Johnny Depp, Party of Two, Your Table is Ready

I’ve been doing some deep thinking about  resurrecting this  mission of meeting up with you for months.   Seriously, this post has been in my drafts since February.  I add things, I delete things.  I’ve started over multiple times and I’ve stayed up many a  night wondering how to make it work.  I’ve made lists and I’ve written some real crap.   I don’t know why in the hell I worry so much about it.  I am certain that some many would say to me to just move the fuck on, but for some reason I just can’t let it go.   I have this nagging voice in my head that won’t let me give up.  I swear it feels like I’m trying to do something not just for myself, but for so many of my friends who support me and what I’m doing here on a daily basis.  My thought processes have been so random lately it has been hard to come up with the perfect approach.

First it was  making one of those pics asking for one million Facebook likes and then you would agree to set something up.  Surely that shit works for all those people whose faces show up in my news feed.  If hundreds/thousands/a million people think it should happen, then it will.  Right?  I then had a glass of wine and remembered how redonkulous those are so I made this one, just to add that special touch to this post.  Totally not the least bit embarrassing.

Um...no.

Um…no.

Hey!  How about a working with an amazing company to create something inspired by you?  Hell yeah I did that.  I worked with my amigas over at A Girl and Her Band to create this AMAZING headband, appropriately named Captain Jack,  that is now available on their website.    For now I had to use a miniature version of you to show it off, but I will bring one with me when we meet so that we can do something incredible for these inspiring ladies.

Captain Jack

Since I can’t rely on getting one million Facebook likes to make something happen, I am going to have to rely on my writing skills for this.  Sonofa….  Trying to decide which path to take here has been difficult.  I did the letter, I’ve done the movie review, I’ve even gotten my ass up at four in the morning on a whim holding on to that slim chance that I would have a chance to meet you.  I could sit here and blabber on about how much I adore you and how much I think you are all that and a bag of chips and how all your movies are spectacular, but even my five-year-old could read through that bullshit.  What could I possibly write that would be different from the millions of other letters that you receive?

It was when I was talking with the Enabler and she asked me:  If you had the chance to actually sit and talk to him, what would you talk about?  Holy. Shit.  Why did I not think of this sooner?  I need to brainstorm over wine more often.

Let’s just imagine for a minute can we, you and I at a table in a quaint little restaurant.  I have a salad because I probably can’t really eat out of fear of having something in my teeth, or having gas;  you have a full plate of delightful food and I am extremely jealous because I’m starving.  Both of us would have wine of course, except I would most likely down the first glass to calm my nerves.  Don’t be alarmed, this will make the conversation much more interesting for both of us.    We would get the bullshit out-of-the-way immediately.  Yes, I have five kids.  Yes, they are all mine.  Yes, they were all planned.  Yes, they all have the same daddy.  Yes, I’m happily married.  Yes, we really farm.  Oh wait, you thought that YOU would be answering all the questions.  I just assumed that you would be so intrigued by me that your list of questions would be never-ending.  My bad.

Once you were finished with all your questions,  I am confident that I could come up with some suitable conversation starters.  I usually suffer from a serious case of verbal diarrhea, especially when I’m nervous, so there is no doubt that it would lead to many foot in mouth moments so please be sure to bring your sense of humor.  Rest assured I would at least make the effort to appear like I have half a clue. I am fairly educated and I read quality  <ahem>  literature (like my own book, I Just Want to Pee Alone) when I have time (which isn’t very often)  so surely I will be able to keep up with the conversation.  I joke, but really these days I am just trying my best just to form logical thoughts and form coherent sentences.  Thanks to my kids I don’t know how much I have left upstairs so I need to seize the moment and utilize what I’ve got while I still have it.  The amount of quality adult interaction that I get to enjoy really is limited, so don’t be scared to just tell me to shut the hell up if I happen to get a little wordy.

In all seriousness though, I don’t want to interview you.  I am sure you sit through so many of those snore-fests you don’t need another session of the same boring-ass questions.   I’m not a journalist trying to land that big movie star interview in order to further my career.  I’m a mom who writes for a little bit of mental therapy.  I put my thoughts out there for total strangers to read with the hopes that maybe I will give someone a smile or encourage someone to make a change.  If it’s a good day I will help someone get just the laugh that they needed to push them up from the depths of grumpiness or help that stressed out momma realize that she isn’t alone.  That the very same shit that she has dealt with today, happened in my house yesterday.  Luckily for me, very few people (translation my family and a handful of friends) would even know who I was if they saw me walking down the street.  Anonymity definitely has it’s perks.

I have absolutely no agenda and I have no wonderful story to tell you as to why I deserve to meet you.  I lead what many would consider an “ordinary” life on a farm in the middle of Kansas.  I have nothing spectacular to tell you about myself besides I have five amazing kids and one very supportive husband.   I can tell you that I’m a devoted fan, a devoted wife and mother to my family, and a devoted writer and entertainer for all my friends.   I drink, I swear, I say what I think and do what I say I will.  I make people laugh, I make my kids cry, and I have terrible indigestion right now because I know it’s time to hit the publish button on this post and the people, they will read it and they will roll their eyes, and for fucks sake I hope they share it and blow up the internet.  I suppose I will leave the rest up to the power of the interwebs, fate….and you.

