Mom Jeans and Minivans

It has been quite some time since I have written anything. Correction, POSTED anything. I have a lot of half written posts waiting to be published but weren't. I guess one could say it's the blogging equivalent to dialing 6 of the 7 digits of someones phone number and then hanging up.

Bingo was born nine weeks ago tomorrow. Crazy to me that its been nine weeks. But even crazier that I am now a mom. I don't feel like a mom. I mean, I do in the sense that she's attached to my boobie 24/7 (sorry for the tmi to those that are grossed out by that kind of thing) and that she wants me to hold her and cuddle her all the time and that I feel this unexplainable ache to be near her when we are apart. And I do in the sense that I am over the moon in adoration for her.

But in terms of the actual person, I don't feel like a "mom".

With no offense to my own mother or any of her friends or any mothers out there, I have had this notion or idea in my mind that moms are frumpy. Moms drive minivans and wear jeans with pleats in the front. Moms say things like daggummit, shoot and golly gee. Moms have no sense of humor or if they do it doesn't extend past a knock-knock joke. Moms watch TV shows that are decades old or they don't watch TV at all. Moms have collections of holiday sweatshirts with cats being various Christmas characters. Moms mix up names of really popular things like YouTunes and iTube. Moms are frumpy.

I realize that the above isn't (always) true. Because I have not become any of those things. I still am me. I say Fuck all the time. I make really dumb jokes, I love to go shopping for make up and clothes, I wear skinny jeans and drive a compact car. I still have girls night and drink wine or cocktails, and when I wash my face before bed I still half expect to see the reflection in the mirror of a monster standing behind me. I am still all of the things that make me who I am, I just happen to be someones mommy now.

Yup. I am Mommy. Still sounds funny to say. But each day it's said I love it more and more.

When I was pregnant people used to say things like "having kids will change you" "having kids will ruin your life" "you can't do anything fun once you have kids" "your life will be over". Which is really mean if you think about it. I was already pregnant, what was I supposed to do? Thats like those people telling you about plane crashes five minutes before your flight to Paris. What a bunch of assholes...Ahh that's a post for another time.

But anyway I knew what they were saying was not true. THAT'S what having kids did to THEM. But it didn't mean it was going to do that to me. And so far it hasn't. Now granted it has only been nine weeks; but still. It did not change me. It didn't change the real actual dorky, swearing, fashion loving me, it just added to who I already am. And truth be told, it didn't end my life, it started my life.

Little Bingo completes the puzzle that is our family. She was the last piece we needed. And now we are a whole picture. Now I am whole.

I Wanna Stay Home

I have this song by Jellyfish called " I wanna stay home" stuck in my head. I love that song. Matty hates it. Hooray for earphones!

It has been so long since I have posted that I don't even know if anybody reads this anymore. Not that it even matters. I just haven't had anything to say. Not that my life is so boring and woe is me because nothing is exciting blah blah blah. Actually life is pretty good. But I don't even have anything to say about that.

So why bother posting? I guess I am just bored. And it's Sunday night. And I really really do not want to work tomorrow. And I am not really doing anything else. Dinner has been made and cleaned up. The dishes are done ("the dishes are done man!" movie reference anybody?) Laundry is folded and put away. The pup has been walked and fed. I am just sitting around. Why not post about how I am doing nothing but super happy about it?

I feel good about stuff. I am looking forward to things. I have a positive outlook. Things are good. But I am scared to completely give in to the hippy-dippy-feelin'-groovy-can-you-dig-it-baby mind set. You know so much s**t happened in the last seven months I am hesitant to let out the sigh of relief that maybe the storm has passed or the psycho stalker is dead. Cause if you have seen as many movies as I have, we all know that it never has passed and he never is really dead. If it were that easy there would never be any sequels.

Between a miscarriage in June, a front door step armed robbery in September, the death of a sister-in-law in January and a super sick grandma all in less than a year; I am confident when I say that it's been too much. I sort of just got beaten down after a while. And I didn't really care about anything anymore. But for the first time in a while, I am starting to feel a little better. I feel like things are in order again. And that scares the crap out of me.

