2010 in a big ole nutshell

Well, everyone sends those "Year In Review" letters with their Christmas cards, so here's mine...with a little spice. 

Who am I kidding. I can't remember what has happened this year. It's Olivia's 2nd Christmas and Emma's 6th or 7th. I thought we made our move to Alabama this year, but that was so 2009.

To be completely, partially honest, I'm not feeling that Christmasy this year. It's 60 degrees here and I'm still yelling at Emma to put shoes on when she goes outside. We all know that I shouldn't be having that argument in December. As much as I hate the cold winters and snow, Christmas isn't Christmas without it. I don't even think Emma is into it. She doesn't want anything for Christmas because she has too much stuff. Seriously. She does not get that from me.

Speaking of Emma, I'm currently driving around in my little Honda with, "Emma's mom rocks" and a peace sign written on my window with a window crayon. It's a little embarrassing, and I feel quite soccer-mom-ish, but it's from Emma, and compliments to me don't come easy with her. So I'll take it.

Christmas is all about giving, and I love giving gifts. But this year, I can't stop buying for myself. Yesterday I bought myself a new purse and 2 pairs of sunglasses. I wore my sunglasses and as soon as I got home, Scott asked me about them. That F*&%er doesn't miss anything. The rest will be wrapped and awaiting my fake surprise Christmas morning. Look who's been a good girl! Scott will most definitely be surprised. Last week I bought myself some boots. I came home yesterday, smuggling in my newest gifts to myself and they were wrapped under the tree. A month ago I bought myself a lip gloss at Sephora. The one I wanted only came in a gift pack that cost $50. I bought it. Scott wrapped it. (Without the lip gloss)


Tis the season to think of our loved ones, family and friends. I miss my friends at home terribly. I love the relationships my girls have with my family here. And I have made some wonderful, wonderful friendships here. Really, I never thought I could even come close to my friends at home, but these chicks south of the Mason Dixon Line are quite a lot of fun. I also realize, however, that home is a feeling, not a location. It doesn't matter how nice it is.

You know the golden rule. If mama ain't happy, no one's happy.

Merry Christmas and Happy 2011.

Open Letter to Republicans and Democrats

This recent election has me seeing red. I want to swear a lot (you've been warned). Not because the Republicans killed in the election, but because America is SO misinformed, and even more than that...they're ignorant.

Listen. Obama didn't create this economy. He inherited it. He didn't start this war. He inherited it. Everyone is misplacing the blame. The economy cannot be turned around in such a short amount of time. It took years of fucking it up. It is going to take at least that long to turn it around. Going downhill is a lot easier than going up.

Democrats have no loyalties. Change can't happen overnight. Because Obama hasn't created a miracle, they jump ship and vote for the other side or, worse, don't vote at all. Democrats can't get anything done because they don't have the passion the Republicans have. The Republican policies may not be the same as my own interests, but at least they're dedicated and devoted to their beliefs. Most of them are STILL defending the Bush administration. I am sure I can think of another word besides loyalty for that, however. I can't say the same for the Democrats. They turn their backs on their own party quicker than change can even be thought about. I'm giving a big F-U to Democrats right now. You fucked your own President!!

Republicans, I hope you stop blaming Obama for everything and start working on solutions with him. I, for one, am tired of hearing the anti-Obama bullshit. Hoping and planning that he fails is anti-American. That's not what's best for this country. If you want this country to regain the power it once held, and has been losing for the last 6 or so years, then come together with him and find a common ground. Stop the "we're taking back our country" bullshit. Get over your egos and your own political agendas and political parties, and do what's best for the country. And stop trying to take credit for everything good in this world. You're not without flaws.

I really hope the Republicans see how hurtful the Tea Party is going to be for America. This group creates anger, hostility, and a bad feeling overall with Americans. They are a bunch of crazy extremists, which isn't good for anyone. Republicans, that Tea Party is giving you a bum rap. Get rid of them. 

My own feelings about this election isn't that I'm angry because Republicans won. I'm angry about the stand that many have taken that is anti-American. To want to make sure the President only serves one term is not patriotic. It's not wanting what's best for our country and it's WANTING THE PRESIDENT TO FAIL, which means AMERICA FAILS.

FIND A BALANCE.

Blame Facebook, Not Obama

Recently, I was out to dinner with my friend while I was in Chicago.

Our conversation went a little like this:

Him: My friends, *Dick and *Jane, they have this...

Me: Oh, I totally know them! I saw them on your FB page. She is REALLY pretty! Is that weird?

Him: No, I totally stalk your FB page, too. It's fine.

Me: Okay, good.

So it made me think... Facebook has seriously taken over the world. As awkward as this particular situation was not, it seems so bizarre to me to know so much about other people who I have very little personal contact with and care so little about. Not you, Clint...you know you're the best thing that ever came out of Facebook to me and you're now on my Top 5 Favorite Men In My Life list. And if you ever quit Facebook, I will never be the same. 

It made me wonder what if I ran into someone who I am really not friends with, never was, but have been acquainted somehow in the past, and now I know from their status updates that they just had their 15th child, beat cancer, just redesigned their kitchen, and is contemplating getting a new family pet.

"Hi, I know everything about you, more than I have ever known even when and if we ever were real friends so hey, good luck with everything, way to go, and congratulations!"

I mean, it's kind of weird.

Is conversation going to become extinct? Between texting, emailing, and Facebooking, who needs to talk? How many times, in conversation, do you hear or say, "Oh I know, I saw it on Facebook." Well, what in the hell is there to talk about now???

I realize that due to everyone being so busy that this has become the best way to keep updated with your friends and family, and also, living so far away from my friends and family, it's a great tool for me. I get it. I will also say that there are several people who I haven't been great friends with in the past, but I thoroughly enjoy now.


I am not being a Facebook hater, I appreciate it for so many reasons. I mean, I really don't know what I would do without all of those quotes people put in their statuses. I often wonder if they have one of those "rip off the day" calendars they are reading from. Listen, I expect this from some people because that's who they are, but hey, Confucius, if you don't have anything to say, then just be quiet. It's okay. No one will forget about you.

*Names have been changed due to lack of remembering their real names. Okay, not really, I'm just pretending I forgot. I know their names and their kid's name.

Thanks, but that's not really necessary.

I just had the best and worst grocery shopping experience.

I went grocery shopping this morning since I thought it safe to assume most people around here would be in church.

I was right. By the time I was leaving, families were arriving in herds in their church garb.

Anyway, I shop at this grocery store quite often. I really kind of love it. It's very nice and I enjoy the people it attracts, mostly. The best parts of the grocery store are the beginning and the end. The beginning is the produce and bakery, which is where I do most of my shopping. The end is all of the frozen food, which I also enjoy because I get a lot of my vegetarian items there. The other stuff is all just stuff in the middle that has very little excitement value to me. Just in case you were wondering my preferences.

The employees are always very friendly and welcoming. Today, however, by the end of my shopping experience I began to feel like the friendliness was getting quite annoying. Every employee greeted me, asked me how I was doing today, and if I was finding everything okay. As I walked along the frozen foods, I thought to myself, "I should get a t-shirt that says, 'Hi. Good. Yes. Thanks.' and wear it when I shop here." It kind of became a game and I tried to hurry past the employees before they had a chance to say anything to me. I got by one lady without the schpeel. And then I thought that she probably wasn't a very good employee.

So then I am walking by the check out lines, scanning for the shortest line. Another employee, but manager looking type, started walking with me and told me that it looked like the lady in Line 9 was just about finished.

Great...thanks! (unnecessary, but nice)

He then helped me pull my basket into the line and offers to put my groceries on the conveyor belt and before I can answer he is pulling everything out of my basket.  By the way, people down here call them "buggies". I think it's cute, but it's not natural for me so I can't do it. Kinda like how Europeans call vacation "holiday". I like that, too, but let's face it. Americans don't talk like that. We totally got ripped off in the language and accent department.

Now what happens next is typical here. The bagger always asks to take your groceries out to your car for you. I ALWAYS decline, except one time when the kid insisted. It was very uncomfortable.

Can you believe it? Can you believe how willing and eager people are to be nice and helpful? I don't even really think it has anything to do with the South (for the record there are plenty of rude people down here so don't even think about giving them credit for this). I think it has everything to do with the store policies.

Oh, the reason why it was the also the worst experience is because I'm a bit uncomfortable with people being really nice to me. I don't want any rudeness coming my way, but the over the top niceties make me really awkward.

I feel like I should give a little shout out to the store, for what it's worth. Here ya go, Publix. (I know! I thought it was just a storage place, too!)

I want my puppy back.

This past week has been full of adventure, fun, excitement, dread, and sadness. I know! Busy! I actually wasn't going to write about any of it because it's too much, but then I mowed the grass and crazy things happen in my head when I get behind that lawnmower.

If you saw my yard, you would understand. It now looks like a collage of grids. I don't even care.

I was in Chicago for work this past week. That, in itself makes me appreciative. I appreciate the work, and I appreciate being in one of my fave cities. A super huge added bonus is that I get to reunite with my friends. Little makes me happier.

