Sex. I am fully aware that sex is not the highlight of a marriage. But right now, it seems like it is. It's there, the holy grail of full fledged adulthood. I can see it peaking at me from dusty corners and poopy toilet lids. It hides in the grease film that engulfs my head and the toe hairs that feel the need to party. It taunts me playing catch-me-if-you-can. And because it's so close and so unachievable, I think about it ALL. DAY. LONG.
I JUST WANT TO FEEL LIKE A WOMAN. With lady bits. Who is in a relationship with somebody who thinks my lady bits are neat.
And you know, I am in this relationship with this man who knows what a spanking is. And he thinks my lady bits are pretty neat. (At least he used to. It's been so long I'm not even sure he knows what lady bits are anymore.)
We do all the right things. Write messages on pieces of paper that float around in the dustbowl aka our mole hole aka the place we call home. We even use our phones, because a picture is worth a thousand words. And sometimes words are worth as many words as you typed. We smile at each other nicely. We talk (in person) how wonderful it would be to "play that old banjo" and "eat at the clam bake" and "fox trot around the world" and "twist and shout". We talk about it all. With smiles of course.
But here's the problem.
WAILING WILLIAM IS HIS NAME, WAILING WILLIAM IS HIS GAME
For real. I have another baby. And all of that ^^^^^ is true. Without an ounce of writers exaggeration.
And so all the time that I could be spending "filling up the old urn" and "walking the bat cave" I instead spend feeding forever my first love child. (For real, he is my first love child. *sigh* *giggle* that was fun. A time when my body was a wonderland. And sleep was optional. And overrated. And sometimes, downright stupid.) And washing dishes for Big D because he's never home. And sometimes I like to show him that I love him. And homeschooling. And laundry and cleaning the pee pool that collects at the back of my toilet. Laundry. And enzyming the poop stains away. And making up things to eat, because that takes a real artist. Especially when you don't go grocery shopping. You would think that my baby weight might have dwindled. Not an ounce. Not. One. Bloody. Ounce. It's stuck. And boy, do I feel like a woman. Well, surfacely. My thighs not only touch each other. They smoosh and smack and dimple. And when I walk they do their own dance. Actually, everything does its own dance. Quite an interesting sensation . . . .bunny trailllllll .......................And I spend money. Because apparently I stress spend money. And amazon prime is secretly my lover. And poor Big D is stuck smack in the middle of it. Too tired to yell at me. And too in love with me since I washed his dishes.
It's dreadful. I sit and feed WW and then just think. Think about all the neat things I should look up to see if AP has it. Did you know that almonds are amazing? As in superfood amazing. And they make really good milk for WW. Because apparently my super power right now is making milk. But did you know that raw almonds aren't really raw. At least in the US. They have to be pasteurized. And that happens with either a steam process that cooks most of the goodness away. Or, with a chemical toxic waste fumigation bath. And so if you want almonds, simple simple almonds. With all the goodness that they're supposed to come with, you have to dig hard to make sure you're getting plain old almonds. How incredibly stupid is that. I JUST WANT A BLOODY ALMOND! Straight from the tree. Pick the damn almond and hand it over. Apparently, it can't be done. Sorry WW, you have to have half-ass milk.
So that's the trouble I get in, just by pulling out my milk bags. But I do want to tell you some good news. We (Big D and I) found a time to have our genitalia go a courting. It actually happened.
Dinner was sizzling on the stove, at the verge of being done (sausage. No pun intended. For real.) The kids were 5 minutes from the end of their movie they were watching, WW was at the very last seconds of his evening nap, and Friday Friends were to arrive at any moment. Yes, all of this was happening, and it was the most prime(al) time to reacquaint ourselves.
Does it count if you lift the lid of a garbage dumpster, peak inside at all the goodies, snatch one thing, and then leave . . . does that count as dumpster diving?
And I'll leave you to figure out what all of that means. It's not too difficult. But I will say, that's how incredibly awesome it was. (sarcasm dripping like a diarrhea explosion)
I'll end with this: there is always hope. That's my take away. And my two cents. And my best advice. And the coolest thing I could come up with to say. And what I really believe.
Because if I didn't believe that, there would be no reason at all to try again. To be and do my absolute best. And so I make the conscious choice to choose to hope.
Showing posts with label self-pity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self-pity. Show all posts
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Monday, November 18, 2013
Life is Never Pretty
I felt hope. I felt grateful.
And it came sweeping over me with such gentle surprise.
You see, I've been sinking. We haven't been in the best health over here for a little while. I shower once a week. Literally. I don't get dressed. Heaps of dirty and clean laundry are scattered. I think I vacuumed last in 2011. The bottom of my white porcelain sink is orangy/brown. We eat food out of boxes. A new herd of fruit flies have moved in. Big ones. Twice the size of normal ones. And they don't like my fruit fly trap.
My bathroom is ripped to shreds. It has a functioning shower and toilet. But no sink. Which means nobody washes their hands anymore. Nor do we brush our teeth.
The sheets on the bed? Thank goodness Big D hasn't brought me "down-town" in awhile. Otherwise we'd be sleeping in crunch. Because that's how much I'm sinking.
There is no dinner. There are no thoughts of dinner.
And sometimes I sleep. And sometimes I don't. It all depends on how gracious Ed is. And if the stars align in their magical pattern. And if "cozy" (his blanket) is perfectly perched upon body. And if he can find his "hole" in blue. And if pink cat is present, but not hogging his personal space. And whether or not he needs to pee or have a drink. Or a snuggle.
And that's just during the night.
The days are far worse. With so much screaming and crying.
And Murnice fights me every second. If I take two breaths, she's off and playing. Because there is nothing more fanciful, than to play when there's school to do. Elaborate and thorough games.
But today, as I was sitting, taking my daily, convulsive, diarrhea-squirt session, I felt it. I felt a wave of gratitude.
