I wrote this on Father's Day and I didn't post it because I didn't want to make a rash decision when I was angry. Now that I go back and read it when I'm not angry, I think it's funny. So I'm going to post it. It's honest and I want The Boy to see everything we go through, even the ugly times. It's not always easy dude.
I would like to preface this post with this: I love The Man. He is an excellent husband and father. I am a wreck this morning and this is what I am feeling. I'm not being nice and I know it. I'm going to say it anyway, but just know I still love him and still think he's a great man. The Boy knows we fight. We don't hide it from him. We try to fight fairly in front of him. I know that these words are not fair fighting. And to that I say, Hunny Bear, sometimes we are human and we don't fight fairly, but we still love each other. Actually, he currently has NO CLUE that anything bad has happened this morning. I feel good about that much.
Hi, welcome to the WRATH OF MOMMY, a similar environment to the LAKE OF FIRE. To answer the question that I KNOW is running through The Man's head right now - NO, I DID NOT TAKE MY PILL THIS MORNING, OKAY?!? And I didn't take it yesterday either.
What does that mean? It means I'm a little f$%*ing irrational. Am I TRYING to ruin "YOUR" Father's Day? NO. But it becomes my goal to do so when you ask me that.
Please note that IN EXCHANGE FOR BITING YOUR HEAD OFF, I am being an EXCELLENT mother to The Boy. Because I blew off steam at you, a person who SHOULD understand, I did not yell at The Boy for no reason, a person who CANNOT understand.
You will never understand what I have been through this morning, or what I am going to go through for the rest of the day (I didn't even know what I was going to go through that day. I just had a feeling). What really hurts though is that you don't even care. No. This morning is supposed to be ALL ABOUT YOU and I'm just here to RUIN THE PARTY. Well, guess what pal? (Did I just say pal? What is this, an after school special?) You wouldn't even BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE a father today if it weren't for ME.
Do you know what else? Even though I have not taken my medication, my feelings are still valid. They might have been less intense if I had taken my pill, but I still would have had these feelings. I may have acted in a way that didn't make you want to have me committed, but I still would have been angry and hurt. Just because I missed out on a couple of pills doesn't mean my feelings aren't real or important.
I have done SO much this morning JUST FOR YOU. In fact, I started doing things YESTERDAY that would benefit you this morning. I made lists and packed things and did laundry. I spent time drying my hair so it would look nice for you, instead of letting it air dry and be all wild and crazy, which is easier for me. I am wearing a dress that you think I look fabulous in, even though I am self conscious about the way I look in it. I'd rather be wearing sweats. I got up with The Boy so as not to disturb you in your routine. I kept everything organized so that all you would have to do is walk out the door when you were ready. I listened to you, encouraged you, appreciated you.
Here is the response I got based on your actions.
1) "I can't remember to wash your coffee stuff because coffee doesn't matter to ME, so it must not be important."
(I'd wash it myself but the sink is FULL of dishes, p.s. that's YOUR job)
2) "I don't care what you wanted The Boy to wear, today is Father's Day and he'll wear what I picked."
(I hope he spills all over your precious outfit s#!$head)
3) "You are not worth traveling across town to pick up, AND you aren't even worth STANDING OUTSIDE FOR TWO MINUTES to hand you the car keys."
(F$ you a$$&0!@)
Here is what I think you should do. Get your a$$ back in the car and come pick me up. Before you get here, go to Starbucks and order my favorite drink. Which you know because YOU JUST LOVE ME THAT MUCH. You will pick us up in the PRINCESS EXPRESS, drive casually back to church while I am allowed to relax and sip on my favorite coffee drink.
In summary, I HOPE YOU HAVE A Happy Father's Day. Punk.
Monday, June 30, 2008
I wrote this on Father's Day and I didn't post it because I didn't want to make a rash decision when I was angry. Now that I go back and read it when I'm not angry, I think it's funny. So I'm going to post it. It's honest and I want The Boy to see everything we go through, even the ugly times. It's not always easy dude.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
When we got Kansas, her name was "Jeri." She was not a Jeri. On the way home we thought of lots of names. Some were too silly - toilet, leaf, table. Some were too predictable - kitty, fluffy. Some were too Pokemon - Skiddy, Glameow, Meowth. We wanted something special. Then I came up with Kansas. It was perfect. It fit her and it was special.
The Boy watches a show called Phineas and Ferb. The sister's name is Candace. But The Boy called her Kansas. We didn't correct him because we love hearing words from his point of view and we know it won't happen forever so we enjoy it while it lasts.
We explained this to The Boy. He did not like it. He said for a few days that "Kansas isn't a 'speshul' enough name." He kept wanting to think of other names for the kitty. We told him that maybe we could change it later but let's try Kansas for a little bit. Every day for the next five days he asked if it was time to try a new name yet. No, we told him. Let's wait. It's only been one day since you last asked. Give it more time.
He told my mom today that he thinks the name Kansas will work.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
I am very particular about routines. Many people take this to mean that everything must be perfect. This is really not the case.
For example, at my old job, we labeled everything with label makers and everything had a specific place, secured in a file. Perfect. Did I like it that way? Sure, it was nice. But at my new job, I make file labels with a Sharpie and stuff the papers into the file, loose and random. More effective or efficient? No. It's totally not perfect. But it's the routine. Even though it's unorganized, it's an unorganized ROUTINE. And that's most important.
Another example of a routine, good for The Man to note: I don't care HOW you drive to the office in the morning. But for goodness' sakes, PICK A WAY TO GO AND STICK TO IT. I can't listen to anything you're saying if you take a different route to work every day.
I never posted about this, although I think I threatened to. This happened in our community on Easter Weekend earlier this year. A tree fell. On a car. Nobody was hurt, so I feel it's safe to say that this was FREAKING AWESOME.
