Sunday, November 30, 2008
If I could wake up one day of my life and not be thinking about my ass and how large it is.
Or my stomach and how large it is.
Or my thighs and how large they are.
Or how many Points values something has in it.
Or how I'm going to make it through my work holiday party, which presumably should be a fun good time, because all I'm going to be thinking about is how fattening all the food is.
It would be nice to just be normal. To just wake up and think, "I need to pee" or whatever. To enjoy things like this without worrying about my double chin.
It would be really nice to not slog through the cold, dark rainy days because I feel like I *have* to, instead of because I want to. Trying desperately not to trip and fall on the slick leaves. Feeling like I can't breathe as I climb hills. Knowing the hills are not just a physical challenge, but an emotional challenge as well.
I know this is all normal. I know this is all part of losing weight and coming to terms with everything. I know this.
I just need reassurance that I will do all this and it will work. That someday when I'm happy with my weight that I won't wake up every day and have this consume my thoughts.
I just need to know it's possible.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
I've been baking.
Since I've also religiously followed Weight Watchers and TOTALLY DIDN'T EVEN BLOW IT on Thanksgiving Day (go me!), I am also packaging all this stuff up to send to places near and far and give to people who can stand to gain some weight. Because I sure can't.
Anyway. I made the easiest truffles EVAH. And here's how I did it.
1 8oz package of cream cheese
1 Package of Bakers semi-sweet chocolate
1 cup Milk Chocolate chips
Melt 8 chocolate squares as directed on package (basically, I melted mine for 30 second intervals in the microwave). Beat cream cheese with mixer until creamy (you might want to let it sit out of the fridge before you start beating it. Trust me on this one). Blend chocolate and cream cheese together. Cover with plastic wrap and refridgerate until firm.
(I left mine in the fridge about three hours)
Shape mixture in 36 balls.
Heh. I said "balls".
Anyway. Place the balls on a waxed paper covered baking sheet and refridgerate for 1 hour.
(Or you can put them in the freezer for about 20 minutes, like I did)
Melt milk chocolate chips. Use a fork to dip the balls (heh) in the milk chocolate. Generously sprinkle powered sugar on a plate and roll covered balls (BWAH!) in powered sugar.
And there you go.
And okay. They aren't beautiful. I'm not The Pioneer Woman. So sue me.
I also made chocolate peanut-butter fudge. When I remember what I put in it, I might post that as well.
Friday, November 28, 2008
If I don't, in fact, he'll say to me, "Did you notice I vacummed the house/scrubbed the toilets/washed your bathrobe/made up the bed/myraid other things he does every single day?"
And I'll say, "Oh yes, thank you so much!"
And then he smiles.
It's very sweet.
I didn't really notice that the kids noticed how much he does, but they do. Yesterday we made a call to my family to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving and I heard my mom ask my daughter, "Did mom make you a nice Thanksgiving meal?"
And The Girl said, "My mom AND my dad did".
Because she knows. Dad does as much as mom in this house.
I really like that.
I like that we don't buy into the roles we're supposed to play. I like that mom brings home the bacon and dad fries it up in the pan (we both bring home the bacon, actually...and I haven't had fried bacon in years). I love that both my children recognize that we're all in this together.
I want, badly, to raise children who believe that things are equal. Not just out in the world, but in the home too.
I like today.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
I am too.
But I'm also thankful for the hour I had to myself this morning. Okay, so my overgrown puppy was with me, but she can't talk, so I consider it an hour to myself.
It was cold this morning. About 24 degrees. The ground was all crackly as I stepped on it.
I got to see the sun come up over the Tennessee river as I walked along the cold, cold path. Ginger crunched through the leaves next to me.
I was totally at peace.
I am grateful that I live in such a beautiful place. Within five miles of my home are eight different walking paths. I walk past massive cornfields and rivers. I walk in beautiful parks that have something to offer every season of the year.
This is where I live.
I thought about family and why I am so deliriously grateful for the family I have. It occurred to me that eleven years ago on Thanksgiving Day that I believed that I would never, ever have what I have now. That because my first husband decided he didn't love me anymore, that no one ever would. That I could never, ever have a husband who adores me, two beautiful children, a ridiculous dog, and a lovely home.
It's so much more than that. So much more than I can even say.
I am thankful.
I am blessed.
