Tuesday, March 31, 2009

And I love him.

Jason, last night,

"Wow! You bought the rich people toilet paper! Thanks!"

Life is good.

Monday, March 30, 2009

PSA to local drug addicts.

If you are going to call someone's cell phone at 11:59pm? Please ensure that you are dialing the correct number before you leave a long, detailed message about how you are looking for "that thing" and you really hope whomever it is you were calling has gotten for you "that thing" because you really, really, really need "that thing".

Also? If you are going to call to try to make a buy? Please don't be high before you call. Because if you are, it will surely cause to miss the voice mail greeting which clearly states my name, in full. And my name is not the name of your dealer.
Not even close.


Sunday, March 29, 2009

Paperback writer.

Someday she will write a book.

And I will be proud.

I will tell everyone I know and probably? A lot of people I don't know.

I will be at her book signings and I will be her biggest fan.

I will never make her feel like it's impossible. Or that she can't. I've shown her she can.

I believe in her.

Someday, she'll write a book.

I'm already proud.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

They'll never be like you.

I worry about things I can't change. It's sort of my thing.

In addition to worrying about things like how I can get my whites whiter and what my dog dreams about and even why things seem to all go so horribly wrong for me? I also think a lot about nature vs. nurture. I blogged/whined about this before.

Because really. Jason and I do the best we can. We don't pretend to be perfect or better than anyone else. We're aware of our limitations and we are extremely aware of our flaws (and I'm sure if we weren't, someone would remind us). We just love those kids and we try. We really try.

The other day I had parent/teacher conferences.

I? Loathe parent teacher conferences.

I don't know why. Nothing bad ever happens. Lightening doesn't strike me and nothing falls on my head or anything but I dread them so, so much. The only thing I can figure is that I know I'm going to have to squeeze my hindquarters into a chair that is designed for someone between the ages of 5 and 11 and it's just not going to go well for me, so I automatically am biased against these meetings. That, and I just HATE to break my routine. I really, really thrive on having a set routine. So much so that I basically lose my ever-loving mind every time I have to go against it.

I met with the Girl's teacher first and it was really a good thing I did, because if I ever need to get a boost? I just need to talk to the Girl's teacher. Because she thinks that the Girl rocks. She does, of course, but it's always good to get validation of this from people who are not biologically related to us.

After polishing the Girl's halo for a moment, she asked if I had any concerns about her.

And I do.

Because...I hate to admit this but...I think the Girl one is a little weird.

I know. Shocking right? No clue where she would get this.

She's a nice kid and everyone likes her, but she prefers to be by herself (check). She'd rather read than do just about anything (double check). She randomly bursts into rather comical dancing to music only she can hear(um...check). She has a puppet (okay, I never had a puppet. Not that this makes me normal, I know).

So, frankly, I am terrified that the Girl one will grow up like me. Because I? Am not so much normal as I am a hot mess.

I also have fears, often, that my ex-husband will rear his ugly head and the children will somehow be like him.

I won't go into detail, but I really, really, really don't want them to be like him.

Therefore, I'm pretty much justifiably terrified every day of my life that my children will succumb to the genetic nightmare which was thrust upon them.

The Girl's teacher assured me that the Girl was right on track. She had friends in the class, lots of friends. She wasn't anti-social at lunch or on the playground. Yes, she prefers her own company over that of others, but that's okay.

And then, she shared a story.

There is a child in the Girl's class who is often in trouble. Often. She's not a very nice child, apparently, and often causes a lot of mischief. Basically, if something has gone wrong within the classroom, this child gets the blame. Because generally? It is this child's fault.

She also gets picked on by the other children. Excessively.

The Girl's teacher was quick to assure me that the Girl does not pick on this child. But they are also not friends and this child HAS picked on the Girl before and been very ugly to her.

Recently, there was some incident in the classroom. The teacher didn't give me details and I didn't ask. Several children in the classroom attributed the incident to the trouble making child, and the teacher believed them. Why wouldn't she?

The Girl? Got upset.

So she took it upon herself to write a letter to the principal. She told the principal that yes, this trouble making girl often got into scrapes, and yes, it was often her fault that these things happened, but this time, the troublemaker was not at fault. And also, all the kids picked on her and bullying is wrong, and can the principal please take care of all of this?

This child is not her friend, mind you. This child, in fact, has been quite mean to the Girl.

But right is right.

