Meredith Grey and I have a lot in common. But not really.

I totally forgot to put make-up on yesterday.  And I went all the way to Alex's ortho appointment like that.  With just moisturizer on my face.  Out in public for all the world to see. 

The day before that, I forgot to put on deodorant, and I realized it when I was glancing around the checkout aisle at the grocery store trying to figure out who had a less than fragrant armpit, and it occurred to me that it was me.  It was my armpit that was less than fragrant.  Out in public for all the world to smell.

And then last week, I messed up my entire shower routine.  Like you know how you get in the shower, wash your face, then wash your body, then wash your hair?  Well, I totally screwed up and started washing my hair first.  Then I was like, well now how am I going to make this right?  How am I supposed to wash my face after my hair?  What if my facial scrub gets in my hair then I have to re-wash?  Gah!

It was quite a dilemma.

The point is guys, I am pretty sure I have early onset Alzheimer's.  Like Meredith Grey.  Of Grey's Anatomy.  And that is nothing to joke about.  All of the forgetting stuff was why I was thinking that Meredith Grey and I have a lot in common then I remembered that I'm not a doctor.  And I don't live in Seattle with a brain sugeon with lustrous black hair and a bunch of my medical student friends that seem to have a ton of crazy sex everywhere in the world.  And I definitely am not a skinny twig with an oddly shaped face.  But I was thinking why else have I been so forgetful?

I guess it could be that I am tired and have been sleeping kind of bad.  I have had a sick kid or sick husband every week for what seems like a lot of weeks in a row.  And their sickness involved them thoughtlessly noisily hacking up a lung all night long.  Even after lots of good anti-hack meds.  I would have taken a few choice meds myself, but then my mom ears would be off, and I need my mom ears on in case anyone cries or falls out of bed.

Alex never wakes up when someone cries or falls out of bed.  Well, actually, he is really good at pretending he didn't wake up.  Then the next morning when he hops out of bed all chipper and well rested, he's like, "Oh you were up eleventeen times with Brooke last night??  You're such a great mother.  Why do you look like you're going to stab me in the eyeball with a fork?"

And then I stifle my urge to stab him in the eyeball with a fork.

So I have it narrowed down to either (a) I have early onset Alzheimer's, (b) I'm just exceptionally tired, or (c)  I'm not very young anymore.  And the truth is, people get a little forgetful when they aren't very young anymore.

Young = remembering to put on your makeup, remembering your deoderant and remembering how your shower routine has gone for your entire life.

Y is for forever Young.

OK. Here's the boring deal.

It's been a couple of rough days around here.  For me, for Alex, for Brooke.  Especially for Brooke.

Brooke's been dealing with a chest cold and a UTI, and let's just say none of us have gotten much sleep.  I felt really sorry for my poor girl.  She has never been a kid to throw a temper tantrum, but she gets crazy when her nose is stuffy, and she really flips out.  Almost to the point of passing out.  So I have to hold her and scratch her back and sing to her to calm her down.  A lot of times.  In the night.  When I am used to sleeping at those hours. 


I'm feeling a little like I did when I had a newborn.  Kinda cranky, exhausted, fat, ugly... oh wait.  Probably the lack of sleep didn't make me feel like an ugly fatso.


Anyway, I haven't had the energy to do much more than like prop open my eyelids.  So that is why my posting is a little on the lame side.  I am also behind on reading all of the blogs that I like to read.  Which is doubly lame.

Today is a little better and Brookie went back to school.  Her antibiotics kicked in and she actually slept sort of OK and woke up a little cheerful, which is great.  

Of course I had to bring another kid to an ortho appointment this morning, but that is what I do.  I was so excited today when the orthodontist told me we had maybe three more appointments til Alex is officially done.  And then he gets his before and after picture on the wall.  His after is really great.  I love our ortho.  Woo hoo!

So here's the deal.  Tired, cranky mom = boring, non existent posts.  I think tomorrow will be a better day, so please stick with me.

wrapping up a busy last week.

Last week was super busy.  I had a bunch of time consuming stuff to do every single day.  And that is rather shocking.  Because usually my weekdays are relatively quiet and uneventful.  Which I have come to appreciate.


But the stuff that I had to do made me really happy because the majority of them revolved around things my kids had going on, and I love going to see them do their thing.


Tuesday, Meg was in a little school play/musical, and she was so cute.  She was disappointed because she only got one line.  I tried to remind her that the first few school shows Kara was in, she didn't have any lines.  And in about 6 weeks, my baby Kara will be graduating from college with a theater degree!  Then she'll be off to NYC, to see if she can make it as an actress/singer. 

I had a ton of camera issues.  My new camera is still really confusing to me, and unfortunately someone MESSED WITH THE SETTINGS, so when I went to use it at Meg's play, I couldn't get it to focus right.  And of course it is a little on the technical side, so I couldn't figure out how to fix it.  Ugh.

Pretty much one of the only semi clear shots I got of Megan

Brenna, Anya and Megan (thanks Raina!)

Then Thursday, Brooke was in the Alphabet Parade, which is a little production that the Kindergartner's put on every year.  Each child gets a letter, and they have to dress up in or bring in something representing their letter.  Then they parade across the stage and tell what they are on the microphone.  They wrap up with a few alphabet-type songs.  It is so cute.  They also have to bring in a snack to share that starts with their letter. 

Brooke was P.  Thank Cod she wasn't x.  You all know my issues with the letter x.  She was so excited about being in the parade.  It took her weeks to finally settle on what she wanted to be and she ended up going with Purplicious.  She was all decked out in purple and carried the Purplicious book.