And today I know it.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Okay, so I forgot my badge. That was totally my bad. I started thinking about things like having two days off and pecan pie and whatnot and I done lost my mind. I get that.
However, it was really, really, REALLY, REALLY uncool of you to make me sit out in the waiting area while you held a 20 minute conversation with your co-worker about cornbread dressing. I mean, seriously. I know cornbread dressing is an intregal part of your life or whatever, but you get paid way, way more than me and since you are actually at work and someone actually needs you to do something so they can go get to work, it would be so pleasant if you would actually do your job instead of talking about side dishes.
Thanks ever so,
Forgotten badge girl
Dear 200 year old man in the government truck,
Hon, I know it was like 180 years ago when you got your drivers license and all, but when you are sitting on a side road and pulling out into traffic? You have to look both ways.
Yes, there was no one coming ONE direction, but there was someone, namely me, that was coming the OTHER direction.
You almost running into me and killing me because you neglected to look both ways makes you a big fat douchepatty.
Thank you and Happy Thanksgiving,
That woman you almost ran over because you are a douche
Dear Security Police Officer who saw the old man in the truck almost run me over and did absolutely nothing,
Great job douchehat.
That Chick who flipped you off
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
With more than a million copies in print and 35 weeks on The New York Times bestseller list, The Friday Knitting Club has been embraced by readers everywhere. Now #1 bestselling author Kate Jacobs revisits her beloved characters in Knit Two.
I didn't know what to expect with this book. I had yet to read the first installment and well, frankly, I'm not a knitter.
The novel is centered around a Manhattan knitting store, Walker and Daughter. It is set five years after the original novel left off.
I'm torn between wishing I had read the first novel and being pleased that I didn't. I will certainly go back and read the first novel now, even though I'll know how it all comes out. The characters and story are so compelling that I'm not even bothered by the fact that I know how it ends.
I really needed to read this book right now. I'm struggling with a lot of things in my personal life, and this book reminded me how very powerful friendships can be. I've made a concious effort to call and email my girlfriends. I'm trying to share their lives...their joys and their pain. Sometimes it is nice to have a reminder.
I liked this book and thought it was an easy read...very good for my mood these days. It's being released today and is available at Amazon.
You can read more about the author at her website or check out her MySpace.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
They had a lot of questions, which I suppose is understandable since they had no idea I even write.
But it was okay. They both congratulated me and they both told me they were proud. Which is cool. But I'm proud of me, and even if they weren't, that wasn't going to change.
Oh and the highlight of the whole trip was the medicine bottle sitting on my grandma's nightstand which was labeled, "Pot".
She abbreviates all her medications. That one was potassium.
I love my grandma.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
My mom and dad are in Virginia today.
I'm going to tell them about the book.
I don't know how it will go. This is not a dream they've ever really supported.
But it's happening.
I have no expectation. I just need to tell them. Other people who might tell them already know. So I need to tell them before the others do.
No matter how it goes, I am fine. I am doing something I am proud of. I love this book.
No matter what, I am fine.
Friday, November 21, 2008
I literally, and I'm not kidding, read every single word of it out loud so I would know if it made sense or not.
The only problem with that? Is that Ginger, my dog, thinks that every time I speak I'm talking to her. So she stood next to my desk and wagged her tail for nine hours today.
She's going to sleep good tonight, I think.
But anyway. I hit send just a moment ago. It's out of my hands.
I'm sure I'll have more work to do. But for now, the book is dedicated, the acknowledgments are written, I wrote my bio, and I edited the hell out of it.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
I also? Have memories.
On Thanksgiving day in 1997, my first husband told me he didn't love me anymore. That he was divorcing me as soon as I gave birth. That he didn't want to be a part of my life anymore, ever.
I don't think about it very often. My first husband got his wish and he is not a part of my life or my children's lives. I don't miss him and they never knew him, so it's really a non-issue.
It was Thanksgiving day, though. I thought my life was over.
I was twenty-two years old.
So many people I love are hurting right now. So many people I care about have had tragic losses. Are in pain. In need. Feeling completely helpless and hopeless.
I wish I had the right words to tell them.
Because it's not over yet.
That sometimes when you pray to God to fix it, he's fixing it. Maybe you think he's not, but he is. Maybe not in the way you think it should be fixed, but he's fixing it in the way it's supposed to be fixed. That maybe God is planning something great for you. Something you never expected. Something that will change your entire life.
