Georgia. It's pretty damn awesome. Yes, I only have one working bathroom. And yes, it doesn't have a sink. Sure, we're still brushing our teeth in the kitchen sink, but you know what? I don't care. I'm in my own house. Oh, AND...it has a dishwasher! I've never had a dishwasher before, so that's exciting...if getting excited about appliances is your thing. Apparently it's mine. Which is a little bothersome because I'm not the kind of girl who gets all giddy over appliances. For instance, last night I was cooking dinner and I pushed a button on the microwave (it had a picture of a light bulb on it) and what do you know? A light came on! But before you go scoffing and thinking I'm total retard, let me explain. The microwave is over the stove, so when I pushed the button, I thought that the light INSIDE the microwave would come on. Nope, light UNDER the microwave came on, so my stove top was lit up. Ok, I know, this wouldn't excite many people, but it thrilled the hell out of me.
I'm almost done unpacking. It's been a little nerve rattling because the other day I moved a box and the biggest cockroach I've ever seen jumped out and tried to kill me, worse, he brought his brother to help. The kids were sitting on the bed and Davey jumped up and shrieked like a girl, he started jumping up and down on the bed, Kat was waving her arms around screaming, I on the other hand, was very calm. I calmly said, oh my, a large cockroach. I need to kill it. Yeah...not so much. I let out a bloodcurdling Jaime Lee Curtis "Halloween" scream and ran out of the room. Chris was standing in the kitchen laughing. I was like, did you not hear me screaming? He was like, yeah, I heard you. I was like, weren't you going to check to make sure we were ok? Aren't you concerned for the welfare of your wife and children? He was all, no. I figured you saw a bug. I was like, well...I did. But you're a jerk. I finally convinced him to stop laughing at me and come kill it. He found the first one and stomped on it, but the second one ran under the bed and Chris wouldn't go find it. He said if I feel compelled to crawl under the bed and look for a cockroach I should do so, but he wasn't going to. I decided I didn't really want to either. Now, every time I move a box, I expect to see a cockroach. We found a dead one in the bathroom that wasn't there when we first moved in, Chris said it was probably the one that ran under the bed. He said the house has been bug sprayed, so it was just a matter of time before it died. I'm not sure if I believe him, but I haven't seen any more yet, so I hope he's telling the truth and not just waiting for me to amuse him with more screaming and flailing about.
Everyone warned me that there would be big bugs here, I just had to get used to them. I think I'm getting the hang of it. Yesterday morning I was sitting at the table drinking my coffee when I saw this big brown hoppy crawly bug. Some kind of beetle on steroids or something. He was prancing around in his annoying little bug way thinking he's the shit. I calmly put my coffee cup down, picked up a hammer and smashed the crap out of him. I was like, that's right, bitch. Who's the badass now?
So here I am. In my new house. In Georgia. It's pretty damn awesome. Yes, I only have one working bathroom. And yes, it doesn't have a sink. Sure, we're still brushing our teeth in the kitchen sink, but you know what? I don't care. I'm in my own house. Oh, AND...it has a dishwasher! I've never had a dishwasher before, so that's exciting...if getting excited about appliances is your thing. Apparently it's mine. Which is a little bothersome because I'm not the kind of girl who gets all giddy over appliances. For instance, last night I was cooking dinner and I pushed a button on the microwave (it had a picture of a light bulb on it) and what do you know? A light came on! But before you go scoffing and thinking I'm total retard, let me explain. The microwave is over the stove, so when I pushed the button, I thought that the light INSIDE the microwave would come on. Nope, light UNDER the microwave came on, so my stove top was lit up. Ok, I know, this wouldn't excite many people, but it thrilled the hell out of me.
I'm almost done unpacking. It's been a little nerve rattling because the other day I moved a box and the biggest cockroach I've ever seen jumped out and tried to kill me, worse, he brought his brother to help. The kids were sitting on the bed and Davey jumped up and shrieked like a girl, he started jumping up and down on the bed, Kat was waving her arms around screaming, I on the other hand, was very calm. I calmly said, oh my, a large cockroach. I need to kill it. Yeah...not so much. I let out a bloodcurdling Jaime Lee Curtis "Halloween" scream and ran out of the room. Chris was standing in the kitchen laughing. I was like, did you not hear me screaming? He was like, yeah, I heard you. I was like, weren't you going to check to make sure we were ok? Aren't you concerned for the welfare of your wife and children? He was all, no. I figured you saw a bug. I was like, well...I did. But you're a jerk. I finally convinced him to stop laughing at me and come kill it. He found the first one and stomped on it, but the second one ran under the bed and Chris wouldn't go find it. He said if I feel compelled to crawl under the bed and look for a cockroach I should do so, but he wasn't going to. I decided I didn't really want to either. Now, every time I move a box, I expect to see a cockroach. We found a dead one in the bathroom that wasn't there when we first moved in, Chris said it was probably the one that ran under the bed. He said the house has been bug sprayed, so it was just a matter of time before it died. I'm not sure if I believe him, but I haven't seen any more yet, so I hope he's telling the truth and not just waiting for me to amuse him with more screaming and flailing about.