I don't know where it came from. Or why it decided to show up. Or why it thought I was worthy. But I really liked that fleeting moment. I really liked feeling hopeful.
Honestly I didn't realize I was sinking this much, until I breathed fresh.
I wouldn't mind a prayer or two.
The end.
And it came sweeping over me with such gentle surprise.
You see, I've been sinking. We haven't been in the best health over here for a little while. I shower once a week. Literally. I don't get dressed. Heaps of dirty and clean laundry are scattered. I think I vacuumed last in 2011. The bottom of my white porcelain sink is orangy/brown. We eat food out of boxes. A new herd of fruit flies have moved in. Big ones. Twice the size of normal ones. And they don't like my fruit fly trap.
My bathroom is ripped to shreds. It has a functioning shower and toilet. But no sink. Which means nobody washes their hands anymore. Nor do we brush our teeth.
The sheets on the bed? Thank goodness Big D hasn't brought me "down-town" in awhile. Otherwise we'd be sleeping in crunch. Because that's how much I'm sinking.
There is no dinner. There are no thoughts of dinner.
And sometimes I sleep. And sometimes I don't. It all depends on how gracious Ed is. And if the stars align in their magical pattern. And if "cozy" (his blanket) is perfectly perched upon body. And if he can find his "hole" in blue. And if pink cat is present, but not hogging his personal space. And whether or not he needs to pee or have a drink. Or a snuggle.
And that's just during the night.
The days are far worse. With so much screaming and crying.
And Murnice fights me every second. If I take two breaths, she's off and playing. Because there is nothing more fanciful, than to play when there's school to do. Elaborate and thorough games.
But today, as I was sitting, taking my daily, convulsive, diarrhea-squirt session, I felt it. I felt a wave of gratitude.
I don't know where it came from. Or why it decided to show up. Or why it thought I was worthy. But I really liked that fleeting moment. I really liked feeling hopeful.
Honestly I didn't realize I was sinking this much, until I breathed fresh.
I wouldn't mind a prayer or two.
The end.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
A Typical Day With Ed
My day with naughty Ed as gone like this:
6:58 am
*SCREAMING* "I want to get up" repeatedly. Loudly. With lots of "moms".
I said no. Because it wasn't quite 7. And that's the rule. And one more extra second I have to spend with Ed . . . .
I really thought he fell back asleep. There was so much quiet for the next 20 minutes. And I thought it was my lucky day. And the sleep fairy came to give me a gift. And maybe it was a Christmas miracle.
But then he started yelling again. And Witherhall-legally, I had to say yes.
And then there was much fawning over my breasts. Lately Ed has become very much in need of my breasts in order to snuggle properly. And the term he uses for a breast snuggle is "snuggle buggle". He's woken me up out of a dead sleep, on more than one occassion to ask if he could snuggle with my "boos".
Now, not to brag or anything. But my breast size gift is about on par of a 90 year old tortoise. I'm not really sure what he thinks he's snuggling with. But it's not soft. Or squishy. Or, lovely. On any level. But I do have nipples.
And then the morning screams for "he-de-ohs" (with a small roll of the tongue at the end of "he") began. I smiled nicely, and with as much love in my heart, I filled up a bowl (that was the wrong bowl) with cheerios and milk. I placed the bowl so lovingly on the table. In the wrong spot, of course.
And then more screaming. Because he wanted to be spoon fed.
Now not to be rude, but I do not think it's necessary to move from my warm spot on the couch to spoon feed a very capable child. My belief is, if you are hungry enough . . . .you can manage.
Well, that attitude really got him going. Ed grabbed his spoon, and all while roaring - he thrust his spoon in and out of his bowl with as much vim and vigor as his arm allowed. Disappointingly, only a small amount of cheerios and milk landed on the table.
In order to get a true reaction from mother, since I was ignoring the smallish, rude animal that Big D had let in while trying to leave for work . . . he put his spoon down. Picked up his bowl with both hands. And dumped his cheerios and milk - all out. Every last bit. And with a pleased as punch attitude, he put his bowl down with authority and looked at me.
That was how my day began. And THAT is why I demand Big D to yell from the closing front door, every morning - "YOU HAVE THE HARDER JOB". It fills my heart with pleasure, knowing that the father of these children know that staying home is 74 times more miserable than sitting in a boring suit-tie meeting.
I also had the privilege of holding down a flailing, kicking boy at the library. Which just sounds boringly naughty. It was. But it adds.
He also thought it was funny to reminisce about pulling "Murny's" hair at the grocer, while pooping on the pot. Followed by snickers and chuckles.
And then he asked me to sing "the big frog penis" while I put him down for his nap.
And then I find him at the table, thanking Jesus for showers.
I'm am becoming more and more horrified with this small ungrateful fleabag/screaming panther child everyday. #1 - It's kinda funny. #2 - how do I raise such a pig-headed, prideful monster that has the tenderest of hearts (sometimes still) and a sense of humor?
Take Aways
1) greet everyday with a pleadful prayer of grace.
2) and then stay home, forever.
3) I think all of my take aways are "stay home".
4) I haven't worn makeup in months. I just don't have the gumption to, with all the naughtiness in my life.
5) Today I'm wearing polka-dots and stripes. But in a really bad way.
6) I'm feeling self pity towards my lackluster closet.
7) Wah!
8) Maybe I'll have an extra glass of wine tonight.
6:58 am
*SCREAMING* "I want to get up" repeatedly. Loudly. With lots of "moms".
I said no. Because it wasn't quite 7. And that's the rule. And one more extra second I have to spend with Ed . . . .
I really thought he fell back asleep. There was so much quiet for the next 20 minutes. And I thought it was my lucky day. And the sleep fairy came to give me a gift. And maybe it was a Christmas miracle.
But then he started yelling again. And Witherhall-legally, I had to say yes.
And then there was much fawning over my breasts. Lately Ed has become very much in need of my breasts in order to snuggle properly. And the term he uses for a breast snuggle is "snuggle buggle". He's woken me up out of a dead sleep, on more than one occassion to ask if he could snuggle with my "boos".