Maybe a boy in North Carolina is having his heart broken by the wrong girl, because you are the right girl.
Maybe someone throws a puppy dog out the window because she's supposed to come live in your house and make you happy every day of your life.
Maybe you can't have a baby because you're supposed to have a book instead.
You just never know.
I don't have any answers. God knows if I did my thighs wouldn't look like this, my mother-in-law wouldn't be ignoring the card I sent her, and I would magically be president of the Known Universe. There's nothing special about me except maybe for the fact that I am ridiculously grateful for every stupid part of myself and everyone I come in contact with. Even the doucheholes, because they make me grateful I'm not like them.
I can't tell you much. But I can tell you one thing. I thought it was all over when I was twenty-two.
I'm thirty-three. And it's all just beginning.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Because when I came home on Friday night, I had an email that said I had to give the final copy of my manuscript to the publisher by December 5th in order to have it out in time for the Book Expo in May.
And I? Freaked right the hell out.
Why? I don't know.
Because really? It's pretty much finished. It had a beginning and an end and it all flows logically. Yes, there were some errors (not surprisingly, I used "too" when I should have used "to" and vice versa) and a couple of spots I had to clarify because they seemed contradictory. Oh and there was one small copyright issue that I had to clear up. But those things are all pretty minor, in the grand scheme of things. Overall, it's pretty much done.
But I absolutely panicked.
So this weekend? I did everything but look at the book. I cleaned the house. I did a mountain of laundry, all folded and put away. I baked twelve tons of things; cookies and biscuits and bread. I wrote menus for this week. Made lists of what I still need for Christmas (pretty much postage stamps and candy for stockings). I thought about things, like the second World War. Seriously.
I did everything but work on my book.
I opened it, twice. Both times at around 2am. Both times I closed it almost immediately.
And yesterday? I said to Big Jim, "Why am I doing this?"
He said the same things he always says, "You don't believe you deserve good things". "The good things are in the same place for you as the scary things". "You're still trying to protect other people's image of you".
I know all this.
I had a turning point in my life, earlier this year, when I went to Ohio and met my friends. I knew that changed my life, in that moment. I knew it would be okay. That *I* could be okay. That I could meet people and they would love me the same way they loved me before they met me face-to-face. It changed everything.
This is another turning point, I know.
I just have to figure out how to not be afraid.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
But I don't understand her.
I've lived my life being afraid. Feeling inadequate. Feeling unintelligent. I've never felt like I belonged anywhere to anything.
She, on the other hands, fits right in no matter where she is. Absolutely everyone loves her. She handles every situation with a cool grace that is unusual for a child her age. She makes straight A's in school. And? She's gorgeous. The child has legs up to her neck and dimples which require their own zip code.
It's taken me a long time to admit this, but I think?
I might be a little jealous of her.
Jealous of my own child.
It's ridiculous really. But at times I've found myself feeling unnecessarily annoyed with her. At the little things she does. At how she follows me around endlessly wanting sections of the newspaper that I'm reading. How if I say, "Did you do your homework?" it's already done and all correct and she's reading Harry Potter and eating a brownie and never gains any weight.
Jealous. Of my own child.
I squash these feelings, honestly. I think she has absolutely no idea I feel this way. I always have smiles for her, and love. She's a really terrific kid. I'm awfully proud of her. I think it's not really, real actual jealously I feel toward her, it's just longing. Just wishing that my life more mirrored hers.
Most of the time, I just wish I could be more like her.
This morning as we walked through the frigid air into the warmth of the fellowship hall, the Girl asked, "Whose turn is it to sit next to you?"
The Boy and the Girl? Always want to take turns sitting next to me.
I put my arm around her and told her she could sit beside me.
So she did. She slid in first, then me, then the Boy, and then Jason.
The girl had on a purple dress today. I had on a purple sweater. She had carefully picked out earrings which were purple stars. I noticed and told her how proud I was that she was making such a good effort to match her pretty earrings with her clothing so well. She smiled her dimpled smile.
It was time to sing and we stood up. I held the hymnal between us.
I've sang for years and years. I quasi-learned to read music when I was a young kid, taking piano lessons from a mean lady who looked like an owl, but I really, really learned to sing when I was in the 9th grade and in chorus in my high school. Because of that high school chorus I had many opportunities to sing, in a variety of places.
I could hear myself singing the old hymns. My voice, I'll admit, is good. I don't sing loudly, but my voice is strong. It is sure. It is steady.