I really liked the grapes, the hammer and the owl too.  They were all so cute.

Then Thursday night, Alex went to a March Madness dance at school.  He had to get all dressed up.  He is funny, he loves to wear suits.   He used to wear suits and ties to pre-school.  And little man loafers.  Now  he is wearing his Dad's shoes and ties.  He's getting so grown up...


I tied that tie, thankyouverymuch



Alex, surrounded by the ladies



Bridgett and Alex are cousins.  They are both 13 and are really close friends.

So anyway, that was only part of the busy last week that I am sharing.  I won't bore you with the uber exciting pictures from the trips to the orthodontist, pediatrician and nutritionist.  You're welcome.

phobias, butt copies and wonder drugs

Did you know that X is the third least common letter in the alphabet? 


That's what makes it kind of hard to come up with super interesting topics that focus on words that start with the letter X for Alphabe-Thursday. 


Initially, I thought I could go with xanax.  Because I've heard some really great things about that wonder drug.  But unfortunately, I do not take xanax the wonder drug, so I couldn't realistically discuss it with authority.  Now if you wanted to talk Prevacid, I'd be all over it.  But we aren't on P, obviously.


Then I was kind of thinking if I wanted to talk about xenophobia, that could be a riveting post.  Xenophobia, for all of you people out there who don't know about phobias, is the fear and/or hatred of foreigners.  Or anything foreign.  Who knew that could even be a phobia?  Now, I do have a tiny little hatred for foreign voices that call me to talk about credit cards and various other things like Karate.  Or as Cod is my witness, that foreign voice that I had to talk to when I called Best Buy about a problem that I had with my account -- and I had to repeat myself SEVERAL TIMES before she even remotely understood what I was saying.  And when she answered me, she needed to repeat herself SEVERAL TIMES before I even remotely understood what she was saying.  I did feel a snitch xenophobic after that call.  Yes, yes I did.  But I guess it's not to the point of consistently phobic.  So I scrapped that idea.


I could have gone with xerox.  Because even though it's a brand, I think it still pretty much shows up in the dictionary.  But then I was all like, what could I possibly discuss about xeroxes that would be the least bit interesting or funny.  Xeroxing your butt is a funny topic.  But how far can you really go with that?  I mean once you get to the part where you xeroxed your butt, it's pretty much over from there.  Unless your boss walked in right in mid-butt xeroxing moment.  Then there might be more of a story to tell.

There are really hardly any x words that your average person would even know the definitions of.  Not that any of us could be considered average of course.   Certainly we are all above average, right guys?  I mean, if you were an eye doctor, I bet you might know a few obscure X words.  Because in my extensive X research, I found a couple of x words that kind of mean something that has to do with dry eyes.

Oh my Cod, the X-citement of dry eyes is just about killing me.

OK, enough with the x.  I'm all about the Y.  Y is where it's at.  I'll be back next week to talk up a y word.

laura ingalls and the good old days

**semi Big Love Spoiler alert**

So we were waiting for the series finale of Big Love to come on the other night, (Can you believe how that ended??!  I was appalled.  Alex couldn't sleep, he was devastated.  We had to rewind a few times so I could convince him that Bill was actually dead, not just in prison.  We also had to discuss the ending for the past few days.  We were very invested obviously.)  and before the show came on, there was a preview of some new period show.  Not as in menstrual period, I mean like time period.


So of course Alex was like, I want to watch that!  And I was all, whatevs hon, go for it.  He loves those kinds of shows -- the ones where it was the olden days and people had snarly hair and rotten teeth and wore bear skin and killed each other with bows and arrows and stuff.


So I asked him if he could go back in time to live in any period, which would it be.  And he took his time thinking.  Because he is very thoughtful like that.  He doesn't just blurt out a not well though out response usually.  Unlike me.  Which is something that can occasionally get me in trouble.  And made fun of.

 So while he was thinking, I said that I wanted to live back when Laura Ingalls lived.  I want to live in a shack with Pa.  And run down hill in a field with my sisters and make quilts and go to a one room school where the teacher smells like lemon verbena.  Ah.  The simple life.


Then he was all like, "Didn't Mary get sick and go blind?  I  would never be able to live in a time where there wasn't medicine.  Imagine if I got strep throat back then?!  And my allergies and asthma?  I'd be dead."

And he raised a good point.  As much as I love the Laura Ingalls live off the land time period, medical stuff was pretty much reduced to the quacks who drove around their little carriages from town to town selling "medicine" to the poor gullible people.  Wait. I think I am kind of mixing memories of Pete's Dragon with Little House on the Prairie.  Anyway. I think those medicine quacks must have been the first generation of scammers!  And I'm pretty sure none of those scammers sold Prevacid. 

Speaking of Little House on the Prairie, I was so excited when we went on our last road trip, because I got the DVD set of the first few seasons of the show.  I was going to force my kids to watch it, because they were going to be locked in the car for the next twelve hours.  We didn't even make it through the first episode before they were all like, really Mom?  Those lame-o brats don't know good TV when they see it.

So the point of this windy story was to tell you that Alex decided he wanted to live in the 60's.  And of course I got side tracked, because that is what I do.  Sorry.  So I was all, what?  Why would you want to live in the 60's?  That's boring.  I practically did live in the sixties.  I was one year away from living in the sixties and it looked pretty boring from my stroller.  And he was all, there weren't any wars starting up, everyone was trying to be peaceful.