And my Girl knew it.

No one had to tell her, and she never told me this happened.

She just knew it was right.

Have you ever heard the expression "my heart swelled"? Because my heart? I think it actually swelled.

She'll never be like him.

And maybe, I hope, she'll only be the good parts of me.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Everybody poops.

People think I'm not human, I guess.

I don't sleep like a normal person, that's for sure. I work more hours in the day than I probably should and I always say yes to another project, even when I should say no. And usually? I shouldn't just say no, I should say, "OH HELL NO!"

But I try to keep that in.

Thus, the people at my work are constantly interrupting me while I'm on my way to the bathroom.

I drink about 80 ounces of water every day between the hours of 6am and 4:30pm. That is a lot of water. Therefore, I often am plowing my way down the hall in an effort to get to the lone, solitary women's room in my fifty year old building, which was built long before there were women working in such positions as I do now.

It doesn't matter. They call for me as I walk by their office doors, "STEPHANIE!"

If I keep going because I just can't wait and also I don't appreciate when people call me like I'm a dog? When I eventually come out of the bathroom? They are STANDING IN FRONT OF THE BATHROOM DOOR. Holding their paperwork out, expectantly. Waiting for me to fix everything. Like I always fix everything.

Now, seriously? That grosses me out. And I am RABID about handwashing.

So, I'm human. Okay? I may not cry everytime I'm hurt and I may act like everything is okay when I'm destroyed inside and I may be the only, only person who hasn't yelled at one particular co-worker even though HE TOTALLY DESERVES IT EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF EVERY SINGLE DAY, but I'm human.

If they start coming into the bathroom after me? I'm jumping out the window.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Another good deed.

On Tuesday night after work, I dragged the children to the grocery store so we could pretend like we're normal people who have things like milk in our home.

It was actually a good trip...the store wasn't very crowded like it usually is on Monday nights or Sunday afternoons. The aisles were pretty much clear and the few people that were there were hurrying along their way, much like we were.

In the frozen foods aisle I was accosted by an elderly lady who was looking for beef stew.

I tried to direct her to the canned foods aisle and she insisted that it was something frozen. I asked if it was for the crockpot and she said yes, she had eaten it before and everyone in her entire family loved it and please, oh please, could I just help her find it?

I knew what she was talking about. I went to where it used to be located and it wasn't there anymore. Around the other side, though, there it was.

And she was happy.

As her family came up to her, she pointed to me and said, "That girl with the beautiful hair helped me find it!"

Boy Child? Was impressed.

"Mom," he said. "That was nice. You're a nice person".

"You should always try to help people when you can Boy Child," I replied.

"You're like...a role model though," he said, thoughtfully. "You are my role model!"

He was very pleased with himself, and I? Was pleased that he thought of me that way.

Then. He said,
"But not daddy."

And I lost all my street cred as a role model when I burst out laughing.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Good to know.

Dog Child has been extraordinarily happy to be home since our recent jaunt to North Carolina. In fact? As soon as she came from the car into the house, she immediately plopped down in "her" spot, fell asleep and began snoring. Loudly.

Boy Child was hugging Dog Child on the floor, and I leaned over and rubbed her gently and said, "Ginger is such a good girl. She's so glad to be home. She likes it here better than she likes North Carolina".

Boy Child said, "Hey! I love North Carolina!"

"Ginger might love it there," I told him, "if she weren't so hairy. It's very hot there."

"True," he agreed.

"And you don't have very much hair," I reminded him.

"True," he agreed again. "And none of it is on my pubes".

Okay then.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Dirty words.

Recently, after church, Boy Child climbed into the back of the car looking very forlorn.

I asked him what was the matter and he looked down and muttered,

"I said a bad word at church".

Immediately my heart began to race because I was assuming the Boy referred to someone as a douchenugget or an assfaced whore or something. Not that I would have any idea where he would hear such things or anything. But still.

So, swallowing hard, I asked him:

"What did you say?"

He sighed and his eyes filled with tears.

"I said Catholic".

Relief flooded my veins. Along with hysterical laughter. I kept the laughter inside though and concentrated on the relief.

"Catholic is not a bad word honey," I told him.

Jason was having more trouble keeping the hysterical laughter in check, but he did manage to reassure the boy that it wasn't a bad word and he would tell him all about what being Catholic means later.

We rode in silence for a moment and I heard Boy Child say to Girl Child,

"I'm glad I didn't say ass!"