Now, not to brag or anything. But my breast size gift is about on par of a 90 year old tortoise. I'm not really sure what he thinks he's snuggling with. But it's not soft. Or squishy. Or, lovely. On any level. But I do have nipples.
And then the morning screams for "he-de-ohs" (with a small roll of the tongue at the end of "he") began. I smiled nicely, and with as much love in my heart, I filled up a bowl (that was the wrong bowl) with cheerios and milk. I placed the bowl so lovingly on the table. In the wrong spot, of course.
And then more screaming. Because he wanted to be spoon fed.
Now not to be rude, but I do not think it's necessary to move from my warm spot on the couch to spoon feed a very capable child. My belief is, if you are hungry enough . . . .you can manage.
Well, that attitude really got him going. Ed grabbed his spoon, and all while roaring - he thrust his spoon in and out of his bowl with as much vim and vigor as his arm allowed. Disappointingly, only a small amount of cheerios and milk landed on the table.
In order to get a true reaction from mother, since I was ignoring the smallish, rude animal that Big D had let in while trying to leave for work . . . he put his spoon down. Picked up his bowl with both hands. And dumped his cheerios and milk - all out. Every last bit. And with a pleased as punch attitude, he put his bowl down with authority and looked at me.
That was how my day began. And THAT is why I demand Big D to yell from the closing front door, every morning - "YOU HAVE THE HARDER JOB". It fills my heart with pleasure, knowing that the father of these children know that staying home is 74 times more miserable than sitting in a boring suit-tie meeting.
I also had the privilege of holding down a flailing, kicking boy at the library. Which just sounds boringly naughty. It was. But it adds.
He also thought it was funny to reminisce about pulling "Murny's" hair at the grocer, while pooping on the pot. Followed by snickers and chuckles.
And then he asked me to sing "the big frog penis" while I put him down for his nap.
And then I find him at the table, thanking Jesus for showers.
I'm am becoming more and more horrified with this small ungrateful fleabag/screaming panther child everyday. #1 - It's kinda funny. #2 - how do I raise such a pig-headed, prideful monster that has the tenderest of hearts (sometimes still) and a sense of humor?
Take Aways
1) greet everyday with a pleadful prayer of grace.
2) and then stay home, forever.
3) I think all of my take aways are "stay home".
4) I haven't worn makeup in months. I just don't have the gumption to, with all the naughtiness in my life.
5) Today I'm wearing polka-dots and stripes. But in a really bad way.
6) I'm feeling self pity towards my lackluster closet.
7) Wah!
8) Maybe I'll have an extra glass of wine tonight.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Some Days are Good. Some Days are Bad. This Week has Been Awful.
I wish there was something great to say to the world. ... I guess the greatest thing there is to say is: I'm still alive. And so are the kids. Big D . . . . . barely hanging on, ready to move into his own bachey pad.
I've been having quite a difficult week. So difficult in fact, I don't even have anything sarcastic to say about it.
The awfulness kinda started on Sunday, where the kids thought it would be grand to cry all day. I liked that so much. And then Murnice grew a fever.
Monday the kids cried all day. Except I was home alone, because Big D still has a job. And I reached an all time low of screaming and yelling, but not being satisfied with the decibel being used. I wanted the yelps and roars to be louder. I don't think that's ever happened to me before. Generally, raising the voice brings some sort of relief.
Normally, I can hold everything together like a regular old adult when Big D comes home at regular time. The count down begins at 4 pm. And usually everyone survives.
But Monday night, Big D attended the stupidest event of the year. Literally.
But, on our shared calender, it said that "relief" would be here at 7pm. That's what it said. And I literally believe the calender. Because I have to put my hope in something. I need to have some sort of count down. And 7 is only 1 hour later than normal. And I thought I might be able to be a normal adult and hang on to life in an orderly fashion for one extra hour that day.
And 7 turned to 7:30, and I had all the crying and screaming I could take for 3 years piled on top of each other. And then I turned really ugly. I think black tentacles crawled out of my butt. And maybe, but I'm not sure - I turned into her.
You're probably wondering what the "stupidest event of the year" is. And I would be pleased as punch to tell you all.
Stupidest Event of the Year:
Some big wig that probably only practices missionary position, who has way too much money and has the need to flaunt, feel important, flaunt some more and a whole array of other issues that I want to talk about but won't because I want to show Big D how much of a big normal adult I am sometimes. . . . . .decides that there is no other way possible, to show his appreciation to the world that he employs, then to throw a stupid dumb butt clam bake.
Big D finally came home around 8 - just in time to put Blessing 1 and Blessing 2 to bed. And I was in such a sour mood, I thought it highly appropriate to write more about flushing babies down the toilet.
That put the icing on the cake. I was in such a wicked mood when I was done. It marinated all night, and was quite potent on Tuesday morning.
At this point Murnice was feeling better but complaining about a slight sore throat. Ed, on the other hand could not keep his fingers out of his anus. He was itching and scratching so bad, to the point where he would wake up in the middle of the night and ask for "man-unders" just so he could scratch his poor anus. I thought it was a rash at first, but nothing was helping it. In fact it was getting worse. And then Mother suggested pin worms.
Glory be.
Our day Tuesday, was just as bad as Monday. So much gnashing of teeth. Mainly from Ed. Obnoxiously more so than usual.
By the time Wednesday came around, I was emotionally spent and done. All of my grace had been used up. Empty of patience. Sweet words and kind smiles ran away days ago. And I had nothing left to give.
I managed a doctor run where I was told Murnice had strep and Ed had a staph infection.
And then I went home and held my head in my hands and waited until 3, when I promptly called Big D and told him that if he cared about the sanctity of human life . . . . now was the time to show me where he stood on that whole debate.
