I am starting to wonder if I will be sticky for the rest of my life. I never really paid much attention to how often I was sticky before having kids. Probably because I wasn't ever sticky. Or if I was sticky, I would wash my hands and be done with it for another year or so. But after having children I find that sticky has become a way of life. I am forever sticky...gummy...tacky...and not in that tacky "I'm wearing teal toe nail polish" kind of way. (I mention that because I just made this poor choice today. Not sure what I was thinking. I think I got caught up in my imaginary "Carrie Bradshaw" life again. Shari Bradshaw, if you will. I have a closet full of clothes, shoes and handbags that were purchased when I was under this influence. Then I come back to reality and find my teal toes sticking to the floor.) FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!! Where does this crap come from?!! Raisins? Granola Bars? Cheerios? Juice? I wash these children. I swear that I do. Constantly washing. Wiping. Rinsing. Can't seem to keep up. And when I do get MYSELF cleaned up, it is inevitable that within 10 minutes I will touch something or step in something that I missed. It's like they do it to taunt me. Like little sticky gremlins who are trying to see how much more it will take before I end up hiding in the pantry in the fetal position. #Imightnevercomeout #notabadmomjuststucktothefloor . My favorite part is when Daddy gets home and in his most shocked voice says, "Why is the refrigerator sticky?!". I'm breathing...I'm breathing...and in scary whisper I say, "Be...cause...IIIIIIIIII AMMMMMMM STICKYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!".
Howard Cosell has now become Howard the Translator. Adam talks nonstop. Non. Stop. As in, never stops talking. In case you didn't get that...he talks alot. So now not only do I hear, "Mommy, tika tika blah blah cookie, monkey george, outside, water, ickies, milk, go bye bye, Abby, Sissy" x a bazillion, but it is always followed by Howard's translations, "Mom, he said he wants a salami sandwich at Disneyland", "Mom, he said he wants to go to Target and get a water balloon made of cheese. Oh, and an ICEE". You know when you watch the U.N. (cuz you know you do) and the translator starts talking before the foreign dude is even finished? Yeah, it's like that.
Twitter. WTH. I cannot understand this thing! I get the concept, and I am really not that dense in the technology dept., but what with all of the '#' and '@RT's', I just get lost. The most time I have ever spent on Twitter was when I was following Jeff Probst's live tweeting during Survivor. Even then I was getting lost trying to figure out where the comments were that he was responding to. But one thing that stuck with me, and actually brings me great joy, is the '#'. I had someone explain it to me and apparently, if you are searching Twitter for something in particular, like comments about chocolate souffle', you would type #chocolatesouffle and those comments will appear. If you want other people to be able to search your comments about chocolate souffle' you would type #chocolatesouffle after you reviewed a recipe, visited a restaurant, jumped on the scale. "I gained 4 lbs this week! #chocolatesouffle". :)
Let me tell you, lots of fun to be had with '#'. #thisisahoot. See what I just did there? :) Why does this bring me such joy, I ask you! #wherehaveyoubeenallmylife. I just can't stop. #Shariisabouttogetannoying. Try it. You'll like it! #Don'tknowwhatyouaremissing.
It is kind of like the subliminal message that you want to convey but don't want to come right out and say. For example, you are at the soccer field and Gossip McGossipson is running her mouth. So you tweet, "People need to grow up and stop gossiping. It isn't nice and sends the wrong message to our children. #bitchgonnagetafootupherass." :) Aaaaahhhh, that feels good, doesn't it?
Today was picture day. Yearly picture day. Adam is 2. I could probably end this story here because if you have children, you know this story is not a happy one. But I can feel that you really want me to share, so I will. Maybe it will be cathartic for me. Maybe it will purge the pain from my body. Or maybe I will be returned to that day in my mind and slam my head through a plate glass window. We'll see. Should be fun.
Now let me be clear, this day was made much worse by the fact that I am not the picture person in the family, meaning the one who gives a crap about the pictures. That would be hubby. It could be said that I am not the picture person because I am the one who has to haul these children to have their picture taken! If he had to take them, he might discover that he isn't the picture person that he thinks he is! Not that I don't enjoy pics of my kids, but as any mother can tell you, we see these captured moments of our children with their upturned cherub-like faces and all we can think is, "Boy, he was a shit that day!", or "Right after this was taken, I put her on eBay". It takes years to forget the trauma and nausea that often accompanies 'picture day'. It must take more than 4 years because my daughter is 5 and the experience of her 1 year photo shoot is still embedded in my mind. I tell myself that it fades with time. I have no proof of this. It's just what I tell myself to get through. I see it all so clearly. Where's Alzheimer's when ya need it?