Me too Boy Child. Me too.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Monday sucks: Gratitude edition!

Over the last couple of days I've focused on a lot of really hard, bad crap. Thus, I thought it would do me some good to think about some things that I'm glad about.

This is my money jar for the Easter offering at church.

As you can see, there is not a lot of money in it yet. But it's not Easter yet either and I'd be willing to bet that Jesus thinks I'm cool just for trying.

I'm very happy that the visit with my in-laws this weekend went well. I am even happier when my husband's grandma started crying and she asked me to "take care of her baby" that my father-in-law said, immediately, "She's already been taking care of him".

Because I have. And it's nice that someone noticed.

I puffy pink heart my pedicure.

I'm shallow like that, but I don't even care.

I'm thankful for this ridiculous dog even though her farts chase everyone, even her, out of the room.

I'm so glad that last time I looked my book was ranked under 40,000 on Amazon. I know it goes up and down, but considering there are over 6 million books for sale on Amazon, I'll take it. It means someone, somewhere is buying my book. And I am thankful for that.

Most of all?

For this boy and this girl. For how far they've come. For how far they will go.

I am thankful I get to be a part of them.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Learning as I go.

As much as I absolutely hate this growing up crap, I have to admit that I've had a lot of moments of absolute clarity lately.

It's nice, in some ways. In some ways it sucks butt, mind you. But I'm also learning a lot and changing and figuring a lot of things out. Important things like:

Always keep yourself busy so you'll stay out of everyone else's business

Because, I've realized, I don't have time to worry about other's people's crap. I have enough of my own crap to deal with.


It doesn't matter if I behave like an assfaced whore, there are always people who love me.

Really? I shouldn't behave like an assfaced whore. But everyone has a moment sometimes so I'm giving myself a pass. I can't be good all the time. I just can't.


Life is short.

I know. Profound, right?

Yesterday I became the mother of eleven-year old twins. And while I have moments at work and during exercise in which I feel as though time has completely stopped, in all reality the last eleven years of my life have absolutely flown by. In a few years they'll be out on their own, God willing, and I'll have to look back on my life as their mother, and see how I've done. And I don't want to screw them up.

So I'm learning. I'm trying.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Spring again.

Today is the first day of...well, Spring at least.

Spring is about renewal, right? And I'm ready for some renewal.

So I'm getting a manicure and a pedicure.

What? I'll renew my soul later.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

I forget.

I know this may be hard to believe but sometimes? I forget I'm fat.

I wake up in the morning and my knees hurt. Because I forget I'm fat and I run.

I forget that I'm fat and I turn the elliptical up a level.

I forget that I'm fat and I ride the bike for an hour.

I don't run and hide from anything because I feel like I'm not okay. I mean, I don't necessarily think I'm okay, at all, but it's more about my utter craziness than my weight.

Other people are sometimes fond of reminding me. But I? Sometimes forget.

Sometimes I think about it all the time. Sometimes it consumes me. Sometimes all I can think about is what I eat and what I don't eat and what I will allow myself to eat.

But sometimes? When I'm dancing around the room with my husband and I feel light as air?

I just forget.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

I hate being an adult.

Yesterday during therapy Big Jim said something about how I've changed. I can't remember the exact context, but something about how since the book came out that I've really come to a different place in the world.

It's true, really. I knew things before, but I get them now. Especially regarding certain things/people that just aren't going to change no matter what I do.

It's interesting. It sucks butt. But it's interesting.

The part about it that sucks is that even though I get it? It doesn't make it any easier. I still get hurt when people are dickwads to me. I still can't understand people's motives for things (for example, telling me in great, elaborate detail about the physical act of obtaining my book, but then, for whatever reason, not telling me how you feel about it or even if you read it). I can't feel better about people talking crap about me behind my back and then trying to pretend like they weren't the ones that did it (and Jesus, what are we? In fourth grade? Just freaking talk to me).

I don't know. Maybe I'm just paranoid. Maybe it's the Totino's pizza that I choked down last night (and oh JESUS, NEVER AGAIN) because Jason and I regress into fifteen year old boys who can't take care of themselves whenever the children are away. (Pizza that costs less than $1.50? Makes you hurl at about 2am. Trust me on this one)Maybe I am actually right and some people will just never change. Myself included, because I'm holding onto this pretty stubbornly I've noticed.