That's so Alex.  Peaceful, non-confrontational guy that he is.  But I think he forgot about a few key non-peaceful and highly confrontational things that happened in the sixties.  *Like Cuba and the Bay of Pigs, and that little issue between the US and the Soviet Union.  Then of course there was the incident where the President of the US was assassinated, followed by the assassination of Malcom X and MLK Jr.  And hello, Vietnam was still going strong!  Maybe the history major meant to say the seventies.  Except he did live in the seventies.

The more I think about it, living in the sixties would have been pretty scary.  I guess I would rather chance it with Laura Ingalls and no medicine for my freaking redonkulous heartburn.

Doesn't Pa look black in this picture?

*I was going to pretend that I came up with all of those historical incidents in my own head because that would have made me look really smart and educated.  Didn't I so sound like I knew what I was talking about guys??  But I am here to admit that I googled non-peaceful events in the sixties so I could tell Alex he was a dumbass for picking the boring old sixties and he should pick another time period.  See how honest I am?  PS:  I still think that he should have remembered about all of those things because he is way smarter than me.  And he happened to get his undergrad degree in History.

I Just Threw up in my Mouth a Little

A few random thoughts:

Fruit Flies suck ass. How come even after I removed all of the fruit and moisture in my kitchen they are still kamikaze flying in my face? Of course I googled how to get rid of stupid fruit flies and none of the so-called solutions seem to work well. Then I read the part that said fruit flies inject their eggs into the fruit they are hanging out on. In other words, every time I happily bite into a banana, I am also munching on fly eggs or larvae or some other gross crap. That's where I threw up in my mouth a little. No really. Some things are better left un-learned. I am, in fact, sorry I just had to share that disgusting bit of information with you.




I really like that movie Hairspray. I'm not sure why I was so resistant to watching it in the first place. I wonder if it is still on Broadway, because it would be great to see the live version. Now that is something that wouldn't make me puke if I googled it.

I think my all consuming love of Vampire Diaries is bordering on unhealthy.


Why in Cod's name would anyone choose to be roasted? Like, does roasting someone mean that everyone really likes them? I mean, all of the roasters slam the crap out of the roastees for an hour and a half, then smile and hug each other or shake hands when it's over. Like, really? If you just sat there and talked crap about me and my family and the things that are important to me, I pretty much think I'd want to go all blanket party on you.




Speaking of parties, one of my favorite parts of the movie Anchorman is when Steve Carell's character Brick is trying to invite Veronica Corningstone to a pants party. Then she says, "Are you trying to tell me there's a party in your pants and I'm invited?" and he says something like "Yes. Yes I am." bahahah. That makes me laugh every single time I see it.


What if I started swearing more often? Like, what if I inserted blanking swear words every other blanking time I said a blank blank word? I think that might just blanking shock people. Sometimes I really want to say the F word out loud. My little kids think the S word is "Shut up." That just proves how much we don't effing swear in our house.  I might have a situation with swearing.  Like, I sure seem to talk about it a lot, don't I?


I am pretty darned sure that I could walk around in a bookstore all day and be completely happy.

my sister tends to date asshats

Nah.  It's not really that bad.  I was just trying to get you interested and use the word asshat in a sentence.  WINNER!

But anyway, my sister is now single, ready to mingle.  She has two girls - a red head and a blondie.  Not sure why that's relevant, but I'm just painting a picture here guys.  So my single sister with a red headed (non-step)child tends to gravitate toward a "type."

And that type is usually the tattooed type.  Sometimes baldish and almost always tattooed.  No, I have nothing against tattoos, or baldness in general.  I married bald.  Well, I didn't marry bald, I married hair that gradually turned into bald.  Oh, you get what I mean.  Right?

So Indi gravitates toward the tattooed.  And one day, not too long ago, my brother-in-law John challenged us to come up with a guy that we knew personally that was tattooed but wasn't somewhat of a jackass.  His theory is that guys with tattoos are typically jerks.  He also generalizes that all guys who have tattoos drive pick up trucks.  But that wasn't part of the challenge.

So anyway, we sat there, we thought, we pondered while sipping our coffee/wine/tea/diet coke, we threw out some names.  And guess what??  Unless we were missing something, we couldn't come up with one single tattooed guy that we knew that wasn't somewhat dickish.

So now, I am wondering if there is a correlation.  Does tattoo automatically= jackass?  Certainly that tattooed guy who was married to Sandra Bullock but cheated on her with a tattooed girl while they were adopting a baby is a jackass.  But to be fair, he is only one guy. 

I want to ask all of the nice guys that I know if they have a hidden tattoo on them somewhere so I can prove John wrong.  I'll probably have to get photographic evidence for John to believe me.

It is a lofty goal of mine to sometimes prove John wrong.  Because most of the time he's right and it can get a little irritating.

when in rome

"Yes, go on."


Ahaha.  I am a fool for Anchorman.  Sometimes I could be considered a fool in general, but whatever, you say tomayto, I say tomayto too.

So something totally cool happened today.  And it happens to do with me stumbling on this great blog which, in turn, made me stumble on to a couple of other great blogs.  Are you following me?  That's OK if you're not, because let's face it.  I can be confusing on occasion.  But anyway, I love stumbling across cool blogs!  It makes me very happy, and then alternately stressed.  Because really, there is only so much time in the day to devote to reading blogs.  And I am pretty much 3 great blogs away from tipping that scale from acceptable to the opposite of acceptable.

Anyway.