Being the non-picture-person that I am, and the fact that I am absolutely DREADING this day, I haven't purchased special clothes for the kids. Probably out of denial that this day is coming or maybe because I refuse to pay any more money for outfits that they will wear for 10 minutes. (10 minutes because I am a 'Shock and Awe' type of mother. But more on that later.) So I find myself on picture morning digging through their closets and drawers to find 2 outfits that look decent together. I do. I rock. Cue the angels. Now on to hair and makeup. (No makeup but I enjoy the ring to it.) It isn't until this moment that I realize it is like Cowlickapalooza up in here! Good LORD! Not enough gel in the world to deal with all of this. I comb this way and that way, spike, and consider a razor, before just leaving it in God's hands. If he wants my boy to look like Dennis the Menace, so be it. Actually, that isn't too far off. So on to the studio. A 20 minute drive. Oh joy.
Now about the Shock and Awe, I have a speech that I give to all who photograph my kids. "I am going to put this child down. The minute this tush hits the chair, you start clicking. I mean you click like you have never clicked before. Click like you are on FIRE, MAN!! Because once the screaming begins, there's no turning back. There is no 'calm down and go back to pictures in a few minutes'. This is as good as it is going to get and if my children are going to get out of here without a beating, I need to remove them from the area when the screaming commences." By the look on the photog's face, I become Psychic Sue and can deduce whether or not they have children. Adam was better than Kaitlyn at 2 in the attitude dept. but worse in the 'can't sit still' dept. He was crawling out of my arms to get onto the picture platform, but after about 3 1/2 seconds there, couldn't wait to get down. And then the lady tried to POSE HIM!! HAVE YOU HEARD NOTHING THAT I HAVE SAID?!! DOES 'SHOCK AND AWE' RING A BELL? I believe I blurted, "NO POSING! CLICK, WOMAN!". Those of you that know me, know that I would say something like this. It's kind of like Outspoken Tourette's. It runs in the family. Not my fault. But it seems to get the job done. I follow it up with a funny little ditty, when time allows. :)
I think the pictures took all of 6 minutes, including pics of Adam alone and some with the two kids. I wish this thing had audio because you just can't translate the sheer VOLUME through the written word. So we had pushing, wriggling, screaming and photos, oh my. The only way we got through the choosing-of-the-pictures portion of the program was thanks to Skittles. Skittles and their artificial colors and flavors that ended up all over the picture clothes and me. But hey, at least I didn't end up with poop on my face. That seems to be the benchmark of bad days for me. What's that you say? You don't know this story? Well, that is due in part to the post traumatic stress disorder that the 'Poop Incident of 2009' inflicted on me. I have tried to write this story on several occasions but can only get through bits and pieces at a time. Some day I will finish it. Probably as the book is going to print. I mean, I shared the pee story, why not tell #2. Literally. ;)
So pics are done for another year. HALLELUJAH! Got some cute ones, or maybe they are just cute to me because they are done. Neither here nor there. All that matters is that next year Adam will be 3 and he HAS to be easier, right? Right? If you aren't agreeing, you must leave. Mommy can't look at you right now.
You wanna piss off a mom? Give her some french fries hot out of the fryer!! There is not a mom out there who doesn't know what I am talking about! You decide to treat the kids...be the hero...you know, try to be Dad for a few minutes. So you hit the drive thru, wait for what seems like an eternity while listening to your restless 2 year old scream and his 5 year old sister yell at him to stop screaming, just knowing that quiet bliss is but moments away. And then they give you the bag. As you sit it on your lap and feel the pangs of 2nd degree burns, you know this is NOT gonna be good. Nothing like sitting in the parking lot, with 60 degree temps outside, and the a/c blasting as you hold up french fries to the vent as those mother effers are burning the flesh right off of your fingers. Enduring the confused looks of men who drive by. LOOK AWAY, BUDDY. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A MOTHER. The sheer depth, range and scope of ridiculous crap that we have to deal with. It is a constant bombardment on the brain of creativity. How to get through the day with the least amount of screams and tantrums, and the kids act up sometimes as well. (ba-dum-BUM!) :)
But seriously, fresh is NOT GOOD when it comes to children. Give me the fries that have been sitting out for 10 minutes or so. Nothing thrills me like a lukewarm nugget! I am ashamed to admit that I know not to go through the drive-thru at 11:30am. EVERYTHING is hot!! If you are sitting there judging me, then you are a) not a mother, b) you have a huge support system, or c) just a judgemental b-hole who needs to spend a few hours with my youngest. :) I know, you don't have to say it...I'm sweet.