The girl child followed along with my finger and began to sing. Loudly.
Loudly and horribly, horribly off-key.
So much so, that I began to chuckle. It started out as a slight giggle in my throat and then I had to stop singing because I couldn't control it.
This perfect little child? Cannot carry a tune in a bucket.
I looked down at her and she was totally oblivious to the fact that I was laughing. She was busy.
She was busy singing.
So full and sincere was this child's heart, that she was singing. Loudly and off-key, but she was singing her heart out.
Psalms 100:1 - Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.
It hit me like a ton of bricks.
This was her joyful noise.
It also occurred to me, just then, that the major difference between the Girl and I is that she was in no way bothered by the fact that she doesn't have the most beautiful voice in the room. She was there with a pure heart, lifting her voice to the Lord. Only because she wanted to sing. Only because she was unafraid. Only because she was enjoying the message and not worried about what anyone would think of her.
I realized that is why she excels at life, whereas I suck at it.
She doesn't worry about what anyone else thinks. She worries about what she thinks.
I realized, again, for the millionth time that I am blessed with an amazing child.
But I won't be jealous of her anymore. I'll just try to be more like her. Because who she is? Is awesome.
The singing was over and we sat down, side by side. I whispered to her,
"You are such an enthusiastic singer!"
And she smiled that smile. Those dimples.
She's my girl.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Gah, I'm all domestic or something.
To that end, here's my mom's cookie recipe. Enjoy!
1 Box White Cake Mix
1/3 Cup of Brown Sugar
2/3 Stick of Margarine (melted)
1 Cup Premium White Baking Chips
1/3 to 1/2 Cup Macadamia Nuts (chopped)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees, mix ingredients in the order listed. Drop by rounded Tablespoon onto a lightly greased (Cooking spray, very light works best) cookie sheet or 9 X 13 glass baking pan. You can bake about 8 cookies at a time in the glass pan. Bake for approximately 12 minutes. When the top of the cookies crack remove from oven and let cool for about 2 to 3 minutes in the pan. If you like crunchy cookies bake longer and let them brown slighty. If you prefer soft cookies, take them out while they are still pale. It usually takes less time for the second and third pan than it did for the first.
Number Of Servings: Usually one. Depending on who is eating them and how polite they want to be.
I would recommend you take them out when they don't look quite done. If you leave them in a pan for a minute or two, they are perfect.
Friday, November 14, 2008
A lot of you nice sweet people have asked when the book will be available. The honest answer is that I don't know. The contract I signed gives the publisher up to one year to publish. However, the publisher has told me they hope to have it completed and available by May, 2009 in time for Book Expo America which is at the end of May. In New York. And they also mentioned they want me to be there. And maybe do something like a reading.
So. That made me go into the bathroom and hurl violently.
But okay. I still think I can do it. And think of all the cool people I'll get to meet.
Other of you nice sweet people have asked where you'll be able to buy the book. Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and those other places like that will sell it online. I don't know if your local bookseller will have it because, let's face it, small press books often don't make the shelves of the local bookstore unless they do amazingly well. While it's nice to dream that it will do amazingly well, I'm not Barack Obama or that chick that wrote Twilight, and those are the books I saw on in the bookstore on Saturday.
Sure, I can probably convince my local bookshops to sell them. The whole "local author" thing is appealing, I guess. And likely, the place where the book is set (Eastern NC) will actually have the book available in the store.
I'm not holding my breath, either way. We'll just have to see how it does.
And, because this needs to be said:
1) No, I don't know anybody.
2) No, I can't you a book deal.
3) No, I didn't have to pay anybody to publish my book. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I don't believe there is. But I didn't.
4) Yes, your writing is much, much better than mine and I also can't understand why I got a book deal and you didn't.
5) Did you know being bitter gives you wrinkles?
6) No, I am not rich.
7) No, I'm not famous. Sincerely doubt I will ever be.
8) Yes, I am happy.
9) No, I probably won't give you and everyone you know free copies (depending on who we are talking to here...I won't give someone that randomly emails me for the first time on Wednesday free copies for her and her entire family. I will instead, delete her email and mock her here).
10) Yes, I'm writing the next one.
So there you have it. Another post about the book. I'll try to keep these to the minimum, but please know I am EXPLODING inside.
Happy Friday y'all!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
"I feel sorry for your husband".