The firemen already cut the top of the tree off in this photo. This is the street we use to drive to our house. It was totally blocked. I know, big inconvenience for US, right?!?
It cut this car in half. COME ON, THAT IS JUST COOL.
The strangest thing is that The Boy and I came home from church and this had not happened yet and then like two hours later The Man calls and says Hey I can't get in what's going on with this tree? And I'm like What tree? We didn't hear it fall or anything. So I guess that answers that question - if a tree falls and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound? NO IT DOES NOT.
Sounds like a bad dream. I just miss my best friend.
I feel lost without him by my side. Nobody is here to share looks over The Boy's head when he says funny stuff. Nobody is here to hold me while I sleep. Nobody is here to listen to me. He'll be back tomorrow but I miss him terribly RIGHT NOW. We've been having fun without him. The Boy is being surprisingly amazing. His behavior is beyond anything I could have imagined. But he misses his Daddy and so do I. I realize how much he needs his Daddy. And I realize how much I need his Daddy.
I feel naked because he took the camera with him and I feel exposed without my camera. Which is ironic because it's the camera that exposes things. But it doesn't expose me. I like to hide behind it and now I can't. I just have to sit here and be me, not focusing on something else. At least I have The Boy to focus on.
I can't wait for you to be back, Darling. I need a hug.
Friday, June 27, 2008
When I started looking for new jobs awhile back, I came across a few ads that said "start up experience preferred." I couldn't understand why that mattered. I helped a friend set up his office for a restaurant. Minimally. But it didn't seem that hard. What kind of "experience" would be necessary to fully start up an office?
The "experience" they are looking for is called "patience."
Because if you don't have that quality and you try to set up a new office, you will most likely throw your computer, loaded with dumba$$ Windows Vista, off the second story balcony, purposely eat wet coffee grinds for breakfast, and finally, jam a pen in your eye, just to get your focus off the pain. The pain of TRYING TO DEAL with two Microsoft programs that are not compatible with each other, people whose job it is to set up phones who CANNOT SET UP PHONES, and all the while still attempting to do a dynamite job so that your dad doesn't re-think his decision to hire you.
Fortunately for me, I have a five year old. Which means I'm The Queen of Set Up Experience. Thank you, Hunny Bear.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
They are moving. Here. They will be here in three days. The Man left today to go help them move from six (very large) states away.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
We got a cat. I've been wanting a cat for, um, FOREVER. I grew up with always having a cat and we had two cats when The Boy was born but one cat got really sick shortly after he was born and we, uh, sent her to live on a farm. The other one peed on his stuff and snapped at him. We sent him to live on a farm too. I was very very VERY sad. It just wasn't fair.
The Man has been really iffy about getting a cat. I always beg him and think I'm tempting him when I
drag take him into the pet store and show him tiny little kittens playfully wrestling each other. He never caved so I finally gave up.
Last week we went to Target to get something (and ended up spending a million bucks but that's another story). The pet store is right by the Target and The Boy likes to go in and look at the mice, birds, cats, and watch the dogs getting groomed. The Boy and I went in first and looked at the cats in the front were on our way to look at the rest of the store. When The Man catches up with us, he mentions having a liking for one of the kittens.
We drop a couple of Benjamins and we're on our way home to play with our new kitten.
Here is a little insight into the parenting I was raised with. It was always like this, no matter how old I was or if my actions were positive or negative. This was always the reaction:
When I told my mom about the cat, she said, "Oh. Does Dad know about this?" I'm sorry, how old am I? Oh yeah. TWENTY-NINE. I've been able to keep a child alive for five years. I think I can handle a cat.
Monday, June 23, 2008
On January 8, 2003 I went to the doctor for my weekly check up. I had one concern, which was that there was a large bump towards the top of my large tummy, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t the babies head. It was too late in the pregnancy for the head to be up there and I really did not want to give birth to a breech baby.
My OBGYN was concerned enough to do a little sonogram there in the office. He checked at the bump ended up being the baby’s behind, not the head. He searched for the head but could not get low enough to see it – it was really low. But he did not mention any of the magic words, like the baby has “dropped” or anything. Which I always thought was a strange term. It’s not like they drop out of you, so where are they dropping from and where are they dropping to?
We went home and went to bed, thinking we had at least a few more weeks until the due date came. And from some of the stories I’ve heard, maybe even longer. Sometimes these babies like to stay inside well past their due date. If genetics were to play any part, I was born one day before my due date and my brother was born two days before his due date. I was all ready to stay pregnant for quite some time. If you remember, I hadn’t found out that I was pregnant until a good two months into the pregnancy so I had technically only been aware of my pregnancy for six months. I wasn’t one of those girls who knew the exact date of her pregnancy and carried past her due date who was READY to be done with the whole pregnancy thing. I was still just getting used to it and having fun growing a life inside of me.
I woke up at midnight to use the restroom as I had grown accustomed to doing during that part of my pregnancy. Apparently the bladder makes a nice pillow for babies to sleep on. When I returned to bed I noticed a little twinge. Figuring it was nothing, or maybe Braxton Hicks, I settled back into bed and started to drift off. About five minutes later I felt another twinge. I laid there with my eyes open, wishing this would stop so I could go back to sleep. Another five minutes, another twinge. I didn’t want to wake up The Man, so I sat up and quietly watched the clock for an hour. Every five minutes I felt something, and as the hour past they started to get stronger. Could these really be contractions? I thought they would be farther apart. Or if they were this close together, I thought they would be heavy duty. Maybe I have a really high tolerance for pain?