So today is Thursday. I've had the chance to breath 40% more than the other days. I managed a trip to Marshalls with a 79% satisfaction rate. I fed the kids chemicals and dye for lunch aka mac and cheese. And I'm growing my armpit hair out. I can almost twisty it. I have passed out 4 kisses. And even muttered the words "I love you". AND I know what we're having for dinner, and it's only 4 o'clock. Feeling almost like a queen.
Take Aways
1) Be thankful for sperm donors who have the kindness in their heart to leave their plush, quiet offices to come hold screaming blessings.
2) Run Away.
3) Consciously breathe.
4) Embrace the all time lows, it makes any other day seem glorious.
I've been having quite a difficult week. So difficult in fact, I don't even have anything sarcastic to say about it.
The awfulness kinda started on Sunday, where the kids thought it would be grand to cry all day. I liked that so much. And then Murnice grew a fever.
Monday the kids cried all day. Except I was home alone, because Big D still has a job. And I reached an all time low of screaming and yelling, but not being satisfied with the decibel being used. I wanted the yelps and roars to be louder. I don't think that's ever happened to me before. Generally, raising the voice brings some sort of relief.
Normally, I can hold everything together like a regular old adult when Big D comes home at regular time. The count down begins at 4 pm. And usually everyone survives.
But Monday night, Big D attended the stupidest event of the year. Literally.
But, on our shared calender, it said that "relief" would be here at 7pm. That's what it said. And I literally believe the calender. Because I have to put my hope in something. I need to have some sort of count down. And 7 is only 1 hour later than normal. And I thought I might be able to be a normal adult and hang on to life in an orderly fashion for one extra hour that day.
And 7 turned to 7:30, and I had all the crying and screaming I could take for 3 years piled on top of each other. And then I turned really ugly. I think black tentacles crawled out of my butt. And maybe, but I'm not sure - I turned into her.
Stupidest Event of the Year:
Some big wig that probably only practices missionary position, who has way too much money and has the need to flaunt, feel important, flaunt some more and a whole array of other issues that I want to talk about but won't because I want to show Big D how much of a big normal adult I am sometimes. . . . . .decides that there is no other way possible, to show his appreciation to the world that he employs, then to throw a stupid dumb butt clam bake.
Big D finally came home around 8 - just in time to put Blessing 1 and Blessing 2 to bed. And I was in such a sour mood, I thought it highly appropriate to write more about flushing babies down the toilet.
That put the icing on the cake. I was in such a wicked mood when I was done. It marinated all night, and was quite potent on Tuesday morning.
At this point Murnice was feeling better but complaining about a slight sore throat. Ed, on the other hand could not keep his fingers out of his anus. He was itching and scratching so bad, to the point where he would wake up in the middle of the night and ask for "man-unders" just so he could scratch his poor anus. I thought it was a rash at first, but nothing was helping it. In fact it was getting worse. And then Mother suggested pin worms.
Glory be.
Our day Tuesday, was just as bad as Monday. So much gnashing of teeth. Mainly from Ed. Obnoxiously more so than usual.
By the time Wednesday came around, I was emotionally spent and done. All of my grace had been used up. Empty of patience. Sweet words and kind smiles ran away days ago. And I had nothing left to give.
I managed a doctor run where I was told Murnice had strep and Ed had a staph infection.
And then I went home and held my head in my hands and waited until 3, when I promptly called Big D and told him that if he cared about the sanctity of human life . . . . now was the time to show me where he stood on that whole debate.
So today is Thursday. I've had the chance to breath 40% more than the other days. I managed a trip to Marshalls with a 79% satisfaction rate. I fed the kids chemicals and dye for lunch aka mac and cheese. And I'm growing my armpit hair out. I can almost twisty it. I have passed out 4 kisses. And even muttered the words "I love you". AND I know what we're having for dinner, and it's only 4 o'clock. Feeling almost like a queen.
Take Aways
1) Be thankful for sperm donors who have the kindness in their heart to leave their plush, quiet offices to come hold screaming blessings.
2) Run Away.
3) Consciously breathe.
4) Embrace the all time lows, it makes any other day seem glorious.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Low Lady on the Totem Pole
Big D and I have a severe difference. It's "OUR" fight. (You know, every couple has a fight that ALL the fights go back to)(Sister Bear's is about cockroaches. Friday Friends is about car key placement.) Our fight is about Big D never being home.
It used to be sports that took him away from home. He was on 5 different teams of various ball-themed activities when we first met and into our first couple years of marriage. Then it briefly went to friend visits. Then work meetings. And now it's a pleasant mixture of rabbi activities and work meetings. (I say "pleasant" with a twisted tongue.) He saves his friend get-togethers for the weekend. When the family can come. (This sounds so kind of him - but it's actually awful)
So in my eyes, I am competing for attention with all of these activities. And I want to be #1 at all points of the day, week, (including weekends) and forever. I am an introvert and love my couch. And I want Big D to love my couch almost as much as I do. AKA sit on the couch with me till he puts his butt before me, and farts.
Ok, I know I sound awful and greedy and so selfish. And truthfully, I'm all of those things.
However, that being said - I know that after 9 years of fighting to be the top of the totem pole, I know that I will only get as far as right below the scariest face. I have tried threats, seduction, food, promises, and other sorts of techniques that a lady should not admit too. . . . . . And he always leaves for whatever is more exciting than the couch.
I promise you, he sits in his big empty office at work, and thinks up ways to avoid the couch. Last night he went straight from work to a "peer support group meeting for fellow MBA graduates - minus Big D who is not a graduate - yet". AND get this! They got the college to provide food for them. How do people even think up these things?!
If I were on that committee - or any committee . . . .
"Foxy, we need to have a meeting ." "Ok, my couch is comfortable, lets meet there. And we'll drink tea."
"Foxy, lets have mom's group." "Ok, lets have it at my house. We can sit on my couch."