You know how every so often you have to do a little facebook purging?  Like you go through your friends and sort of stealthily delete the ones that really aren't your friends but you accepted them because they friended you and you are sort of nice?  Well, I haven't actually done that yet, for fear of being a meanie, but I have thought about facebook purging.  And I think I need to purge some of my blogroll too.  I pretty much focus of a large handful of blogs that interest me, and even though it looks like I follow a ridiculous amount of blogs, I don't read them all.  Because who has time to read 196 posts a day?  me Not me.  Because I have a lot going on.

So, the point of this post, "when in rome," is about writing a mini bucket list so I can try to win a book.  And not just any old book either.  A brand newly published book by a brand newly published author and fellow blogger, Melanie Jacobson.  If you click on this link, http://melaniejacobson.net/, you can read the first chapter.  Which is exactly what I did.  The book looks like some good beach reading, and it came highly recommended by my friend Erin.  So I am going all out to try to be a winner.  WINNER! 

So that's the cool thing that happened today.  Well, that and the fact that my son's vuvuzela turned up under a melted pile of snow in the yard (yippee).

So, without further ado,

My mini bucket list of things that I want to do before I don't want to do them anymore:

1.  Go on a getaway out west.
2.  Learn how to knit.
3.  Make a real cheesecake with the pan that comes apart on the edges.
4.  Go to a writer's and/or photography conference or workshop.
5.  Meet and moviestar make out with Damien Rice.  (Did I just say that out loud?)
6.  Bike ride really far.

There it is.  Rather lame, I know.  I want to pull together a real bucket list though.  Because everyone's doing it!  No, really because I think it's a neat idea.  And because I love lists.  And I love to cross things off lists. 

And I love lamp.

*sorry, I couldn't help ending with an Anchorman quote.

jello could fracture a union

So last night, Alex rolls in at 9:37 pm talking about his day.  Meanwhile, I have just discovered that my very special treat is nowhere to be found.  And how am I supposed to sit on the couch and watch TV without my very special treat?  It was a shocking discovery, I tell you.  And a discovery that made me feel a snitch cranky.

Me: “I have one thing to say to you, and one thing only.”


Hon with a sideways glance: “That I am handsome?”


Me: “No. Not that you are handsome. That it seems to me that someone took my last jello without mentioning it to me. Do you have anything you want to say about that?”


Alex, one of the people in this house who knows better than to take my jello: “Ohhhh! Dad!”


Hon after a long pause: “I plead the fifth?”


Me: “You don’t get the luxury of pleading the fifth. We are not in a court of law.”


Alex, loving this conversation: “Ohhhhh! Dad!”


Hon : “I am very important! I have many leather bound books.”


Me: “You are not Ron Burgundy.”


Hon: “I love lamp?”


Me: ”Stay away from my jello!”


Hon: “I’m 72% sure that I love you.”


Me: “We are definitely in a fight.”

I want to copyright "Duh. Winning."

**WARNING**  This post is heavily Charlie Sheen-ified.  Proceed with caution.

If it hasn't already happened, I am pretty sure I want to copyright "Duh. Winning."  Because, you know, obviously.  Duh.


Actually, I hate when people say duh.  Sorry if you're an offender and now I have offended you with my offense.  But I can't help it.  I think it is so condescending.  Which I assume is the point of saying it in the first place.


If one of my kids said duh to me they would be marched right up to their rooms.  Quickly.

But seriously, Charlie Sheen?  He is definitely having a bit of a breakdown I think.  It's like watching a train wreck that's about to happen.  You just can't look away.  The funny thing is though, through all of his weird, wired, crazy freak show interviews and stuff, he has said some of the funniest things I have ever heard.  Things that people will seriously copyright and make money on, if they haven't already.  Like Tiger blood and Adonis DNA?  Really?  I think I want to put "Total bitchin' rockstar from Mars" on a t-shirt.   I'm pretty sure it would sell. 

I also particularly like, "You can't process me with a normal brain," and "If you're a part of my family, I will love you violently."  Uh.  I'm scared?

Or how about, "Resentments are the rocket fuel that lives in the tip of my saber."  That's my personal favorite.   Because, wtf Chuck?  Like what are you talking about?!  You couldn't make that stuff up.


Trust me, I don't seek out his interviews, but he is like, everywhere. 

Nobody can escape Charlie Sheen.  He's a Warlock.

I'm posting this at Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday.  We are on W. Winner.  Duh.

 

I would NOT have made a great dentist

I have an irrational fear of wiggly teeth and pulling teeth, and looking at the gross bloodyish spot that the tooth used to be in before it came out.



I am not even kidding guys.  This makes me want to throw up.  Like, right now.

Let me rephrase that.  Touching a wiggly tooth will most definitely make me retch.  You know, the pleasant feeling you get when you almost throw up.  Incidentally I had the spits the other day for no apparent reason.  TMI?

So yeah, pretty much the majority of my fears are irrational.  Probably one of the only rational ones is sharks/swimming in the dark in the deep end.  That is very rational, obviously.

So the whole 7 year old losing the teeth thing isn't exactly the stage that excites me too much.  Or my eleven year old loosing a BIG FAT MOLAR recently.  Ugh.  Seriously feel queasy as we speak/write/read.

It's funny because when I was in nursing school and on surgical rotation, I totally enjoyed watching several pretty bloody and gross surgeries being performed.  Like a hysterectomy.  So cool!  The doctor's hand was so deep inside this lady's belly, it was crazy.  Remind me never to get a hysterectomy.  And I saw an old man get a circumcision once.  Which was pretty gross, because like, Grandpa penis, but other than that, it didn't make me want to puke or anything.   I remember changing a dressing on a bed sore that was the size of a dinner plate.  I am not even kidding guys.  I actually really found it more interesting than puke-worthy.