While I was gone, Scott found a puppy. I'm not a dog person. I'm not an indoor animal person at all actually. So I knew that when I got home I would have the task of finding this puppy a home or taking him to the no-kill shelter. I got home Thursday afternoon and Scott was leaving on Friday for the weekend. This puppy took to me like I was his mother. He loved me. I took him everywhere with me...partially because I wanted to find him a home, partially because I didn't want him making a mess at my home, and partially because it was kind of fun to have him around. And he was SO good, it was easy. Well, as easy as carting around a 6 yr old, 20 mo old, and new puppy can be. If only I could have put Olivia on a leash.

Saturday morning, Emma had a football game for which she had to cheer. Naturally...actually, not-so-naturally, I brought the puppy with us. I met this couple who was really interested in the puppy, live on the water, and have lots of land...perfect space for this dog, really. They gave me their phone number had I decided to give the puppy up. I went home, talked to Scott and Emma, and met the new owners an hour later.

I got back in the car, and Emma was very upset. I felt terrible. I felt bad for her, bad for me, and bad for the dog. He REALLY liked me. And I liked him way more than I ever expected. I was his favorite. I'm no one's favorite. Everyone in this house likes Scott the best.

The next obvious thing was to get mad at Scott for bringing home a puppy, going out of town, and leaving me with the responsibility of figuring out what to do with him. Thanks, Scott. Now we're all attached to a puppy that's going to grow to be bigger than me. I know I made the sensible decision, but I still feel awful. 

Finally, I'm someone's favorite and I gave him away.

Catching a Break...Or Not

Yesterday, Emma came home from school and I started going through her folder. Her spelling test was in there so I took a look. "A" 93%... Being the spelling bee that I was (am), I have a lot of interest in this so I see she has spelled the word "help", "hlep". So I yell for her, "Emmaaaa..."

And she yells back from the other room, "I know, I know, I know! I moved my crayon today. Marcus and Harrison both sit next to me though and talk."

"What does that have to do with you?"

"I talk back to them."

So I look at her calendar where her teacher either gives them a smiley face if they didn't have to move their crayon because they were good/listened all day, a straight face if they move it once, a squiggly face if they move it twice, and a sad face if they've been terrible. She's had a couple straight faces, once for playing in the restroom and the other time for pinching Marcus. He pinched her, she pinched him, he pinched her again harder and she told on him so they both had to move their crayon. The lesson? If you pinch someone back, you can't tell on them. Whatever. Anyway, Emma had a smiley face yesterday.

So I go back to her room where she is to tell her that she had a smiley face and that I was just calling for her because she spelled "help" wrong.

She smiles and says, "Oh. Weeeellllllll, my teacher decided to give me a little.....break, I guess."

I love that kid.

Leathers Language

Last night Emma and I were watching Glee. Scott ridicules me over and over about it, but I don't care. 

Emma loves Glee. She loves the singing and dancing and is mesmerized by it. I love that she loves it. What I don't love is when they say words like slut, knocked up, and "what the hell are you doing". Especially when Discouraging Scott walks by. I don't like it either, and I'm trying to figure it out. She doesn't watch it all the time, and about 15 minutes before it was for-real over I pretended it was over and turned it off...shortly after Sue shouted, "What the hell are you doing?" and the two cheerleaders got in a knock down-hair pulling-school hallway fight.

Fine, Scott wins.

Until...Emma started singing Billionaire. "Freaking" isn't a great word for a 6 year old. On Kids Bop 18 they say "very" instead of "freaking". "Let's go with that," I tell Emma. She doesn't go for it. Then, she says, "How about if I say, 'So f-ing bad...'"
"No, I don't want to hear anything sounding like f-ing or freaking coming out of your mouth."
She doesn't stop until finally I threaten to put soap in her mouth if I ever hear her say it again.
Done.

On another note...  Olivia's new word is "doobies." It's what we call our boobies in the Leathers house. Compliments of 2 year old Emma.

Weekend Warrior

I spent this past weekend in Illinois...in the beautiful, 75 degree FALL weather, away from the 95 degree fake Alabama Fall weather.With no kids and no husband.  

Going to Northern Illinois in the Fall is tricky. It makes you think really wonderful things about the Midwest. All of a sudden I forgot about the -20 degree winters. And I forgot about the short summers. But that's what Fall does. It makes you like the Midwest.

I had a great weekend with friends and family. We started the weekend right away. Friday night we went to the Rockford Market. If you live in Rockford and haven't gone yet, you're missing out. Finally, they are making something out of the downtown, and for once, I felt like Rockford actually may be doing something right. Saturday I visited with my cousins and aunts, and I realize now why my 31 week pregnant with twins cousin is on bed rest. After 4 hours of visiting, we were all shouting over each other and at each other. All in love, of course. Saturday night friends and I went to the Cubs/Brewers game in Milwaukee, which I'm pretty sure that collectively, the 9 of us girls, probably saw about 5 minutes of the game. Holy commotion. Sunday I attended my friend's wedding in Chicago. It was a beautiful day and again, made me miss home. Boo. Hoo.

So I was driving home from the airport Monday night, appreciating Alabama's 70 mph speed limit when I remembered that I have a parking ticket in Chicago from when I was there in June. I received a parking ticket on Lake Shore for parking in a no parking zone during rush hour. I contested it (of course) because it was Memorial Day! There is no rush hour on Memorial Day! So I contested it and forgot about it...until two days ago. I never heard back from anyone. Does this mean I am in the clear? Or am I wanted in Chicago? Here's the problem. I have a teensy weensy flash of memory of receiving a letter regarding a ticket I contested and yelling to Scott, "I won! I won!" I can't remember if that was from this ticket or if it was another ticket I had contested for not having a front license plate when I was parked outside the Chicago Diner.

No wonder people don't drive in the city. So many rules.

A Cry For Help

I'm still addicted to television.

It's depressing, definitely pathetic, and Scott is complaining that I don't communicate very well.

That's because I don't have anything to talk about, I tell him. The stuff that goes on in my life lately isn't really real. And it's kind of embarrassing.

Now if you want to talk about the Bachelor Pad (which makes me feel dirty, and not in a good way) I have a lot to say. I hate watching this show. It's TV that makes me feel bad watching it. The only good person on that show was Gia, and they voted her off. The girls are so stupid and they trust those guys way too much. They're all pathetic and super dumb and I get a bad feeling inside when I watch it. But I continue to do so.

Master Chef? I love Gordon Ramsay so much that he has made a debut on my Top 5 Favorite Men In My Life list. And I don't even really know him. Well, possibly I do know him...he doesn't know me. (I told you it's pathetic.) I'm the biggest cheerleader for these amateur chefs. I was a little disappointed last night when they had to kill a crab by boiling it alive. I'm a vegetarian who eats seafood, but after last night, I can't even eat that anymore. If only chocolate had to be killed...

Don't get me started on those Kardashians. Once I was so mad at Kourtney for taking back that idiot loser Scott, I looked online for a way to tell her how stupid she is and that she can do better than that stupid jerk who is so obviously using her. I didn't though. I regained control and realized how ridiculous this would be.

Glee has me feeling like a teenager. I tried to get Emma into it so I could at least blame it on her, and contribute it to "mother/daughter time"...it worked for a little while, but then school got in the way. She hates school, and I'm starting to hate it, too.


And I'm afraid that people like Chelsea Handler and Jeff Lewis reinforce bad behavior and serious sarcasm by me. They make me a worse person. And I don't even really mind it.

Now I am going to go get a life.

No, I'm not.

Love and Marriage

Scott and I just celebrated our 9 year anniversary.

NINE YEARS.

THAT is a lifetime. When you're speaking marriage, anyway.

I was thinking some of you may appreciate some tips in how to make your marriage work...like mine.

1.  Be realistic. Scott and I always set goals like, "After we've been married for # years, we'll call it quits."  There's no need to drag it out. And sometimes it helps to know that there's an end in sight.

2. We've agreed that if one of us starts to act or look like (insert family member here), we agree that the one has the right to leave the other.

3. I am always right, he is always wrong. He thinks I have a problem with admitting when I'm wrong or apologizing. I have to remind him that I will apologize when I'm wrong, but it's very seldom. That's probably why he can't remember when I have admitted wrongdoings.



And I think that's it. It's nothing complicated...not a lot to remember.

Just keep it simple.

Smartphone Madness

I went to Verizon for the third time this month. It's only the 17th of August. 

I ordered my Android Incredible sometime in June and got it the end of July. I've questioned it ever since I've had it.  This phone has more options on it than anyone should ever need...or even know about. It's way too advanced for me and is very distracting.

So I walked into the store, and Clarence, a young good looking black guy who I may crush just a little, saw me looking at the BlackBerry Bold, again, and asked if I'm liking my phone any better. I said no. But I don't hate it. He was helping another couple who purchased a different Droid phone. I leaned against the counter, waiting for him to finish with them so I could get some full on new phone therapy. I really needed to exchange my cover for a different one, and that was my excuse for going in again. But really, I needed reassurance that I should keep my phone and not trade it in for my BlackBerry. The other couple enjoyed Clarence, too, and soon, another man joined our party. Really, we were all just waiting for Clarence.