At any rate. Not loving it. Can't even stand myself.

Monday, March 16, 2009

My life would suck without you.

Yesterday Jason and I were in the grocery store and I got a phone call which was upsetting. I tried to hold it together and I behaved appropriately while I was on the phone. When the call was over, I hung up and promptly burst into tears and said, to Jason, "I'm really freaking out right now!"

And he said, alarmed and oblivious, "Jesus Stephanie, I'll put the Special K bars back! Don't cry!"

I have the best life, ever.

Sunday, March 15, 2009


How do you determine where "home" is?

And, obviously, I don't just mean the house you live in. I mean, how do you decide to stay somewhere? What factors do you consider?

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Twists and turns.

There is a stretch of Highway 40 between North Carolina and Tennessee which, frankly, used to scare the complete crap out of me.

Ten years ago when I began making trips between the two places regularly, I would panic when I had to drive through there. So much so that, when Jason and I were moving to Tennessee, I had to pull the car over so he could drive. I was terrified of all the twists and turns.

Today, as I zipped along, passing traffic on the left with ease, it occurred to me that I wasn't afraid anymore.

I didn't feel paralized with fear.
I didn't step on my brakes as I went around the turns.

I wasn't the same, scared little girl I was ten years ago.

I'm not the same girl I was.

It's probably way more profound than I can make it sound. I'm really tired.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Open letters: I know way, way too many jerks edition!

Dear Person driving the camper with their Hummer attached to it on the Highway yesterday afternoon at 5:15pm,

Dude. You suck.

No. Seriously. You suck.

I don't care why you found yourself on the Highway. It is completely, 100% inappropriate and will always and forever be completely and 100% inappropriate for you to:
a) Pull your huge-ass vehicle into the furthest left-hand lane
b) Drive exactly one mile BELOW THE POSTED SPEED LIMIT
c) Decide at the ABSOLUTE LAST MINUTE that you need to take an exit when there have been signs going back AT LEAST 30 miles, advising you that you will get to a point in which you have to make a choice and YOU CAN'T CONTINUE GOING THE WAY YOU WERE GOING BECAUSE THE HIGHWAY ENDS
d) Sit blocking two lanes of traffic because you can't get over three lanes where you need to be and should have STAYED IN THE FIRST PLACE

Sir, I know you are far, far more important than I am. Clearly, you have more money than me and have nothing better to do than get onto the highway and annoy people and I know you don't give two craps about me, but frankly? I'm tired. I work a lot. I have two kids that I have to pick up. I commute to a different city for work and it takes me an hour every day to just get to the point where you pulled your big stupid vehicle in my path (without looking...nice touch, thanks for that). I was nearly late to pick up my children. I know someone like you with a lot of money and no sense of shame wouldn't care about something like that, but I do. I have to pay extra money if I'm late. A lot of extra money. I don't have a lot of extra money.

I should not have to suffer because you decide to be an idiot.

So repeat that to yourself, okay? Again and again if you have to:

Other people should not have to suffer because I'm an idiot.
Other people should not have to suffer because I'm an idiot.

Maybe it will sink in eventually.

Hate you! Hope I never see you again!

Dear idiots who stand in the road and scream at my dog while she tries to pee,

Really. What the crap is wrong with you people?

She's a DOG. Dogs do not use the toilet. She has to go outdoors to pee. Haven't you ever watched Animal Planet?

Don't yell at her while she's trying to pee. Don't talk to her while she's trying to pee. Do not approach her in any way, ever. Even if she's not trying to pee. Don't ever, ever come near her.

Leave her alone. She's not doing anything to you. She's not near you. She's nowhere near your property. She's nowhere near your child or children (who would probably try to beat her because they are serial killers in the making). She's nowhere near anyone but me, her owner, who has her on a leash. She's not interested in you, she's not interested in your child, and even though she's a big dog, she's completely harmless. She's just trying to take a pee.



Dear toolish individual who was giving me a hard time before 9am on a Friday morning,

You suck and you were wrong. No matter how you "interpret" it. You were wrong. I showed you were you wrong and you wanted to argue anyway. Which reinforces what a tool you are.

Get over yourself. Preferably using a sharpened stick.


Dear ladies at the gym,

Y'all seem real sweet and whatnot, but seriously? You cannot change the channel every time a women who is skinnier than you comes on.