Everyone warned me that there would be big bugs here, I just had to get used to them. I think I'm getting the hang of it. Yesterday morning I was sitting at the table drinking my coffee when I saw this big brown hoppy crawly bug. Some kind of beetle on steroids or something. He was prancing around in his annoying little bug way thinking he's the shit. I calmly put my coffee cup down, picked up a hammer and smashed the crap out of him. I was like, that's right, bitch. Who's the badass now?
The quick and dirty update
It's been so long since I've written a real post (not that this is a real post, because it's really not), I don't even know where to begin. My head is in a million different places lately. Maine, Georgia and everywhere in between. We closed on the house on November 9. It was this huge relief followed by an overwhelming need to throw up. Are we really doing this? Did we seriously just buy a house? Yeah, we really did.
This past weekend we flew down to do some painting, which totally sucked. At first, it was kind of fun because it was all, yay! Working on OUR house! But that really didn't last long because painting really sucks. The carpets had already been ripped out, so we spent the entire weekend (from 8 am to after midnight every day) walking, crawling and kneeling on concrete floors, which I'd like to add did wonders for my already sore and arthritic knee. Yeah, I know I sound about 87, I don't care. It hurts. Also, just like every other project we work on together, Chris and I bickered almost the entire time. I think he paints like a blind, handless retard, and he thinks I'm too bossy. Clearly, he's wrong and I'm right.
We're leaving here around the 9th of December, which is more than 3 weeks earlier than we'd planned on, so I've really been scrambling to get everything done. The moving truck comes either the 2nd or 3rd (because they need a 2 day window for pick up) and we're all moving in with my parents until we leave. I think after living with me, Chris, the kids and our 3 dogs, by the time the 9th rolls around, she's going to be more than ready for us to leave. I'm looking forward to it though (as crazy as it sounds), she and I have worked really hard to mend fences and turn over a new leaf and all those other nice-sounding metaphors than really mean stop being a jerk to each other.
So that's the quick and dirty update. I promise I'll be back to normal posting again soon, I'm just so overwhelmed with all this right now, I hardly have time to think. Tomorrow I'll tell you all about our air travel adventure from this weekend and Chris' brush with getting arrested by TSA because I'm a spaz.
This past weekend we flew down to do some painting, which totally sucked. At first, it was kind of fun because it was all, yay! Working on OUR house! But that really didn't last long because painting really sucks. The carpets had already been ripped out, so we spent the entire weekend (from 8 am to after midnight every day) walking, crawling and kneeling on concrete floors, which I'd like to add did wonders for my already sore and arthritic knee. Yeah, I know I sound about 87, I don't care. It hurts. Also, just like every other project we work on together, Chris and I bickered almost the entire time. I think he paints like a blind, handless retard, and he thinks I'm too bossy. Clearly, he's wrong and I'm right.
We're leaving here around the 9th of December, which is more than 3 weeks earlier than we'd planned on, so I've really been scrambling to get everything done. The moving truck comes either the 2nd or 3rd (because they need a 2 day window for pick up) and we're all moving in with my parents until we leave. I think after living with me, Chris, the kids and our 3 dogs, by the time the 9th rolls around, she's going to be more than ready for us to leave. I'm looking forward to it though (as crazy as it sounds), she and I have worked really hard to mend fences and turn over a new leaf and all those other nice-sounding metaphors than really mean stop being a jerk to each other.
So that's the quick and dirty update. I promise I'll be back to normal posting again soon, I'm just so overwhelmed with all this right now, I hardly have time to think. Tomorrow I'll tell you all about our air travel adventure from this weekend and Chris' brush with getting arrested by TSA because I'm a spaz.
You like me, you really like me!
Ok, maybe you don't, but Aiming Low does.
I know, I'm a total slacker and haven't posted anything for like a week. My only excuse is that I'm drowning in a sea of boxes and packing tape. I'll do a real post soon, I promise. In the meantime, the good folks over at Aiming Low (which is an awesome site all about the perfection that us moms will never reach) appreciate my slackerdom and have featured me today, which makes me feel completely validated and awesome.
Check it out here.
I know, I'm a total slacker and haven't posted anything for like a week. My only excuse is that I'm drowning in a sea of boxes and packing tape. I'll do a real post soon, I promise. In the meantime, the good folks over at Aiming Low (which is an awesome site all about the perfection that us moms will never reach) appreciate my slackerdom and have featured me today, which makes me feel completely validated and awesome.
