Junkie

This lumpy body brought to you by Little Debbie.

When my dad died suddenly a few years ago, I finally (at the age of 31) realized that, huh, people really DO die.  Go figure.  I'd heard of this "death" thing, but damn, I thought they were kidding.  People can be so full of hyperbole! 

And I suppose upon learning that dying was something I'd have to do, I started to wonder if maybe I should, you know, DELAY such a thing for as long as possible.  This delay wasn't THAT hard, I mean, I'm not one to want to swim with sharks or jump out of airplanes.  But I WAS treating my body like it was just going to function perfectly no matter WHAT I did to it.  Or, namely, no matter what I PUT IN IT.

God, I love junk food.

And, stragely, my body has functioned on mostly junk up to this point.  Which proves that the human body IS AMAZING.  Try putting diesel in a gasoline engine and see what happens.  And yet, my body just keeps chugging along on a diet of Dr. Pepper and cookies. 

I am a walking miracle.

But you can't go anywhere these days without The Truth screaming at you.  By now, all of us know that Americans are fatter and sicker than they've ever been.  We know that the medical industry is buckling under the weight of, well, our weight.   We're told that the enemy is high fructose corn syrup and partially hydrogenated oil.  And since I'm nothing if not obedient, I promptly began reading labels and doing my best to scrub those Bad Things out of our diets.

Then? I learned that artificial colors and dairy make for a foggy brain in some children.  So, it was out with Yellow 5, Red 40, Blue 7.  Out with milk and cheese, and anything with "artificial flavorings". (You would not BELIEVE the things that contain artificial colors - it's in EVERYTHING, y'all").  And it turns out that my kid, on a diet of "uncolored" food, is actually MUCH different.  In a good way.

But can I be totally honest with you?  Reading labels and being diligent about what goes into our bodies is EXHAUSTING.  And do you know what else?  I don't really like healthy food.  No!  I eat a smoothie for breakfast made with organic fruits (and a little kale, because they say it's a superfood - how could I not eat something called a SUPERfood?), and yet, I'm all but pinching my nose while I'm drinking it. 

What I really want, even now that I know it will kill me dead, is a nice cookie.  Preferrably with a thick layer of icing. 

If I could change ONE THING about myself, I would wish for a palate that craved nothing but whole, raw, organic foods.  You know, instead of Little Debbie Snack Cakes.

*Sigh*

Monkey Masseuse

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I had an epiphany yesterday while I was driving (too fast) down the freeway on my way (late, actually) to a little swim party for William's first grade class.  I was late because I'd gotten tied up with something for work and didn't get out the door when I'd planned.  Then? Precicely BECAUSE I was running late, I forgot the towels (what IS it with me and forgetting towels?) and had to turn back (granted, I was still in my neighborhood, but still, I had to turn back). 

I realized, while my knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel in frustration, that I was missing my entire life.  Every minute of the last few weeks has been spent planning and worrying and fretting about FUTURE MOMENTS.  My head is a constant swarm of lists and to-do's and should-have-dones.  And while my head is doing this swarming, I'm missing what's right in front of my eyes.

Something's gotta give.

I *thought* my problem was lack of organization.  But I'm starting to see that some of my problems also stem, not so much from the lack organization, as the lack of automation.  I don't have a clever, easy, way to get my to-do's out of my head and onto some sort of tickler/reminder system.  In a perfect world, I would have a personal assistant sitting next to me at all times who would not only jot down my to-do's, but would then remind me at the precise moment I'd set aside to get that task done.   Do you know of such a thing?  Perhaps a trained monkey?  Because GOSH that would be cool to have a pet who also helped you accomplish things.  Also, if I had a Personal Assistsant Monkey I would TOTALLY teach it how to bring me coffee.  Oh! And how to give foot rubs!

What? Like you wouldn't train your monkey to give a nice massage.  Don't lie.

So that's my goal: figure out how to get this swarm thoughts out of my head (Ok, probably without a monkey).  That way, when I'm in the car with my children going 80mph down the highway, I can focus on, well, DRIVING. 

New. Year.

My birthday is coming up soon.  July 1st I'll be 38 years old.  Emphasis on the word OLD.  Yipe!

I've always loved having a birthday precisely 6 months from New Year's Day.  Because I have two chances each year to start anew.  I know everyone balks at resolutions, but sometimes I like taking time to reflect on how things have been and dream a little about how what I'd still like to become.

What about you?  Do birthdays feel like a fresh start, or do you wallow in the sad passage of time?

Crabtastic

My kid turned 8 years old last week.  And for his birthday, I convinced the boys father that he needed his very own pet.  Not a dog, or a cat.  Nothing that needs to be potty trained (because I've done enough potty training in the last few years thankyouverymuch).  No, after MUCH discussion, I finally talked Dave into letting William have a hamster. 

William was THRILLED.  So a few weeks before his birthday, the entire family loaded up in the car and headed to PetsMart to investigate hamsters.  We looked at various cages and cedar bedding, and then we stared for a while at the little fluffy rodents playing in the display area.  It was all going well.  Tralala.

But then something happened.  Something awful. 

William spotted the hermit crabs. 

In an instant, he scrapped the whole idea of a hamster and began insisting he needed A VERY LARGE SPIDER-Y LOOKING ANIMAL.

And let me just pause here and tell you that I am not what you'd call "afraid" of spiders.  I have a true phobia.  I can't even look at photos of spiders.  My heart rate starts to increase at the mere THOUGHT of a spider.  Cartoon spiders: still scared.  Stuffed animal spiders that look kind and friendly? FREAK ME OUT.  Charlotte's Web? HATED IT.