Death to the highchair!! Seriously, I'm over it. That flippin' thing has been in my face since November 2005. Mind you, my first child wasn't born until the end of Feb. 2006. And babies don't sit in highchairs until they are at least 6 months old...which would be August...of 2006!
Right about now you are asking yourself, "Why would the highchair be set up in November BEFORE the baby was born?". To which I would reply, "WHAT'S YOUR POINT?!" It's because I'm an over anxious pain in the ass, that's why!! It was our first baby gift and it arrived on the doorstep in November. So of course, being who I am, I sat my pregnant butt down on the floor and put the damn thing together IMMEDIATELY!! Not realizing it was the size of my first car...and my apartment was not much bigger than my first car. Not realizing you can't take these mothers apart once they are put together! Don't get me wrong, it is a beautiful highchair. It was the chosen ONE. The highchair that was to fulfill all of my highchair dreams. The one that was so perfect in it's perfection that it would inspire my child to crave brussel sprouts and organic legumes. You know, THAT highchair.
So here we are, 5 1/2 years, 5,682 meals later and I want to light the mother effer on FIRE!! But realistically, I probably have at least 6 months left. I will have to suck it up. I think I can...I think I can...and then I'm gonna beat it...I'm gonna pound it with a mallet...except I don't have a malllet. I will go BUY a mallet, THEN I will pound it within an inch of it's life! I shall put on my big boots and kick the crap out of it...and it will be glorious. Just thinking about it gives me the warm fuzzies. :) Babycrapbegone!!
So I'm doing this Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred...or it is doing me. Haven't quite worked that out yet. Not a big fan of Jillian. Personally, I think she's a man, baby. She's one of those chicks that acts like she is pissed she wasn't born a dude. Like she is always trying to prove that she is tough. I noticed during my 'shredding' that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. BIG SURPRISE!!! Let me save her years of therapy and break it down for her...HEY JILLIAN! YOU SCARE PEOPLE!
Which brings me to a question I have always had. Why do some women feel the need to act so tough? Do they think that it is attractive to a man? If a woman acts like a man to attract a man...wouldn't she be attracting another woman? I mean, a man is a man so if he is heterosexual, why would he want a woman who acts like a man? He wants a woman to be a woman, right? It all gets very confusing at this point. I once had a friend who was like this and I never understood it. She would pine away, wanting a man...need a man...gotta have a man...then when she would snag herself a man, she would act like a MAN. She would put on this tough-guy act and get so mean and bitchy, like she was going to make this guy pay for the fact that she has gone so long w/ out a man. And guess what...no more man. I watched this happen several times and the guy would just look at me like "WTH?". I would just shrug my shoulders as if to say, "Sorry, dude. No clue." Needless-to-say, no longer friends w/ The Penis Crusher, as she was affectionately known. And she has yet to marry...hmmm...imagine that. I think her story was that she had been hurt so many times before, yadda yadda yadda. At some point you just have to put on your big girl panties and say hey, whether a guy stays or leaves, I'm going to be ok. But while he is here, let's have a good time. Of course, it took my first husband cheating on me and me leaving to come to this epiphany that being alone is A-OK! I think if you can hit that phase before you get married, all the better. It just helps you leave the excess baggage at the door. I don't worry about my husband leaving me because if he did, I'd be ok. I'd be sad for a while, but I know I'd be ok. I think that makes me a better wife, actually. Takes the pressure off of both of us. I'm not clingy, he's not clingy. No cling.
But back to my shred! So I'm feeling these same Penis Crusher vibes from Jillian, is all I'm trying to say. And as for the shredding...well, it's only day 3 so at this point I'm really just more of a rough chop. :)
Can we talk for just a minute? Just between us chipmunks? (Don't ask. If you don't know me by now, let me just explain that sometimes there is no explanation for what flies out of my mouth.) Anywho...I have to say that I am honestly sick and tired of seeing articles, books, and shows about 'Women Learning to Love Themselves', and 'Finding the Beauty Within'. It's not that I'm against women learning these things, I guess I just wish it wasn't necessary. Do we not know that beauty is within? Why don't men have these problems? Like women don't have enough to deal with, without having to worry about this? Can't we all just put on our Big Girl Panties and try to be good people and kind to our fellow neighbor, and the other crap be damned? Maybe it comes from being a chipmunk (there it is again) but I am just so sick of hearing about it. I have had days when I have felt down, of course. But it just seems like an epidemic these days. It must sell lots of magazines and give the talk shows great ratings or I guess they wouldn't talk about it so much.