I really wish I could have seen my C-section.  If I was less scared of my immanent death and the immanent death of my littlest peanut, I might have requested to somehow be able to watch.  I mean, how cool would that have been to see??  Since it wasn't exactly a planned c-section, I didn't have time to even think about it though. 

Anyway, I always thought it was kind of funny that teeth are the thing that get me.  Wounds, gashes, bloody trips to the ER?  No problem at all.  Wiggly teeth?  I'm so out of there. 

I guess it's safe to say that becoming a dentist is definitely not in my future. 

Shocking ski lift behavior.

So my son Alex, he is very smooth.  If I were his age and he were his age and I knew him and we were in school together, I would be the girl who didn't fall for his crap. 


But unfortunately, there aren't too many girls his age with my smarts. 


Don't get me wrong.  I love my boy with everything in me, but he is such a leader-onner, such a drag you a long-er.  He breaks hearts left and right that kid.  But honestly, I don't think he does it maliciously.  He just likes girls.  All of them pretty much.  And to be honest with you, he really has a lot of friends that are girls.

I am glad that he doesn't have a girlfriend.  Seriously.  Because girls are very hm... advanced around here.  And rather hm... pushy.  And they seem to love my kid.  A little too much.

A few weeks ago, my son was at ski club - he and his buddies were on a ski lift, and two other girls from another school hopped on with them.  So on the way up the mountain, one of the girls said she had breast implants. (My son is 13)  So she then proceeded to pull her shirt up and flash the three teen-aged boys her boobs. (Once again, my son is 13).  Of course Alex told me this as soon as he walked in the door.  He tells me everything.  Too much sometimes.  Before he told me, he starts out with, "Don't be mad Mom, but..."

So I was appalled, but I put on my straight face and asked him what he did.  And he said, "Well I didn't know what to do!  So I just looked at Andrew and August like (makes a shocked face)!  Everyone on the bus was talking about it!"

Of course my husband looked at him like he was giving him mental high fives.  Because he is a lecherous pig.  So I had to give my husband a very evil eye.  And then my husband pulled his shit together like a good dad would and told him it was inappropriate blahblahblah.  And he was like, "But I didn't do anything!  What was I supposed to do?"

We didn't really have an answer for that, because really, he was on a ski lift for cod's sake.  Was he supposed to jump off?  And he is a 13 year old walking bag of hormones, so I'm not exactly sure what I should have said.  I did tell him that obviously the girl was wrong to show him her boobs, and also that he and his friends didn't need to tell everyone in the world about it.

So anyway, who does that???  Is that what I should expect out of teen-aged girls these days? 

I might have to look into home schooling.

if you were hip, you wouldn't use the word hip.

I hate when people try too hard to be cool.  To be hip, to be with it.  Like it's so obvious when it's not authentic.


If you were hip, you wouldn't really use the word hip, would you?


I think actually being cool is having a mixture of confidence, authenticity and attitude.  Like, an "I don't care what you think of me," attitude.  And confident originality.


That's so not me.


I am not the least bit cool.  98.6% of the time I am pretty much a blundering idiot.

I'm not super confident, and I even though I might act like I don't care what you think of me, I really do on the inside.  Don't tell anyone.  But I do think I am very authentic.  So I guess by my definition, I am approximately 1/3 cool, 2/3 socially awkward.


Back in the day, when I guess I was semi-cool,  I felt like a fraud.  If I ever came off as confident or original, or like I had an attitude, it was totally from a different place than authentic.  It was good acting at its best, and that's pretty much it.

But who really is that confident anyway?  Does anyone really, truly not care what other people think of them?  We all have to have some measure of insecurity, somewhere.  Don't we? 

I remember when I was in high school, there was this girl.  She was so pretty, and so smart and so athletic.  She so looked like she had everything that any girl could want.  There was never a day that she didn't look great, pulled together, like everything was that easy.  She was cool.  I was quietly envious of her bold confidence, I wished I could be like that.  As grown ups, we are friends.  And she recently mentioned that she often felt very insecure.  It kind of shocked all of us in the room, because you never would have known that.  

So how is it that even though she was probably just as insecure as I was, she could walk into a room with her head up, daring anyone to mess with her, and I would make a conscious effort to slide quietly in, hoping nobody would notice me?

I don't know where confidence comes from.  Like I really don't.  Is it learned?  Is it just in you?

I really want my kids to be confident.  One of my kids right now just tries so hard to fit in, it's almost painful to watch.  This one will just be devastated at anything that could be considered a slight, that someone doesn't want to be friends, that that someone doesn't want to play.  The worst part is, this child of mine is very likeable, very fun, funny and original with lots of great thoughts and ideas. 

It's hard to sit by and watch.  I have no idea how to teach her to be confident.

Do you think it's hard to play the air guitar?

Don't you think it's funny when people use air quotes?

Maybe they feel it gets their point across better?




I could get this for Abby!

My niece Abby used to use air quotes inappropriately, like when they really made no sense.  She was still trying to grasp the concept I guess.  She'd say something like, "Can you believe that for (insert air quotes now) Christmas, Julian wants an air guitar?!" (True story.  An air guitar was on my nephew's list one year.)

Like she was air quoting "Christmas."

It always makes me chuckle to myself when people do that.  Air quote I mean.