"Foxy, lets have intercourse." . . . . . . . (Secret: that's the real reason why my couch is so smeared)
(I'm getting so sidetracked)
Anyway, sometimes I try to act like a grown-up. I try to have a somewhat mature attitude. I'll put Big D's activities into my calender to try and make it seem a bit fancier than it really is. Sometimes when things appear fancy I have a better attitude.
So last night I started out with a better attitude. I took an afternoon nap while the kids watched an abundance of tv. I made boxed mac and cheese with tuna for dinner. (it was incredible) Then I read a few chapters to them to alleviate my guilt, put them to bed - and eagerly awaited Big -who was going to sit on the couch and watch Burn Notice and then New Girl with me, while we chatted about our days like grownups.
Except that's not how it went. Lets just say that after 2 episodes of Burn Notice AND 2 episodes of New Girl Big D still had not come home. And I got *ahem* a little excited. And then stormed off to bed like a spoiled poop stain.
So, 3 readers . . . What is your main fight? Do share. And then tell me if you have a solution for your main fight - or if you just take the opportunity to really duke it out. Because sometimes a duke session is really what the Dr. has ordered.
Take Aways
1) Find a permanent couch buddy and pay them handsomely.
2) Never have expectations. Especially if they're romantic.
3) Continue to rock as a mother and have outstanding evenings with your children.
4) I can't decide which one is better - tv or chemical dinner. Both were amazing. So . . . do both.
5) Maybe add something, like a little sodypop with dinner.
6) Have "poor me" treats hidden in the cupboards.
It used to be sports that took him away from home. He was on 5 different teams of various ball-themed activities when we first met and into our first couple years of marriage. Then it briefly went to friend visits. Then work meetings. And now it's a pleasant mixture of rabbi activities and work meetings. (I say "pleasant" with a twisted tongue.) He saves his friend get-togethers for the weekend. When the family can come. (This sounds so kind of him - but it's actually awful)
So in my eyes, I am competing for attention with all of these activities. And I want to be #1 at all points of the day, week, (including weekends) and forever. I am an introvert and love my couch. And I want Big D to love my couch almost as much as I do. AKA sit on the couch with me till he puts his butt before me, and farts.
Ok, I know I sound awful and greedy and so selfish. And truthfully, I'm all of those things.
However, that being said - I know that after 9 years of fighting to be the top of the totem pole, I know that I will only get as far as right below the scariest face. I have tried threats, seduction, food, promises, and other sorts of techniques that a lady should not admit too. . . . . . And he always leaves for whatever is more exciting than the couch.
I promise you, he sits in his big empty office at work, and thinks up ways to avoid the couch. Last night he went straight from work to a "peer support group meeting for fellow MBA graduates - minus Big D who is not a graduate - yet". AND get this! They got the college to provide food for them. How do people even think up these things?!
If I were on that committee - or any committee . . . .
"Foxy, we need to have a meeting ." "Ok, my couch is comfortable, lets meet there. And we'll drink tea."
"Foxy, lets have mom's group." "Ok, lets have it at my house. We can sit on my couch."
"Foxy, lets have intercourse." . . . . . . . (Secret: that's the real reason why my couch is so smeared)
(I'm getting so sidetracked)
Anyway, sometimes I try to act like a grown-up. I try to have a somewhat mature attitude. I'll put Big D's activities into my calender to try and make it seem a bit fancier than it really is. Sometimes when things appear fancy I have a better attitude.
So last night I started out with a better attitude. I took an afternoon nap while the kids watched an abundance of tv. I made boxed mac and cheese with tuna for dinner. (it was incredible) Then I read a few chapters to them to alleviate my guilt, put them to bed - and eagerly awaited Big -who was going to sit on the couch and watch Burn Notice and then New Girl with me, while we chatted about our days like grownups.
Except that's not how it went. Lets just say that after 2 episodes of Burn Notice AND 2 episodes of New Girl Big D still had not come home. And I got *ahem* a little excited. And then stormed off to bed like a spoiled poop stain.
So, 3 readers . . . What is your main fight? Do share. And then tell me if you have a solution for your main fight - or if you just take the opportunity to really duke it out. Because sometimes a duke session is really what the Dr. has ordered.
Take Aways
1) Find a permanent couch buddy and pay them handsomely.
2) Never have expectations. Especially if they're romantic.
3) Continue to rock as a mother and have outstanding evenings with your children.
4) I can't decide which one is better - tv or chemical dinner. Both were amazing. So . . . do both.
5) Maybe add something, like a little sodypop with dinner.
6) Have "poor me" treats hidden in the cupboards.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Dishes At Mothers = Instant Rage
When I'm not cooking at Mothers, I'll wash the evening dishes. It makes me feel like a semi-helpful daughter. It's the least I can do to cover my free room and board.
But Mother has this horrible habit. Not even habit, it's worse than that. It's more like a get-high-fix. It brings her that much pleasure. . . . I began washing dishes at the age of 7. And Mother had this problem then. So, it's been going on for quite some time.
Let me paint a picture:
Both sinks are filled to heaping. And the dirty trail winds itself down around the corner to the stove and then finishes on the table. It can be overwhelming, discouraging and make you down-right fill out a prescription for prozac. ( I say this without a rude heart, to those who legitimately take prozac)
You don't just jump up after dinner to tackle such heap. It's one of those jobs where you sit and mentally pump yourself up. And if you have mentally prepared yourself, often you must beat Mother off with a stick. Because she doesn't know how to sit for longer than 2.0945 seconds. And she starts cleaning the dish mess that you have started to emotionally invest in.
***************************************************************************
So once you've landed the job of your dreams and you're into your 2nd hour of washing. Coming up on the homestretch. You get that surge of accomplishment. Maybe a little bit of pride - Mother reappears with 3 dirty cups.
Who knows where she just came from. But you bite your tongue and wash those 3 cups. Then she reappears with a dirty plate and knife.
Ok. And maybe you puff and pant a tad, but you know that you are so close to finishing, it's not worth getting your panties all poopy.