I remember when I was in 6th grade and I was starting to see the dynamics happening between boys and girls. I knew I wasn't one of the pretty girls. I mean, I wasn't homely, but definitely not a head turner. Several of my friends got a ton of boy attention, and I didn't, except to be friends. I remember thinking to myself, "Ok Shari, looks aren't your thing, so you better work on that personality!" I vividly remember thinking this. So I did. And I knew I was smart. So I decided to work on the positives and accept what I had to work with. I had a friend who wasn't the best looking girl, but people were drawn to her because she was so much fun and smiled all the time. Bingo! That would be me! I didn't attract all of the boys, but I believe I attracted the ones that mattered, and in the end, isn't that what's important?
Here's what I wonder...when we have moments that we aren't feeling so great about ourselves, what if we went out and did something nice for someone else? I'm not trying to get all Pollyanna on your ass, but I wonder if it is possible to be depressed about your own life when you're volunteering at a homeless shelter, battered women's home, or donating food and clothing. This is an honest question, I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad about themselves, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!! Wouldn't THAT be counterproductive?! But that brings up another thought...why should what someone says make somebody feel bad about themselves, unless it is directly addressed at that person. (Like if someone said, "Shari, you are an idiot." Offensive. But if someone said, "All bloggers are idiots.", I'm not offended by that because I know I'm not an idiot.) I mention this because there are many times where someone's Facebook status or blog post has ruffled feathers. It's one thing to disagree, but often people become so irate and you can only assume it is because they have personalized comments that weren't directed at them. Are they feeling judged, or are they judging themselves? I just find it interesting because I don't think people can be offended unless deep inside they think the same thing of themselves. And if someone is judging you, why do we care? I am caring less and less as I get older. I think that is one gift of age. Counter balances the acts of gravity that are just rude.
Ok, back to fun and frolic in the next blog, I promise! First I hit you with ratios...and now this! What is this...SCHOOL?! Forgive me! 20 lashes with a wet noodle. But not the Toy Story noodle, just the regular kind with extra cheese. :)
It's time to discuss ratios. We've avoided it long enough, people. You knew we couldn't go on all willy nilly forever, didn't you? Well, let us put on our big girl (or boy) panties and dive in, shall we? Trust me, you'll be glad you did.
Never thought about ratios before having children, but now I find myself faced with them on a daily basis. The ratio of 2 parents to 1 child, and the difference it made when the ratio became 2:2. (I believe that ' : ' is the international sign for ratio's, although I'm not sure...pretty sure, but not 100%. I didn't ask my staff to research it before launching this project. My bad. By the way, where is my staff? Note to self...get staff.) But now we've gotten off on a tangent, haven't we? I know what you are trying to do. You're trying to distract me with all of your questions. Well it won't work, MISTER! RATIOS!!!
Let's take the mini M&M's for example, it seems as though they would taste the same as regular sized M&M's and yet they do not. Why is that? Ratio. Something to do with the amount of chocolate vs. the candy coating and it all went wonky. The jury is still out on whether or not I like them. I mean, I wouldn't kick them out of bed for eating...uh...ok, bad analogy, but I think I'm a purist and enjoy the traditional M's. Now mini-Oreos!! WHOLE other
story!!! WOW!! Ratio made those its BEYOTCH! :) Pour those little bad boys into a bowl, covered in milk and you've got the Breakfast of Champions!! Of course I have never done this, I'm just sayin'. (Sidebar... isn't it interesting how everything has gone mini these days? Seems like when mini people came into my life, so did this mini food business. Coincidence? I think not.) And these little Ritz bits peanut butter cracker mini's?!!! HURT ME!! Love those. Mini cheese? Not so much. Now why is that? Ratio = no go!
Well now you've done it, I'm hungry. I should mention that you must take care when eating minis. For some strange reason, these mini contraptions pack maxi calories. So fair warning! Too much mini make too much Shari!