Finally, at 1 a.m., I woke up The Man. We spent another hour monitoring the spasms. He confirmed that they were only minutes apart. We called my mom and asked her what she thought we should do. She suggested calling the advice nurse. We did and she said that my description would normally solicit an ambulance call. We assured her that we lived near the hospital and that we would drive there immediately.
It was January 9, 2003. I didn't know it yet, but this is going to be your birthday.
Friday, June 20, 2008
I'm flattered to say that The Man thought that this picture was a screen shot I STOLE from some web site. I'm flattered because that must mean it's a good picture. And that makes me AWESOME. Think about how much MORE awesome I could be if I win THIS contest. Really. Stop and think about it.
Okay, now that you have thought about it, let me tell you why The Man is a BLOODY WANKER. Only because I said it here, and it doesn't sound like actual cursing. At least not in America. Or, at least, not in our house.
But seriously. The Man didn't read that post very well. Because it SAYS "I don't know where my mom found this..." Which would mean if I took the photo from a web site, I WOULD KNOW WHERE SHE GOT IT.
Now I'm on a mission to find it.
I find this. Which is really cute and has the suction cup. But no smiley face.
Then I found this. It has a smiley face AND a suction cup. Getting closer. But it's not a toothbrush.
And then, finally, I find it. Here, on UK eBay! OH MY GOSH, I swear to you, I totally titled this post with Bloody Wanker LONG before I found this toothbrush.
It all comes full circle; the UK speak and the awesomeness.
My dad is going to be on BBC Radio tomorrow morning, talking about his business. Which I think is pretty cool. It's not like
boring local AM radio. It's like...hmmm...what's the term? Oh yeah, WORLD WIDE.
However, in the process of setting up this meeting, I begin to feel very uncultured. Because let me tell you, I am a true California girl. I'm all "Yeah!" and "Like, YOU know." ALL the time. I try to speak professionally as much as I can, but words like "yeah" instead of "yes" are more common than they should be, and I'm sure I still sound like a high school cheerleader, especially over the phone, when people can't see that I'm really an almost 30 year old GROWN UP who has been working in the corporate world for 10 years.
Anyway, this BBC radio guy kills me. I feel bad because he's staying at the Holiday Inn. Which is not my fault. We didn't set him up to stay here or anything, that is all his doing. The Holiday Inn is not in the greatest part of town. It's next door to Food 4 Less, the local warehouse grocery store. Which is fine for me. But I don't live where there's a real life, actual QUEEN. And I don't say things like "I will ring you back." Or "Has he been on the telly?"
So I returned a call to him and I say, "Is Simon available?" I think I'm being really swift with those words instead of "Hey, is, like, Simon there?" And he says, "This is Mr. Simon." MISTER Simon? So I feel like I've insulted him right off the bat. As though I shouldn't be so FORWARD with him. And then I start right away into responding to his message, which I admit, was a mistake. Normally, I like to ask people if this is a good time for them because I hate it when people call me up and then act as though I have just been sitting around waiting for their call. But I got all flustered with all his "Mister" nonsense. He waits for me to finish, like the nice Brit he is and then ever so politely informs me, "I am in the middle of an interview right now. That is why I am whispering. May I please ring you right back?" Oh, excuse me. Why did you answer your BLOODY celly if you're in the middle of an interview?
What a wanker.
I don't know where my mom found this, but she did, and she bought it for The Boy. He couldn't wait to show it to me, and I know why. It is so stinking cute. If I had this as my toothbrush I would never stop brushing my teeth. It even has little suction cups on the bottom so it sticks to the counter.
She does this so my dad doesn't eat it. Once he finds a spot she changes the hiding place. She has shown me before where she hides stuff because she'll get it out when I'm there for us to share.
I've been here for five days now and I haven't been able to find any. She's getting really good.
La dee da, I'm going along in my weekend all smiles and laughter. Granted, it's only Saturday at 7:30 in the morning (why am I awake again? oh yeah, it's called THIS PART OF PARENTING SUCKS). But I had my last day at my old job and I'm scheduled to have a date with my husband and some friends. Dinner and a movie. Sunday is Father's Day and we are having lunch at my friend's restaurant (YUM) and BBQ dinner at my parent's house (DOUBLE YUM).
So I'm skipping along (or trying to keep my eyes open so that I can at least WATCH The Boy kick my behind in Wii Tennis), and then WHAM! My dad calls.
Dad: "Hey Blondie."
Me: "Hi Dad! How are you?"
Dad: "I'm fine. But your mom's not okay. We're at [insert local hospital name here]."
Me: "What? What's wrong with her?"
Dad: "Well, her arm has been tingling lately and then last night one side of her face went numb but she didn't tell me until this morning. We called the advice nurse and they convinced her to go in immediately and get checked out. We just finished registration and I wanted to call and let you know so that you would know but also to let you know that we probably shouldn't watch The Boy tonight."
Me, totally dumbfounded: "Okay, thanks Dad."
Dad: "And also, we have been trying for months to get our alarm company out to the house to fix our alarm. They are supposed to be there at noon today. Can you hang out at the house until they get there and until they leave?"
Me: "Sure Dad." (What am I supposed to say? Your alarm guy can go to hell? I don't think so.)
We hang up and it takes all of my willpower to not go shake The Man awake to hold me while I curl up in a ball and sob uncontrollably. Instead, I go on the computer and consult Dr. Google. Dr. Google confirms what I suspected. STROKE MUCH?!?
Needless to say, no date night. I can't remember the last time we had an overnight date night. It was two weekends ago, but I can't remember it. Because THAT IS WHAT PARENTING DOES TO YOUR BRAIN. I love you Hunny Bear. Anyway, the three of us did not fare so well together on Saturday.
We end up spending the ENTIRE day at their house, which felt like an eternity.