Speaking of air guitar, Alex actually pulled out an air harmonica the other day on the thruway.  We were rocking out to something cool, and he started air harmonica-ing.

He's very cool like that.

Speaking of air guitaring one final time, my sister used to go out with this guy, I can't name his name, because, what if Cod forbid he ever stumbled across this blog and thought I was making fun of him.  I mean, I am.  Making fun of him.  But I don't exactly want to make fun of him to his face.  Because that would be mean.  And it's not nice to be mean.  But anyway, she used to go out with this guy who air guitared all of the time and it was so embarrassing.  He was a Zeppelin fan, and he would play it incessantly on his car stereo.  He would get so into it.  Like, why.  Why must you do such a thing?

Incidentally, I see him around town every so often, and I have this insane desire to just turn up the volume on a random LZ tune, and see if he still does it.  I wonder if he taught his kids.

So do you think it's hard to play the air guitar?

A lot of times, I want to punch them in the face

*disclaimer* This is a little whiney.  Sorry.  But I am venting. And sometimes vents involve whining.  Or whining with wine.  And if wine is involved, I'll take the pinot.  A little ice would be good.

Something that I am kind of sensitive about is the fact that I don't work.

I always feel like I have to justify it.  Like, "We felt it was best for our family," or,  "We didn't want anyone else to raise our kids," or  "We are fortunate enough to be able to manage with one income," and then the old faithful, "Alex has such a crazy unusual schedule, there's no way we could make it work if both of us had jobs." Blahblahblah. 

We, of course, because if I said I, then it makes me sound like I don't want to work.  That it was all my decision.  And I get the feeling that some people in my life think that because I don't actually go to work (at a real job), I am lazy.

But the thing is, those are the facts.  And I totally resent it when people insinuate that I don't want to work.  Like I have no ambition, no drive, no need to do anything other than drop my kids off at school and sweep my fucking house all day.  Those are the people that I want to punch in the face.  But I don't.  Because I'm nice.  And controlled.  And I'm just a little bit scared that it would hurt my fist.

I wrestle with the desire to have a "real job" vs. the desire to be here to take care of my family all of the time.

The thing is, we made the conscious decision to let Alex's work be a priority. And in all honesty, sometimes I wonder if that was the best decision.  If it was fair, to me.  When Alex went to Law School, I still worked.  So did he.  He worked all day, then went to class at night.  It was a pretty brutal four years.  But me furthering my education definitely took a back seat.

And then more kids came and Alex's career became more demanding and we just fell into this pattern.  This pattern of me always being here, dealing with things because that was what was easiest.  And the sucky thing is, now I feel like it's too late for me.  I've been out of the work field for like 6 years now.  Who would want to hire me?

It's too late for me.

Partly because I have waffled for so long on what I really want to be when I grow up, but also because now I feel like I'm too old.  I know, I know.  Old people go back to college.  But I just feel like if I did, I'd be 45 (!!) when I finished.  Then what?  Get a "real job" when half the people out there are thinking retirement?  What if I couldn't hack college?  I've been out of school for so long, what if it was too hard?  What if I failed?

I have a ridiculous fear of failure.  So my usual M.O. is to just quit before I fail.  Which in actuality, is failure in itself.

And what do I want to be anyway?

Then the guilt comes.  The guilt of why isn't this enough.  Like really.  Why isn't this enough?

I just feel like something isn't right.  The balance is messed up and my side of the scale is empty.

I'm not jealous, or resentful.  Or maybe I am a little.  I certainly don't blame anyone.  I mean, I realize that it could be worse.  I realize that this is a stupid thing to complain about.  I realize how lucky I am. 

But I feel like life is too short.  I'm seeing that now.  My foot is one step closer to the grave every single day, and the reality is: I'm not 100% content.

I need to figure out what makes me happy.  Where my place is.  And what is missing.  As much as I love being a mother and a wife, I think I need something else too, for just me.  And I shouldn't feel bad for wanting/needing that, to make me complete.

So why is it that I feel like I sound like a selfish, whiney jerk?

This is my VENTING post, because we are on V at Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-thursday.

the cry

This is kind of how I feel today...

Is it mean to take a picture of your child when she is crying?

I don't know, I was sitting across the room, messing with my camera, and Brooke and Megan were playing.  I was taking pictures of them, fooling around with my new camera and the light and the settings.  Pretty much one minute they were laughing and the next, Brooke was crying.  Like out of the blue.

I finally got it out of her that she was crying because her skin hurt (it's very dry).  So I was trying to make her laugh by being silly.  And the light in the room was kind of pretty too.

Then she was like, "Take a picture of me crying!"

So, what's a Mom to do?

The cry only lasted a minute or two. 

Then they were back to messing around.

Then Brooke asked me to take a picture of her smiling her best smile.  So I did. 

And I took one of her sister too.

asshat

So, you know, I don't swear much.  I don't yell much.  I don't fight much.

I'm a pretty quiet, non-confrontational girl most of the time.  It takes a lot to get me in a tizzy.

Wait, let me clarify.  It takes absolutely nothing to get me in a mental tizzy.  I am in a mental tizzy pretty much constantly.  But a real live genuine tizzy, where I might get all fresh or mouthy with someone doesn't happen too often at all.  Realistically, maybe once a year or so.  And that's being generous.

Let me clarify one more time.  I can get fresh and mouthy with my husband more than once a year.  Because sometimes it is necessary for me to spew my thoughts and feelings on things that he does that bug me so I don't hate his guts.  And sometimes, that involves me being fresh and mouthy.  I think that is healthy.  To spew.  Occasionally.  Sorry hon.

