Thursday, May 27, 2010
I don't know that anyone else will ever read me; I'd be lying if I said I didn't want them to. You don't write if you don't want someone to read what you've written. But for now, I'll just have to learn to be satisfied with finally having a venue in which I truly get to be honest; a place where I can be myself without having to worry about watching what I say so I don't hurt someone's feelings. That's just refreshing.
So, for those of you (Keri, LOL!) who don't know me or these precious sources of my inspiration, I thought I'd provide a sneak peek into my life. The slide show posted is a glimpse of our life. My oldest boys Josh & Cale spend most of the year in Louisiana with their father and so some of the pictures are from there and the rest are from Florida where I am with Jason and my youngest two kids, Elena & Ian.
Until next time!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Do you ever have one of those days where you question everything? Your abilities? Your reason for being? And just get F@#KING pissed off about it? (paraphrased)
I gave her a very specific list of instructions on how to deal with said type of day & relieve stress:
1. Have a very stiff drink.
3. Take a very hot shower and make sure to wash your hair and shave (whatever you shave) in order to delay getting out of shower.
*I should note here that all of the above steps should be taken while your favorite music is blaring. Feel free to sing at the top of your lungs, cuss, cry or scream as needed.
4. Turn off music (and everything else that may be on); make sure that there is total silence and darkness.
5. Take a Xanax and a nap.
6. It will all be a little bit better when you wake up. And, if not, at least you will have gotten an orgasm, a shower & a nap out of the day.
She laughed. My job done. So today it's my turn.
I have yet to take my own steps as listed above, as I prefer a partner in my stress relief, not to mention, I'm working. But I'm also, really pissed off.
My daughter, oh my precious little baby girl, is going to be the slow and painful death of me. She's six and has developed the masterful habit of only eating as many foods as years in her short little life. Not kidding you. She eats potatoes, pound cake, powdered donuts, noodle soup, Land O Lakes White American Cheese, and Sprite. I can't tell you how proud I am that my daughter is a food racist; especially since she is of Puerto Rican, Mexican & Irish descent. Should you think I exaggerate, please feel free to ask the school custodian who's had the pleasure of cleaning up her vomit, because she smelled a "stinky food" in the cafeteria on several occasions.
Her fabulous little habits are encouraged by her other primary caregivers; whom, unfortunately, share many of the same issues. After six years of this crap, I've had enough. Her little brother Ian, who is now 3, is beginning to exhibit many signs of following in her footsteps and we can't even go to a normal restaurant (like Sonic or Chili's...just kidding) without there being a major emotional trauma over the menu. So, I've had to declare war on my daughter's habits, her other caregivers, and our way of life as we know it.
I've spent the morning at the Dollar Store stocking up on positive reinforcements for the battle to come (princess stickers, fake jewelry, and all the other "Hooray, you ate a carrot without puking!" items a Mom could want). I've let her Dad and her Grandma know that after tomorrow afternoon, she will be spending the last two weeks after school with me and then all summer with her Dad in the mornings and with me in the afternoons and nights. No more pound cake and donuts at Grandma's. No more hunger strikes at school just so she gets crap to eat later. No more guilt tripping down to diabetes lane. I have set the perimeters; I have done my research and have printed out the USDA's Dietary Guidelines for Americans (for Children) (www.teamnutrition.gov) We are climbing to the top of a (food) pyramid and planting a flag this summer. I am DONE!
Whew! That felt good!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
There are times, when I feel like an island unto myself. Married twice & both failed. Like organ transplants gone wrong; we just didn't work. It was liking trying to put a kidney where a heart should have gone. Both times. Ok, maybe the second time was more like trying to put an ass where a head should have gone, but you get the point. Either way, when I want to wallow in my failure, I can sit in a bathtub filled to the brim with misery and chardonnay and think about what a failure I am and how my kids must be so ashamed of their scarlet mother. But then I stop and think about the several other people I personally know that have experienced the same thing and remind myself that statistically my kids should be able to find at least one other kid to sit with in the lunch room. Right?
I am now in the midst of an attempt at relationship #3. This one is different. How do I know you ask? Well, Jason (that's my boyfriend, not my therapist) and I have discussed it and these are the points we've decided are critical in setting this one apart from the others:
- I'm 33 not 17 and making all the decisions on my own and not under duress or need to move out of my parents house.
- I'm not knocked up and trying to do the honorable thing.
- We've been good friends for over 2 years and took the time to get to know each other's crap before really committing to anything too serious.
- He's fully aware (and reminded at least monthly) that I come with a matching set of designer baggage that I'm not likely to unpack anytime in the next 20 years.
- He's met both of my ex's. He can handle ex #1's arrogant assumptions about how we "should" be living our life with amazing ease and gets along pretty well with ex #2.
- He knows the rules about my pillows & toothbrush and follows them.
- He is absolutely amazing with all 4 of the kids and they adore him.
- He is absolutely amazing...period.
Right now, he's not working. He's been looking for work since we were both let go from our jobs on the same day, from the same company last October. I've been working as a nanny for 3 months now and we've made some big changes in our lives to keep life moving. For the most part, we deal with it; but some days are harder than others. Yesterday was one of those and I may have handled it poorly. In the midst of texting back and forth, we were talking about the burden of me having the only income & I told him to shut up. The following conversation ensued:
Jason: "Sorry I don't have a job yet. I feel like I'm putting all the financial responsibility on you and that's not fair."
Me: "Shut up."
Jason: "Shut up what? Are you tired of hearing me talk about it and want more action? Or shut I'm being stupid?"
Me: "Just shut up...you talk too much!"
Jason: "Ouch."When he got home a few hours later after teaching karate, he was very quiet. I knew what I'd done. I knew it when I did it. I was exhausted and frustrated and have been working really long hours; but it was no excuse for doing nothing more than just being a bitch. What I should have said was;
"You are being stupid. You will find a job soon enough; in the meantime, we are doing ok. We've made it this far and we'll just keep doing what we've been doing."
This morning, after I read my friend's email. I realized, yet again, that I am really lucky to have him (in spite of myself), and that sometimes, I talk too much.
Monday, May 24, 2010
I now know why I can't get it done, and it's no one's fault but my own.
I just spent the past hour & a half (not kidding), writing my first post; albeit, interrupted by putting one kid to bed, and rubbing another's eczema down with hydrocortisone cream & then setting him up to play Lego Batman on XBox well passed his bedtime, tripping over a dog toy, yelling at one of the dogs for farting in a house WAY too small to contain a 105 lb. dog fart, getting another beer, peeing, and then...wait for it, it's good.
I finish writing and preview. And then what do I do? I close the GD tab.
Let that sink in for a second.
For anyone who's ever written a paper for school, or an angry (or even really good loving) email, and then accidentally deleted the damn thing; I feel your pain.
Oh well, I guess, now you know why I'm a self labeled dysfunctional mom. Ugh.