My Dad updated us with she has to have a CAT scan but the one at that hospital is BROKEN (WHAT?) and so they have to ambulance her to county, my dad can't take her. Then they have to bring her back in the ambulance to the original hospital to discharge her. She got to the hospital at 7 am and did not get home until 4:30 that afternoon. They said she was fine but set up an appointment for her to see the neurologist on Thursday (yesterday). Meanwhile, HER FACE IS STILL NUMB.
I try to insist that they cancel the BBQ but she says, "No no. I asked the doctor and he said it was fine if we have a BBQ." Okay, Mom. Whatev.
Fast forward to lunch with the in-laws at our friend's restaurant. I get a call on my cell phone. GUESS WHO? My dad.
Dad: "Your mom isn't feeling well. She's nauseous. Can you pick up some ginger ale on your way over for the BBQ?"
Me: "Yes. But DAD! Don't you think we should cancel the BBQ? It's still not too late." My aunt and uncle live in the Bay Area, a little less than two hours away, so I'm thinking we could catch them before they leave or at least before they get too far to turn around.
Dad: "No. Your mom insists it's okay."
Me: "Alright. See you." CRAZY PEOPLE.
I am really stressed now and not a very pleasant person for the rest of lunch but I figure IT'S THE LEAST I COULD DO considering how often I get pissed at my in-laws.
We get to the house and everyone is there. I go in and see my mom, who is lying on her bed in the dark at two o'clock in the afternoon. I take her some ginger ale and talk to her a little bit. She seems to have a migrane too. I go back out and talk to Dad and everyone and he thinks she should go back to the hospital but she doesn't want to spend another day there. She just wants to lie in her bed. My dad suggests taking the BBQ SOMEWHERE ELSE.
Here is a pause in the story to tell you the housing situation.
First, my parents have a very open, 1800 square foot home with a living room, a separate family room, a dining room, and lots of seating in the backyard as well.
Second, we can't go to my aunt's house because, like I said, they live two hours away.
Third, my grandparents TRAVEL AND LIVE IN AN RV. There are nine adults and one child. I don't think we're going to fit, considering it's a pretty tight fit for my grandparents.
Fourth, and finally, that leaves...you guessed it - our house. Our house is two stories. The entire house is 1051 square feet (that's right fifty-ONE. They all count). But the first floor is at least half of that, maybe a little more? We'll say 600 square feet. And there is a kitchen, laundry room, walk-in pantry, and half bath down there that are not for "lounging" if you will. So ten people in my living room and dining room. It was going to be cozy.
Unpause and back to the regularly scheduled story telling:
We pile in our cars and head over to our house. My mind is racing as I'm thinking of all the clean up that needs to be done. I make a mad dash into the house and throw the clean laundry and The Boy's bike upstairs in our room. The Man cleans up the sink full of dishes and cuts himself on broken glass in the process. Oops, my bad.
It ended up being a lot of fun. Everyone was open to the fact that this was not the perfect scenario. My aunt and uncle went to the store and bought charcoal and lighter fluid, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, BEER AND WINE.
And everyone had a grand old time.
My mom? She stayed home from work on Monday because she still wasn't feeling well. It was nice to have here there on the first day working for my dad. She went to the neurologist today, where they said she probably had a mini-stroke (scary much?). They put her on one asprin a day and are monitoring her blood pressure because it was really high yesterday. Also, they are going to do a survey of her neck arteries or something to see how clogged they are? - something like that.
Just to assure you that she really is okay, she told me that she was sitting in her hospital bed and she got bored of reading. She noticed that the noises going on in the room next to here were bathroom noises - i.e., flushing, sink running, door closing, etc. She couldn't here anyone doing their business, but that was her guess. So what does she do? SHE KNOCKS ON THE WALL. And as she is telling me this, she is cracking up so hard she can barely talk. Maybe they should have given her a psych consult while she was there. Jeez.
So I'm still scared and nervous because no matter how much my mom can drive me crazy, she's still my mom. And I love her.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
If you need to cast a cute kid for any commercials, I've got one for ya.
I came downstairs and The Boy had been watching (a pre-approved channel) television.
He says to me, "Mom, do we have Comcast?"
I say, "Yes."
He is relieved. "Good. Cuz their faster."
I remember now what it is like to be BUSY at work! And I love it. I am so happy. I know it's only the second day and I'm still in the "honeymoon" phase. But for real, this is A-MA-ZING.
The day flies by faster than something that flies really fast. I was thinking a bird, but let's go with rocket ship.
And I am already SO much more relaxed. It used to be that when I got home all I wanted to do was
drink hard liquor nothing. Like sleep or veg out in front of the television. Which is not good for The Boy (or for me). I wasn't in the mood to read a million books to him (or one book a million times). I wasn't in the mood to play with him. And I had no patience with him. But yesterday, I had the MOST patience with him. I was the best Mommy. And it felt GOOD.
I'm not even stressing that I don't know everything already. I used to think I should know everything RIGHT NOW, and I cried when I made a mistake. I would stress out all the time if I didn't know the answer to a question. Maybe it's because I'm older and more mature. Maybe it's because it's my dad. Or Maybe it's because of all the meds. I'm going to hit this one from the maturity angle. Yeah, that's it.
I am disappointed about one thing. Less time to spend reading my favorite blogs! And writing my blogs! If that's the most I have to complain about, then I'm happy.
Yesterday, we had a meeting on the couch. I wore sweats.
Today, I wore a skirt, but it is a comfy skirt. I wore flip flops. I sat out back on the porch swing and pet the cat while I returned phone calls.
Tomorrow, The Boy is going to spend the day with me. I'm wearing sweats again. And we'll play with Play-Doh at the kitchen table.