I am so controlled in public though.

But I am waiting for the perfect opportunity to call someone an asshat.

Well.  I know it's pretty rude.  And I know I mentioned that I'm not really a name caller.  Or a (public) swearer.  But you have to admit, asshat is a great thing to call someone who is really being an ass(hat).

Don't you think?

I mean, I wonder who made it up.  (urbandictionary.com?) Who had the insight to put those two words that don't really go together, together?  And why do I find it so funny?

I'm 98.6% positive that it would make me feel better if I had to pull it out of my pocket and use it on someone.

I'll let you know if it happens.

i always knew those girl scouts had it out for me



Oh great...



They are here.



The resident Girl Scout isn't sure which cookie she should start with first.





Brooke knows exactly which one she is starting with.



I'm not indecisive at allwhen it comes to Girl Scout cookies.  Samoas had me at hello.



Unfortunately for me, just glancing at these bad boys will add pounds to my body.

Which Girl Scout cookie is irresistible to you?



Is it really that offensive to say Indians?

I hate worrying about being politically correct all of the time. 

Is it really that offensive to say Indians?  My sister Ali who is a second grade teacher, said that we have to call Indians Native Americans.  I'm sorry, but I think that's dumb.  Indians were Indians forever.  So what's the big freaking deal?  No offense to any Indians who might read my blog.  Maybe if an Indian does read my blog, they could explain if it is offensive or not and why.  Because I just don't get it.  Really.

And so like now I have to say "height challenged" if someone is short??  My husband is short-ish (we're eye to eye at about 5'7), and I call it like I see it.  I don't call him a midget.  I think midget sounds sort of derogatory, so I don't say it.  In fact, his shortness isn't even noticeable unless he's standing next to a super tall guy.  He doesn't look short, in my opinion.  Because he's not petite.  If he were petite, he might look short.  But he's kind of stocky, so his shortness gets thrown off balance by his build.  And what's wrong with the word "short" anyway?

I think the main thing is that people just need to be respectful and thoughtful of other people's feelings.  I am pretty much very against name calling.  Like, in all honesty, I remember calling my sister Ali flat as a board to get her upset when we were teenagers if we were in a fight.  For example, "At least I'm not as flat as a board!"  That's so mean!  And also really very unoriginal.  Sorry Al.  Probably it was because I always wished that I was as flat as a board.  Big boobs are definitely over rated in my opinion. 

So name calling is pretty unacceptable in my house.  Except for on occasion when I have to call one of the other adults who lives here an asshole.  But in my defense, it's almost always justified.  But really that is hardly ever.  And sometimes it's even said a little bit affectionately. 

One time I spell/called Kara the B word and I will never live it down.  I never actually said the B word, just spell/called her it.  In fact if my memory serves me correctly, I didn't necessarily spell/call her a B, I said, "you are acting like such a B."   You would have thought I lit her hair on fire and threw her off the back porch with how hurt and offended she was.  She wrote a huge entry about it in her diary.  In my defense, it was so very justified because she was being such a nasty teen-aged brat and pushing every freaking button that I had in me, but I do still feel guilty.  Sorry Kar.  Love you!  I don't think you are a B!

I'm not very violent at all.  I have never been in a real fight, unless if you consider pulling hair and pinching with my sisters when we were kids.  However I was definitely in a hair pulling stand off with one of my sisters in high school and it sure felt pretty violent.  And one time about six years ago I threw an Allen wrench at Alex in anger.  On the plus side, I have bad aim so there was never an Allen wrench to head connection.

Trust me, he deserved it.

And even though I may have been a little hormonal and pregnant at the time, it was absolutely necessary.  And I may even have screamed like an unrecognizable crazy person in the moment.  I do not feel proud.  Sorry hon.  I meant to miss your head. 

Wait.  All of a sudden this post went from my irritation at constantly feeling the pressure to be PC, to being a confessional about some of the not so finer moments in my life.

Well, in the spirit of confessing, I also once threw my sister Jenney's Puff the Magic Dragon record down the stairs and broke it because I was mad at her.  I know she cried and I felt so guilty but I don't even think I said sorry.  Because I was a defiant brat sometimes.  And I hated to admit I was wrong and I hated to say sorry.  But even though it might be about 30+ years late, sorry Jenney.  I'll never do it again.  I think I really learned my lesson.

I was going to buy Jenney a replacement Puff the Magic Dragon record on ebay and my nephew Jules (her son) beat me to it.  He stole my apology glory.  But that's OK.  I think she felt my verbal apology and accepted it.  And how cute is my apology-thieving nephew Jules anyway? 

This is such a random post.  I don't even know what to title it.

On a completely other subject, do you feel like I over-use commas when I write?  Sometimes my comma use really concerns me. 

oh my cod i put a jinx on modern family

This was the first email I found in my inbox this morning:

Can you please take Cameron out of your pocket, divorce Gloria's voice, leave Phil Dunphy alone and stop blogging about Modern Family.

When I say I want you to stop jinxing the show I mean it.... Or I will poke your eyes out!
The show has been great every week and then you blog about it and it stunk.

John


Well.  Number one, John actually read one of my posts and felt it worthy of some sort of response!  But number two, Oh my Cod I may have jinxed Modern Family.

 

My BIL John's email was referring to this post, when I spewed my love of all things Modern.  I actually thought the same exact thing last night as I sat on my couch watching it.  Because really, I typically laugh approximately 11-15 times every 15 minutes or so, and the laugh factor was not nearly as high last night.  I maybe only laughed a few times.