Check it out here.
Screw saving money. Next time I'm just buying what I want.
Our table isn't going to fit in our new house. Well, it might fit, but it's going to be really tight, so Chris and I decided that we needed a new table. So I picked a table from Pottery Barn. The table was $600, which I thought wasn't all that expensive, of course this could be why I'm not allowed out alone with a credit card anymore, but I was in love. Chris said I could get anything I wanted, which I love to hear. Unfortunately, what I think he really meant is, you can have anything you want until I remember that I'm cheap and will do anything to save money. We went to this wholesale liquidation store on Saturday. They had this pub table, that came with 4 chairs for $150. Before I knew what was happening, Chris was sweet talking the salesman and we were no longer in the market for a table. Chris was all, I know it's not Pottery Barn, but you have great taste, and I know you'll make it beautiful. Against my better judgement, and in what can only be described as a typhoid fever-induced haze, I nodded and said (totally getting my Tim Gunn on), I'll make it work. Obviously I was high. The table is beat to shit. It's smoke damaged because it was an insurance loss in a fire. The chairs are rickety and the seat cushions look like they've been dragged through the mud. But I figured if I give up my Pottery Barn table, I'll make up for it somewhere else. Maybe a great backsplash, a new living room chair, I've got a whole house to shop for. And fixing this table can't be THAT bad, right?
We get the table home, and Kat and I spent about an hour scraping off the foam shit that they use to put fires out, because it's stuck all over the chairs. We tightened up the chairs, put them back together the right way (someone put some of them together totally wrong), and we start painting. After awhile, my knee starts stiffening up, so I put my paint brush down to stretch my legs and Kat'shellbeast puppy steals my paint brush and runs away with it into the living room. Keep in mind that the brush is about as big as she is. So Bella, being the monster adorable puppy that she is, got black paint everywhere. All over the kitchen floor, the wall, everywhere. She finally dropped it in the living room. On the rug. Black paint on my tan carpet. Love it. After spending about 45 minutes scrubbing the carpet, I get the paint out and give up for the day.
Day 2, I start painting again, and Kat'spain in the ass puppy starts frolicking around, like jumping around and wagging her tail under the chairs that I've just painted. Then she starts rubbing all over the legs of the chair like a damn cat. So Kat's white dog now has paint all over her, and I have to repaint because there's white beast dog hair on my freshly painted chairs. After another couple times of her messing up my paint, stealing my paint brush and getting black paint on the carpet (again), I finally finished painting. On to step two. Recovering the chairs.
Iam so done with this stupid motherfucking project at this point, I cut the fabric completely crooked carefully measure the fabric, and start the recovering. Ok, I don't know if I'm just a big wuss or if I have the world's hardest to use staple gun, but I couldn't staple that damn thing for the life of me. I had to use both hands, which was next to impossible because I needed another 2 hands to pull the fabric tight. Son of a bitch. This is why I hate crafting/home improvement projects. It's also incidentally why I'd rather just buy what I want than rescue some dilapidated piece of shit just to save money, but I digress. I had to ask Chris for help, which just irritated me more. I only put the fabric on backwards once, which I thought was a major accomplishment.
I'm still not done with thishorrible project. I have sheets all over the kitchen, chairs everywhere, one of the tables in like 12 pieces, the other one covered with laundry, I can't get to the stove, I have shit all over the counters, and it looks like a fabric store exploded all over my dining room. I'm thinking for all this, I've totally earned a backsplash.
We get the table home, and Kat and I spent about an hour scraping off the foam shit that they use to put fires out, because it's stuck all over the chairs. We tightened up the chairs, put them back together the right way (someone put some of them together totally wrong), and we start painting. After awhile, my knee starts stiffening up, so I put my paint brush down to stretch my legs and Kat's
Day 2, I start painting again, and Kat's
I
I'm still not done with this
You never know when you might need it
The other night when I was sure I was dying from the plague (I've been sick since I got home from Georgia. Gotta love air travel), we were watching Hoarders on A&E. Have y'all seen this show? They're crazy. They live with wall to wall clutter, but it's way worse than clutter. They save everything, or buy too much, or just give up and don't clean at all...ever. Anyway, we're all watching it, and the guy on it was explaining how he was a hoarder because when he was little his dad gave him a train set that he loved, but they didn't have any money and had to sell the train set. He was saying that he felt like he had to hoard things because of the fear that someone might take them away and he'd have nothing. I scoffed and paused the tv. I looked at Chris and said, what a load of bullshit. My biological dad decided he couldn't deal and left me and mom to be gay. I was a drug abusing alcoholic after my bad taste in men left me bruised, bloody and beaten. I got my shit together. You don't see me acting like that. Chris raised his eyebrows and says, no? You don't think you do that? I'm totally offended. Uh no? What the hell? I'm not a hoarder. I was like, I'm not crazy. Davey snickers and says, you kind of are, mom. I was like, for real. Why do you guys say that? So Chris starts to explain to me that my obsessive need to keep can goods is hoarding. Hmm.