Monday, June 16, 2008
In December 2002, I went to the doctor and he said that I had high blood pressure and did I have a stressful job? Um, yes. Besides the fact that my job was my baby at the time, it also actually demanded a lot from me and I often times worked a minimum of fifty hours a week, and quite a few times I would be in the office at 6 a.m. and I wouldn’t leave until after 9 p.m. that evening. So he told me I had to take it easy and put me on disability. My last day of work was December 20, 2002. I was planning to come back to work six weeks after the baby was born.
I didn’t go back to work until January 3, 2005.
Friday, June 13, 2008
I'm all done at my job. I walked out of there at 3:21 p.m. I thought I would be more sad. I thought I would cry as soon as I got in the car. I did not.
I feel really great about leaving. They already found a replacement for me (someone within the company who was laid off, so technically I saved someone's job YAY me). And I'm excited for the new adventure I am about to embark on.
We signed up to go to a series of Lamaze classes. I think there were six classes. We went to the first class. Holy Braxton Hicks, Batman! It scared the living daylights out of me and we never went back. I decided that I was NOT going to give birth and that I would be the first person in the world who raised their child in-utero.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I thought I had blogged about this already but I looked through my posts and whadayaknow, it's not there.
I have a teeny, tiny shopping addiction. As evidenced by three separate times in our lives when we had SEVERAL credit cards maxed out, adding up to a number I am not proud of and will not reveal.
Before The Boy was ever conceived...wait, back up farther. Before The Man and I were ever TOGETHER, I had a 50 gallon Rubermaid container stuffed with brand new children's clothing. I'm not even going to try to defend The Container.
It didn't get any better after The Boy was born. I bought him everything from regular retail clothes from Old Navy, Gap, Gymboree, Janie and Jack to high end designer clothes from department stores and boutiques (i.e., Seven for all Mankind jeans, Antik Denim jeans, Ralph Lauren, online boutiques, boutiques in San Francisco, Sacramento, etc.).
In partial defense, and to push for you to look favorably on me, I have sold everything I bought on eBay after he grew out of it. So it's not a total waste. It's an INVESTMENT.
I didn't think anybody would notice the brands, or how many clothes The Boy had. I didn't shop for these things for status or for other people to notice. I shopped for them because they were special and The Boy deserved special clothes because I LOVE HIM SOOOOOOOOO MUCH. I especially did not think my parents noticed his clothes because they were never into designer labels. When I was a kid we shopped at Mervyn's and JCPenney's. And there's nothing wrong with that. But that's why I thought they wouldn't be paying attention.
Also, I never thought I was doing anything in excess until this happened (the story I am about to tell you). I just thought I was providing for my kid to the very best of my abilities.
My parents have purchased only a few articles of clothing for The Boy over the years. Maybe a handful of things when he was really little (less than six months old), one or two things after that, and then at about two years old it really halted to a stop. And I was really surprised. I thought they would love doting on him and buying him all kinds of clothes. One day, I think The Boy was about three and a half, I asked my mom, really casually, "Mom, why don't you buy clothes for The Boy? I thought you would love doing that for your (ONLY) grandson. Is it because he's a boy? Like, if I had a girl, do you think you would buy more? Since girl stuff is so much cuter and frillier?"
Her (very cold) response: "Don't you think you do enough of that for everyone?"
I was shocked. I felt like I had been slapped across the face. I honestly did not know how to respond to that. So I didn't. I just dropped it. But on the inside, I resolved to prove her wrong. I was going to go home and count how many clothes he had. I was sure it was going to be a small amount and I could prove to her that we were PRACTICALLY DESTITUTE and she should buy her grandson some DAMN CLOTHES!!!
I got home and decided to start with his pants. All of the pants I counted fit him at the time.
There were thirty.
I did not continue counting any other articles of clothing.
When I stayed home with The Boy for the first two years of his life I started scrapbooking. I even became a consultant for one of those big name scrapbook companies (aka PYRAMID SCHEME), which I could probably mention by name (you could figure it out on your own, I think there's only one) but that would be much less mysterious than not naming it at all so let's go with that.
Of course I ended up with A MILLION dollars worth of product and it's very overwhelming. Besides being overwhelmed, I don't even think I do a good job. My favorite pages are pages that I copied from someone else. I'm just not creative like that.
It was easier to scrapbook when I had a regular camera with like, real film in it (I know I'm old, spare me), and the pictures were physically in my hand. Now I just put everything online on Shutterfly and MySpace and then I don't do anything with them. I'm lazy and I don't want to go ALL THE WAY to Target to pick them up, or even ALL THE WAY to the mailbox when they get delivered (have I mentioned lately how much I LOVE laziness?). And I certainly don't want to spend money on the pictures when I could be spending that money on pants for The Boy (a story for another time). Or an iPhone. Or cake.
I have probably scrapbooked twice in the last six months and only because my mom
guilted invited me over to her house and I made her promise to feed me lunch and cake. What I would really like to do is OHMYGOSH GET RID of all of the scrapbook clutter in my house that I never use. Imagine the space I would have. For pants. And cake.
But then I feel like a bad mom for wanting to sell on eBay the tools needed to preserve The Boy's memories. Do you think the MySpace photo albums are enough? And will that last forever? Or some other online memory keeper?
Globular Mess. Seriously, people. The Dial refill container says DIAL REFILL on it. Also, if the existing soap is a coral color, WHY would you put in something that is gray-blue? This is dishwashing detergent and will not, I repeat, WILL NOT come out all foamy in your hand. It will come out in a globby mess. It’s gross.
Dishes. I don’t do them at home (thanks Darling!), and I don’t like doing them at work. I’m the ONLY one who does them here! What will they do now?!?