Peace.  Out.  xoxo

 

Mom, Are We Poor?

Poor

What. In. The. Hell.  Not quite the question I expected to get from my eleven year old as I conducted my normal post school day interrogation   Upon further questioning it came to light that a classmate had asked her if we were poor because she didn’t have any school pictures to bring home like some of the others.   If there ever was a time in which I ever wanted to suggest to my child to tell someone to fuck off and mind their own business, this was it.  Um…have you seen school pictures lately?  Horrendous.  Besides, the condition of my checkbook is no business of a fifth grader.  Not even my own.

After drying her tears and reassuring her that we are in fact not poor,  I  felt it the opportune time to inform her that we are not what many would consider rich either.  While we are not financially strapped and are able to provide our kids with the things that they need, it takes some planning on our part to be able to give them the things that they want.  More importantly I  wanted to stress to her that while we may not be monetarily rolling in the dough, we are rich in so many other ways.  Ways that she may not understand at this exact moment.  Ways that don’t agree with her “cater to me right now” mentality.  Ways that maybe some of her friends don’t get to enjoy.

We live in a ninety-year-old house.  Not just any old house mind you, Farmer Bob grew up in this house.  While it doesn’t have sparkly new fixtures, cable TV and brand new carpet, it has things that are so much better.  It has character and memories and an outhouse.  We have a fort in the trees and hay in the barn to play hide and seek in.  We have open space to play baseball in the yard and plenty of room to get away from each other if we need to.   We have food on the table and clothes on our backs.  We have fun together, we fight, we argue, we love.  We are a family.  

Being rich in the monetary sense would be fantastic don’t get me wrong.  To not have to worry about how to cover this bill or that bill, to be able to give our kids a few of the things that are wanted whenever desired would be an amazing feeling.  The question I have to keep asking myself is would I be willing to sacrifice so many wonderful moments  in order to have the financial stability to satisfy what would undoubtedly become insatiable appetites for shit that serves no other purpose than to allow our family to slowly disintegrate into seven separate entities instead of one strong familial unit?  The answer to that…HELL NO.

It is never easy to tell our kids no, you don’t need that.  As parents we have this primordial desire to provide for them, to satisfy their every desire.  We feel as if we are failing them if we can’t serve them everything that they want and need on a silver platter.  Maybe we are actually failing them if we do throw all their earthly desires at their feet with no request for repayment.  Are we raising a generation of entitled assholes?  I hear how kids talk to their parents, my own included.  I see the look of fear in a mother’s eyes of what might happen if she says no to that toy, my own included.   It scares the shit out of me.  Scares me that as parents we allow it.   That it seems that we really are raising the kind of adults that we ourselves can’t stand to be around.

What scares me even more is the thought that these kids won’t grow up to appreciate the things that don’t cost a fortune.  That they won’t understand that you don’t have to be rich in the financial sense to be rich in so many other ways.  That family comes first and the rest of it is just “stuff”.  That we have riches that far exceed anything that money can buy.  That in fact, some of the best things in life truly are free and can’t be captured in some stupid school picture.

Have You Found All Your Pieces?

Lately life has felt like a puzzle.  A puzzle right out of the box with pieces scattered, turned every which way, some upside down, some right side up.  Some gathered in a pile, some flung across the table.  It’s pure chaos.  I’ve been trying to gather my pieces and reassemble myself into a beautiful picture but have been unsure about my ability to achieve such a lofty goal.  It’s so hard to find the time to take a break, to leave everything behind and take some time to organize all the pieces.  Taking time to find the misplaced pieces and to throw out the few pieces that don’t belong anymore.  There comes a time when you must stop, look at the picture on the box, and take a good look at all the pieces to decide what needs to be done in order to put the puzzle back together.

Puzzle

I teach my kids to always do the edges first because they are the most vital part to the puzzle.  They are the starting point.  They give you the boundaries, and idea of how the rest of the puzzle will go together.  If the edges are all screwed up, the rest of the puzzle is fucked.  It’s unorganized and you are not even able to complete it.  Farmer Bob, he’s my edges.  I honestly can not do a damn thing without him.  He’s not afraid to tell me when I’m being a total jackhole and he always gives me support and help when I need it.  He keeps me grounded and helps me keep my pieces together.

It had been eleven years since we had gone anywhere alone.  Eleven years.  Think about that for a minute.  It is redonkulous and embarrassing to even say out loud.  Even though we see each other every day, it had been ELEVEN YEARS (have you picked up that it has been too damn long?) since we had taken the time to do something for just us.  While we are confident that we  have all of our edge pieces properly assembled, we realized that it had been entirely too long since we had taken the time to make damn sure that all the pieces are in the right place.  This weekend we straightened our edges.  Meals alone without stopping to take someone pee or to cut up someone’s steak, great times with some great friends, naps, a few drinks, and The Black Keys.  Edge pieces….check.