It must have been an off night for Cam, Phil and Gloria.  It has to be that.  I can't take one off night and just throw the whole family out of my line up.  That would be a crime.  I can't just let one lack luster performance make me break up with them forever (however, I may have done that in the past.  But that is the kind of post you might not want your mother to read).

And Kristina P, I know that I totally used all of my Wonder Twin powers to convince you to try out the show, but please excuse last night.  It isn't reflective of their usual comedic genius.  I know it sounds like I am just making excuses for Cam, Phil and Gloria, really I do.  Just, if you watched last night, you have to give them another chance.

Just one more chance.  I've forgiven them already.

I couldn't possibly have quit coffee today of all days

Have you ever wanted to go all blanket party on someone?  Even though what they are doing to bother you isn't really their fault?

Yeah, well that was me feeling blanket party-ish this morning at 2 a freaking clock in the morning.  And the unsuspecting victim was Alex. 

This is an example of the way most of my night went.

So the thing is, Alex got strep throat.  He is hardly ever sick, and if he is, he sucks it up and goes about his business.  Because he is very important.  And his firm might fall apart around all of us if he took a sick day.  He has only taken a sick day three times in the 15-ish years that we have been married.  I am not exaggerating.  And this past Monday was the third time.

So anyway, poor guy had a raging fever.  The last time he had strep was when he had to take the bar exam, about 9 years ago.  I was so excited he had strep and was so sick because I was positive he was going to fail the bar and then I thought he would have the perfect excuse for failing.  Not that I don't believe in him or anything, but he NEVER freaking studied.  He is such a procrastinator.  Even the Magic 8 ball was wishy-washy on whether he would pass or not.  It would not give us a straight answer!  Damn Magic 8 ball.  I think he finally studied a little bit the last week before the exam because the wishy-washy-ness of the Magic 8 Ball freaked him out.  Anyway, he passed, so we never had to use the "I had a raging fever and I was dying while the strep germs shoved what felt like shards of broken glass down my throat" excuse.  He's very smart. 

So he got up Monday morning and I took one look at him and was like, "I am making an appointment for you to go see Dr. L." 

And he was all like, (insert dramatic gravelly voice) "I have to go to work.  I just took the week off.  The firm will fall apart if I don't come in today."  OK.  Actually, I added the last sentence, but that's what he was thinking.  I am positive.

So I was all like,  "I'm making the appointment.  I will make it as early as I can but I think you are a dumbass if you go to work."

I was very sympathetic.  Because I am all kind like that.

So I made the appointment.  And he took a shower with his fever.  And he got his suit and tie on with his fever.  And he left.  With his fever.  He was thinking that he would just go to the Doctor's office, take the test, get a prescription and then head up to work with his fever.  To suffer at his desk for the next 12 hours, all the while infecting everyone else at the firm with his streppy germs.  He felt this was completely fine.

So I was sitting in my red chair drinking a cup of coffee and catching up on my blog roll exactly one hour after he left, and I see his car pull in the driveway.

So I jumped up and started vacuuming, obviously.  I don't want it to look like I sit on my ass perusing the Internet all day, you know?  And then he came in with a sad face and told me he got kicked out of work for the day.  Because of the positive strep test.

So I had to hold back a giggle and get him up to bed.  Poor guy did not come down for like 24 full hours.  He really was so sick.  At one point he looked helplessly at me and said, "You were right, I never could have made it through work all day like this."  And I stifled the urge to say I told you so, and sympathetically pet his head.

He's really lucky to have me.

So anyway, back to the blanket party.  Alex went to work yesterday because there was no way possible he would take two days off in a row.  And when he got home at 8ish last night, he was pretty much wiped out.  Gee.  I wonder why.  And so he basically ate a bowl of the amazing homemade chicken noodle soup that I threw together for him (did I mention how lucky he is?), and went upstairs to bed. 

This is not exactly indicative of my night.  But only because I don't wear rollers and Alex was not smiling while he snored.  And also, that is not my side of the bed.

Where he proceeded to snore all night long.  All. Night. Long.

He isn't a snorer. Unless he is tanked, but that is pretty rare.  If he was a snorer I would never have married him.  I am dead serious.  I need my sleep.  I don't require much sleep, but I need something.  Snoring is my worst offense.  It drives me absolutely crazy.  And even though I may have been accused of possibly snoring a snitch every so often, I truly can't handle it in someone else.  It may not exactly be fair, but it is what it is.  I make no apologies.

So naturally, I did not throw a blanket over his sick head and pummel the crap out of him.  I calmly took my dumb temporary replacement pillow* and went into the guest room.  And proceeded to have the worst night's sleep ever.  First, there was no fan blowing cold air on me in that dumb room.  Second, there was no warm leg to put my cold feet on, and third, I hate that dumb bed.  The headboard bonks against the wall every time you move so it's annoying all night long.  And fourth, I hate my dumb temporary replacement pillow.

Do you think that if I made this into a sign and hung it over my bed, it would go with the decor?

So that is exactly why I couldn't possibly quit coffee this morning.


*I am currently using a temporary replacement pillow.  It's the saddest thing ever, but I accidentally left my best most favorite comfy pillow at a hotel in North Carolina.  It took all of my strength not to turn around and go get it.  I am in mourning.  It's very hard to get the perfect pillow. :(

I am linking the UNUSUALLY lengthy and cranky rant intended for my poor, sick UNSUSPECTING husband at Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday.  Can you guess what letter we are on?