Ok, maybe I have a need to have no less than like 50 cans of random things in my pantry. That's not crazy, that's good planning, isn't it? You never know when you might need it. Shit. That's what the people on hoarders said, "You never know when you might need it." Alright, MAYBE there are some similarities. When the kids were babies, I was so hungry and so damn poor I had to eat ketchup on crackers for some kind of nutrition (the kids were still on formula at that time). Yes, I felt completely abandoned by everyone. All of my friends were gone, off to college having fun or just busy not being a mother, my family was...well we had issues. My marriage (to the kids' dad) was rocky at best, plus my ex was working constantly, so he was never home. Basically it was just me and the kids. It was at the point I realized how screwed up I'd gotten my life and decided then and there that this would never happen again. Ever. I'd made too many mistakes, I'd lived in the past for too long, it was time to toughen up, grow the hell up and take charge of my life. So ate my ketchup on my crackers and vowed that I'd never be hungry again, and I'd never look at the kids again and wonder how I would feed them. When I said I'd never go hungry again, I didn't think it would mean that I'd gain 100 pound to compensate, but that's ok. At least I'm not hungry. So yeah, I keep extra cans in the pantry. But you know what, when y'all are starving because there's no grocery stores left because the aliens blew them up (this is in my post-apocalyptic world, of course), I'll be sitting happy with my cans.
Yes, I get that it's maybe a little crazy. But I don't hide food (anymore). Chris made me stop that when he moved in. And I don't buy cans in bulk (anymore). Chris made me stop that too. Now I just don't let them get below a certain number. Once Chris tried to use a can of cranberry sauce (part of my stash), and I was like, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! YOU CAN'T EAT THAT! I NEED TO SAVE IT! He was like, why? It's a fucking can of cranberry sauce. What are you saving it for? I was like, you never know when you might need it. Alright, I get it. That's crazy. I don't care. There's very little that gives me more joy than looking in my pantry and seeing a shelf full of cans. It's just comforting.
Anyway, I told Chris and Davey to shut it. I wasn't a hoarder. Then the doctor on the show started explaining how hoarding is sometimes a symptom of OCD and can be linked to impulsive buying. Chris and the kids looked at me with their raised eyebrows. I said, I know, I know. I need medication. Leave me alone.
Ok, maybe I have a need to have no less than like 50 cans of random things in my pantry. That's not crazy, that's good planning, isn't it? You never know when you might need it. Shit. That's what the people on hoarders said, "You never know when you might need it." Alright, MAYBE there are some similarities. When the kids were babies, I was so hungry and so damn poor I had to eat ketchup on crackers for some kind of nutrition (the kids were still on formula at that time). Yes, I felt completely abandoned by everyone. All of my friends were gone, off to college having fun or just busy not being a mother, my family was...well we had issues. My marriage (to the kids' dad) was rocky at best, plus my ex was working constantly, so he was never home. Basically it was just me and the kids. It was at the point I realized how screwed up I'd gotten my life and decided then and there that this would never happen again. Ever. I'd made too many mistakes, I'd lived in the past for too long, it was time to toughen up, grow the hell up and take charge of my life. So ate my ketchup on my crackers and vowed that I'd never be hungry again, and I'd never look at the kids again and wonder how I would feed them. When I said I'd never go hungry again, I didn't think it would mean that I'd gain 100 pound to compensate, but that's ok. At least I'm not hungry. So yeah, I keep extra cans in the pantry. But you know what, when y'all are starving because there's no grocery stores left because the aliens blew them up (this is in my post-apocalyptic world, of course), I'll be sitting happy with my cans.
Yes, I get that it's maybe a little crazy. But I don't hide food (anymore). Chris made me stop that when he moved in. And I don't buy cans in bulk (anymore). Chris made me stop that too. Now I just don't let them get below a certain number. Once Chris tried to use a can of cranberry sauce (part of my stash), and I was like, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! YOU CAN'T EAT THAT! I NEED TO SAVE IT! He was like, why? It's a fucking can of cranberry sauce. What are you saving it for? I was like, you never know when you might need it. Alright, I get it. That's crazy. I don't care. There's very little that gives me more joy than looking in my pantry and seeing a shelf full of cans. It's just comforting.
Anyway, I told Chris and Davey to shut it. I wasn't a hoarder. Then the doctor on the show started explaining how hoarding is sometimes a symptom of OCD and can be linked to impulsive buying. Chris and the kids looked at me with their raised eyebrows. I said, I know, I know. I need medication. Leave me alone.