People on television are skinnier than you. They are skinnier than me. They are skinnier than everyone. If they stand sideways and stick out their tongues? They look like zippers.

It's not human, nor is it natural, nor is it a reason to continually change the channel on the television while I'm trying to watch the news in an effort not to fall asleep on the elliptical. I'm tired and overweight. I would rather be sleeping than on the treadmill. I would prefer, if possible, not to have a seizure due to the rapidly changing channels.

Cut me a freaking break.

Thanks y'all.

Dear Time,

Why do you go so fast when it comes to my children and their upcoming birthday and growing up and so on and SO FREAKING SLOW while I'm at work and on various exercise equipment?

Can we work on that?


Thursday, March 12, 2009

I wish I could quit you!

Oh Biggest Loser.

What the crap?

I am totally not ashamed to admit that I love the following:
1) Television
2) My TiVo
3) People who inspire me to do things like cry, work-out, and eat copious amounts of Fiber One bars

Thus, one would assume that I would totally love this show, right?

And I do. That's the bad part. Because lately? It's not so much been my favorite show on television as it's been an annoying time-suck that makes me scream things like, "QUIT YOUR STUPID DOUCHEY WHINING!" at the television. Which scares my dog, by the way. And I love that ridiculous dog.

Last season we had evil, bitchy women who didn't even care about their children, spouses, or teammates. Women who would lie to their trainers, the camera, and probably even their mom. One person, in particular, who was so vile that when they lost? I, in a totally uncharacteristic move I might add, jumped into the air and SCREAMED at the television, "BURN!!!!!!!!!!!!!" It was a bad, bad season. Dark, dark days.

I couldn't WAIT for this season, despite all of NBC's annoying voice overs which declared that among the contestants would be: THE BIGGEST WOMAN IN BIGGEST LOSER HISTORY and THE BIGGEST AND YOUNGEST CONTESTANT EVER. Which, frankly, was pretty annoying and kind of pissed me off. What message does that send? You're the fattest of all the fatties? Yay?

(I'm sorry if the word "fatties" offends anyone. I'm a fattie. I'm cool with it. Not so much with the actual being a fattie part, mind you. But the word is just a word)

Anyway. I couldn't wait.

And the first few episodes were promising. The people were nicer. They seemed supportive of one another. It was so much better and so much more inspiring.

Then? Boyfriend Bob lost his crap all over Joelle. Boyfriend. Bob. And I was crushed. Because Boyfriend Bob does things like yoga and encourages people to get in touch with their inner child and crap. He doesn't look his stuff all over someone and scream and curse the f-word. Not Boyfriend Bob.

And since then? Downhill. Fast.

The last episode? Downright depressing.

Because yes. They went to a spa. They went to a restaurant. They ate really fattening foods and drank a lot of alcohol. They, in the context of this show, royally messed up.

But in the context of real, actual life? Big freaking deal.

I mean, seriously? You're never going to eat steak again? You're never going to have a shot of whatever the crap they were drinking? You're never going to be in a position where you have to go to work every day and don't have 9 hours to work out?


I really, really, REALLY think they do people a disservice by representing life this way. People sobbing on the scale when they don't lose double digit pounds in a week? Really? I would give Jason's left nut (sorry honey) to lose ten pounds every MONTH. Never mind in a week. In a month.

This show just isn't reality. I know it's entertainment. But it really sets people up for some major, major issues.

And yes, I'm going to keep watching it.

I hate myself.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I'm not ready.

Do calendars ever strike fear in your heart? Because that happens to me pretty regularly these days.

For example? Today I realize that it's a mere 10 days until my children's birthday.

They will be eleven years old. I don't know how this is possible as they were just born like two weeks ago.

Someone hold me.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Deep Thoughts with Boy and Girl Child.

The Boy and the Girl Child have a lot of conversations. I admire and appreciate how they thoughtfully discuss nearly everything and I try really hard to stay out of what they talk about, unless one of them is saying something just really, really wrong. For example, when the Girl tried to tell the Boy that they used machine guns in the Spanish/American War, and I'm sorry, even I who is so not the history buff knew that was incorrect. No matter what the Cartoon Network depicts.