And I was all like, "Bitch, please".
And then I laughed.
And then? I felt sorry for him also.
Because Jesus. I'm so not easy to live with.
Lately, like every eleven seconds, I keep saying to him, "You know what?" and he says, "What?" and I go, "I SOLD MY BOOK!" In my OUTSIDE voice. And then he's like, "You might have mentioned that seven hundred times already, babe". But he says it kindly, so I don't think he's really all that upset.
His life is on display. Because of me. He doesn't want his life to be on display. He doesn't keep up with people. He's not outgoing. We live in a house in which, if we ever had to somehow become part of the Federal Witness Protection Program? We wouldn't even have to move. No one can find us. We're out here on our own. And he didn't intend to marry someone who writes stories or tells tales on the internet about her infertility struggle or him brushing his beard. I'm pretty sure about all of this.
And he still loves me.
And if all of that isn't annoying enough for him and probably a total divorcable offense? Recently I told him about a study that I heard about on the radio, so you know it was really, really scientific and whatnot, which said that people who get divorced and people who stay married are really only separated by one thing. Four hugs a day.
So I told him all about it and since then he's made a special effort to hug me four times a day. True, he LOUDLY COUNTS each hug, just so I'll be sure and not ever accuse him of shortchanging me on the hugs and that can get a little annoying sometimes. But still. I get four hugs and we aren't getting a divorce.
So I finally had to tell him that yes, I've written a book and yes, someone actually want to publish said book, and yes, after several weeks of careful thought and consideration I'm agreeing to all of this happening. He asked me what the book was about and I said, "Well, basically it's the period of time between which I was divorced from my first husband and then met you".
He was very quiet and then finally said, in a sad voice, "Well, neither one of us were virgins when we met".
And I was like, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JASON, IT'S NOT A SEX BOOK!"
Then he looked relieved, which made me happy because I love him and stuff but then? He looked scared again and said, "How much about me is actually in this book?"
And I said, "Oh, hardly anything at all. A couple of lines. At the end. People will totally be bored by then".
I waited for two seconds and then said,
"But the next one? It's COMPLETELY about you".
It must suck to be him.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I never, ever thought anyone would read it.
Oddly? People read it.
Then some more people read it.
So that was pretty cool.
And you know what else?
A lot of the people who read it are cool.
And you know what the cool people said?
They said crap like, "We believe in you Stephanie". "We think you're awesome Stephanie". "You could totally write a book Stephanie". "Stop saying douchenozzle so much Stephanie".
Okay, the last one isn't true, but the other ones are.
So after a while? I listened.
And a few months ago I told you guys about this little book I was writing. Remember?
So on Monday? With trembling hands I mailed the signed contract for that book back to the publisher that loves it and wants it and wants me to start writing the sequel like, right now.
I sold my book you guys.
I! SOLD! MAH! BOOK!
Thank you. For the love of God. Thank you for believing I could.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I can't figure out why this bothers people so much. We had a legal wedding ceremony (performed by a church elder named, and I'm not kidding, Johnny Ray. And we had to call him Johnny Ray because he used both his first and middle name conversationally). We signed the marriage license and turned it in to the appropriate venue in the appropriate amount of time. There was even cake people! It was totally a wedding.
I slipped a ring on his finger which was engraved with the words "We belong to you and me". Bonus points for you if you know where that comes from.
About five minutes after the ceremony was over, he took the ring off. He's never put it back on. He doesn't wear any jewelry on his hands. He doesn't even wear a watch. So. No ring.
We're still married.
My ex-husband decided he didn't want to be married to me anymore and he took his ring off. But guess what? We were still married. Until the judge banged that gavel, he was still my husband. Despite what he told the insurance company so they would drop me while I was pregnant with twins.
A ring does not a marriage make.
My husband, for God knows what reason, thinks I'm the best thing alive. Someone asked me on Sunday how long we had been married and when I said five years they were shocked. They said, "You two are like newlyweds".
And we are. Not like in a gross tongue out at the Piggly Wiggly kind of way. But in a sweet way.
So he doesn't wear a ring. It makes other people upset and causes waitresses to proposition him in restaurants because I guess they think I'm his fat sister or some crap.
But I don't care.
We're still married.
And it's really, really good.
Monday, November 10, 2008
All. The. Time.