I am one pathetic loser
My mom has finally joined the 21st century and decided to create a Facebook account. I've been bugging her about it for months. A lot of times I'd do my daily updates (which include anything from nonsensical ramblings to what's going in our lives) on Facebook and then forget to tell her about stuff. Or she'd be like, oh, so and so is moving and I'd be like, yeah, I know, I saw it on Facebook. It was just a pain in the ass. So anyway, she joined Facebook, and the other day we were talking about how it's going to be an adjustment for me to move to a place where I don't know anyone, and she says, in a way that only your mother can, you know, you're a lot nicer on Facebook than you are in person. I was like, ehh, what? She clarified that I'm just more open on Facebook, and more friendly. In person, not so much. I'd like to be really offended, but I think she may be on to something there.
This isn't something that I would normally advertise, but since I've talked about everything else on the internet, I'll just go for it. I don't have any friends. Now before you say, oh, of course you do, everyone has friends! Let me say, no, I really don't. I used to, I used to have lots, but high school was a long time ago. Those people are more of acquaintances, or old friends that I rarely get to talk to. I have lots of people that I talk to all the time, like this super kick ass chick that I met at Kat's cheering. We talk like everyday on Facebook, and she would totally be my BFF (yeah, I said BFF. I have a 10-year old daughter, what do you expect?) but she lives far away from me, like North Carolina far. I don't have anyone that I can get a cup of coffee with and have girl talk. Well, I have Chris, but he sucks at girl talk. I have people that I'm friendly with, but no real circle of friends, or shopping buddies or BFFs. Before you go thinking I'm some kind of colossal loser, I should tell you, I kind of dislike people. They make me nervous. I just don't know what to say when I'm with people. Like, if they read my blog, they think I'm funny. And I'm not really funny, I'm just a smart ass, and in person, that comes off bitchy. And although I kind of am a bitch, I don't mean to come off bitchy. So my mom was right. Who knew I'd admit that in public either?
So this whole moving to a new place thing combined with my mom telling me I'm not really nice in person got me thinking. I've been telling the kids how this is a great opportunity for them to make new friends and shake off any of those old stigmas. They can be anything they want to be, no one knows anything about them, etc. Maybe the same should apply for me. It would be awesome for Chris and I to have a couple that we could hang out with, or a girl that I could go have coffee with, or someone to walk around the block with. But new people scare me, and I'm such a hermit. I'd rather be home steam cleaning the carpets than out being social. So what do you think? How do you even make friends as an adult? There have been many instances that people have been making plans and stuff and even though I was standing there, they didn't invite me. And it's not like I can be all, wanna go hang out with me? That's just dorky. So internet, what's a wall flower/smartass/bitch supposed to do to make new friends in a new environment? How do I pull the real me (which is the the way I am here and on Facebook, by the way) out and let go of this shy crap?
This isn't something that I would normally advertise, but since I've talked about everything else on the internet, I'll just go for it. I don't have any friends. Now before you say, oh, of course you do, everyone has friends! Let me say, no, I really don't. I used to, I used to have lots, but high school was a long time ago. Those people are more of acquaintances, or old friends that I rarely get to talk to. I have lots of people that I talk to all the time, like this super kick ass chick that I met at Kat's cheering. We talk like everyday on Facebook, and she would totally be my BFF (yeah, I said BFF. I have a 10-year old daughter, what do you expect?) but she lives far away from me, like North Carolina far. I don't have anyone that I can get a cup of coffee with and have girl talk. Well, I have Chris, but he sucks at girl talk. I have people that I'm friendly with, but no real circle of friends, or shopping buddies or BFFs. Before you go thinking I'm some kind of colossal loser, I should tell you, I kind of dislike people. They make me nervous. I just don't know what to say when I'm with people. Like, if they read my blog, they think I'm funny. And I'm not really funny, I'm just a smart ass, and in person, that comes off bitchy. And although I kind of am a bitch, I don't mean to come off bitchy. So my mom was right. Who knew I'd admit that in public either?
So this whole moving to a new place thing combined with my mom telling me I'm not really nice in person got me thinking. I've been telling the kids how this is a great opportunity for them to make new friends and shake off any of those old stigmas. They can be anything they want to be, no one knows anything about them, etc. Maybe the same should apply for me. It would be awesome for Chris and I to have a couple that we could hang out with, or a girl that I could go have coffee with, or someone to walk around the block with. But new people scare me, and I'm such a hermit. I'd rather be home steam cleaning the carpets than out being social. So what do you think? How do you even make friends as an adult? There have been many instances that people have been making plans and stuff and even though I was standing there, they didn't invite me. And it's not like I can be all, wanna go hang out with me? That's just dorky. So internet, what's a wall flower/smartass/bitch supposed to do to make new friends in a new environment? How do I pull the real me (which is the the way I am here and on Facebook, by the way) out and let go of this shy crap?