Plate and knife get washed, and you're all ready to dump the dirty dishwater, and Mother reappears with a dirty pan and 2 bowls.
At this point I start yelling. I lose a fair amount of consciousness in my rage.
1) Where are these dishes coming from?
2) Why is she waiting till I'm almost done?
It's like she either
a) hoards dirty dishes under the couch to spring on any ambitious dishwasher
b) goes on a witch hunt just as the ambitious dishwasher is feeling like a champion
It really is unbelievable. And 100% of the time. Anybody who has braved dish washing at Mothers, knows this to be a dreadful fact.
Take Aways
1) Only wash dishes at Mothers when she is mowing.
2) Cook dinner every night.
3) Just take it like a man.
4) Play a betting game with the rest of the house members to see who is the closest in dish number.
But Mother has this horrible habit. Not even habit, it's worse than that. It's more like a get-high-fix. It brings her that much pleasure. . . . I began washing dishes at the age of 7. And Mother had this problem then. So, it's been going on for quite some time.
Let me paint a picture:
Both sinks are filled to heaping. And the dirty trail winds itself down around the corner to the stove and then finishes on the table. It can be overwhelming, discouraging and make you down-right fill out a prescription for prozac. ( I say this without a rude heart, to those who legitimately take prozac)
You don't just jump up after dinner to tackle such heap. It's one of those jobs where you sit and mentally pump yourself up. And if you have mentally prepared yourself, often you must beat Mother off with a stick. Because she doesn't know how to sit for longer than 2.0945 seconds. And she starts cleaning the dish mess that you have started to emotionally invest in.
***************************************************************************
So once you've landed the job of your dreams and you're into your 2nd hour of washing. Coming up on the homestretch. You get that surge of accomplishment. Maybe a little bit of pride - Mother reappears with 3 dirty cups.
Who knows where she just came from. But you bite your tongue and wash those 3 cups. Then she reappears with a dirty plate and knife.
Ok. And maybe you puff and pant a tad, but you know that you are so close to finishing, it's not worth getting your panties all poopy.
Plate and knife get washed, and you're all ready to dump the dirty dishwater, and Mother reappears with a dirty pan and 2 bowls.
At this point I start yelling. I lose a fair amount of consciousness in my rage.
1) Where are these dishes coming from?
2) Why is she waiting till I'm almost done?
It's like she either
a) hoards dirty dishes under the couch to spring on any ambitious dishwasher
b) goes on a witch hunt just as the ambitious dishwasher is feeling like a champion
It really is unbelievable. And 100% of the time. Anybody who has braved dish washing at Mothers, knows this to be a dreadful fact.
Take Aways
1) Only wash dishes at Mothers when she is mowing.
2) Cook dinner every night.
3) Just take it like a man.
4) Play a betting game with the rest of the house members to see who is the closest in dish number.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Not the Safe Choice
I haven't really talked about this - but I have been interviewing for a job. A nursey job. It's been a 2 month process.
It was a perfect opportunity, doing something that I'm ridiculously excited about. It could not have been a better set up for me - being a stay at home mom - or shall I say, SAHM.
First interview went great. And that was because I didn't have to say much. They just wanted to let me know what their business was all about. And before I left we had set up a second interview.
Second interview was a tad more challenging. I had to do a lot more tongue flapping. There were a lot of forehead crinkles at things I would say. And honestly, I was not expecting to be invited back.
But I was. For a third time. And I had the best time at my 3rd. Maybe I was just getting used to the process. Or I just decided to be my snazz-sparkle self. It was glorious. I walked away expecting not to get the job, but relishing in the fact that I was true down to my toes and that I got a bunch (and I mean a bunch) of funny looks and squirms.
Let me preface what I'm going to say next, by saying that my lie (and everybody has a lie that they're told) is that I'm not good enough. Such a good lie. And I believe more than I would like to admit.
I got the call yesterday that let know that they had "found somebody else that fit the job requirements better".
For those of you who have gotten this call for an opportunity that you were a bit stoked about - know the hurt.
First I believed the lie - I'm not good enough. Then I cried 37 tears. Then I wondered why it took two months and 3 interviews for them to tell me that I was too rad for them. Then I started to question myself on how I answered the questions. Then I got angry at their lack of open heartedness and their inability to take a risk and hire somebody who would rock their world on all the levels that their world is built.
And then I remembered that Jesus only gives us the best. And that this was a gift. And I wouldn't cry or feel rage for a perfect gift handed to me from Sally Jones, why should I feel grumpled over this gift - that I know is perfect.
So I'm choosing, choosing this gift. Refusing the lie, the best I can. And believing that God is allowing me the chance and opportunity to stay home full time, to homeschool full time, to have playtime with friends full time. To continue to cook dinner 3x a week and wash poopy underwear full time. I'm going to choose to trust the bigger and better picture that I can't see, but I'm learning about through experience.
I know in my heart of hearts that I was indeed the perfect person for this job opening. But I was not the safe candidate, and I understand a business wanting to make a safe decision. I wasn't safe because I still have young children at home and the probability of me leaving the company within a few years is great - and training takes up to a year. Also, they need somebody a tad more conservative in the vocal arena.
Take Aways
1) Choose to look at the unpleasantries as a gift.
2) Or at least try.
3) Say no to your lie.
4) And look at pictures of all the sweet babies that have entered their new world. Welcome Miles, Evelyn, Benaiah, and Isaac!
It was a perfect opportunity, doing something that I'm ridiculously excited about. It could not have been a better set up for me - being a stay at home mom - or shall I say, SAHM.
First interview went great. And that was because I didn't have to say much. They just wanted to let me know what their business was all about. And before I left we had set up a second interview.
Second interview was a tad more challenging. I had to do a lot more tongue flapping. There were a lot of forehead crinkles at things I would say. And honestly, I was not expecting to be invited back.