Now it’s time to put together the rest of the puzzle. There are so many different pieces that all have to fit together just right in order to complete the picture.  Some pieces have gotten lost along the way and the search is on in order to find them.  Some pieces have been bent in half or become mangled and will have to be straightened out, or even glued together, in order to fit again.  Some pieces are in the box but don’t fit in the puzzle and will need to be removed.  Some pieces have been right there all this time, and even thought it was believed that they did not even fit into this puzzle, they may actually end up being the that one piece that has been missing the entire time.  It is even possible to find some new pieces that you thought would never fit in your puzzle, but to your delight they fit just like they have been there from the beginning.

Take the time to look at your puzzle.  Really look at all of the pieces.  Spread them out, turn them over, sort them out, and really look at them.   It isn’t an easy task that is for sure.  There is nothing easy about searching for the lost pieces and it is hard as hell to throw out the pieces that don’t fit any longer, but taking the time to really look at them before putting them together is so enlightening and refreshing and at times frightening.

This weekend I finally took some time to examine my pieces.  I turned them all right side up, found some pieces that were lost, decided that some pieces just don’t fit so they  needed to be removed, and remembered exactly what the final picture is supposed to look like.  While I still have some work to do before I have a puzzle worthy of some permanent glue, at least now I have the right pieces in my possession and judging by the picture on the box, I think the final product is going to be pretty fucking spectacular.

Look at Your Pieces

In the Blink of an Eye

In the blink of an eye you are no longer just a couple.

In the blink of an eye your life is no longer just about you.

In the blink of an eye you become a parent.

In the blink of an eye your munchkin is sitting up, feeding herself, interacting with you.

In the blink of an eye your baby is a walking, talking human.

In the blink of an eye you aren’t changing diapers and wiping  little butts.

In the blink of an eye they can color inside the lines and write their own name.

In the blink of an eye they are getting their own cereal and pouring their own milk.

In the blink of an eye Chutes and Ladders is replaced by Monopoly.

In the blink of an eye they stop asking for apple juice and start asking for pop.

In the blink of an eye they no longer want to snuggle on the couch, but want to be left alone.

In the blink of an eye they are smarter than you.

In the blink of an eye your girls are fixing their own hair and asking for makeup.

In the blink of an eye your boys are talking about their balls and the smell of their farts.

In the blink of an eye your kids don’t need you to read them stories.  They can do it on their own.

In the blink of an eye the boys don’t want to kiss their mother anymore.

In the blink of an eye your little girl is asking for bras and talking about her uterus.  And boys.

In the blink of an eye the pants that fit them yesterday are two inches too short.

In the blink of an eye they can make their own decisions and learn from their mistakes.

In the blink of an eye you are no longer mommy and daddy.  You are now just mom and dad.

In the blink of an eye they start Kindergarten.  In the next blink, middle school.  In the next…you are afraid to blink again.

In the blink of an eye you realize they are growing up and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

In the blink of an eye it could be gone.

What are you doing in-between blinks?

In the Blink of an Eye

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Do I Look Fat in These Jeans?

I’ve been after my friend Angela to guest post for me for some time.  We first “met” via our Facebook pages and I was immediately drawn to her.  Her positive attitude, her fantastic sense of humor, and the way she truly cares for others is just a few of the qualities that I adore about her.  She has been one of my biggest fans and supporters  from the  beginning of this journey and I am so very blessed to be able to call her my friend. I look forward to the day that I get to sit across the table from her and share a meal and so many laughs.  She runs an amazing Facebook page and recently launched her accompanying website that is a GREAT place for women to connect.  Without further ado, please welcome my friend Angela, Sad But True Life of a Middle Aged Woman.

Do These Jeans Make Me Look Fat?

We, as a culture, seem to be obsessed with our size. Do my jeans make me look fat? Does this shirt show too much boob? And where the hell did that back fat come from? We spend time looking in the mirror to see if we have added some pounds, lost some pounds or, quite possibly, shifted some poundage from one place to another, as if one day we would wake up and find that some of the fat in our butt or stomach has been magically shifted to our boobs, or other desirable places.

We examine our bodies to see if we have aspired to the “type” that society says we should be. But what is the “perfect” type anyway? Curvy? Skinny? Slim? Big on top little on the bottom? Who knows, but let’s move on…

Once we have finished examining ourselves, we might find that we are disappointed to find our bodies are in the same place that we left them the night before. In an attempt to feel better about ourselves, we now hit the streets looking for a body that we believe looks worse than our own. And why do we need someone to look worse than we do? Because it makes us feel better about ourselves.