I absolutely cannot sit still, ever, which makes it really difficult for me to tell my son, "Boy Child, you really can't be doing jumping jacks all over your freaking fifth grade classroom. It totally bums the teacher out". Because dude. For real. The minute I get to work, the shoes come off, I'm sitting on one leg, and playing tap dance rhythms with my left hand while I hum show tunes.
As a complete aside? I'm pretty sure my officemates HATE ME AND WANT ME DEAD.
Anyway. I'm also fat as Holy Hell, still. All this walking and obsessive Points counting and stuff is helping, but sadly I have not magically lost 100 pounds immediately. Which is a real bummer and makes me want to eat cake which would TOTALLY DEFEAT THE PURPOSE by the way. So I'm left feeling all conflicted and alone and cranky. And hungry.
So I'm sitting at my desk at home working on...I have no idea, something. And I'm gleefully bouncing my leg in time, presumably, to the music that only I can hear.
Jason is sitting on the couch. Which is maybe five feet away from the desk at which I am sitting.
And he says, and I swear I'm not kidding:
"What is that...is an airplane buzzing our house?"
Oh. My. GOD.
I whipped around in my chair and said, "What? THIS?" Indicating my bouncing leg.
"Oh was that it?" he said, TOTALLY UNAWARE OF HOW EXTREMELY INSULTING HE WAS.
So, being the extremely reasonable and morally and socially responsible individual I am who was TOTALLY NOT HYPED UP on Nyquil at that exact moment, no matter what he says, I said:
"SO NOW I AM SO OBESE YOU CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE IN ME AND A PLANE FLYING OVER OUR HOUSE?"
Well. To say he looked a bit surprised would be a pretty big understatement.
"OH! MY! GOD!" I shrieked and he looked a bit frightened and confused. "I have become SO MASSIVE that I SHAKE THE ENTIRE HOUSE WHEN I WALK?!?!?"
"Babe, that was not what I was-"
"SO MASSIVE AM I! OBESE!"
"You aren't obese Stephanie, I was just-"
"OBEEEEEESE! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOBESEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! OH TO THE BESE!"
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH MY GOD!" he shrieked. "Knock it off woman!"
That made me laugh. So I stopped shrieking.
But really, now. Shake the whole house?
Jesus. He SO needs a tune-up.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Saturday, November 08, 2008
I let him pick them out. I think they are awesome. Sort of retro.
Then we went to a bookstore and I said to my children, "When mommy's book gets published, this is where it will go". And we all smiled our silly smiles. It's fun to dream, isn't it?
And then Girl Child was in desperate, desperate need of a haircut. So here's how she looks now.
She makes that face all the time and I say, "Girl Child. Don't make that face". So then she makes this face:
And suddenly? The whole world is beautiful again.
Friday, November 07, 2008
I know. Try to hold yourself back.
Seriously, I'm perplexed today because I was looking at some wedding photos of two twenty year old virgins and someone had said, "Oh, look at him (the groom...duh) looking at the love of his life!"
Now I know. Every time I say things like this I get a bunch of email from people who say, "OH MY GOD YOU ARE SUCH A JEALOUS BITCH! I MET THE LOVE OF MY LIFE WILLIS WHEN I WAS FOURTEEN YEARS OLD AND WE HAVE BEEN MADLY IN LOVE AND MARRIED FOR ELEVEN YEARS AND YOU ARE JUST A BITCHFACE COCKSLAP, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!"
So, okay. I get that. I'm a bitchface cockslap.
But I still have to say, I'm utterly fascinated by people who have figured out this whole "love of your life" thing at the age of twenty.
Because honestly? I'm thirty-three and I'm not sure my husband is the love of my life.
There. I said it.
Not that I don't love my husband. I love my husband. I mean, I love my husband. He is absolutely my best friend on the planet. He's hilarious and sometimes he even means to be hilarious. I would not want to imagine living my life without this man in it.
That being said? I did live my life without him in it. For twenty-four years. And I was okay.
Do I feel like he filled a gaping hole in my life? Yes, I do.
Do I feel like he makes my life better? Yes, most definitely.
Do I feel like I am a better person because I love this man? I do.
Do all of these things mean he's the love of my life?
I'm not sure.
Because you know? This is how my day went the other day:
I can't sleep so I'm awake at 3am.
I leave the house at 7am.
I work with people who are probably actually criminally insane.
I leave work at 4:30pm and I don't get home, and I'm not kidding about this, until 6pm.