I asked Clarence again if he likes the BlackBerry Bold or Tour better. His answer was he likes the phone I have the best.

"Okay, but if you were going to get the BlackBerry, would you get the Bold or the Tour?"

The lady of the couple getting new phones said she hated her BlackBerry.

She's crazy. I love BlackBerry. And every time I watch "Keeping Up With The Kardashians", I see them all with their BlackBerry's and it makes me jealous. I kept that part to myself. I didn't need them thinking I was crazy. So they asked me why I want the BlackBerry and I told them because I like to push buttons, and I motioned with my thumbs.

They all laughed. I didn't get why that was funny as I wasn't kidding. And it's completely legitimate.

Finally, I told Clarence I am returning my old black cover, and exchanging it for a reddish one. I took the old one off and put the new one on.

"I like it better already." I told him. He looked at me and shook his head. Now, I realize that this statement isn't exactly logical, but it's true. I really like my phone better. But I still think I should have gotten the BlackBerry.

Scrapbooking sucks.

"Where did we take the kids on vacation when they were little?" I texted my friend Becky last night.

"Cozumel"

"Thanks, I'm scrapbooking and couldn't remember."

"OMG no way! The kids were 1 at that time...you're really on top of things!"

Actually, her son was 1, Emma was 9 months, if we're getting technical.

When Emma was a baby, scrapbooking was all the rage and everyone I knew was doing it. I jumped on the bandwagon, and started, but that was about as far as I got.

Yesterday, I decided to go to Hobby Lobby and buy more scrapbooking crap. Now that there's two children, I need to be more on top of this. Plus, all of the supplies are taking up way too much room in my closet. Truthfully, the last thing I need is more stuff. But that seems to be the only part of this scrapbooking gig that I can get into.

I have about 3 scrapbooking books, lots of cute paper, and lots of scissors...all currently sprawled across my kitchen table right now. I got it all out....again. Per the above conversation, I only have 5+ more years of Emma to go and don't even get me started on Olivia's. At one point...really at several points, I decided I am just sticking all these pictures in photo albums and I bought a closet full of albums. I mean, seriously, scrapbooking is ridiculous. You have this huge book and you can only stick a few pictures on a page; not to mention, it's extremely time consuming.

It made me think of the most recent season of The Bachelorette and that queer who made a scrapbook for Ali. There is no way he did that himself. He must have a sister who is a Creative Memories consultant. If he did do it himself, he's obviously gay and shouldn't have been on that show.

If I can just get through this first year for both of these children, I think the rest of the pictures will be going into albums. If I could pay someone to do the scrapbooks for me, I would do it in a heartbeat. Not that I can afford to do that....but when has that ever stopped me before.

Not the Brady Bunch

Last night the Teen Choice Awards were on. We weren't home so I didn't get to watch them.

Just kidding! Thank GOD for DVR! Someone was thinking ahead when they saw the Bachelor Pad was going to be on at the same time as Teen Choice Awards and marked them both for recording. Yay...me!

So last night as I lay in bed watching Katy Perry and the babes from Glee, Scott came in and saw that I was watching an awards show. He sat down to watch and then said to me, "Oh my gosh, are you watching Teen Choice Awards?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You're 34 years old. Or are you?" (Just last week I told Scott I would have a 35th bday party for him for his birthday in May. He's already 35. I thought I was still 33 and him, 34. Hence, his joke. Whoops.) (And I wasn't really going to have a bday part for him anyway.) Then he says, "Hey, there's that gay kid from Glee. I have no idea who that girl is with him though."

"That's Katy Perry." Seriously. How does he not know who Katy Perry is.

"That's her? That song about LA girls is so stupid."

"It's California Girls and I love it."

"You know what song that's on the radio a lot right now is that Eminem song with Brianna."

"Rihanna"

"Eminem and Brianna." Now he's pronouncing the "a" differently.

"It's Rihanna"

"Brianna"

"Scott, there's no "B"...it's RI-hanna. Maybe you should be watching this with me."

"Rihanna? Really? Who cares. She's a nobody. She hardly even has any hit songs. She's always just WITH someone. With Jay-Z, with Eminem..."

"Ugh. Have you heard the song Umbrella, Scott?" It's the only one I could think of at the time, under pressure.

"Who cares. I'm going to sleep."

THIS is what I'm dealing with.

I am addicted to TV. It's no doubt and I am really starting to acknowledge that it's a problem. I am not happy unless I have a TV show to look forward to that night. I'm not proud of myself. I have two children, for crying out loud, and sometimes I put them to bed earlier than normal just so I have no distractions.

But now Scott and his judgment are becoming a distraction. The other night I was having a Glee marathon and he started watching with me. At one point, he started to disapprove, but by the 3rd episode, he was hooked and made me promise to not tell anyone. By the 4th or 5th episode, he said he wasn't going to watch anymore and that the show was so stupid. Which it's clearly not.

I think that he likes that I watch these stupid shows so that he gets to watch them, too, and take no responsibility for it.

Always one step ahead.

Emergency? Hardly.

Last week I went to the Emergency Room for a pain in my left side that was debilitating, not to mention causing me great difficulty breathing for two days. I didn't want to go. I really just wanted to lay in my bed and watch Hell's Kitchen, but before long, my family was over and harassing me to go see a dr. I couldn't keep up with Hell's Kitchen with my family hovering and talking, and I thought the ER might be a little quieter anyway. Most ER's have a television, so hopefully I would be able to catch the rest of my show there.

Scott and I checked in at 8:20pm. We sat as far away from everyone as we could. It seems that people lose all sense of modesty in an emergency room. It's disgusting. One man walked in wearing only his underwear, shorts in hand, and hunched over like he dislocated his shoulder. He looked like he could have been a decent, respectable man so I couldn't figure out why he didn't think he should put his shorts on before going out in public. I looked at him disapprovingly.

Then, entered a black family. Black people are like Italians. If one goes down, the whole family shows up. There were about 8 family members for a man who was already back in a room. Maybe he came via ambulance. After they all took turns, 2 at a time, visiting him, they all waited in the waiting room. Well, what is the sense of this? Shouldn't someone be keeping him company? And, I was right. The volunteer came out and said the patient would like someone to talk to. Yeah, I would think so. There's 8 of you, after all.

Next, a teenage kid comes in, wheeling himself in a wheelchair with his friends around him. He doesn't look like he's that hurt and I immediately label him as a pretentious punk jerk kid. He draws as much attention to himself as he can and lets everyone know that yes, he does need to see a dr, but he doesn't want to pay a $300 copay. Then, go home you stupid little asshole. And he better not get priority over me.

After waiting an hour, Scott says, "Next time we have to come to the ER, I'm carrying you in."

Finally, I was called back.

To wait some more.

I couldn't take it anymore. I put my clothes back on and we told the desk we were leaving and I would just follow up with a dr tomorrow (nevermind that I don't have a dr). The staff looked at me and said they thought the dr had been in to see me. That's so reassuring. I said no, filled out the paperwork they needed and was on my way by 10:30.

I hate the medical field. I hate seeing doctors and I think it's a total waste of time. We stopped at Walgreens on the way home so I could get some Ibuprofen and the next day I went to a doctor. She did an EKG and ordered x-rays, which absolutely made me 100 times worse. She prescribed me two steroids, which helped immediately, and I quit taking on the 3rd day. It was like, "Take 1 after breakfast, take 2 before lunch, take 1 before dinner and take 2 at bedtime. And that was just in one day. And one steroid. After waiting two more days for x-ray results, my diagnosis was musculoskeletal, which apparently means inflammation, which, to me, means they had no idea.

It's shocking to me how much is paid to insurance companies to pay for doctors to pay for malpractice insurance. All I wanted was a diagnosis and not to wait 2 hours in the ER waiting room for nothing and 2 days for x-ray results, which were to be given to me by the same lady who answered the phone at the dr's office.

And I don't even think it's just because I live in Alabama.

Alabama, for once...I'm not blaming you. Congratulations to the whole world. Our health system is crap.

Sunday shopping with the finest.

Going to the grocery store on a Sunday morning always gives me a little bit of guilt. I see other shoppers in their church garb and it's obvious where they have come from. I, in contrast, am in yoga pants, a t-shirt and Converse gym shoes, my hair is leftover from the night before and, at best, I have pulled it back into some pig tails/braids concoction. It's obvious where I have come from: my bed.

This morning I was leaving the grocery store and putting my bags in my car and it started to rain...kinda hard. There was a grungy looking black woman sitting in the back seat of an old beat up car next to mine with the windows down who asked if I was alright...I think she was going to help me unload my groceries, but I told her I was fine. Here is how the rest of the conversation went. Remember, it's pouring down rain, her windows are down and I'm trying to quickly get my bags in my car.

Her: Are you by yourself?