Lately? They have been engaging in very philosophical discussions about:
1) Jesus
2) Jesus' dad, God
3) Was God Jesus' biological father? Or was Joseph?
4) Heaven
5) Whether or not Jesus has a dog

(The consensus on #5? Yes. He must. Because dogs make people happy and Jesus? He's pretty darn happy. He's always smiling in those pictures)

On Sunday I heard them in the Girl's bedroom, talking in excited voices. I peeked my head in and they were reading Old Turtle. I know there is some "discussion" about this book, but I like it. I think it's a really beautiful way to explain God to children. Because, in my humble opinion, it's not that easy to explain.

They were also discussing Jesus. Particularly, (and I probably shouldn't admit this because I'll get a bunch of email from people about how awful I am and what a horrible person I am and how my children are being raised by heathens and we're all going to hell and whatnot), if Jesus farts or not.

The Girl felt he probably does.
The Boy felt that, no, he probably does not. Because Jesus is perfect and being perfect means you wouldn't fart.

"But everyone farts!" The Girl was explaining in her typical, exasperated way. "Even Daddy!"

(Daddy is not a good example by the way. I'll just leave it at that)

"Not everyone! Not Jesus!" Boy Child argued.


"He heals the sick Girl Child, he can squeeze his cheeks for a minute!"

Why we have so many farting conversations in my home, I will never know.

When I was a child I used to think about what I would ask God when I got to Heaven. All these things I never understood and what they would all mean. All my questions, answered.

I thought about it a lot as a kid.

I really hope they don't think about that.

Monday, March 09, 2009

Inappropriate! Party of one!

So Friday at work I wasn't having the best day ever.

I know. Shocking.

Someone was behaving inappropriately (being a whiny little bitch, if you want the skinny) and I said to my immediate office-mates, "Someone needs to tell him that the sticky side of the sanitary* pad goes DOWN!"

Yeah. I said "him". It was a man.

I know. I'm not right.

My co-workers? Were horrified. Absolutely horrified. Acted like that was the worst thing I had ever, ever said. Could not BELIEVE I would say such a thing.

Yesterday morning I told Jason what I said. The whole story.

And you know what he said?

"That's not even the worst thing you've said since we've been awake!"

It was 8:30am.

*ETA the word "sanitary". Not because that's exactly what I said. Just because it ain't Post-it notes y'all.

Sunday, March 08, 2009


People come and go in my life, and I'm okay with that.

I have friends. A lot of friends. And I'm lucky.

There are a lot more people I've left behind. And that's okay too. Because there are reasons that people come and go from your life. Sometimes it's because you grow apart. Sometimes they aren't someone you need to be friends with anymore. And sometimes? There is no reason at all. People just drift apart. People move. People move on.

But if it's someone you love that's falling apart? That's hard.

If it's someone you love who is being self-destructive and making bad choices? It's harder.

And if you don't know what to do to help them? It's the hardest of all.

Saturday, March 07, 2009

Okay. Sort of.

Earlier today Jason bribed the children into cleaning our the rims on our tires (why? I have no idea) by offering them one quarter. PER TIRE.

Big money, apparently, when you are ten years old and don't get an allowance.

Anyhoo. Despite not having even one iota of Jason's DNA, the Boy Child has somehow magically inherited his propensity for cleaning everything he sees and asked me if he could wash my car.

Like I'm going to say no? Please.

He went around the side of the house and I, along with the rest of the neighborhood heard him say, "I'M GOING TO HO DOWN YOUR CAR NOW MOM!"

Jason and I were on the front porch swing and exchanged a look.

"What?" Jason called back to him.


He walked around the side of the house.

"Can I ho your car mom?"

"Can you hose off my car? Yes"

"That's what I said," he told me. And then thought for a moment and said, "Well...that's what I meant!"

"Okay," I told him.

"Mom! Seriously! I wasn't talking about hos!"

"Good," I said.

He stood, horrified in a way that only ten-year old boys who have said something potentially shameful in front of their mothers can be, and finally said,

"Really mom. I would never talk about that. Never. I don't even like country music or people who dance funny! I promise!"

I know. I know.

Friday, March 06, 2009

Not 16 years ago, and not now either.

The Facebook always wants to offer me suggestions on people who could potentially be my "friend".

While I appreciate their concern with my social wellness, I really wish they would offer me options other than "Accept Friend" or "Ignore request".

I'm thinking more along the lines of buttons like:

I hated their guts in high school, did not miss them the entire time they have been out of my life, and find that my hate for them is not diminished, but exacerbated by this brief and meaningless exchange!