But I was. For a third time. And I had the best time at my 3rd. Maybe I was just getting used to the process. Or I just decided to be my snazz-sparkle self. It was glorious. I walked away expecting not to get the job, but relishing in the fact that I was true down to my toes and that I got a bunch (and I mean a bunch) of funny looks and squirms.
Let me preface what I'm going to say next, by saying that my lie (and everybody has a lie that they're told) is that I'm not good enough. Such a good lie. And I believe more than I would like to admit.
I got the call yesterday that let know that they had "found somebody else that fit the job requirements better".
For those of you who have gotten this call for an opportunity that you were a bit stoked about - know the hurt.
First I believed the lie - I'm not good enough. Then I cried 37 tears. Then I wondered why it took two months and 3 interviews for them to tell me that I was too rad for them. Then I started to question myself on how I answered the questions. Then I got angry at their lack of open heartedness and their inability to take a risk and hire somebody who would rock their world on all the levels that their world is built.
And then I remembered that Jesus only gives us the best. And that this was a gift. And I wouldn't cry or feel rage for a perfect gift handed to me from Sally Jones, why should I feel grumpled over this gift - that I know is perfect.
So I'm choosing, choosing this gift. Refusing the lie, the best I can. And believing that God is allowing me the chance and opportunity to stay home full time, to homeschool full time, to have playtime with friends full time. To continue to cook dinner 3x a week and wash poopy underwear full time. I'm going to choose to trust the bigger and better picture that I can't see, but I'm learning about through experience.
I know in my heart of hearts that I was indeed the perfect person for this job opening. But I was not the safe candidate, and I understand a business wanting to make a safe decision. I wasn't safe because I still have young children at home and the probability of me leaving the company within a few years is great - and training takes up to a year. Also, they need somebody a tad more conservative in the vocal arena.
Take Aways
1) Choose to look at the unpleasantries as a gift.
2) Or at least try.
3) Say no to your lie.
4) And look at pictures of all the sweet babies that have entered their new world. Welcome Miles, Evelyn, Benaiah, and Isaac!
Friday, June 14, 2013
The Mom-Butt Hustle
I am officially growing up to be a mom. Mom butt. Mom belly. And mom excitement that today is Friday - yard sale day. A few years ago I wouldn't have left my couch for such frivolities. But today I felt brave.
On a side note we also ran to a few stores and made returns. One of the return places happened to be Aerie (where I went a few days ago for some smiles) And wouldn't you know that those sales ladies remembered me. (I gloated a bit.) AND they remembered something that happened that I forgot. So I'll share.
Remember my friend whom I won't name? Well, Murnice was in her son's way - and he hollered out, "move out of the way you old hag!".
Ok.Two things here. Three things here.
1) Murnice a hag? A seven year old? *chortle*
2) Who is calling who a hag at home I wonder . . .
3) The sales lady was still laughing about this 3 days later. Most perfect.
Anyway, a summary of our
Grossest thing observed:
30ish looking man with beard who was maybe attractive walking out behind a mom and two teenager daughters. Man could not look at anything besides the teenagers. I gagged twice. And farted once. On him. Or, too him. And then I rolled down the window and hollered "hey ya big fat perv" and then threw my half gnawed apple core at him.
Sweetest thing said by Murnice:
After I had returned my PURPLE watering hole and we were driving to the new location of momhood, Murnice began to console me from the backseat. Now I never mentioned that I was indeed a bit heartbroken that the stupid hunk of junk had the nerve to shatter. Actually, today I wasn't sad. It was two weeks ago that I was sad. But Murnice felt the need to console none the less. She's just going on and on about how we should just really look for a few one. And it was SO selfish of the other buyers to buy the good watering hole and leave us the broken one . . . and then she says, "well mom, I guess the soldiers are just going to have to fix your broken heart."
Most annoying part of my whole day:
I don't know directions/locations/area/left or right/NESW. I just have to use the GPS. So I typed in a yard sale address that didn't start until 12pm. (annoyed #1) The yard sale ended up being on the complete other side of the city. (annoyed #2) We finally got to the right road but the GPS took us further down than we needed to go - right to the brink of road work where i needed to wait in the slow/stop line. Waited my turn, went through the one-laned road, pulled a U-turn, almost got rear-ended, almost got t-boned, then went back through the one-laned road (after waiting our turn) to arrive at the yard sale (annoyed #3, #4, #5, and #6) This yard sale was the most chaotic occurrences that I have been privy to in awhile. Some tables with heaps of unmarked items. (annoyed #7) Some items on other tables had prices. Women were standing everywhere. Actually they were all bent over digging through boxes on the ground. Like crazed rodents. A cackle would occur periodically. There was this heap of items on the ground. It was a nice heap that had interesting things in it - but nobody was hovering. So I made a loud "IS THIS ANYBODY'S PILE"? All those cackling rodents stood up straight, stared at me with huge toothy smiles and nodded vigorously "yes, yes I THINK it is". (annoyed #8) Well, either it is or it isn't - because it looks like the rest of this heap of a sale. (I kept that to myself) I was finally ready to be done - had my 3 items in hand. One item had a price. Two items did not. *growl* I stood next to the table that had a metal cash box on it. And I stood there. For while. I scanned the crowd trying to make eye contact with somebody. Maybe even catch a glimpse of the "I'm in charge" face. Nothing. (annoyed #9) Once again I used my precious voice to get what I wanted, "WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE"? Oh, it's the lady who looks like she just smoked a pack of doobies. Excellent. I marched up to this lady and said, "are you in charge?" (I felt double asking was best) And she chaotically said, "well . . yes . . .um . . . um . . . .I guess . . . I think . . . " all while looking around the area. (annoyed #10) GET IT TOGETHER LADY!!!!! Then mysteriously, another lady who looked like she inhaled a lot of the doobie smoke, appeared right next to the first lady (who, by the way was wearing Jerusalem cruisers with white socks) They finally get it together enough to come up with a price for my two items that are price-less. AND THEN inform me that I owe "Socks" $2 and "Mystery Woman" $3. So I said, "you want me to pay you two separately? As in hand money to you and then hand money to you?" (annoyed #11) And they actually had the guts to say, "yeah. We couldn't figure out how to do it any other way." (annoyed #5 million) I am like a raging lunatic at this point. I am working with a bunch of idiots. Or maybe I was just feeling a bit dramatic today and I'm being too harsh. Blah!