Are you spotting the problem here?  Hermit crabs belong to the arachnid family. And hey! I HAVE ARACHNOPHOBIA HOW CONVENIENT.  Before I knew what was happening, Dave and Will had wandered off to price SPIDER "crab" cages and learn about SPIDER "crab" care.  I still can't pinpoint exactly when this hamster plan derailed, but it happened.  And there was no going back.  

By the day of his birthday, William had already named his yet-to-be-purchased hermit crab: "hermie" or as I like to call him "haunter of my dreams".  Oh, but then there was another twist: Dave learned that hermit crabs do not thrive as solitary animals.  Nooooo.  It's best TO HAVE AT LEAST TWO.

Pardon me while I clutch my chest and wheeze prayers to Jesus and all the wise men.

Yes, friends, we are the proud owners of not one, but TWO spawns of Satan himself hermit crabs.

Dave swore up and down that it would be HE who manages the care and maintenance of the crabs and their "crabitat" (as it is called on, and I'm not making this up, "hermitcrabs.com".  yes.  I know.).  So Dave put the aquarium together and placed the little darlings in their new home and everything was a-ok.

Until Friday.

Friday, while Dave was safely at work 30 miles away,  William managed to LOSE ONE OF THE CRABS SOMEWHERE IN THE HOUSE.  IN THE HOUSE WHERE I SLEEP. 

Obviously I had to burn the house down.*

*Not really.  We found him. 

*Can I come live with you?

Eight

I rolled over this morning and told Dave "eight years ago at this moment I was being hooked up to pitocin".  Ten hours later I became a mother.

Eight years.  I can't believe it.

Happy Birthday my firstborn gift.  You are my sunshine.



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It's Coffee-O'Clock Over Here

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My eyes popped open at 3:30am today and for the LIFE of me I couldn't go back to sleep.  I tried everything.  But eventually, I crawled out of bed and  made my coffee.  By the time the kids woke up at 7am I'd done my budget, cleaned out my playroom, and purged my email inbox. 

So at 7:45a we left the house for donuts.  Because, why not? I'd been awake half the night and 8am felt like lunchtime.

My head is swimming with to-do's.  William turns 8 years old on Thursday and we're having a tiny party for him (William can't have a big party - all that hubbub freaks him out).   Although the party is small, I still have a zillion details to iron out.  Party favors, a little activity for the guests, and then there's the matter of what to feed everyone (I say order pizza and be done with it, Dave says we should do something more.).  So this morning after donuts we went to Walmart, then the bank, then the post office, then the dollar store.

And now we're home and I just glanced at the clock and IT'S 9:45!  Dude.  It's gonna be a long day.

I have back-to-back conference calls this afternoon that will likely take THREE HOURS STRAIGHT.  I have no idea what I'm going to do with my children.  Thank goodness for the mute button (On the phone, I mean.  Although a kid with a mute button would be mighty handy!)  After conference calls, it will be time to make dinner.  Then baths.  Then bed (For everyone.  Preferably by 8pm!).

And then I'll start all over again tomorrow.  Hey! I'm tired!

This pace, this working and mothering thing is exhausting.  And I'm only doing it part-time!  How does ANYONE do this full time?  I'm serious.  HOW?  It seems to me if I were any busier or preoccupied I'd be risking my health.  Truly. 

It makes me realize why Americans are so addicted to Red Bull and sugar.  Or in my case, coffee and donuts.  Yeesh.

You Never Get a Second Chance.

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I'm a frazzled wreck these days, and never was it more apparent than last Friday when I met a group of moms - only one of which I'd ever met before - for a swimming playdate.  These moms are new to my son's school, and this was an opportunity for all of us (moms and kids) to get to know each other. 

Folks, I made a STELLAR first impression.

First of all, I was late.  And I HAAAATE being late.  It totally stresses me out.  I'm one of those people who is always ALWAYS at least 5 minutes early to everything.  Which is how I like it.  I never want YOU to wait on ME.  Ever.  It gives me a rash.

So there's that, I was late.  But then?  Then I realized as we were approaching the pool that I'd forgotten Paige's swim floaties.  Which meant that I was going to have to stand like a hawk and watch her without so much as blinking the entire time.  Problem is, sister THINKS she is an excellent swimmer.  And she can keep herself afloat for periods of time.  But inevitably she ends up stranded in the deep end flailing about because she's so exhausted.  So, instead of talking to those new moms, I knew I'd be over on the edge of the pool wringing my hands and grinding my teeth to dust. 

Floaties would have been much easier on everyone involved. 

And then? Oh y'all, I'm ashamed to even admit this: I FORGOT TOWELS. 

Yes I totally did.  I took my kids to a pool without towels.  Some other mother (who was forming her first impression of me) had to sacrifice one of her towels for the sake of my wet children.  I wanted to die.

And the final blow was when everyone decided to go as a group to a fast-food place for lunch.  And hey!  They'd all packed nice dry clothes for their kids.  GUESS WHAT MY KIDS WORE?

Yep.  Wet swimsuits.  (with tee-shirts over, but STILL).

Some days I think I might be pulling off this whole working, homeschooling, mothering thing and then life jumps up and slaps me with reality.  It seems everything is suffering.  I have no pace.  No rhythm.  I haven't figured out how to juggle everything. 

And it's killing me softly - a little bit every day.

I've never been That Mom - the put-together perfect one - but I've never been That Other Mom either.  The one who is such a disaster you wonder if she regularly bathes and feeds her children. 

But that' is totally who I was on Friday.  I was That Other Mom - the disaster one.  And all those women saw me at my very worst the very first time they'd met me. 

The only consolation is: it can only go up from here, right?