Me: Yep.
Her: Well, I'm sure glad my friend isn't here. He would like you. He'd be all on top of you.
Me: Well, I'll be sure to hurry up and get out of here before he comes back.
Her: Thank you, Jesus.

So I may not have gone to church this morning, but I did a good deed today and it kind of involved Jesus.

And the bonus is I'm not a cracked out prostitute.

Shiny Happy People

I've been thinking about my outlook on things lately. I wonder if I'm a little too chill...relaxed...laid back...however you want to call it. I don't have strong feelings about very much in life. I find that when a choice is put upon me, I typically don't have feelings either way and find myself saying, "It really doesn't matter to me." And the truth is, it doesn't. But I wonder if I'm losing interest in things or if I am just finding that the small things really don't matter and aren't worth too much effort.

I hope it's the latter.

There are some things I am passionate about. I am passionate about everyone having their own right and free will to do or believe what they want. I take on a very liberal viewpoint, but when done constructively, and not attacking-ly, I like hearing the other side. Recently, I have had strong feelings about this...politics...or, rather, the lack thereof. I am so sick of hearing Republicans blame Democrats for everything and vice versa. I feel that the parties are "un"uniting the people. Americans feel so strongly about their political affiliation that it causes anger and more importantly, DIVISION. What if everyone quit their political party and felt as strongly about creating a united country as they do their favorite television "news" station. What if everyone stopped blaming the President for every single thing that happens in this country and instead, trust that he has our best interest in mind and is doing the best he can to take care of our country. What if the shock jocks spent more time constructing a dialogue about supporting the President instead of tearing him down because what good does talking about his approval rating do anyway?

I respect that people have different opinions and points of view. I really just don't like when it causes a heap of negativity.

I want what's best for everyone, and deep down, isn't that really what most people want.

I just want peace, man.

Peace.

Cooking for ingrates

Maybe I'm not that good of a cook. Nearly every night I make dinner, though. And I make a very conscious effort to cook healthy food. And I actually kind of like to cook and try different things. I just don't like cooking for ungrateful jerks like my family.

Tonight Emma had a friend over who ate dinner with us. That's always interesting because I'm always amused/shocked/mortified at what comes out of her mouth. I heard Emma say to her friend, "I'm a vegetarian. Are you a vegetarian or a meat eater?" First of all, she's lying. Put a Chicken McNugget in front of her and it will be gone in less than 30 seconds. Second of all, I prefer not to scare the girl and think we are a bunch of freaks, eating crazy food. And thirdly, where did she hear the term "meat eater?"

So I made Eggplant Parmesan for myself and Vegetarian Chicken Parmesan for everyone else. It's time consuming to cook. I have to go to the grocery store and then prepare it and then cook it. So it really pisses me off when this happens:

Scott walks in the kitchen and asks if I'm making real or vegetarian chicken. Well, I already told him I'm phasing meat out of the house completely. Sometimes I'd make meat for him and Emma, but really, I don't like it. And Emma thinks she wants to be a vegetarian. So guess what?

He's outnumbered.

I told Scott it's vegetarian chicken. It's actually VERY good and I know he'll like it. He sneers and makes a stupid face and I really wanted to stab him in his face. Whatever. So I make a plate for Emma and her friend. Her friend tells me she doesn't like spaghetti and actually she doesn't like spaghetti sauce so the chicken is no good for her either. She says she will have a hot dog. That's fine and easy. No problem. She's only 6 and this is all foreign to her anyway. Then, Emma says she doesn't like cheese so she doesn't want to eat the chicken either. FU is what I want to say to her, but I tell her to just eat whatever it is that is on her plate that she likes and to stop complaining. Scott sits down and starts eating...and, of course, he enjoys it. Asshole.

I sit down next to Olivia and start eating my eggplant. It's pretty good, but a little dry. That's what I get for baking it. I look over at Olivia who got both eggplant and the vegetarian chicken. That little expletive is dropping it on the floor for the dog. That fucking dog eats better than anyone in this whole stupid family.

Speaking of families, I want a new one. A vegetarian family with a husband who likes to work all day and then come home and cook. And I don't want to have to put out for it either.

Shopping for Dummies

I'm having some issues with my closet lately. I'm not happy with anything in it. I think I have a t-shirt for every day of the week for an entire year. Well...that would be 365 t-shirts, so maybe not. But it's a lot.

It's so hot here that all I can stand to wear are dresses and skirts. I'm fine with that. I don't like things sticking to me, especially "down there" so the more freedom I have, the better.

A couple of months ago, I bought a dress from Dillard's. I kinda hate department store shopping, but I was with my mother so it was either look at clothes for me or watch her. Obvious, right? So I saw a dress hanging up and tried it on. It was a little tight across the chest (I know), but still pretty cute...and super cheap. I've worn it 2 times.

Recently, I was out and saw a little girl...probably about 12 years old...wearing my dress. Ummmm....hmmm. Did I buy a dress in the "Girls 7-14" department? That would explain the tightness in the chest...

So I wore the dress again, with reluctance. It really changed things for me after I saw the little girl wearing it. While I was driving, I reached back to help Olivia with something. As I reached my arm behind my seat, my shoulder strap broke.

Either I'm the spawn of the Incredible Hulk or I bought a dress for a 12 yr old girl.

Pay it forward

This morning I was at the market. That alone makes me happy. While I was shopping the fresh produce, I got a phone call from my friend, Kim. She started telling me that a lady cut her off this morning and sped up to get in front of her. Typically, Kim is a hot head. She will punch a bitch out. And that she didn't get out of the car and tell this woman off is something I haven't wrapped my head around yet. Uncharacteristically, she nicely motioned the woman on, letting her know it's fine. The lady ended up in front of her in the drive thru line at Starbucks. When Kim got to the window to pay, the cashier let her know that the woman in front of her paid for hers. Unbelievable. See what happens when you're patient? And then the guy from the market carried my bags to my car.

Her story reminded me of my experience yesterday. I was driving out of a neighborhood onto a busy street. All of a sudden there was a little Honda Accord tightly on my ass. Whoops.  Sorry, dude. Didn't realize you were going 100 mph. He drives closely behind me and fine...whatever. But he wouldn't give it up. We came to a stoplight and he stops super close behind me. I was 1 millisecond from jumping out of my car and ripping his little 20 year old head off and punting it across the field. Where in the hell can this little punk be in such a hurry to get to. Not to mention there were cars in front of me as well. If I didn't have Olivia in my car, I would have gotten out and told that little asshole to fucking relax.

Whoops...the point of this story was to remind everyone it pays to be nice.

There, Kim. I did it for you.

Things I've learned this weekend

This weekend has been a busy one. I got back from New York on Monday and while I anticipated a week of disappointment due to the yet again realization that I'm living in a less desirable part of the country, I was pleasantly surprised with a feeling of non dread.

I mean, really, leaving NYC and coming home to Alabama isn't exactly easy.

However, I had my first crawfish boil Friday night. I know it sounds crazy, and actually the crawfish thing was pretty yucko, but the party was fantastic, and I really am appreciative of the friendships I have made here. These bitches go and go and go. I like to be busy, and I love hanging out with friends, but these girls are like, "What are we doing next?" Margarita Monday. Okay. Pool play dates. Okay. Next party at my house. Okay. Beach. Check.

I love them. But they...are killing the Yankee.

I also had my first wedding Saturday night. I was a little stressed about this. I'm so out of my element with the wedding stuff. Plus, people do things differently here. I don't mean that in a bad way...just cultural stuff, I suppose. The wedding party Saturday was a little....rough. They were all drinking before the ceremony, which makes my job a lot harder. No one cared that it was time to start. The groomsmen were hiccuping right before showtime (I believe it was something along the lines of, "Good God" or "Jesus Christ" that came out of my mouth loudly and directly.), and the girls all decided they needed to go to the bathroom as we started walking toward the beach.

Oh yeah...

Beach weddings are a bitch. Way too far to walk. Walking in the sand sucks. And you know what, weddings themselves are pretty stupid. Yep, that's right. Weddings. Are. Stupid.

As I gathered the bride and groom for the cake cutting, I realized there are two champagne glass looking things that also resembled candle holders on the cake table. I asked the bride if there's champagne for the glasses.

"Just grab two beers."

Thank you for that. You just made my night.

During the reception, a guest started humping the large pole in the middle of the dance floor. If I ever get so drunk that I lift my leg on a pole, someone better punch me hard in the face.

The company I work for is not inexpensive. The condominiums where they were staying and got married were pretty nice. I was so confused as to what was going on.

The only thing I knew of for sure was that the DJ I worked with was a Jewish actor from LA and I loved him.


Sunday, we drove to New Orleans with my brother and Katie for Veggie Fest. It was very cool. Lots of new ideas, literature, samples, hippies, and.........hairy women. I love hippies almost as much as I love Jews and gays. The difference is I don't really want to hang out with them. I was standing with my brother who was holding Olivia and the hairiest women of them all walked up to us with her unibrow, armpit hair, and bare feet and said, "You are such a beautiful family." Todd responded immediately with, "That's my sister."
Uhhh...she didn't ask for a threesome, Todd. Relax. Todd is pretty loose himself; he's totally vegan, uses nothing made with animal products, and is a bit of a tree hugger, but if anyone references the two of us together he is totally weirded out. Case in point.