The SAMENESS. I talk about how it’s comfortable being here. How it feels like home. At the same time, I’m ready for something new. Enough of the same thing day in and day out already!!!
Being Bored. I am not challenged at this job. I can do it with my eyes closed and I still have six hours each day with nothing to do.
Paper Towels. This feels like the saying “always a bridesmaid, never a bride.” I am always replacing the dang paper towels. And yet, I have never had the privilege of using the last paper towel on the roll.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
I entered this photo into the Nikon D60 contest. If I am one of the finalists I will be asking you to go back and VOTE FOR IT EVERY DAY, beginning June 25th. If I win I will have a contest for my readers to win my old camera.
This benefits you in many ways.
1. Better pictures on this site (theoretically) for your viewing pleasure when you come visit me.
2. Slightly used free camera for you.
Also note: They misspelled a word. I assure you that I wrote "talking," not "taking." Good thing it's a photo contest and not a spelling bee.
Let me know if you enter the contest. I'd love to see the pictures you submit and I'd also like to see if you offer anything as awesome as an old camera as incentive to vote for your entry.
Lazy people piss me off. And not lazy like when I don’t get out of my pajamas for an entire
weekend Saturday. Or I wipe my underarms with baby wipes instead of taking a shower so that I can sleep in a little bit on Monday morning because of a hangover.
I’m talking about people who have found a way to literally do nothing in life. Like Female Boss.
She comes in around 8:30 every day instead of 8 like the rest of us. She takes 90 to 120 minute lunches instead of 60 like the rest of us. She leaves early most days instead of leaving at 5 like the rest of us.
I happen to know enough about her home life to know that she doesn’t do anything at home either. Her husband gets all the groceries, does all the cooking, cleans everything, does the yard work, etc. What is left for her to do? NOTHING!
At work, she passes off as much as she can onto other people. I seriously don’t know what she does all day. Please call this person. Please file this. Please take this downstairs. I don’t want to get involved in this, you two figure it out. And then when things are done incorrectly, she takes no responsibility for it. Well, I wasn’t consulted on how to do that. Nobody told me about that. Or that’s not how I would have done it.
You weren’t consulted because you never want to do stuff. And if you wanted something done in a certain way you should have instructed us on how to do it or you should have done it yourself.
When I first gave my resignation I said that I wanted to help in any way possible. I was asked to get my filing current. It’s this scary sized pile of papers sitting behind my desk. I use it to intimidate people. So when Creepy Dirty Vendor comes in and I tell him No you can’t have access to the roof because you don’t have ID and he starts to get belligerent, I just step aside and say Hey, why don’t you take a look at this? And he immediately backs off. It’s a stack of papers with super-human abilities I tell you.
Then I was thrown a million things to do. Like they realized, OH HEY, she’s not going to be here on Monday. And I say Hold on, do you want me to do this stuff or do you want me to file? The response: Please file. Give your work to me (Female Boss) and I’ll do it. So I give it to her and she pulls this:
I don’t have that file on my computer. Can you do this?
I’ll figure that out after you’re gone. (Meaning YOU do it now so I don’t have to).
As though I can’t e-mail you the file? You can have it on your computer in less than 20 seconds. Or I can put it on the shared drive and you can have it in less than 10 seconds. It's the new millenium, these crazy things ARE possible!
Why would you purposely put off figuring something out until after I’m gone? I’m not going to be here to answer your questions after I’m gone. The point of giving a two week notice is so that I can answer your questions WHILE I’M STILL HERE.
So please don’t call me. If I see it’s you, I’m not going to answer.
Laziness – annoying to the very last second.
The Comfortableness. This has been my building for almost ten years. It feels like home.
The Coffee. We (I) grind the beans ourselves (myself) every day. It’s so yummy.
The Desk. It’s a pretty desk with pretty things on it.
The Chair. It is a comfortable chair and has supported my rear during all of its many sizes.
The People. Although it is a depressing environment right now, (most of) the people here are very nice. Very family oriented. I have only had two jobs in my life, but this was the first job where an old (he was only 50, but to be fair, I was only 18) married man did not try to hit on me as soon as he had the chance.
The Procedures Manual. I created it from scratch. I like organizational things and this is the ultimate in organization. My job in a binder. I love it because I put so much work into it, and I will miss it.
The Roof. Having access to the entire building definitely has perks. For the last few months I would go up on the roof every day and just sit or lie down. I went up there around 2 p.m., a time when I felt like the day was never going to end. I would close my eyes and look into the sun, feel the wind on my face, strands of hair tickling my cheeks. It was a peaceful escape from my misery.
View From The Roof:
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Who do I have to sleep with to get a friggin iPhone?!?
If you have nothing better to do with your money, this is what I want. We'll call it an early birthday present. I'm turning 30 next April.
I will love you forever. I really will.
I spent most of the last eighteen months of my life complaining about how badly my job sucked, and now I only have four days left to work here!
This morning I was still doing The Happy Dance. But then I had a meeting with Female Boss and Quiet Boss, wherein I explained my job duties and handed over current projects. I am going through my desk, taking home personal items, and drafting good-bye e-mails. And now I am sad.
I’m sad because even though I am unhappy in my current position, I still love this company. It feels like home to me. We all know that home isn’t always a happy place, but it is familiar and comfortable.
I’m sad because it’s the end of an era. I only worked at my first job for one year when I was eighteen and I quit because the (married, 50-year-old) boss wouldn’t quit hitting on me. Then I started here. The temp agency I signed up with sent me here. I had never heard of this company before and now I am shocked when I come across people who haven’t heard of it. Only my second job in life and it carried me for ten years. For someone who doesn’t like change and VOLUNTEERED for this change, it is very sombering (is that a word? I don’t think it is, but it should be. Or maybe it’s “sobering?”) to think that I am freely giving away my comfortable surroundings.