My spouse says to me:
"Why are you home so late?"
I have been telling him for two years that it takes me this long. Listening is not one of his strongest attributes.
I make dinner.
I help children with math homework.
I wash two loads of laundry and one load of dishes.
And at 9pm at the exact second my butt hits the couch? My husband says to me:
"Did you want to vacuum or should I?"
I refrained from putting my shoe up his ass and very politely informed him that I wouldn't be vacuuming that evening. Then he vacuumed and was really cheerful about it, so I didn't feel terrible, but I was left to ponder:
If I was the love of his life or he was the love of my life, wouldn't I have vacuumed?
I don't know. I know it's not that simple, but I guess the whole concept of "love of my life" is confusing to me. I know what all those words mean separately, but together they create a big wad of mass squick inside my brain.
How do you know? I mean, I love my kids and I imagine I will love them their entire lives. I even loved them when they were really little and freaky looking and did things like poop on my arm. Aren't THEY the loves of my life? I've loved my dog from the second I met her and I can't imagine ever not loving her either. Also? I have a pretty wicked addiction to Diet Pepsi and Fiber one bars. I make up songs and sing them IN PUBLIC about those two products. And if that's not love, well. I don't want to know what is.
Maybe it's just me.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
So I wrote this book and in addition to the fantasies that I have that it will someday be a huge best-seller? I also like to think of the people that I would send my advance review copies (ARC's) to.
You know those little blurbs in book jacket? That say, "This book kicks ass!" or whatever? Those can come from ARC's.
So I started writing a list. Of, you know, all these people I don't know who will never read anything I write, much less a book that has not even been published.
As I was writing my list and not doing my laundry, I thought about all the people I admire and how I could possibly ask them to do me this honor. Since, you know, I don't know any of them or have any idea of how to contact them. And then, since clearly my time is a premium I thought about how cool it would be if they became my bff's and we hung out and stuff.
So as a recap:
The book has not been published.
I have a list of new imaginary friends which includes Tina Fey (and for real? I would crap myself for a chance to even be in the same ROOM as Tina Fey).
The laundry is not done.
Don't you wish you were me?
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
I am mad, however, about just about every other thing on the planet.
Like, for example, deadbeat parents who throw away wonderful little children. Who actively participate in the making of children but have absolutely nothing to do with the raising of said children.
And people who behave horribly at work. People who throw fits and basically what amounts to temper tantrums. People who curse and shout and behave inappropriately. People who say, "I quit!" and then 10 minutes later are back and not only are they back they have a BETTER JOB THAN WHEN THEY QUIT.
I'm mad that people I love are hurting right now.
I'm tired of people being intolerant and ridiculous. I listened to the radio on my way to work this morning and some of the things people were saying about the election...oh my God. And then I got to work and it was just as bad. It was awful.
I'm tired. I haven't slept well in months and for the past two weeks or so it's been on overdrive.
But mostly I'm just mad.
Tomorrow will be better.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
The pastor and his wife have two children, a boy and a girl, just like us. The difference is, their boy and girl are both under four years old.
And? I noticed? That everyone who has children the same age as our children? Much older than we are.
I’m used to that, in a lot of ways. I get that a lot of people don’t have babies when they are twenty-two and that’s cool. Frankly, I probably shouldn’t have had babies when I was twenty-two either if we want to base the “should have babies” factor on things like financial preparedness and emotional and mental stability. I’m so, so glad I had them because seriously I think that I had like a five minute window in 1997 which allowed me to get pregnant and I’m fairly certain that if it didn’t happen right at that exact moment I would have never, ever had any children at all, much less got to experience the joy that is The Boy and The Girl. I’m not big on regret as a general rule and I would never, ever, EVER regret having my children, even though I was really young and, admittedly, quite stupid.
I’m finding it hard, however, to fit in.
Because the thing I have learned is that, for whatever reason, people absolutely do not relate to me as a mother.
I really, honestly do not understand this.
If you know me and I mean, actually really know me, you know that there is nothing on this planet that is more important to me than the Boy and the Girl. Sometimes I’m amazed at what an awesome life I have and I’m really, really freaking grateful for everything I have that is good, but frankly, it could all go to Hell and I’d still be okay as long as I had them. They are the reason I work so hard to have what I have. They are the reason that I keep trying…that I will never stop trying.
Those kids? Make me who I am.
So why is it so hard for people to relate to me as a mother?