And then there's Scott...Scott was miserable. It started off badly when he realized it costs $10 each to even enter. I was so pissed at myself for even thinking he should come. He convinced Emma to yell, "Where's the beef?" in her little 5 yr old voice. What a jackass. Both of them.

We left the hippy haven, and walked around New Orleans. I have a love/hate relationship with that city. It's not interesting enough to explain, but the jist of it is that it's dirty and has a lot of incense stores, which I hate. But I love that I don't care how I feel or the impression I give when I'm there.

I don't really know how to end this.

Sleepless in Alabama

I have been doing some strange things in my sleep recently.

This morning I woke myself up laughing. I was dreaming that I was in the elevator of a hotel with the girls with whom I work and every time we got out of the elevator, it was a steep downhill slope. So we would fall out of the elevator toppling over each other and eventually landing in disarray against a wall with our luggage all landing on us. I laughed every time. I'm still laughing just thinking about it. Can you imagine??

And then there's my Olivia dreams. That kid is taking years off my life. Nearly every night I jump out of bed looking for Olivia. Scott is pretty sick of this since I wake him up a few times a night by suddenly jumping up.

I'll tell you a bit about the dream he liked...

Last week I had an impromptu drunk evening with Katie. We got drunk on a Sunday night, which ended in needing someone to come pick us up. Around here, getting drunk on a Sunday night is a bit frowned upon. So is yelling "Jesus" when you get pissed off. Whoopsie.

I'm still not clear if it was the rum or earlier conversations, but my dream that night prompted me to act out, and before I knew it, I was in a compromising situation, which when I awoke led to a lot of confusion. The next morning, Scott asked, "What were YOU dreaming about last night??"

"Not you."

Those Damn Yankees

I picked up Emma from school today. The kids all wait in a little courtyard with benches and a white picket fence surrounding them. There is an aide at the gate who lets the kids out one by one when they see their parents.

Olivia and I arrived a little early today so she was playing on a tree stump and jumping off it and climbing back on. I look back at the courtyard and Emma is sitting on the bench with her cute little red headed girlfriend who is just about the sweetest little manner acknowledging Southern Belle you can ever imagine. Everything is, "Yes, ma'am, No ma'am", etc. So I shout to Emma, "Lou! Hi! Let's go!"

She looks at me, grins a tiny bit, and shouts back, "You're not my mom." And goes back to talking to her friend. Her friend, who knows me well, looks at me, confused, and smiles sweetly like she doesn't know what to do or why Emma is pretending to not know me..

"Okay, Emma...funny...come on!"

"You're not my mom! Cute baby!" And looks away.

The lady next to me shoots me a sympathetic grin. I smile back. "Really? I'm not your mom? Okay, well I hope someone comes to get you!"

"Hey Lady, I like your baby!"

"Yeah, she's my favorite child. It's not funny anymore. Come on!" Truthfully, I had mixed feelings of pride (that she came up with this and followed through so naturally) and annoyance (that she carried on for so long). I didn't even look to see what the other parents were doing. They all know me and know she's mine so no one was calling the police or anything. However, calling me "Lady" is probably a cardinal sin down here. Kids refer to their parents and other adults as "Sir" or "Ma'am". Emma called me "ma'am" once by accident and we both looked at each other with confusion and then laughter.

The lady looks at me and says, "She still isn't coming? Oh my goodness."

"Yeah, she's a funny one. That's okay. I'm going to beat her when she gets out here." Which reminds me that I probably need to stop threatening to beat my children in public.

So I walk away in an attempt to give her a little scare. I look back to see Olivia beating on a little boy twice her size. He is on the stump and she is swinging at him to get him off.

Good God. Shoot me dead.

WHO'S a housewife???

I realize I've been a little laxed since my return from Mexico. Things don't really seem as necessary or urgent as they did before. And my house may show for it a little. JUST a little.

Scott came home one day this past week and looked at me and then took a glance around the house and said, "Man, you really suck as a housewife. I want Katie back."
Katie, for those of you who don't know, is my brother's girlfriend and she takes care of the girls for me while I am gone for work...or vacation. She is an absolute star.

"That's because I'm NOT a housewife."


Did I wake up in1950? I work Mother F-er. My job just allows me to be home for most of the year. I know I'm not bringing in a lot of income, but we are in a recession! And let's not forget that I AM taking care of your kids, too. You better check yourself. (I've moved on to 1980 at this point.)

I'm not really sure when he started believing he has a housewife, but I was happy to burst his fantasy bubble and let him know that it ain't me.

No respect

My house has been where it's at with the 8 and under crowd. It's cool, I guess. No one's killing each other, or more importantly, demanding anything of me. Yesterday, the girls across the street were over playing with Emma. Before long, it was a full out party running through my house as all the kids congregated to the noisy house. I opened the back door and, like flies, they flew out the door.

Perfect.

And then the creep behind us climbed over the fence and ruined the party. I gave the girls water guns and a bucket of water to fill their own weapons as needed. It worked. And then the boys came back with bigger guns. Bastards. Suddenly, it was boys against girls. Damn. Sorry, girls...I got you set up and now you're on your own. But then I realized that the bucket of water is in my house. They're all right in front of me, looking at the bucket, laughing and bickering.

"You gotta get the bucket out of the house."

Blank stares.
"Am I speaking Japanese? Hey, take the bucket outside, please!"
And the oldest girl of the group, 2nd grader, a girl after my own heart says, "Does anyone hear her? Get the bucket!"
Still nothing.
So, teeth clenched, growling, I try one more time, "Get. The. Buckeeeet."

Emma....looks at her friends, shrugs her shoulders, and says, "That's what she does. She does that all the time."

Really, Emma? Well, clearly I don't beat you all the time. How about if I start doing that.

Jumping Fences

I know the grass always looks greener on the other side. I know because I've been jumping fences back and forth for a long time. Here's the thing. How do you know if it's greener or not if you don't go over and take a look?

I realize it gets exhausting and sometimes fences have pokes on the tops of them, but one must know what they're missing...orrrrrrr not missing. I think people become too comfortable in their grass and are too lazy to see what's on the other side. UNLESS...of course, you're perfectly happy with your grass. Then. You should stay on your side. But if you're wondering, then why not check it out. The grass might possibly BE greener.

It could also be burnt up.

Like it is in Alabama. 

Brussel Sprouts

I've been trying to get the girls to eat brussel sprouts. They're my favorite vegetable and have been ever since I was little.

Odd? Possibly.

They have both tried them before, but to no avail. So I tried again tonight. I watched Emma nonchalantly put one in her mouth. The look on her face was enough. And then she spit it back out on her plate. "Ock! THAT. Is disgusting."

I look at Olivia's high chair tray and hers are gone. I've won! One of my kids is going to like brussel sprouts, just like me. So I put more on her tray and watch her with pride. Without thinking twice, she reaches over and drops them on the floor to the dog. One right after another.

Defeated.

Worn and Put Away Wet

Is exactly how I feel right now. I am my own worst enemy.

I spent a tumultuous 5 days in Mexico with good girlfriends. It was one of the best trips I've had and absolutely just what I needed. The plan was 5 days of "relaxation and reflection."

It ended up being Spring Break 2010 minus all the college students.

I found myself face down in a bed of landscaped plants within the first 3 hours of my arrival in Mexico. Fast forward to that evening and I'm sitting in a Corona Bar with girls blowing whistles and pouring shots down people's throats, all while watching a booty shaking contest and "someone" getting black lips fake tattooed on her ass.

This wasn't supposed to happen. And I'm happy to say, it didn't happen again.

The days and nights were still filled with drinking and minimal eating. The Mexican bartenders became our best friends, even on a nickname basis. Our other best friends were a group of 30+ year old beer guys there on an incentive trip from their company. They were the best and worst things that happened to us.

It was all good times until someone pissed off a 5 foot Asian guy who then proceeded to jump onto a table and break a beer bottle on the floor. Mama Jodi snapped her fingers in panic at her two barefoot little poodles, Jen and Jen2, snapping and pointing, "You two! Get over here! Now!" We obeyed with our heads hung down until we realized she was leading us out the front door instead of down the corridor to our room. The drunk leading the drunker, I suppose.

My six years of Spanish came through for me/us the longer we were there. Jen2 thought that the Spanish language consisted of just adding an "o" to the end of every English word. The taxi rides were quite amusing as Mama Jodi and I observed from the back seat. "Muy handsome-o!" "Free-o?" Hmm...not so much.

My body is resisting repositioning itself into normal life mode. As I type, Emma is watching Knocked Up and Olivia is eating dog food. All I really want is to lay by the pool with my ipod, read my book, drink (water, obviously), and talk to my friends in person.

I should have married Jay-Z.

If I only had a heart...

I leave for Mexico on Friday.