Is it just me, or is there an awful lot more screw ups these days? I'm talking...getting cheese on your sandwich when you specifically said no cheese because Weight Watchers frowns on cheese, not because you don't like cheese, you are just forbidden from IT...giving you REAL Coke when you ordered diet...leggings that SAY they are a size 6 but really they are a size 5 so as your daughter is walking into her classroom and she bends down to pick something up you see baby butt crack so now you try to return them and the store confirms that yes, they are marked wrong but you now have all these tops to go w/ the leggings but the store won't return the tops because the tops aren't mismarked but you have no bottoms and your daughter is built like a pole so she can't wear jeans because she is too tall and now you have all of these tops and no bottoms. Ok, that one is likely just me. But what about ordering something through the mail and it arrives broken...or boots w/ 2 right feet...or charging you for the $80 pedicure when your giftcard CLEARLY STATED IT WAS $80 FOR A MANI/PEDI so then you still owe $35 ~faints~ (ok...that one might be just me again).
Can't just be me. Seems as though this is becoming an epidemic. Nobody cares, or they are all stupid. Which is it? One of my Facebook friends recently made a wish that stupidity was painful. Wouldn't. That. Be. AWESOME!?!!!!! Omg! I would LOVE that. I could sit outside of Hot Topics and watch all of these kids saying, "Ow...Ow...OOWWWWW!!!" :D Or I could call Time Warner and hear, "Due to a large volume of ...OW!...calls, wait times are...OW!! ...longer than usual...OWW!! You're call is very...OWW!!...important to us. CRAP! OW!!". That would bring me joy. Because really, who are the stupid people hurting now? ME! Enough, I say!
To the preschool teacher that serves my child her snack at 8:30am when she walks in the door... ENOUGH!!! To the drive thru person who speaks so fast I have no clue what they are saying and NO I DON'T WANT A YUMBO YACK, ENOUGH!!! To the sales clerk who wipes her nose with her hand and then proceeds to hand me my change, ENOUGH! To the receptionist at the doctor's office who acts like she's the one who went to medical school instead of smokin' her cigs behind the 7-11 trying to get someone to buy her beer, ENOUGH!! I'm taking a stand, people!! I will not dumb myself down. Raise the standards! Insist that life rise up to meet you! I am sick and tired of battling and arguing with people who just don't seem to have the sense that God gave a goose! TELL ME it's not just me!!
Nothing. I got nothing...maybeeeeeee...nope. Nada. Kicking off 2011 w/ a bang, I tell ya! Maybe there's just a log jam of rants. Watched Ax Men last night and learned that logs get jammed and clog up the process. Thinkin' I have a log jammed. I get little trickles of thought and inspiration, but the big gushers seem to be few and far between. Probably because I've just got too much jammed up in there. I know I've got a log marked 'Christmas Tree' because although I took all the decor down 4 or 5 days ago, this tree is still sitting here. Staring at me. With it's lights on. I mean, it's right here next to me. Staring. Cuz to have a tree sitting, staring, WITHOUT lights on is just sad. This is a tad less sad. But it's like he's saying, "Get off your lazy butt and take me DOWN already!! This is getting embarrassing!!". I know this is what he's saying. Stop looking at me! Stupid tree! I'll turn those lights out. Don't think I won't!
The reason this tree has not come down yet is because of log #2, which is cooking. Since we had zero plans for the New Year and since my mom is laid up with a broken leg, I decided to be festive and cook some fun stuff. So that involved menu planning, shopping, cooking, cleaning and delivering. Mix into that logs #3 and #4 which are Kaitlyn and Adam. Had to take care of them in betwixt and between. Ok, then there's the laundry log...the "Gymboree mismarked several pairs of their leggings as size 6 when they are really only a 4 or 5 so I have to go through, measure and return them" log, the "it's Sunday and hubby has the kids so I better get out while the gettin's good" log, the "Kaitlyn is in school and baby is napping so you better keep your New Year's resolution and blog more even though you haven't had a shower yet" log. Let's see, what else...oh, the "I have a new Kindle that I love and have no time to read like I want to because I have all of these logs" log, the "Kaitlyn wet the bed last night so we have emergency laundry that has to cut ahead of all the other laundry" log and in the meantime I realized that there's a new log today marked, "My new everyday sweater that I love is DRY CLEAN ONLY which does NOT make it an everyday sweater anymore!". I am a mother, dammat!!! We do not DO 'dry clean only'! Can I get an amen!?!
See, told ya there was a rant in there somewhere. This is a testament to the fact that I can go on and on with nothing...about nothing...to infinity and beyond. Maybe in the process of this nothingness I have unjammed a log or two. Blog is done, now off to change laundry and shower! But first I have to go slap this tree.