I’m sure you’ve been out and about and seen all sorts of body types walking around. Some of these types may be overweight and maybe when you saw them you thought, “She would look so good if she would just lose a few pounds, then she would be perfect!” Or, maybe you saw somebody really thin and you thought, “I wonder if she has anorexia or bulimia.”  Then, of course, there is the body type that looks physically fit and we say, “I bet she is a bitch. She only thinks about working out” or “I’ll bet she doesn’t have any problems. She’s perfect.”  It seems that we are either too fat or too skinny, never being able to make everybody happy, and this really bugs me, because, quite frankly, WHY does it matter?? If I am curvy or skinny or physically fit, who gives a rat’s ass? I am still ME. I believe that when one group has to put down another group in order to make themselves feel better, it’s completely pathetic. But this isn’t a new feeling for me, in fact it has always bothered me, because, I am that girl. Which girl? Well, both.

I have been from one extreme of the weight issue to the other. I have been curvy and I have been board straight, as in no curves, not one…anywhere. No boobs, no hips, NADA. Then, one day, just like that, I woke up curvy. And I mean CURVY…boobs, hips and a little bit of arm flab thrown in for good measure. When I was curvy, I was told I should “work out” and maybe I should “eat fewer carbs,” like eating fewer carbs was an option I wanted to entertain. As a non-curvy person, I was told, “You should put on some weight” or “maybe you should lift weights, it might help you get shapely.”  Each comment, whether it was directed toward my curvy self or my skinny self, would be followed up with, “You’ll feel better, if you do what I said, I promise.” The reality was that whatever or whomever I was, wasn’t good enough to the group that I wasn’t.

Frantically, in my attempt to make everybody else happy I followed the instructions I had been given. When I was curvy, I worked out and ate salads, but it didn’t work. The mashed potatoes from my former life were my friend and they stuck to my hips and promised to never leave me. I practiced looking at myself in the mirror, wondering which angle would make my double chin appear a little bit less. When I was skinny, I did everything I could to gain weight, which included eating everything I could and lifting weights, but to no avail. My metabolism was off the charts, so the weight just slid off. I felt like I looked like a boy and could not possibly be attractive.

Over time I stopped trying to make other people happy because I could NEVER live up to anybody else’s expectation. I could only live up to my own expectation. The reality is that people are people. They are not better if they are curvy or skinny, big or little or rich or poor. What matters is if they are happy with themselves, and that is all. Oh, I hear people saying, “But they are unhealthy!” And I say; that is their business, not yours.

In each and every situation, whether I was curvy or slim, I was still funny, nice, kind, friendly and caring. Those were and are the qualities that stay with me no matter what I look like on the outside. Focus on your inner qualities and while you’re at it, focus on other people’s inner qualities too.

Listen to me when I say curvy women aren’t better than slim women and slim women aren’t better than curvy women. Period. Curvy women aren’t happier than slim women and slim women aren’t happier than curvy women. Got it? If you don’t want to be fat or skinny, then don’t be, but don’t judge someone else for who you think they should be.

Here is a thought, next time you see someone, instead of looking at their body to see who they are, look in to their eyes to see who they are. You will be amazed.

Angela

(currently slim(ish), boobilicious and with a muffin top)

Please be sure to follow SBT on Facebook and visit her website.  You can also follow her on Twitter.  I promise you will NOT be disappointed!

It Really is OK to Just Say NO

Early on in childhood we are taught to say no. Say no to strangers, say no to drugs, say no to peer pressure. Even as parents we drill the same skill into our own little people. We stress to them the importance of using the word when something doesn’t seem right. That it is okay to give their friends a nice firm NO when they are being pressured to do things that they know are wrong.  To say NO if they don’t want to do something.  Makes you wonder why after all the years of being told to say it, we are so scared to use it as adults.

I’m do know that I’m not afraid to use it with my kids:

Mom, can I have a cell phone?  No, you are ten.

Mom, can I have candy?  No.  I ate it all.

Mom, do you love me more than the others?  No.  I love you all equally, just some days I may like one of you more than the others.

Mom, do you have a wiener?  Thankfully, no.  If  I did you wouldn’t be calling me mom.

Smell my feet mom!  Not just no, but HELL NO.

Did you fart mom?  Nope.  Not me. I would never do that. <ahem>

While I love to piss my kids off on a daily basis by reminding them who is the boss around here, I often forget when approached by adults that I even know that the word NO is part of my vocabulary.  Why do we have such a hard time saying that one little word to other adults, are we afraid of looking like we can’t handle it?  Scared that we will be considered less of a woman/man/parent if we just say we can’t do it right now?  Maybe it’s a little bit of mom guilt mixed in with that middle school mindset that we won’t be accepted if we don’t agree with every offer that is thrown our way.