I asked Emma if she is going to miss me when I'm gone. She answers that she will and said she was talking to her friends about it today at school. So, obviously, I ask what she said.

"I told them my mom is moving to California."

"Baby, I'm not moving to California! I'm going to Mexico for a vacation!"

"Oh yeah...I forgot."

I mean, does she EVER listen to me?

Then, we got distracted.

As we were driving, I saw a man on the ground...like he had just fallen down. He was on all fours and trying to get back up...he was probably in his 60's or 70's. My first thought was, "Oh no!" and I even said it out loud. Then, I saw two ladies rush over to him to help him. As I drove by, I stopped in thought as I realized my first reaction wasn't laughing! That never happens! I always laugh when people fall. Always. I was so impressed with myself and happy that I really did care.

And then it happened.

I started laughing.

Snakes are bad, bad things.

Snakes are NOT pets.

They are creepy and gross.

I took Emma to a birthday party today, which is a beach theme. They had sand brought in and dumped in their backyard. They had a big jumpy, pool, sand toys, all the fun stuff of a beach party. Emma and I walk in and I see big turtles crawling around. Ew. I look to my left and there is a HUMONGO, FAT snake folded up in a clear tote right next to me. My heart stopped and I ran. What. the. hell.

It's a reptile petting zoo. Fantastic. 

So Emma takes off to play and I walk over to the mother of the birthday boy and just as I was telling her how crazy she is, another mom comes up, also horrified about the snake. Suddenly, she jumps and screams, which sets me into panic mode so I start screaming and running in place. I had no idea what we were screaming about because I couldn't look, and I think my eyes may have been closed, too.

Finally, after I kind of pulled myself together, I turn around and a masked boy is standing there shooting me with a water gun. I jump again and threaten him quietly. 

I couldn't get out of there fast enough, but needed another way to get to the front of the house without passing the snake. So I went through the house. I was stopped by one of the father's who commented that we made the best entrance, which is clearly not a compliment. The situation started to replay in my head and it struck me that we were jumping and screaming like two little girls. Embarrassing.

When I got to my car, I realized I left Emma at the party with a 40 lb snake. And three turtles. I'm still not going back there until it's over.

My heart is heavy and my breathing is shallow. I actually kind of feel like I could vomit.

I've never been so thankful to have two girls.

They have a what?!

After years of letting Emma believe that boys have vaginas, I decided tonight to tell her the truth.

She made a comment that included "boys' vaginas" and I thought, she's almost 6, maybe it's time for her to know that they're not actually called vaginas.

So I told her. "Emma, boys' vaginas are not called vaginas." Pause, hesitation, pause. "It's a penis." I waited for her to repeat what I just told her. It's what she does.

"A penis?"

Pause. Please don't make me say it again. "Yes."

"Why is it a penis?"

"That's just what it's called."

"Is it because it's a long vagina?" She motions her hand from her crotch down to her knees during the word "long".

"Yep."

And that was the end of it.

As much as I dreaded it, I feel relieved that no longer will she be getting confused looks from those not in our "everyone has vaginas" world.

Parenting is hard.

Check up

I took Olivia to the doctor today. I took her a month ago because she was sick so today was a follow up.

There is nothing I hate more than going to the doctor or taking my kids to the doctor. First of all, the place is filled with germs. People go there because they're sick. Obvious. Germs. Secondly, I really don't think doctors typically know what they're talking about. Going to the doctor is really just confirmation of what I already know. So, to me, it's a waste of time and money. Finally, they want to treat everything with medication. I don't want to do that. There isn't anything a healthy diet and probiotic can't fix. It's those times that I feel defeated that I just want the doctor to look at my kids. If I decide to not go to the doctor, that's one thing. Not taking my kids teeters on child neglect. I'm not big on jail.

It took me months to find a doctor here who will consider alternative medicine. She's from New York, she is conservative when it comes to prescribing medication (for an MD), and I actually really like her.

Her nurse weighed Olivia and got a concerned look on her face and said she has lost a little weight. She lost half of an ounce. Olivia is half of an ounce lighter today, three weeks later than the last time they weighed her.

"That diet I put her on must be working" was my response.

The nurse didn't laugh.

Sheesh.

Enter with caution

I haven't been one to stay in one place for very long. Shocking, I know. I haven't decided if it's a psychological problem I might have or just a desire for change. It might be both.  Who knows. I can't allow myself to think about it long enough to figure it out. How's that for issues.

So I say this with HEAVY hesitation because I know the backlash which is about to take place. But, I have to put it out there because it's weighing heavier on my heart.

I had a revelation the other day...some may call it a meltdown...I prefer revelation. But I might want to move again.

I like it here. I like the community, the people, the school. It's beautiful, really. But I feel so far removed.

That's it. I really don't have anymore to say about it. Without getting sick to my stomach.

Disclaimer: The writer is not responsible for questions regarding when, how, why, what, where as those are all unknown.

Having kids is hard.

Emma got punched in the face at school today. 

As awful as that sounds, it's also kind of funny. I mean, what 5 year old little girl gets punched in the face?  I asked her what happened and she said, "Pretend I'm Jeremiah and you're me." Uh....no thanks. You got punched in the eye. I'm not "pretending" to get punched by you. So yes, she got punched by a boy in her class, who walked up to her and punched her in the eye.

The thing is Emma really is a nice girl. Especially at school. So I really don't think she deserved to get punched. And this kid has been trouble since Christmas break. I do kind of hope this means she will stop threatening to punch me though.

Rewind to last week. I picked her up from school and she said,
"Mom, Mason said to me, "You're hot" and not the kind of hot where you feel my head to see if I'm sick."
"Oh really? What other kind of hot is there?"
"The kind where he wants to maaaaarry me."

The next day, with a huge smile:
"Mom, I think I am falling in love with Kip."
"What do you mean you're falling in love with Kip?"
"I keep staring at him. We are going to get married!"

And then the next day was just, "I love boys!"

Why in the hell would God give me two girls? I seriously hope Olivia is a lesbian.

You're HOW old?

For all my life, no one ever believed my age. I've heard, "There's no way you have a child!" and "You don't look old enough!" more times than I can count. For the most part it annoyed me, but I also knew I should appreciate it as well.

Well, not anymore.

Last night I went out with a couple friends.  We met some other girls and were talking to them. They were there for Spring Break. The older two were related to the younger girls in their group so I just assumed they were tagging along for their Spring Break. As we talked, they said they were in school full time and didn't work. I thought, "Hmm...still in school. These are lifers trying to regain their youth." They looked older than me...or older than what I think I look.

Finally, I asked their ages. They...were 25 years old. These girls have been living life hard. I laughed at first thinking they were joking, and then realized they weren't and I quickly needed to figure out a way to turn my laughter into something else. I love those situations. It was an "Oh I was just thinking about something funny that happened earlier today" moment.

What isn't funny is that they guessed me to be 28 and when I told them I was 33, they didn't bat an eye. I was waiting for, "No way!" but it was more of a patronizing, "Oh, really.." What I wanted to say was, "Listen, bitches. You look like you have been worn and put away wet. Don't patronize me with that "28, oh really" bull shit."

Why don't people say I look younger than what I am anymore??? I want that. I miss that! I won't take it for granted anymore...I promise! I don't want to be younger, I just want to look it. And I'm worried that these children I have are aging me much quicker than I'm willing to go. Don't think I won't use that college savings to get a little work done.

If only they had a college savings.

After getting home at 3:30 in the morning and getting up at 7:00, I remembered that I really am 33. I look it, I feel it, I am it. I was surprised to find myself really alert and motivated this morning. It was like a false sense of energy came over me. I showered, cleaned, made plans to go to the market today, but by noon I was zombified. If someone shot me in the face, twice, I would probably have felt about the same. While 33 may not be old, it sure as hell is too old to be getting only 3 hours of sleep.

My name is Jennifer Leathers and I'm 33 years old. And I look it.

Ouch.

Science

Telling yourself NOT to do something makes you want it more. It has to be a scientific fact.

I did a sugar cleanse. The first day went well, except in my attempt to avoid sugar, I ate everything else. The second day was a bit more challenging. That evening I ate my weight in rice krispie treats.It has been a slippery slope ever since.

I started a budget. I did great for the first 2 weeks...I got the money a little mixed up at times, but I didn't use the debit card and that was the goal. The details are only minor. I started to slip a little in the third week, but still did okay. Last week I completely blew it. I'm still struggling to get my ass back up and on the wagon of savings. I actually just pulled myself away from online shopping to blog. I had to do something.

I wonder if someone gave me a whole bunch of money if I would not want to spend it OR if I would splurge. When I have money and set out on a mission to find something, it's never there. When I don't have money and I am not looking, these all of a sudden must haves pop up right in my face...nearly screaming at me to buy them. Besides that, I have goals in my mind of things I want. So I buy the things NOT on my mental list, and then have guilt about still not getting the goal items with this week's budgeted money. Or a friend calls and wants to do lunch.  So I end up eating my money and that really pisses me off. Because then I have nothing. Physically. Which is really what's important right now.