There's a reason they aren't invited to the family reunion! Don't even get me started!

or even:

I only tolerated them because they dated my sister and I didn't even really like them even though I bought them a bottle of Drakkar Noir (which all the guys on the back of my schoolbus bathed in and referred to as "Dra-Car") that one time for Christmas back in the early 1990's.

I don't know.

Facebook is probably nicer than me.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

I'm so old.

My favorite radio station plays all the new, popular music. And there is this song that plays every single morning on my way to work.

I won't pretend to know all the lyrics but I do know that one part of it refers to "grinding" with you.

I know I'm not cool and I'm way out of touch and whatnot, but do other women really hear that from men and go, "Yes. Exactly. That's what I want in a man. Someone who wants to GRIND me"?

Another part of the song refers to "squeezing" someone.

Is it just me or does this song sound less like music and more like assault?

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

Jesus loves a Company Girl.

One of the (few) things I pride myself on is my work ethic.

I've had a job since I was sixteen, except for a brief period of time when I was pregnant with twins and on bedrest and about dead and stuff. I work hard at what I do and I attempt to maintain a good attitude even in time of, um, adversity.

Lately? My life has been an exercise in adversity.

I won't get into all of it. Let me just say that some parts of my life have both sucked and blown goats for the past month. My eyes are open, I've seen the light, insert your own generic cliche. I've, God help me, grown up. A ton. I didn't really want to grow up, frankly. I just wanted to trip through the rest of my life blindly. You know, like I've been doing for the past thirty-three years.

It wasn't meant to be.

In all my growing up and getting called everything from a creative genius to a pitiful excuse for a human being, I've had to re-think a lot of things. Friendships. Time management. The Grand Plan for the Rest of My Life.

Not surprisingly, I've spent a lot of time in prayer lately. A lot.

And it's good, you know? I've always thought that God loves me best, just based on the kids I have, and I've always prayed like I was having a conversation with Him. I usually pray first thing in the morning, before I leave my house for work. And my prayers seriously go something like this:

Please Lord. Keep my children safe today. Keep my husband safe today. Please let no one run my butt over on the way to work. Keep our families safe today. Let me get through the day and not want to maim anyone. Let it be a good day, Lord.

There are other things too. But that's the basic premise.

I'm getting stagnant in a lot of areas of my life, and I know it. I can feel it. It builds up from time to time and I get this feeling...almost a painful feeling of needing to do something more. Something different. Something better. To BE better.

I've been feeling this for a while. It, not surprisingly, is kind of making the Grand Plan for the Rest of My Life, a bit muddy. As in, what am I going to do With The Rest of My Life? And how can I figure out what, exactly, My Life needs to consist of. Where am I supposed to be living? Why does The Plan keep changing? That even though being a writer is where my heart is, I still have to do things like eat and have lights on, so I can't just write. I still have to do other things. I can work toward being a writer full-time, but I can't just BE a writer full-time.

Complicated stuff. Not fun to think about at 3am.

I had a meeting, not long ago, with the President of my company. When I came in he told me he had read my book and I said, jokingly, "Am I fired?" Because good Lord. Have you read it? I'm just not right. People who act appropriately aren't quite sure what to do with me.

But no. I'm not fired.

In fact, he wants me to be able to utilize my skills and talents in different ways.

As in, he wants me to be the company blogger.

It's not my full-time job. Not yet.

But yeah.

Sometimes? I just need to follow the plan. Stop all the worrying. Just listen.

Tuesday, March 03, 2009


On Friday after I got home from work and my husband and children were all safely within the house, I turned my phone off.

I left my phone off until last night. Which was actually a bit longer than I had planned, because I forgot about it.

I forgot about my phone.

It was really, really nice.

I get a lot of phone calls and very few of them are social. Most of the people calling don't want to know how I am and how the kids are doing. They don't say things like, "How're your mom and them?" They say things like, "What can you do for me?" and "Let me tell you what I can do for you!" Because, apparently, there are a lot of really weird people out there who think, for some unknown reason, that I need someone to help me handle my business.

And maybe I do, because good God. I went to the gas station yesterday and sat next to the pump for like two and a half minutes looking in my purse for my debit card (which I TOTALLY hit cancel on and signed for, I promise) and thinking to myself, "I don't remember my mom ever having to search in her purse for money to get gas or pay for groceries".

And I find myself doing things like that. All. The. Time.