Winner, winner chicken dinner
Ok, you can't really win a chicken dinner. BUT you can win $100 Visa gift card with which you could buy several chicken dinners. Check out my new review site at Miss Merrittocracy Reviews for the rules. I reviewed the Sonicare for Kids toothbrush, and I know you want to know what I think, so go look.
Go.
Why are you still here?
Go.
Why are you still here?
Oh, the joys of air travel
Hey y'all! I'm practicing my accent because...we have a house!! The offer has been accepted and we close in November! I'm so unbelievably relieved. It would've really sucked to move in January and have no house. We actually flew down this weekend to do a walk through, sign the papers and start the list of stuff that needs to be done, which is why I've been ignoring my blog. And you thought I was just being lazy.
Chris and I left Saturday and it was really cool because we've never flown anywhere without the kids. It was really nice to not have to be paranoid in the airport, looking around frantically for your children who can't seem to grasp what stay right next to me means. Try playing that game in LaGuardia. Super fun. Anyway, it was a pretty big plane, 3 seats on each side. I took the window seat, Chris in the middle and someone else in the aisle seat. On the first flight, that someone else was a very, VERY drunk man. He reeked of liquor. During the takeoff he kept taking his shoes off and playing with his feet, which also smelled. Then as soon as we were in the air, the guy reached in his bag and pulled out a fifth of vodka. I can't even get a Diet Coke through security and this guy has a fifth? Whatever. Maybe he bought it in the airport, which would be even worse because it was almost empty. So anyway, this dude kept getting up and stumbling down the aisle to the bathroom, where the poor stewardesses were like, Sir? Sir, we need you to take your seat. Then he'd stagger back to his seat, drool on Chris a little bit and drink some more. Right before we landed, he wiped the drool off his chin and PULLED OUT HIS TEETH. For real. Then he fell back asleep. Chris was like, next time I'm NOT sitting in the middle. I hate you. I found the whole thing hilarious until we were actually in the terminal. Chris and I were standing in front of one of those big maps looking for the best place to eat, and the guy walks buy and grabs my ass. I was like, that drunk guy just grabbed my ass! Chris says, yeah, try sitting next to him for an hour and half. Sucks doesn't it. Fair enough I suppose.
So after our whole weekend extravaganza, Chris and I were looking forward to going home, sleeping in our own bed, seeing the kids, all that good stuff. Just wanted a nice, restful flight back. I was really tired and wanted to take a nap on the plane, which was a great plan until the big dumb animal sitting next to me spilled Diet Coke all over my leg. He didn't do it once, but twice. Oh and that big dumb animal? Yeah, that was Chris. At first I was really mad because my leg was really cold and I was getting a little travel weary. I was like, what the hell? Would you pay attention to what you're doing? He's like, I'm sorry, I hit it with my arm. I didn't mean to. So I said, well are you going to do anything about it? He's like, what do you want me do? Now all I really meant was that I wanted him to get some napkins so I could mop up the puddle of Diet Coke in my lap, but because I'm a total smartass and kind of a bitch, I said, you want to make it right, why don't pour the rest of that on yourself. And you know what that fool did? He picked up his Diet Coke and dumped it in his lap. He was like, now we can be wet and miserable together. I was like, aww, you're the best travel buddy ever.
So even though we had to brave the crowded seats, drunks and laps full of Diet Coke, we had an awesome weekend. And did I mention we have a house? Hell yeah, y'all.
Chris and I left Saturday and it was really cool because we've never flown anywhere without the kids. It was really nice to not have to be paranoid in the airport, looking around frantically for your children who can't seem to grasp what stay right next to me means. Try playing that game in LaGuardia. Super fun. Anyway, it was a pretty big plane, 3 seats on each side. I took the window seat, Chris in the middle and someone else in the aisle seat. On the first flight, that someone else was a very, VERY drunk man. He reeked of liquor. During the takeoff he kept taking his shoes off and playing with his feet, which also smelled. Then as soon as we were in the air, the guy reached in his bag and pulled out a fifth of vodka. I can't even get a Diet Coke through security and this guy has a fifth? Whatever. Maybe he bought it in the airport, which would be even worse because it was almost empty. So anyway, this dude kept getting up and stumbling down the aisle to the bathroom, where the poor stewardesses were like, Sir? Sir, we need you to take your seat. Then he'd stagger back to his seat, drool on Chris a little bit and drink some more. Right before we landed, he wiped the drool off his chin and PULLED OUT HIS TEETH. For real. Then he fell back asleep. Chris was like, next time I'm NOT sitting in the middle. I hate you. I found the whole thing hilarious until we were actually in the terminal. Chris and I were standing in front of one of those big maps looking for the best place to eat, and the guy walks buy and grabs my ass. I was like, that drunk guy just grabbed my ass! Chris says, yeah, try sitting next to him for an hour and half. Sucks doesn't it. Fair enough I suppose.