I'm obsessed with things I can't have. The good news is that when I get them, the pride usually overrides the guilt. Until I realize I have to wait another week to get the goal items. When it comes to eating, I don't usually eat poorly so I can get over it rather quickly. I just wish I could live on water and vegetables.

Britney Spears gets $1500 a week. That sounds more doable.

Blinded by dilation

I went to the eye doctor today for my yearly eye exam.

On the information sheet, it asked if I would like my eyes dilated. I told the receptionist I would have my eyes dilated if I needed it. I wasn't sure why they were asking. I read a little of the print underneath the question and it said something about my vision may be blurred for awhile after the procedure, but it didn't seem like that big of a deal, so yeah...whatever. If it needs to be done, then do it. I don't know what the big deal is.

The doctor did the exam and at the end asked if I've ever been dilated. I really don't know. I've had contacts/glasses since jr high. Surely I've been dilated before, right?

Uhhhh...not so much.

She put drops in my eyes, which apparently was the dilation.

"Uh, that kinda burns. I'm pretty sure I've never had this done before."
She says, laughing, "Yeah, it does sting."
"I can't open my eyes...it REALLY hurts. That would have been good to know before I agreed to do this."
"We aren't done yet. You need to lean back and look up again."
"For more??" And then I lean back and she puts more drops in my eyes. I could cry, and I might have been.

After, she asks me if I have sunglasses to wear, which I don't. So she reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of paper sunglasses. These are black out, grandma, driving sunglasses.
"Is that really necessary? Do you really think I'll need those?"
"Ummm...yes."
So I fold them up and carry them out to the receptionist's desk. As I get ready to pay, I realize I don't have my debit card, but I think I have a checkbook in my car. I leave the sunglasses on the desk and walk outside. Holy bright light I can't see and I'm pretty sure the sun is melting my retinas right out of my sockets. I walk with my head down, hand blocking my face like I'm a celebrity blocking the paparazzi from taking photos of me. I grab the checkbook and go back inside. I look at the checkbook, and I'm totally blind. What I can see doesn't look like a check so I asked the lady to look and she confirmed it was a deposit slip. No checks. My debit card was at home sitting by my laptop as I did a little online shopping last night. (Oh yes...my budget is completely blown. I have lost all control and I feel pretty good about it. My purchases were unbelievably GREAT deals and I have no remorse. I actually saved hundreds of dollars if you really think about it.)  Luckily, I live close so I drove home with my paper sunglasses and returned with payment for blinding me.

The lesson here is that if your eye doctor asks if you want to be dilated, always say no. It was complete misery for 4 hours. I received text messages and emails that, no matter what, I could NOT read until hours later. Braille was my only hope.

Just say no to dilation.

The mommy on the bus says, "Ew, ew, ew."

Today I went with Emma and her class to a field trip to Sea, Sand, and Stars in Orange Beach. It's at the school in OB, and has a planetarium, aquarium, and other sciencey stuff.  Very cool if you're into that kind of stuff.

I. Am not.

Her teacher told me I could ride the bus with them, along with one other class, and the other parents that went on the field trip, too. I thought I was going to have a panic attack. There were 40 5 and 6 year olds on the bus, and it took a little less than 45 minutes to get there by school bus. Emma and I sat in the very back, which was good because it meant no midgets jumping up behind me, coughing, sneezing, yelling, or breathing on me. A lake of Purell couldn't have even helped me. I was nauseous immediately.

As if the bus ride wasn't bad enough, "Sea, Sand, and Stars" is full of aquariums, closed and open. I hate fish. I hate anything marine life. On a girls cruise to Jamaica one year, a friend signed us up for snorkeling. I would rather camp in a tent than swim with fish. I was the only one NOT looking at the fish, and making sure no sharks were headed our way. I waded violently to be sure the fish knew I was a moving creature and not to come close. Later I learned that sharks see that as an injured fish to prey on. Whatever. Note taken.

Everyone loved this trip. It was a really great experience for normal people. I was impressed with the knowledge of these 5 year olds regarding the planets, space, marine life, the solar system, etc. My own, even, started to name the planets to me.

"There's Mercury, Earth, Pluto, but Pluto isn't a planet anymore. And then there's Vegas and..."
"What?"
"Vegas."
"I think it's Venus."
"Oh yeah...Venus."

What's that about great minds...

Hoarders Non Anonymous

I have too much stuff.

I feel weighed down by it. It is smothering me. My house is constantly in disarray because there is shit everywhere. I don't think I would qualify for a hoarders episode on Oprah, but I might. No, I wouldn't.

My kids have too many toys, too many clothes, and there's not enough space. This isn't even my house anymore. It's theirs. It's like I'm trying to fight their stuff for a place for my stuff and so everyone's stuff is everywhere. So I've started to hate it.

Today I decided to go through everything and if I'm not using it, it's getting thrown out. I realize "everything" is very broad and most likely a sign that this is a task that will never end. I'm determined though.

So I started in the attic. I don't know what is up there and it's really hard to walk on 2 inch beams with a huge tote in your arms. I fell off the beams a few times and wondered if I could really fall through the ceiling...and getting the totes down the ladder was another challenge. I actually thought that I might fall down and knock myself unconscious. The garage door guy was coming over so I knew that if I did become unconscious, he would find me and everything would be okay. Except he would see my huge mess, which might be a little humiliating.

Obviously, the garage is a mess now, too. I found totes of Emma's shoes as a baby, and emptied them onto the garage floor to look through them. The number of shoes she has had in her 5 yrs of life is astonishing. I'm embarrassed at how much shit she actually has as a whole. Olivia, already being the boy I never wanted, is already showing signs of defiance so I'm expecting she will hate everything that has preceded her.

I have no problem acknowledging that I have no use for things and accepting that I should get rid of stuff. It's actually quite liberating. The problem is I don't want to throw it in the trash. I have some weird attachment disorder that prohibits me from throwing my belongings into the garbage. I may not use them anymore, but they don't deserve to be in the stinky GARBAGE. And the goodwill pretty much is the garbage, so that is not really an option either.

I'm hoping it will just take some time. Eventually, I will get sick of looking at the pile and feel better about putting it on the curb. Hopefully.

Lost? Or organized?

About a month ago some friends and I booked a trip to Mexico. We are going in April. I haven't seen my passport for awhile so I thought I should start looking.

I have been looking for it for weeks.

I thought maybe I should order a new one, but I really like looking at all the stamps of where I've been so that was an option I was not ready to accept. And, I don't have a Mexico stamp yet. Back in my day, passports weren't needed to go to Mexico.

I went through my desk, file cabinet, computer bag (three times), junk organizer thing....couldn't find it.

So this morning I went to the garage to get the ladder so I can get the suitcase down out of the closet. Maybe I left it in my rollie. As I reached for the ladder, I saw an accordion file folder thing on a shelf...in the garage. I'll just look...maybe I put it in there. I do have days where I try to organize things.

Voila!

It was in the tab marked "birth certificates/passport".

In the garage.


Organization doesn't always pay off.

The JCP

The other day I was on a mission to find a Saints shirt for a Super Bowl party. Yes, I am a bandwagon jumper, and it's just football, so who really cares anyway. Plus, they won. So it totally paid off. And I found a t-shirt with the number 9 on it, and apparently, that guy is pretty darn good.

I really wanted Reggie Bush's shirt. He's really the only guy I know on the team and that's only because he's dating Kim Kardashian.

So, as I was driving through the shopping center, I passed by JCPenney. I've passed it many times, but have never paid attention. My mother shops there, so it's an obvious sign that I would never. Ever. It IS JCPenney. I still have flashbacks of going there as a kid and climbing into the middle of the clothes racks to hide from her while she and every sales associate in the store looked for me.

I thought it was funny. She....did not.

Anyway, as I passed by, I noticed something in the window that caught my eye. "Sephora"  Huh?? There's a Sephora inside JCPenney???  No. Way.

So, I went in. Yep, there was a Sephora inside the store. Awesome. Not only was I overwhelmed with excitement about Sephora, but I was pleasantly surprised at the shopping environment at JCPenney. The lights were bright, but not fluorescenty warehouse bright, and everything looked new and, dare I say, nice.  After hanging out in Sephora for as long as I could without looking suspicious, I decided to venture out and see what the rest of the store was like. If they have Sephora, it can't be too bad, right?

Well, not exactly, but not exactly not, either.

Listen. I'm telling you, the store was the nicest department store in the JCPenney/Kohl's range I have ever seen. It was clean, and organized, which isn't what I expected out of the JCP. I saw "American something" and thought for a minute they had American Apparel, but it was home decor stuff.

I took it too far. I know.

Budgets are not for the weak...

I'm out of my personal money for the week. I know it's only Wednesday. I actually went for broke yesterday.