So maybe I need someone to help me handle my business. Not at the low, low price of only $3000 a month, though. If I had that kind of walking around money I'd use it to do something really meaningful. Like paying off that whore Sallie Mae.

But anyway. I didn't use my phone all weekend. And although I missed a call from my grandma (and I totally need to call her back today because I love her to death and she says things like, "I read your book and I laughed so hard I had to go sit on the toilet!" Because she was afraid she was going to pee herself, of course), it was really nice to not have all the other calls. I spent time with my husband and children and yes, part of that time was at the Mall, which I hate, it was still quality time. (And I went because he loves me and wants me to go and do things with him and also because it's necessary for me to monitor such things because he tried on a pair of pants that were $83 and I was like, "Dude. A pair of khaki pants for $83? Do they include a car?" and frankly, I don't want him to spend $11000 on pants. Okay? Thanks)

I've totally forgotten my point.

Oh yeah. Turn off your phone and play Go Fish with your kids.

It's fun.

Monday, March 02, 2009

It's March now and you know what that means!

Well, maybe you don't. Or maybe to you it means something fun and happy. Like Spring time or Easter chicks or some crap.

In my house? It means Jason needs new pants.


So yesterday we trekked to one of my least favorite places on the planet. The Mall. Thankfully, Jason did not suggest we go to the nearby outlet stores. Because, really. We nearly get a divorce every time we go to an outlet store. For several reasons the majority of them being:
1) Jason
2) The way Jason drives
3) Jason's intolerance for traffic
4) Jason

Now keep in mind that I love my husband to the depths of my soul. He is a good, good man and I love him. He has numerous redeeming qualities including, but not limited to, the fact that his teeth are always brushed, he smells nice, and he does laundry. He makes me laugh every day and most of the time on purpose.

But I would rather stab myself in the neck than clothes shop with him.

If you are not familiar with me and my life and my spouse? You are probably wondering at this time what the big deal is. Because the vast majority of men I have ever met in my entire life purchase clothing as follows:
-Go to store
-Locate pants which will fit
-Purchase pants
-Go home
-Get on with life

It is not so with my husband.

Yesterday my husband tried on 32 pairs of pants.
I'm not kidding.

Of those 32 pairs of pants he tried on? He deemed one worthy of purchase.

Reasons that the other 31 pairs were not acceptable might or might not have fallen into one of the following categories:
1) They didn't hang right
2) The crease was in a weird place
3) The cuffs didn't fold at the bottom symmetrically
4) The color was a bit "off"
5) Something just wasn't right about them
6) The universe didn't turn at exactly the correct moment
7) Jason
8) The pleat didn't exactly match on both sides
9) Your mom
10) Something just didn't feel right about them emotionally

When he finally found the one pair (and let me just tell you, I told him REPEATEDLY how amazingly awesome he looked in them, just to seal the deal) that he was willing to purchase and we made our way up to the counter to buy them he had trouble using the credit card machine. We use our debit cards for everything and they have a Visa logo so we are usually presented with the option of putting in our pin number or signing our name. We always sign, if given the option, because we (ahem) are paranoid and don't want to use our pin number in public.

The machine was a bit wonky and I was standing with him saying, "Okay, now hit cancel. No wait...no, just hit cancel. Okay, that should work."

The shopkeeper smirked and said, "Women! They love to shop don't they? They know all about the credit cards!"

I looked at him and rolled my eyes so deeply back in my head I almost hurt.

If only he knew.

And don't even get me started about the new bathrug we bought. Please.

Sunday, March 01, 2009

My mother-in-law might have been right.

A couple of days ago the children piled into the backseat of my Santa Fe and before the Boy one could even close his door the Girl one announced,


One sharp jab in the ribs later, the Boy child smiled and said,

"I can't deny it. It's true. I have a girlfriend".

My son. Age 10. Has a girlfriend.

So I asked him all the questions. What was her name? What does she look like? Is she nice? Is she in his class? What exactly does it mean to have a girlfriend in the fifth grade?

He explained to me that having a girlfriend meant you hold hands on the playground, at recess. No kissing though. He's not ready for anything like that. Oh, and he got a B in behavior because he was talking. (Shocking.)

I asked if she was pretty and he said, and I quote, "I think she is". But that's not why he likes her, he was quick to say. He likes her because, "She's so funny mom...just like you".

She's not as funny as me. I'm sure of that.

I'm also sure that in about fifteen years? I'm in serious, serious trouble.