Self-pity moment of the day:
Walking to a yard sale 5 streets over and see the girl who I wanted to be friends with 3 years ago, but she turned me down because I wasn't cool enough. Actually I think she turned me down because I mentioned something about wanting to talk about sex and maybe I was a little too blunt with my wordage. And probably because I didn't talk in a soft voice and probably because I have a mom butt. Waaaaaa
Take Aways
1) If you leave a comment on any of these here posts, write your name. Otherwise you'll miss out on me having fond thoughts of you because I won't know who to direct my fond thoughts to.
2) If you ever have this impulsive need to get things really randy in the bedroom, wake up singing this song to your lover. They get really excited.
3) Big D is home from work and I'm too grumpy, hungry, distracted to say anything else.
On a side note we also ran to a few stores and made returns. One of the return places happened to be Aerie (where I went a few days ago for some smiles) And wouldn't you know that those sales ladies remembered me. (I gloated a bit.) AND they remembered something that happened that I forgot. So I'll share.
Remember my friend whom I won't name? Well, Murnice was in her son's way - and he hollered out, "move out of the way you old hag!".
Ok.
1) Murnice a hag? A seven year old? *chortle*
2) Who is calling who a hag at home I wonder . . .
3) The sales lady was still laughing about this 3 days later. Most perfect.
Anyway, a summary of our
Grossest thing observed:
30ish looking man with beard who was maybe attractive walking out behind a mom and two teenager daughters. Man could not look at anything besides the teenagers. I gagged twice. And farted once. On him. Or, too him. And then I rolled down the window and hollered "hey ya big fat perv" and then threw my half gnawed apple core at him.
Sweetest thing said by Murnice:
After I had returned my PURPLE watering hole and we were driving to the new location of momhood, Murnice began to console me from the backseat. Now I never mentioned that I was indeed a bit heartbroken that the stupid hunk of junk had the nerve to shatter. Actually, today I wasn't sad. It was two weeks ago that I was sad. But Murnice felt the need to console none the less. She's just going on and on about how we should just really look for a few one. And it was SO selfish of the other buyers to buy the good watering hole and leave us the broken one . . . and then she says, "well mom, I guess the soldiers are just going to have to fix your broken heart."
Most annoying part of my whole day:
I don't know directions/locations/area/left or right/NESW. I just have to use the GPS. So I typed in a yard sale address that didn't start until 12pm. (annoyed #1) The yard sale ended up being on the complete other side of the city. (annoyed #2) We finally got to the right road but the GPS took us further down than we needed to go - right to the brink of road work where i needed to wait in the slow/stop line. Waited my turn, went through the one-laned road, pulled a U-turn, almost got rear-ended, almost got t-boned, then went back through the one-laned road (after waiting our turn) to arrive at the yard sale (annoyed #3, #4, #5, and #6) This yard sale was the most chaotic occurrences that I have been privy to in awhile. Some tables with heaps of unmarked items. (annoyed #7) Some items on other tables had prices. Women were standing everywhere. Actually they were all bent over digging through boxes on the ground. Like crazed rodents. A cackle would occur periodically. There was this heap of items on the ground. It was a nice heap that had interesting things in it - but nobody was hovering. So I made a loud "IS THIS ANYBODY'S PILE"? All those cackling rodents stood up straight, stared at me with huge toothy smiles and nodded vigorously "yes, yes I THINK it is". (annoyed #8) Well, either it is or it isn't - because it looks like the rest of this heap of a sale. (I kept that to myself) I was finally ready to be done - had my 3 items in hand. One item had a price. Two items did not. *growl* I stood next to the table that had a metal cash box on it. And I stood there. For while. I scanned the crowd trying to make eye contact with somebody. Maybe even catch a glimpse of the "I'm in charge" face. Nothing. (annoyed #9) Once again I used my precious voice to get what I wanted, "WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE"? Oh, it's the lady who looks like she just smoked a pack of doobies. Excellent. I marched up to this lady and said, "are you in charge?" (I felt double asking was best) And she chaotically said, "well . . yes . . .um . . . um . . . .I guess . . . I think . . . " all while looking around the area. (annoyed #10) GET IT TOGETHER LADY!!!!! Then mysteriously, another lady who looked like she inhaled a lot of the doobie smoke, appeared right next to the first lady (who, by the way was wearing Jerusalem cruisers with white socks) They finally get it together enough to come up with a price for my two items that are price-less. AND THEN inform me that I owe "Socks" $2 and "Mystery Woman" $3. So I said, "you want me to pay you two separately? As in hand money to you and then hand money to you?" (annoyed #11) And they actually had the guts to say, "yeah. We couldn't figure out how to do it any other way." (annoyed #5 million) I am like a raging lunatic at this point. I am working with a bunch of idiots. Or maybe I was just feeling a bit dramatic today and I'm being too harsh. Blah!
Self-pity moment of the day:
Walking to a yard sale 5 streets over and see the girl who I wanted to be friends with 3 years ago, but she turned me down because I wasn't cool enough. Actually I think she turned me down because I mentioned something about wanting to talk about sex and maybe I was a little too blunt with my wordage. And probably because I didn't talk in a soft voice and probably because I have a mom butt. Waaaaaa
Take Aways
1) If you leave a comment on any of these here posts, write your name. Otherwise you'll miss out on me having fond thoughts of you because I won't know who to direct my fond thoughts to.
2) If you ever have this impulsive need to get things really randy in the bedroom, wake up singing this song to your lover. They get really excited.
3) Big D is home from work and I'm too grumpy, hungry, distracted to say anything else.
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