So after our whole weekend extravaganza, Chris and I were looking forward to going home, sleeping in our own bed, seeing the kids, all that good stuff. Just wanted a nice, restful flight back. I was really tired and wanted to take a nap on the plane, which was a great plan until the big dumb animal sitting next to me spilled Diet Coke all over my leg. He didn't do it once, but twice. Oh and that big dumb animal? Yeah, that was Chris. At first I was really mad because my leg was really cold and I was getting a little travel weary. I was like, what the hell? Would you pay attention to what you're doing? He's like, I'm sorry, I hit it with my arm. I didn't mean to. So I said, well are you going to do anything about it? He's like, what do you want me do? Now all I really meant was that I wanted him to get some napkins so I could mop up the puddle of Diet Coke in my lap, but because I'm a total smartass and kind of a bitch, I said, you want to make it right, why don't pour the rest of that on yourself. And you know what that fool did? He picked up his Diet Coke and dumped it in his lap. He was like, now we can be wet and miserable together. I was like, aww, you're the best travel buddy ever.
So even though we had to brave the crowded seats, drunks and laps full of Diet Coke, we had an awesome weekend. And did I mention we have a house? Hell yeah, y'all.
10 years
When I was younger, I never wanted to be a mom. Some people just aren't cut out for parenthood, people like me just don't have kids. When I found out that I was pregnant, I was terrified. I didn't know how to be a mother, and I certainly couldn't be a mother to two babies at the same. I didn't know how wrong I was, I never knew that a human being was capable of loving two people so much. I remember sitting in the NICU after they were born, watching them sleep with all the tubes and monitors hooked up to their tiny bodies, bargaining with God for their lives, praying (even though I'd never done much praying) that they'd be ok. The first time I held Kat, she looked in my eyes and I knew that she was my daughter. I looked into Kat's crystal clear eyes, I knew that she was strong, I knew she was a fighter. When she ripped out her feeding tube twice in the first 24 hours, and I knew she would be ok. I wasn't allowed to hold David for the first 24 hours because he was too sick. When the nurses finally let me hold my son, I sat in a rocking chair, the tubes and wires making a pile on the floor beside us. I rocked and rocked for hours. I sat whispering in his ear, telling him that he needed to be strong, that he was beautiful and wonderful and needed to fight harder. As I rocked, the doctors and nurses worked furiously to save the life of the baby in the incubator next to David's. He was another baby born too soon, like mine. I'd had dinner with his mother in the cafeteria that evening, we'd traded war stories of the NICU, she told me about the nice nurses and the ones to watch out for. As I rocked my own son that night, willing him strength, tears rolling down my cheeks, that baby died. I don't know his name, but I think of him often. I think of how easily it could've been my son. It was the first time I truly understood how blessed I was, and how maybe, just maybe being a mother was exactly what I was meant to do.
I remember vividly their first steps; Kat taking one fearless step after another. When she'd fall, she'd stand right back up again, each step more determined than the last. David hung back, anxiously watching, taking everything in. He never took that hesitant first step. He wouldn't be rushed or talked into it, he had to do it in his own time. He waited until the time was right, until he was ready, and he ran. As I look at them today, I still see a girl who refuses to fail and who is so strong and determined. She is beautiful and fearless, and never ceases to amaze me with her strength and conviction. I still see a boy, so perceptive and inquisitive. He wants to know how things work, he makes calculated decisions, making sure that he fully understands what he's up against. His strength doesn't come as easily, he works at finding his courage, but he has a steely resolve and when he's ready, he'll do it better than you'd ever imagined possible.
Even though I've had no idea what I was doing, when I looked at them I knew that we would figure this out together. They didn't need perfection, they didn't care what the parenting books or talk shows said. They just needed me. They have taught me so, so much. I learned who I was. I learned that life really wasn't a constant string of people waiting to hurt you. They've taught me that real joy and true happiness is all around you, you just need to open your eyes. No matter what has happened, ups and downs, it has always been the three of us against the world. I've needed them just as much as they've needed me. We've grown up together, learning together how to do this whole whole life "thing". It may not be perfect, it may not be pretty, but it is pretty fantastic.
So happy 10th birthday to my babies, Katherine and David. I love you more than you could possibly imagine.