This is extra difficult when the offers involve our kids.  Sitting on the PTA board or coaching a ball team.  Going on that field trip or making those cookies for the program.   Never able to say no.  Always willing to adjust our schedules to do what needs to be done.   Never able to just walk away.  Feeling as if we don’t say ‘yes’ that the job won’t get done.  Forgetting that in most instances that one little word could alleviate so much stress from our lives if we would just use it.  Just once it would keep us from trying to squeeze in one more meeting in an already over-packed day.  Stop us  from making just one more trip to the store for supplies.  Give us an evening to reconnect with our already over-scheduled families.

Maybe it is that part of our human nature that has this desire to constantly please others.  The feeling of never letting someone down.  What happens when we become so overwhelmed that we forget to make those cookies or that meeting slips our mind?  Disappointment and guilt.   That’s what happens.  Then we sit in the soup of despair and shitty feelings kicking ourselves in the ass for not being organized to write something down.  For forgetting that we received that reminder call three days ago while we were juggling fixing lunch, finishing folding that load of laundry, and wiping the three-year-old’s butt.  It is hard to believe that we, the uber-involved incredibly organized, could possibly overlook one little thing.

Here’s the deal, we ARE over-scheduled.  We do strive for the acceptance of our peers, even as adults.  We always want to appear as if we have it all together, even though we know in our hearts that we are falling apart and will be hopping aboard the crazy train any day now.  In all reality, no one really gives a shit if you say “no, sorry, I just can’t make it to that meeting.  I haven’t had dinner with my kids all week and I promised them that tonight was the night”.  No one is going to think you are a raging bitch if you turn down that seat on the PTA board.  OK they might, but if they do then maybe they are the bitch.  No one else but us is looking our for us and what we need.  What our families need.

The key is to find our balance.  To find what is truly important to YOU.  You want that seat on that non-profit?  Grab it.  You want to be the room mother for your kid (s)?  DO IT.   You want to run a bakery from your kitchen?  Good for you.  Do you have to do it all ?  No way.  Find your passion and do that.  You aren’t telling the others to piss off, you are just saying that you want to be able to be fully invested in what you are doing.  There is only so much room on our plates.   To be truly involved with your whole self may take a little more effort  but the rewards are ten-times greater than only being involved with just a piece of yourself.

We can no longer look at  ’no’ as a word worthy of being placed on George Carlin’s list of dirty words.  We can’t be afraid to say it to our kids, we know they aren’t afraid to say it to us.  We can’t avoid it just because we are afraid of not being accepted into the cool kids club.   If that club looks at you differently because you have priorities and can make a decision based on what is best for you, then maybe it isn’t as cool as you thought it was.  There comes a time where that one little word can make the difference between spending time with the family that you love and adore or spending it doing something that makes you miserable.  The choice is yours.

Find your true passion

Did you buy the book yet?  PLEASE don’t tell me NO.    Get all the details right here.

Long Hairs and Snow Days

Long Hairs and Snow Days

The other day I found a hair.  A long one.  On my knee.  At first I thought it was just a hair from my head that stuck to my leg in the shower. Nope, that thing was attached.    Be aware that when I say a long one, I mean that sucker could have been braided if only it would have had friends close by.  This one hair made my mind start to wonder; How in the hell does one miss the same hair for months?  How?  The same reason I can’t take a good poop without having to stop halfway through.  The same reason my hair needs to be colored, but isn’t. The same reason my house looks like a colony of monkeys live here.  Because I have kids and they’ve been home for days, that’s why.

I have been trapped in a snowy hell for days.  DAYS.  I am sure that somewhere around here I have some funny lying around, but in all honesty I think my kids have sucked that well dry, kind of like my boobs.  I can’t possibly stomach another game of Guess Who or another episode of Dinosaur Train.  I also cannot bear to listen to myself tell my kids to stop fighting with each other.  To keep their hands to themselves.  To say excuse me when they rip a big burp or gag me with a fart.  These unexpected long breaks are painful.  So much so that the government could use it as a form of torture.  You want someone to talk, lock them in a house with young children for days with minimal provisions.  They would break in a matter of hours.  It is so different from a scheduled break because of the lack of preparation time, the scramble to stock up on “provisions”, or maybe it is just the fact that there is. no. escape.

The first day, everyone is so excited.  HEY LOOK!  SNOW!  Get out the gloves/boots/hats/scarves/five-hundred pairs of pants, and listen to the squeals of delight.  It fills your heart with rainbows and unicorns  and you are so glad that they got a few extra hours to play in it.  You don’t mind the piles of wet gloves and the constant requests for hot chocolate.

Snow

Until that first snowball is thrown.

Day two brings constant snowfall.  Trapped.  Here is where things go downhill, and quickly.  See if any of this sounds familiar:

  • MOM!  He took my blanket!
  • MOOOOOOMMMMMM, she farted on me!
  • But MOOOOOMMMMM, I don’t WANT to watch that!
  • But MOM!  He touched me!
  • Can we have a snack?  I’m still hungry, can I have something else to eat?  I’m HONGRY MOM!
  • Mom, can we go outside?  <10 minutes later>  Man! It’s cold outside,  we are coming in!
  • Hey PITA, put down that frozen milk jug and put some clothes on before you freeze your wiener off! (What?  You’ve never said that?)