In the ten years I have worked here, I have worked with hundreds of people within the company, and yet I am only moved to send five good-bye e-mails:
JD, I will miss seeing your smile and hearing your laugh. You are a very kind person and my life has been improved because I know you, and I really mean that.
M, I will miss your calm approach to life. You are timeless; in your manners, your dress, and your professionalism; an excellent example for any female to look up to.
S, I will miss saying "What?!?" to you every day!!! I will also miss seeing your smile. The joy you brought back here was so needed. You have such a strong, confident presence, and a positive attitude.
C, I have kind of enjoyed working with you, but mostly you've been a pain in the you-know-what. I will miss your sarcasm and my hundred bucks.
Seriously, I really am bummed that I will miss seeing your beautiful little girl grow up. It was nice that you noticed that I wasn't smiling. If anyone else noticed it, nobody ever said anything, and it was nice to think that somebody cared. I wish you all the best.
JW, I have enjoyed working with you and talking about our kids. I know I was terrible at keeping in touch with K [his wife] after I came back to work, but I want you both to know that I can never express in words how much our friendship meant to me. That was a very dark time for me when I was at home those two years and spending time with her was sometimes the only light in my day.
I’ll send another one to a few vendors, and then one each for CEO Boss, Female Boss, Quiet Boss, and Boss Man. You know, Thanks for letting me work here and for all the opportunities, blah blah.
Although I feel blessed to have met five people who I will take with me in my heart forever, I know that because I feel the need to say good-bye to only five people that I am making the right decision by leaving.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
When I started blogging five months ago, I had only heard of the concept of blogging a few times. Then I moved out of the cave I was living in, and I realized what a giant place the bloggy world is. Then I was like a person dying of thirst in that I couldn’t read enough blogs. I started reading other people’s blogs and visiting every blog on their blogrolls. Then I discovered Bloglines and other feed readers. So I don’t have to check on each blog every day for new content? This must be what heaven is like. I was really surprised that I didn’t already know all of this because I am a really computer savvy person. But the more you know the less you know.
I started to notice that everyone and their mother are talking about Dooce or have Dooce on their blogrolls. The first time I read her, I was referred to her site from another blog I was reading. I read this post. I completely identified with the star bits on Mario Galaxy. And I was hooked. As in, when I realized she didn’t blog on the weekends, I experienced withdrawal symptoms, complete with epileptic fits, hypertension, and schizophrenic behavior.
Dooce is now proudly displayed on my blogroll. I have never mentioned her in a post. I didn’t want to be jumping on the bandwagon like everyone else who follows her (I’m starting to think that she could be the Anti-Christ). I had to give in today because this post is just too hilarious not to reference. I’m pretty sure anyone who has found my blog has heard of Dooce (she’s been all over the news lately and even in the Wall Street Journal). But if I don’t reference her here, The Boy may never have the opportunity to read her work and that would just be tragic.
Even though I had not heard of her before January, I’m convinced that we’re soul mates. We think the same way. The difference is that she has the ability to articulate her thoughts into hysterical words and I have the ability to read those thoughts and say I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU MEAN. So really, we complete each other. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Who’s The Boss?
I might enjoy being self employed. I am not financially free to just working for someone else and start a business at this time, but it could be an option in the future.
I don’t have any qualms working for someone else, with the condition that my boss/employer respects what I do for them. Because let me tell you, I am awesome. I deserve the respect and if I get it, I don’t require hardly anything in return, including pay.
Until I have the lack of restrictions on my finances, I just need to work on improving on the things that I enjoy doing. Perhaps by concentrating on one area at a time I can really decide what I am passionate about and what I excel in.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
We went to a lake with some friends on Sunday evening and had a picnic. The weather was beautiful, the kids were well behaved. When it got too cold to sit outside, we packed up and went to our friends' house and watched a documentary about China and we could hardly pull The Boy away from the television when it was time to go home.
We went to a birthday party this weekend and I absolutely loved this party decoration. It is just so fun and whimsical. I could have spent all day photographing it, which is probably too much time to spend on something that the kids were willing to destroy by seeing who could jump up and pull it down.
When I was a kid, my mom used to get on my case about emptying pockets before putting our clothes in the laundry. I’m pretty sure my brother was the bigger culprit, and she was sure to remind him too. What I remember is that this was really a pet peeve for her – having things in our pockets. I didn’t know why it bothered her so much, and I figured I’d get it when I had my own kids.
I myself have left a few tissues in pockets over the course of my adult years, and yes, that can be very frustrating. Of course it’s my own fault when I find tissue shredded all over my black fleece pants when I pull them out of the dryer. Again, I don’t like it, but it has never made me really angry, and I figured there must be something about when your children do it that is particularly annoying.
The Boy is five and he is obsessed with collecting rocks. I don’t know if this started the fascination, but we went to Lake Tahoe one time and went shopping. I had him pick out some rocks at this store that was all different kind of rocks. Rocks turned into clocks, jewelry, animal figures, etc. He picked out about ten rocks, all different shapes, sizes, colors, polishes, etc., and we took them home.
Every day he comes home from day care with at least one rock in his pocket. Whenever we go outside it appears that there is a magnetic force between his hand and rocks on the ground. It is almost impossible for him to see a rock and not pick it up. He has three containers in his room that are part of his Rock Collection.
The first day my mother-in-law baby-sat him, he collected thirty-seven rocks to bring home. The Man told his mom No more rocks please. The next time he went to their house, The Boy asked my mother-in-law if they could collect THREE HUNDRED rocks. She said yes (to keep at her house), and they did it. He counted and picked up three hundred rocks at one time. Yet he doesn’t have the patience to hold still while I tie his shoe or wipe his face.