I mean, I understand why people don’t relate to me as a Supermodel or whatever. I get why it’s hard for people to recognize the fact that, um, yeah. I’m actually kind of really smart and despite my dubious use of the words too and to, I really do get a lot of things and know how to express them pretty well. I know I talk like I’m from the South and people automatically deduct IQ points when I speak and before they really get to know me.
I get all that.
But I am a mother. I have something to offer.
No, I don’t remember when you are supposed to get an ultrasound. I don’t know when babies get their first teeth in or take their first steps. I would be hard pressed to tell you what time my children were actually born. These things I don’t keep right in the forefront of my mind. I admit that.
But I know how to be a mother.
I know how to talk a crying child down from a meltdown. I know how it feels to have nothing else in this world but a little baby and that little baby hates you and wants you dead and has just freaking puked all over you. I know how it feels to be so proud of your little child that your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest. I know how it feels to watch your child cry and feel your own heart break and wish there was something you could do to fix it.
I know all that.
What I don’t know is where I fit in. Where I belong. Why people think I have nothing to offer. Why there has to be such a huge, gaping divide between moms. Between women, who should be supportive of one another, and instead end up putting each other in categories and groups and saying, “She can’t fit with me”. I do it to… I’m guilty as all of the rest of them.
I may not be what you think of when you think of a Supermom. I know this.
But I am a mom.
I’ve lived through it. I have stories.
And maybe, just maybe, I could help.
Maybe I really do have something to offer this world other than the copious use of the word douchebag.
Monday, November 03, 2008
We do that. I have no idea why.
Anyway, one of the informercials was for some mineral make-up product. They showed a before/after picture of a lady who was apparently using this miraculous product.
She had really big, dark circles under in her eyes in the "before" picture.
In the after picture? She had gorgeous, flawless skin.
And Jason said:
"She doesn't so much need make-up as she needs counseling".
I was SO going to say, "Bitch doesn't need make-up, she needs a restraining order!"
But I gave him the win. I'm cool like that.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Someone in the grocery store decided to call me on the fact that my child said something about a television program that she apparently watches HERSELF and thought that my child shouldn't watch.
Even though she, clearly, has not taken my child to raise.
What the hell? Seriously?
I was going to let it roll off my back. My child is kind, loving, polite and respectful. He was standing there holding my coupons and making conversation with me when she decided to butt in. He makes good grades in school, is a kick-ass artist, and never gives me a moment of trouble. He is a good freaking kid, no matter what he watches on the television. And, shockingly enough, he actually knows the difference between what is on television and what is reality.
I guess I am just really puzzled as to why people think it's their right and privilege to make judgements on others about the way they decide to raise their children. My kids don't watch High School Musical or horror movies or even Hannah Montana, but I don't care if your kids do. I take walks with my kids and practice math flash cards and take them on long nature hikes in Cades Cove, but I don't care if you don't. If your child comes to my house in a "Sexy Witch" costume for Halloween do you know what I'm going to say? I'm going to say, "Here you go darlin', have a Snickers bar". Because even though I wouldn't let Girl Child wear a Sexy Witch costume or a pair of pants with the words "Hottie" on the butt, I'm not going to judge you if you let your daughter wear that. Last time I checked, I wasn't Jesus Christ nor was I wearing any type of judicial robe, so I'm pretty sure I'm not qualified to pass any kind of judgement on anybody.
I understand that I get judged all the time because of the things I write in this blog. People email me and say I shouldn't say things like, "Holy Moses on a Bicycle". People email me and are appalled that my daughter calls a penis a penis instead of, hell I don't know, "wee-wee" or some crap. People say "Your husband should do this" and people start crap with me about anything from not chasing my ex-husband all over the world and trying to force him to have a relationship with my kids to where I go to church.
I put myself out there. I get that. I expect it.
But when I'm minding my own business, in the grocery store, looking at the Healthy Choice frozen entrees and trying to decide between chicken and french bread pizza? Bitch, please.
It doesn't matter. I'm officially over this. I'm going to live my life and raise my kids and yes, they are still going to watch Family Guy and say things like "vagina" and laugh hysterically when someone farts. They are also going to grow up and be really nice, really smart, really respectful people who are completely secure in the knowledge that their mom loves them and did everything she could to do to give them a good life.
So if you don't like how I raise my children, don't bother to say anything to me.
I'm not going to do anything differently.