One would think that living in the middle of Kansas in the winter that I would be better prepared for such occurrences.  Well, one would be wrong.  I don’t keep a file of lesson plans for snowy days.  I don’t keep a well-stocked craft closet.  I suppose that would be because I don’t enjoy “crafting”, but it is mainly because the thought of giving young kids scissors and glue gives me heart palpitations.  ”Hey MOM, look at my pretty new haircut!”  .  ”Hey Mom, why do they call it a HOT glue gun?  AHHHHHHHHHH MY EYE!!!!!”    ”Don’t you love our new wallpaper mom?  I used all the colors that you love!”

I’m not afraid to be honest with you all.  The wine helps.  I’m not talking about dousing myself in it every night, just a glass or two (some days three).  It doesn’t make me a bad mom nor does it make me an alcoholic.  It makes me real.  For some it may not be wine, it may be food or pharmaceuticals or vodka or a nice hot bath mixed with wine and cookies or running away to Mexico to enjoy sunshine and drinks served by a handsome cabana boy by the pool.  Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do to help you relax at the end of the day.  It doesn’t make us bad parents to enjoy a glass of wine or a couple of cookies or a nice hot bath. Running away to Mexico, maybe, but only if you never return.

I don’t really know where the long knee hair and snow days are connected, hell I don’t really know where I was going with this entire post, but I do know that sometimes we screw up and we miss things.  Things that we may look back on and laugh about later, but also some things that we don’t want to look back on and be sad that we overlooked.  We bitch and moan about having our kids home for extended periods of time.  In all reality though, somewhere deep down (WAAAAY deep down) we enjoy these moments.  While at the time we don’t enjoy the puddles of melted snow in the dining room and the endless games of tag in the house.  We cuss under our breath about the extra loads of laundry and the constant requests to play on some sort of electronic device while munching on handfuls of popcorn. We know that these moments are passing ever so quickly.  That we should treasure them.  That we should enjoy them.  That someday we will miss them.  For now though we will laugh at our long hairs, poop when we can, and enjoy that glass of wine while watching our kids play in the cold.  While working on our passports from the window.

 

Before you leave, do two things for me please:

1. Don’t forget to subscribe to email updates up there on the very top left. It really is the best way to ensure that you don’t miss anything and I promise I won’t spam you.

2.  Don’t forget to RSVP for the free parenting webinar on Thursday night.  You can do that here and I look forward to chatting with you all!

I’m Thankful to Be a Jet

This week is Thanksgiving in the States, and I know that some people have been posting every day the things that they are grateful for that day.  Well, I’m just gonna throw out a few things that I am thankful for here if you don’t mind.  Before we proceed much farther though, I must inform you that this will not be a touchy-feely type “I’m Thankful” post.  You see, sometimes we have to be thankful for negatives in order to make all the positives be that much better.  Don’t worry, I promise it won’t be a “poor, pitiful me” type post either.  That’s just not how a roll.  Here we go:

1.  I’m thankful for those who think that they look like a bad ass by attacking my integrity.  There, I said it.  I have written before about how I am thankful for douchebags, but what I encountered last night takes the cake.  I will not bore you with the assholey details other than to say that I will not allow myself, or my friends to be bullied by a person who is apparently so insecure about themselves that they have to attempt to bring others down in an effort to elevate their own self esteem. This person is just not worthy of any more of my words, but I do want to take a moment to actually say thank you to this jackbag.  Thank you for reminding me that there comes a time in your life when the high road is the only option.  For reminding me that I am strong, that honesty always is always the best policy, and that twisted words and and false accusations are just a sad attempt to force one to doubt themselves.  I have always been confident in myself and what I stand for, but this just reinforced the fact that I am a strong, smart, honest person and that no one, not even the assbags of the interwebs can take that away from me.   So for that, I am thankful.

2.  I’m thankful for my circle of friends.  I received so much support from so many of my amazing friends last night and there are not enough words to express my gratitude to them for their words of encouragement.  You see, this friendship stuff is more than a post on some one’s Facebook wall asking for a share, or sticking your nose so far up some one’s ass in the hopes that they will notice you, that you can see out of their eyes.  This is friendship in it’s purest form, the “I got your back” kind of friendship.  No words are necessary from any of them, but just knowing that you have an extremely large group of people standing behind you, supporting you, is one of the best feelings in the world.  It feels kind of like being a Jet from West Side Story, but with less snapping.  There is still singing and dancing, but not so much the snapping.  I am ever so thankful for this pure friendship from so many.