I haven't even gone to Zumba this week...(and definitely won't be going tomorrow). I found a small, free strength training class, which I attended yesterday. I was way out of my league. Especially when they grabbed a Bible and started to pray at the end. I started standing up, and heard, "Let's pray."
"OH! Okay!"
I sat back down and bowed my head and crossed my fingers. Is this how people pray still? 
Walking down the stairs to leave proved to be an even bigger challenge than the praying. No wonder they pray after the workout. My legs felt like cooked spaghetti and I feared tumbling my way down. I'll pray next time, too...that I can walk after the class. 


Anyway, I used the debit card yesterday. Scott acted like I ran over the dog. 

It caused a big fight and I really dislike him. A lot.

I think this budget may cause a divorce. And I'm actually okay with that...especially if it means I don't have to live on a budget anymore. And live with him. Because he's really ugly.

Grammy Low-down

This year might have been the best Grammy's ever. They will never be as good as the VMA's, but they are actually getting close to being able to compete.

I don't have a favorite performance...nothing was really groundbreaking, but I did love a lot of them. Pink always comes through. I was a tad disappointed at the familiarity of her VMA performance, but she is super talented, and can sing while doing a trapeze act, so why not. I love her and will never say anything bad about her. I did wonder if anyone was freaking out about getting wet, but I'm assuming they were notified that they were in the "wet zone"...and who knows her actual location, she may have been watering the nobodies.

I am NOT a fan of Lady Gaga, but I am always wondering what she's going to do and wear. I liked her performance with Elton, she's a great singer/player, and I also realized why she usually has her face painted up. Yeesh! I didn't get the dirty faces at first, but then remembered she had jumped into a cauldron of flames...which doesn't explain Elton's dirty face. Do you think he could see through those glasses?

I'm over her, which is easy since I was never really with her to begin with.

Putting Eminem and Travis Barker on the stage together pretty much sealed the deal for me. Too bad most of it was edited. Did they really need to silence THAT much of the performance? What's the point? Still, I'm an Eminem lover so I was very happy to see him. And hear him, too. Lil Wayne was adorable at the end when he was giddy over his own performance.

Jason Mraz won three awards, and none were televised. Why????????

Stevie Nicks looked miserable singing with Taylor Swift. I'm not even sure she knew the song she was supposed to be singing. And why would she.

Speaking of Taylor...Taylor Swift wins Album of the Year? What a waste!!! Throw the whole category in the garbage can. She is a talented girl, and I've been happy for her until now.  I was pissed when Wynnona Judd said she wasn't deserving of the country award she won. Why take that away from her. But album of the year at the Grammy's is a different story. I hate to be a hater (not really), but ANY of the other nominees should have won it. Except DMB.

Til the Oscars...

My favorite is.....neither of you.

I really don't agree with people who say they don't have a favorite child. I always like one more than the other.

Last night we went to dinner to Ruth's Chris for my dad's 65th birthday.  It was my parents, Todd, my grandmother, and Scott, the girls and I. We were seated at a round table in the middle of the room with smaller tables surrounding us. Great. My parents and grandmother got there first so they were already seated, and there was a high chair for Olivia. The way everyone positioned themselves at the table forced me to sit between my grandmother and Olivia, with Emma on the other side of Olivia. Good freaking god. Trying to keep Olivia quiet and busy was a job all in its own. However, my grandmother kept saying in her loudest voice that she couldn't see the menu...so I was subjected to helping her. As well as, entertain Olivia, figure out what Emma will eat, and what myself, the vegetarian, will eat at the steakhouse chain whose menu is not the same as it is online.

So I'm helping Bonnie figure out what she wants to eat, and after she repeatedly yells that "Ooh...that's expensive!" finally I decide she is getting the stuffed chicken. I tell her that's what she's getting, it's only $20 and, frankly, she'll eat anything. Fine. She's done.

Or not. She keeps looking at the stupid menu and making comments about what she wasn't able to see 5 minutes ago.

"You're having the stuffed chicken remember?"
"Oh yeah, I know. I don't even like steak." Which is a lie.
"Do you want steak?"
"No...I'll have the chicken."
"Okay, close your menu and stop shouting."

Olivia, meanwhile, is a maniac. She is yelling, laughing very loudly, and demanding attention by everyone around her. Not in a terrible way...the people around us were (drunk) and amused by her. She is charming with her big dimples and happiness, unless you're her parent at a restaurant with stuffy people...except for the drunk ones.

So while I'm doing everything besides standing on my head to entertain her, Scott is across the table from me sitting next to his boyfriend (my brother) and they're both watching me. And doing nothing. I really want to flip both of them the finger, but my hands are tied at the moment.

We finally get dinner, and after we eat, Scott asks if I want him to take Olivia. Oh...no....this is great...I'm having SUCH a lovely time....why would you ever think that? Come closer so I can stab you with this fork without anyone seeing.

On the drive home I decide he can have Olivia and I'll take Emma.

And then today happened. And I really don't like any of them. Emma thinks she knows karate because the kid in her class told her he's a black belt and taught her how to fight. She starts off every spar by sticking her thumb in her mouth and then punching her fists together. And then the attack.

"Who taught you to do that?"
"Roger. He said that's what you do."
"I think Roger is lying to you."
"No, he's a black belt."
"I think he's a nothing belt."

I told her if she attacks me one more time I'm going to punch her in the face. Inappropriate, I know. I know because now she keeps threatening to punch me in the vagina.

Peanut M&M's

This week I have convinced myself that I have cancer. I'm not sure which kind yet, but I'm thinking maybe cervical or colon. Of course, my throat hurts so it could be throat.

The main symptom that convinced me of this is that my belly button has taken on a change. It looks and feels a little "fatty". At first, I blamed my OB as I thought he may have screwed up my belly button after my C-section with Olivia. I don't know what one has to do with the other, but it only makes sense.  Unless, of course, it's the c-word.

I have gone through my treatment options, and have planned my course of action. I believe that I will probably read Suzanne Somers' book, go up to Mayo and get an opinion there, then read Alicia Silverstone's book, and only eat a plant based diet. I tried eliminating sugar from my diet yesterday, and nearly finished off a bag of peanut M&M's. They really deserve the title "betcha can't eat just one."

I may eventually go to the doctor for an exam. I Googled "cancer doctor", and found out an oncologist is who I would see.

I am not making light of cancer. I only decided to blog about it because 1) it's my blog and I write about what I'm thinking about. 2) if I do have cancer, I would like to have documented my self diagnosis. And 3) if I don't have it, we will all have something to be happy about.

No flu shot for me, thanks.

Last week I got sick with the flu and was puking my brains out. It was painful, but a little part of my was excited about it. I don't get why people complain about getting sick.  It was like a forced cleanse, or diet, at least. While I was throwing up, I was actually thinking, "Imagine the weight I'm losing. My stomach is going to be so flat. Oh my God, I can't stand my face being so close to the toilet, I could never be bulimic."

And then, the next day I couldn't eat anything except drink Gatorade. I felt horrible, but I am pretty sure my stomach shrunk and I don't want to eat as much as I did before. People should be thankful when they're sick and getting rid of all that shit you ate. And when you see it coming back up and out, you see what it's actually like in your body, and for me, it made me not want to eat. Like ice cream. Have you ever thrown up ice cream? It's the most disgusting thing to ever throw up. I can go a year without ice cream if I throw it up once.

So to all of you who got sick and blamed me, you're welcome.

Say what?

I may need to get out more.

Lately, I've been finding myself lost in translation. Whether I'm in a conversation or reading, I find myself not understanding what is being said. I'm not so quick to blame myself, because many times I think people use way too many words to say what they're trying to say (that's right), and I find myself losing interest, zoning out, or wishing really hard for what sounds like a period coming at the end of a sentence.

It also depends on the topic of conversation. If I already know how I feel about something, and someone else feels differently, I am not interested in discussing it with them. Not very open minded, I know.



This post is a perfect example. When I was thinking about my state of confusion as of late, I thought it might be good to write about it. But I've actually lost interest in what I'm writing.I'm not even interested in what I have to say now.


Hmm. Now what am I going to do.

Budget update

It's Thursday, and I still have almost all of my money! I can't believe it. Although I have spent almost all of the Target/grocery money.  And I found an extra $15. On Tuesday, I dropped off my jeans to be altered so I have to pay for that today, which will cut my money in half. I also had to decide to wait to get my other pants altered. I would have spent nearly my whole budget just at the tailor!

I'm doing surprisingly well, but it stresses me out. This budget kind of puts me in a bad mood. Yesterday, Scott was questioning me about the grocery money. He apparently doesn't trust me and thinks I'm going to try to STEAL from the grocery envelope. He wants to see receipts. I want to tell him to F off.

So guess what. A few days ago I lied to him about something. As soon as I said it, I was laughing, but he thought I was laughing about something else. I couldn't wait for the moment to tell him the truth just to see the look on his face. I thought I would tell him the next day, but I was getting so much enjoyment out of it.  So this morning he called and he was being super obnoxious again and laughing at my expense (and at his own jokes, which were totally not funny). The timing couldn't have been more perfect and I decided to tell him about my lie.

He hung up on me. While I was laughing.

I may not be able to manage money, but I will always get the last laugh.