Obviously, I get a lot of rocks banging around in the washing machine and in the dryer. The first time it happened it didn’t bother me. I presumed it would get tiring the more it happened. I mean I remember my mom used to get REALLY MAD about stuff being in our pockets!
It’s been years now since his rock fixation began and I have probably come across three hundred rocks in the laundry, and it still does not bother me. I love finding his rocks. They make me smile, because they remind me that I have a healthy little boy who is passionate about something.
If it changes from rocks and I start to find gum or goldfish in my laundry, I’m pretty sure I’ll write a completely different type of post. But for now I smile when I am sitting in the living room and I hear the “clang clang” sound of rock beating on the metal drum in the dryer.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Sometimes I feel great about myself and I get knocked down a little. Sometimes I feel icky and I get an ego boost. Then there was this morning and I don’t know how to feel.
I was driving to work I slowed down for a stop sign. There is this curly haired kid walking on the sidewalk near the crosswalk. He was probably between ten and twelve. I look over to see if he is going to cross the street and he is CHECKING ME OUT. He is looking at me like, “Awww, yeah. You’re lookin’ good today bab-ay.” I totally cracked up and, because he was not going to cross the street, I started driving again.
How is that supposed to make me feel?!? Good because some kid thinks I’m a hot cougar or a MILF? Or does it make me feel old because I am too old for this CHILD to be looking at? I’m scared to even consider how old he must think I am. Should I be appalled because he shouldn’t even know how to look at a person like that at his age? At his age?!? When did I start saying things like that? I guess when I became old enough to be his mother.
We lived in a one bedroom apartment and could not afford the rent for the two bedroom apartment. So when we found out we were pregnant in June of 2002, we bought a condo; two bedrooms, one and a half bath. It was cute and it was ours. I loved it.
I moved approximately eighteen times before I turned thirteen. I hated moving. I hated packing boxes, moving the boxes, unpacking the boxes, deciding where everything should go.
This move was the only time I have ever actually enjoyed moving. A pregnant lady couldn’t (or at least I couldn’t) lift heavy boxes, furniture, and appliances. So The Man recruited his friends and they moved everything. In one day. All I did was sit on the floor and read magazines. I also supplied beer and pizza. It was a pretty sweet deal.
The Boy does not have any siblings, so tattling has not really been an issue in our house. But we do have a book about the difference between tattling and informing an adult when someone is ruining property or doing something dangerous.
We went to a friend’s house last night and the other little boy was not sharing one of his toys. Instead of getting another one of the million toys that were available, The Boy comes to me and says, “J isn’t sharing his car toy with me.” I said, “Are you tattling?” He said, “No, I’m just telling you.”
“Oh, okay, thanks.” And I went back to playing with J’s little brother.
I’m really glad that I don’t have to deal with that on a regular basis. I think it’s comical that The Boy’s excuse is that he is just “informing” me of the events. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a newscaster or celebrity stalker.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Ex Boss e-mailed me today and asked me what’s up. I was like, WHOA news travels fast. He said Yeah that’s what happens when people THINK I STOLE YOU. Boss Man called him up and accused him of taking me! Ha! Although that would have been nice, too, but NO.
When Quiet Boss came in this morning he asked, “How are you this morning?” As if I wouldn’t be anything but gleeful. WHY does he continue to act as if something bad is happening to me?!?
And now ALL the doors are closed and Female Boss is going into Boss Man’s office, closes the door, then she comes out. Then Quiet Boss comes out of his closed office door, goes into Boss Man’s office, closes the door, then he comes out, goes back into his office and closes the door.
And LOTS of whispering going on. Whispers at Female Boss’ desk. Whispers in the hallway. Not to be completely self-centered and assume it’s all about me. But it is.
It feels so good to not be concerned with what is going on behind the closed doors or whispers in the hall. I used to get so paranoid. I was afraid that I would be the next one to get laid off; I always thought I was getting fired. I finally feel in control. You would be surprised what that does for my motivation. I did more work on Friday than I did in the last month.
Update: Boss Man just sent me an e-mail. I don’t know how to read it. A portion of it said, “So many changes have happened these past couple of years. Some we have brought upon ourselves, some we have no control over and just have to deal with them.”
Brought upon ourselves? What’s that? I don’t like that, but I’m probably focusing on the wrong part of the e-mail and reading too much into it. The rest of it was a very nice e-mail.
The Boy and I stayed home from church yesterday morning. The Man went because he was playing on the Worship Team. The Boy played games on the computer and played Wii games for about an hour each. While he did those things I worked on laundry, dishes, cleaning the kitchen sink and stove. And I watched him too.
Then I wanted him to take a break from electronic media, but I made the mistake of using the term “video games.” I found out yesterday that, according to The Boy, playing on the computer does not fall under the category of video game play. He was VERY unhappy with me, throwing a giant tantrum, complete with body flailing and fist pounding, and general evidence of being tired and needing a nap. Even though I offered to play with his Pokemon toys with him, or read him books, or play games, etc., he insisted that he was not going to do anything until I agreed to let him play video games.
So I went upstairs and put laundry away, changed the sheets on the beds, picked up our bedroom, etc. He follows me around, and is all the while mumbling about how unfair I am. Then he indignantly tells me, “I am going to call Daddy at church and tell him that you aren’t letting him play video games. And you have to get your phone from your purse for me, and then I’ll dial the numbers and press the green button and then the little button. And then I’m going to tell him that I’m a video game person and you aren’t letting my play video games.”
Of course he did not call The Man to tattle on me. He eventually got over himself and permitted me to read books to him (oh, the horror!), but I really thought it was hilarious that he thought I was going to assist him “snitch” on me by getting my own phone out of my purse and handing it to him.