3. I’m thankful for a K-State loss.  Oh boy that was hard to type.  While the loss that my Wildcats suffered this weekend was horribly heartbreaking, it provided one of those teachable moments that every parent hopes for.  You see, The Boy was in tears and immediately started pointing fingers to parts of the team.  It was at that exact moment that I had to talk to him about the importance of “team” and that it isn’t one person or one group of people that are responsible for a loss.  When a team takes the field, they are just that, a team.  An entire group of kids/women/men whatever the case may be, that have come together to perform a task.  If one person is having a bad day, it is up to the rest of the team to encourage and help and if necessary pick up the slack.    This also gave us the opportunity to remind our kids that it is OK to lose.  While you may feel as if your heart was broken because your love for your team is so strong, at some point defeat is inevitable.  It may not be this year, or next year, but everyone loses something at some point in their life and that is OK.  It doesn’t change how we feel about them or how much we support them.  So in that way, I am thankful for a loss.  No matter how painfully heartbreaking it was.

Today, think about what you are thankful for.  When I ask you to do that, I don’t mean the obvious.  We are all thankful for our families, for the food on our plates, for the roof over our heads.  Dig down deep and find the good in the bad.  We all could use more positives in our lives so at the risk of sounding completely ridiculous, let’s turn that frown upside down and all just smile for a while.  Sorry, couldn’t resist.  It always makes my kids laugh, thought I’d try it on you as well!

 

Do You Need a Day Off?

I am just going to admit it, I’ve been in a slump.  I can’t call it writer’s block because I actually CAN think of topics to write about, but it is the actually writing process that I am having a problem with.  I  am going to attribute it to the craziness that has been my life the past two weeks with back to school, starting back to work, and trying to find our “schedule”.  I know, excuses, excuses.  Well, I decided to take it to my friends, so I asked on Facebook on Sunday what the people who read what I have to say on a regular basis want me to write about.  I had great responses to my request, enough that I think I shall deem this Facebook week here on the ol blog.  The comment with the most “likes” (over 60 at last look) was from Andrea and this is what she wants to know:

How to get partners to participate more with their Children! Sooo sick of hearing “I work all day you stay home and do nothing” any SAHM knows its NOT easy! Especially when another is coming! Then on their days off they don’t want to help because it is THEIR day off. Where the hell is my day off?

I must first say that I will not refer to moms or dads, only partners, during this post because I have gotten to know quite a few stay at home dads that work their asses off on a daily basis as well.  When thinking about how to attack this post I kept thinking about my This Journey Called Motherhood post from last month.  I think it is so hard for us stay at home spouses to juggle it all.  Cooking, cleaning, homework, changing diapers, take one kid here, take one kid there, pay the bills, you know what I mean.  It seems as if the list never ends.  I decided, for just a minute, take that list and forget about it.  Now imagine that you are the one getting up every morning. You leave behind your little people and your home, and you head to a job that at least 3 out of 5 days you do not enjoy but you go to because your family is depending on you for survival.  If it isn’t for that job you have no home, no food, no car, no money.  The pressure is really on.

For me, I will take the cleaning and the “menial” work that comes with staying home over the pressure of providing all the financial support for my family.  I know how stressed Farmer Bob gets at times, especially since we have been in a drought, and I feel so stressed for him.  I would understand to a point why he would need a day on the weekend to decompress, but he also understands to a point why I need the same thing.  It wasn’t always this way.  We have had our moments of disagreement and selfishness, but we have learned that parenting is also a sacrifice.  Parenthood is such a learning process and I can remember Farmer Bob and I having this same lively discussion about who really needs a “day off”.

When you bring home that first baby, you have this picture of perfection in your mind.  I will wake up every morning with a smile on my face, send my spouse off to work with a kiss and a smile just like a 1950′s housewife.  I will spend my day teaching my baby everything he needs to know and when he naps I will clean the house, do the laundry, and cook supper.  HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!  Seriously, those pregnancy hormones can do crazy shit to your brain.  Those first few months when baby sleeps most of the time and you actually do get things accomplished are so deceiving.  Before you know it all hell breaks loose and you realize that maybe, just maybe, raising this little person is not always going to be all peaches and cream and that you can NOT do it alone.  You find yourself  deeply conflicted about your decision to stay home and raise the babies.

Hands

Not only are you learning how to be a stay at home parent, but your spouse is learning how to be a working parent as well.   They are learning how to balance being gone all day and playing catch up when they get home.  I don’t know this for a fact, but I would imagine that there would be a small amount of guilt felt by them for missing out on all the things that we stay at home parents get to witness.  Those first smiles, those first giggles, those first steps, that first time they find a pair of scissors and cut out a chunk of hair.  Just as we have moments of jealousy that they get to leave the house ALONE every day, they have those same moments when they walk out the door.  Maybe not every day, like when the kids are screaming at each other as they are heading out, but I am sure that they have them.  You will never know if you never ask.