I remember vividly their first steps; Kat taking one fearless step after another. When she'd fall, she'd stand right back up again, each step more determined than the last. David hung back, anxiously watching, taking everything in. He never took that hesitant first step. He wouldn't be rushed or talked into it, he had to do it in his own time. He waited until the time was right, until he was ready, and he ran. As I look at them today, I still see a girl who refuses to fail and who is so strong and determined. She is beautiful and fearless, and never ceases to amaze me with her strength and conviction. I still see a boy, so perceptive and inquisitive. He wants to know how things work, he makes calculated decisions, making sure that he fully understands what he's up against. His strength doesn't come as easily, he works at finding his courage, but he has a steely resolve and when he's ready, he'll do it better than you'd ever imagined possible.
Even though I've had no idea what I was doing, when I looked at them I knew that we would figure this out together. They didn't need perfection, they didn't care what the parenting books or talk shows said. They just needed me. They have taught me so, so much. I learned who I was. I learned that life really wasn't a constant string of people waiting to hurt you. They've taught me that real joy and true happiness is all around you, you just need to open your eyes. No matter what has happened, ups and downs, it has always been the three of us against the world. I've needed them just as much as they've needed me. We've grown up together, learning together how to do this whole whole life "thing". It may not be perfect, it may not be pretty, but it is pretty fantastic.
So happy 10th birthday to my babies, Katherine and David. I love you more than you could possibly imagine.
Yeah, I'm a pretty kick-you-know-what mom
Monday night we took Davey to the KISS concert in Boston for his birthday. I know, I know, I'm a kick ass mom. Or as Davey said, a kick-you-know-what-mom. Let me start by saying, if you've never seen KISS in concert, you're really missing out. They put on one hell of a show. I've seen them once before and I was afraid it would lose some of the appeal the second time around. It totally didn't. It was seriously awesome, even if you're not a big KISS fan. If you ever get a chance you should go, you won't regret it. This morning Davey told me that his throat hurt from screaming so much. He said, I screamed my guts out. I screamed so much I have gut stains on my teeth.
Anyway, here's our concert experience. In pictures.
Anyway, here's our concert experience. In pictures.
Davey, pre-makeup. At this point he's seriously doubting my ability to do the Gene Simmons make-up correctly. Honestly, I was too.
No worries. I have mad skills, yo. I did it freehand. Apparently if my writing career fails to take off, I can always fall back on my face-painting skills.
Yep, he likes it. Hell yeah we're ready! Rock and roll, baby.
Seems like forever when you're waiting. Poor kid looked out the window just about the whole 3 hour train ride. I suggested he take a nap to pass the time.
He's most decidedly not napping. He's too busy making mean faces at me. He looks a lot scarier with the make-up on.
We had fantastic seats. Buckcherry opened, they were pretty good, better than I'd expected. This is right about the time when Davey looks at me and says, they've said the F word 10 times, mom. They need to watch their language. I kinda laughed off, then they started singing Crazy Bitch. Have you heard this song? Check the lyrics. It's a great song, just really, REALLY not kid appropriate. Good thing the lead singer was really hard to understand. Unfortunately "fuck" was about the only thing Davey did pick up on. Then the lead singer went on some tangent about how much he loved the first time he did cocaine before he started singing Lit Up. Ooops.
He's about to explode with excitement, we told him that Gene Simmons was behind the curtain. Had to do the horns again in celebration. Apparently Chris is pretty excited too, since this picture is so blurry.
This is one of my favorite pictures. That's Davey standing there on the left with his arms up. He's standing on the seat so he can see better, literally jumping up and down screaming. This was right before he turned around and yelled, Mom this is AWESOME!!
Gene Simmons above the stage singing "I Love it Loud", my favorite KISS song. This is of course after his whole blood spitting thing, which prompted another, this is SO AWESOME!! from Davey.
This is about the time I thought Davey was going to need hospitalization. Paul Stanley flying across the stadium. Davey's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Because he was about 10 feet in front of us. It was pretty kick ass.
We smelled a strange smell...vaguely familiar...oh yes. It was pot. Very close to us. Hoping Davey doesn't get a contact high.
Massive confetti storm during Rock and Roll All Nite. It was a blizzard of fire and confetti. Looking back, probably not safe, but definitely kick ass.
They did a 45 minute encore, and we got to see the whole thing. We were pretty concerned that we wouldn't be able to because our train was scheduled to leave at 11:20, and if we missed it we'd be stuck in Boston all night (it was the last train to Maine for the night). We were done a few minutes before 11, so it worked out perfectly. Davey walked away with a $40 t-shirt (that incidently is about 14 sizes too big) and a $30 pair of signed drum sticks (even though he 1. doesn't play the drums or 2. doesn't know who the drummer is). I'm a sucker, I know. I can't help it. Looking at his face, seeing how excited he was, watching how much he enjoyed this whole concert experience, it was totally worth it.
The last thing he said to us before totally crashing was, thank you, SO, SO, SO much guys. This has been the best birthday present EVER. You guys are awesome. You're pretty awesome too, buddy.