Your partner, the financial provider, goes to work every day.  They have no idea what you do while they are gone they just know that they come home, the house is clean, dinner is cooking, and they have clean clothes to wear.  They have no concept of exactly what type of miracles you had to perform in order to do those tasks.  Communication is key in sharing with them exactly what it took to get it all done.  They don’t know that you had to hold a screaming baby in one hand while running the vacuum with the other.  They don’t know that you had to keep a busy toddler from throwing all the laundry on the floor before, and after,  you had a chance to fold it.  They don’t know that you were busy body blocking the kids from touching the oven while trying not to burn the hamburger you had cooking on the stove.  Your partner will most likely tell you about their day, shouldn’t you tell them about yours?

Parenthood is such an ever evolving process.  Just when you think you have found your “comfort zone” something changes. A new job, a new milestone, a new baby.  Communication is essential to your emotional survival.  If you cannot communicate about how stressed you are and how you need a “day off” as well, your relationship and your kids are going to suffer.  Yes, it is so important for both partners to have time alone. I look forward to it, even if it is just to go grocery shopping or to go to school to volunteer.  When I am gone, I find myself looking forward to returning home…later.

More importantly, it is imperative for you to say to your partner; hey, I know you are tired after a long week of working, I’ve had a long week too.  How about we go do something as a family to unwind?  Go to the park, go to the zoo, just go out and do something that you all enjoy.  You may be surprised how quickly both of you forget about how stressful your week was and exactly how wonderful your family is.

 

Freedom, Sweet Freedom

I was talking with a cousin the other day about raising kids.  Nothing scientific, hell there is nothing scientific about successful parenting.  We all know this gig is a total crap shoot.  We were over at my in-laws, which is only a mile away from mine, and the kids were outside playing.  The topic came up of raising kids in the country versus raising them in the city.  I may be somewhat biased here, but I do believe that I may have the upper hand. Being a born and bred “city” girl, I never in a million years thought that living in the country, isolated, seemingly alone, would be something that would even interest me.  I was so used to having a grocery store 5 minutes away.  Want to go to a movie but it starts in 30 minutes?  No problem, just hop in the car and you can make it.  When we lived in North Carolina and Farmer Bob was “working for the man”, we were set up in a nice double wide in the middle of nowhere.  Our nearest neighbor was at least 2 miles away and I had to drive 30 minutes just to get to my teaching job.  It is here that I quickly learned to appreciate the space, the solitude, the freedom.

We did spend a short stint back in “civilization” with neighbors and fences, but I think we both felt uncomfortable.  The constant feeling of someone watching you, knowing what you are doing.  Wondering if people were looking in your windows, criticizing how bad your yard looks, or the fact that your house needs a paint job.  Afraid that someone might hear you raise your voice at either your spouse or your children when the windows are open, question why you let your boy drop his pants in the front yard to pee, why your girl just pooped on the sidewalk, or why you left your 2 year old in the backyard by herself for 2 minutes while you go pee, in an actual toilet.

Now that we are back in the country, I can NOT imagine a better place to raise children.  I remember reading People I Want to Punch in the Throat’s blog on raising free range children a while back, and couldn’t help but laugh to myself that my littles may just be as “free range” as it gets.  When you are surrounded by this:

Outside

 

and this:

Outside 2

 

 

and this is where you ride your bike:

 

Bikes

 

and go for wagon rides

Wagons

We are the ultimate in “free range”.  Helmets and knee pads are not required here, hell, if we see a car we are caught off guard.  Pavement?  We have none.  We do have a couple of helmets, but PITA wears them more for entertainment purposes than for safety.  My kids play outside unsupervised *GASP* at times.  Mainly because momma has things to do, you know what I mean, bathrooms to clean, beds to make, vacuum to run.  My littles have freedom.

Freedom to explore, to move, to breathe, to find themselves.  For this I am grateful.  We have tree forts and hidey holes, all kid made of course.  They ask, make that BEG,  to  go outside and play, to ride bikes, to explore.  They love it and I can’t complain, or say no.

I know that the isolationism is not for everyone.  Some just need the social interaction not just for themselves, but for their kids.  I could not imagine living anywhere else.  Somewhere my kids are kept in by fences and needed to be watched at every moment.  As Farmer Bob and I drive through neighborhoods, we shake our heads at the moms standing grumpily in their driveways watching their kids play, keeping them from riding into the street or throwing that ball into the neighbor’s window.  Irritated that they have to stand out there, supervising every move.  Not enjoying themselves one bit.  Our kids have friends over to play, and we never see them.  They stay outside and they entertain themselves.  They make another room in the fort or they explore in the trees.  They play a game of baseball or they play in the mud.  They have the chance to play and it really is heaven.  Not only for them, but for me as well.  I love that they have the ability to explore on their own if they choose or to ask me for some guidance if they want to.

Our kids will sometimes, not as often now, but every once in awhile ask when we are moving to “town”.  Our response, NEVER!!!  I know that now they have a hard time appreciating the freedom that they have out here at their ages, but someday they will.  I hope that they want to give their kids the same freedom that they enjoy.   The freedom to explore, to learn, to be themselves.  I can think of no better gift to give them.