I guess because things were so crazy for so long and it felt like there was no end in sight. Now it appears (knock wood spit spit spit) that things have calmed down a bit. And I can breath easy. But my guard is still way up there. And to be totally honest, my arms are tired from holding it up for so long. I am ready to put it down, but I still can't. Even though my arms are about to give out cause I can't hold it up much longer.

I wish I could just stay right here. Snuggled up on the couch with my Matty B, the pup and family guy on the DVR. Forever. It's nice here and I am so very happy. But I know I have to keep on keepin' on as the Brady Bunch would say (not that I would really take any sage advise from them of all people ). I know that even though I am happy now, something can still happen that will throw me. But that's all part of my life. It's a part of every one's lives. And even though things or events might occur that will upset me or that I don't like, I still have to show up for my life. I can't stay on the couch forever.

I guess that's all I or anyone can do, show up for life with an open mind and an open heart and hope for the best.

Love you kids!

Behind The Door

I rarely find myself at a place when I am lost for words. But here I am. Quite the predicament when you are writing a blog I guess.

If I could turn back time (And damn you Cher for ruining that phrase for anyone who ever wants to use it) I still don't think I would change anything. Well, I guess maybe I would have been more diplomatic, something I fail miserably at when I feel attacked or provoked. Or when words and judgments thrown about that are a bit too personal for my liking.

Maybe I was the foolish one. Maybe I am just as guilty of bad behavior. Maybe the other is sitting around feeling just as rotten as I. A thought that makes me very sorry. But whats done is done. And once something is there is no way of making it not. There is no fixing or changing or any making it better. It's broken and that's all there is to it.

I realize though that the mean one in this situation isn't my antagonizer, it's me. And the person I owe the biggest apology to is myself. I let me down today. I broke a promise to me. I put someone else, something else, as number one and let myself fall away. I let it take over my thoughts and my ideas, I gave it a permanent residency in my heart, I gave it the keys to the door all my worries and insecurities hid behind and I let it live there. Shame on them for acting like they did? Shame on them for saying the things they did? No. But shame on me for letting it happen and shame on me for saying it was okay.

When forced to stay in a situation that is beyond repair the only way to fix it is to put it to rest, to end it and move on. Otherwise it becomes toxic. And once that happens all hope for anything better is lost.

A bit dramatic maybe but it's the truth.

So now what? Is there an open road with smooth sailing? Is there a dark, scary, and bumpy trail with monsters hiding behind trees? Is there something completely irresponsible, stupid, and a total waste of time? Or is it the moment I have been meant to cease all along? I have no idea. But I should find out.

It's my door to open and it's time to see what is on the other side.

say ahh

There are a few things in this world that I abhor even more than finding hair in my food. Most of them are pretty typical; stupid teenagers, not being able to see the hidden picture in those paintings that are all dots and, okra (side note: don't even get me started on okra, it is so vile, it's what I imagine eating a caterpillar is like *insert dry heave*)

But what I hate more than anything is the dentist. It is, pants down, the worst most awful task a human must subject themselves to. I will even go as far as to say it's worse than a pap smear (sorry guys).

I got home from work on Friday to a message from my dentist informing me it's time for my six month check up. It was a very friendly message but listening to it almost induced a panic attack. I got sweaty and anxious and I didn't even finish listening to it before I hit the delete button and hid under the pillows on my couch.

Seriously, why do teeth have to rot? Or need to be looked at twice a year? How I wish teeth were just made of bone. Who ever the "genius" was that invented the human body should be fired for that little slip up. Shouldn't we just get one good set of teeth and have them be maintenance free?

Between watching sugars, white flour intake, salts, empty calories, saturated fats, regular calories, high fructose corn syrup, making sure to floss and brush twice a day, wearing sunscreen, monitoring my moles and freckles, taking a multi-vitamin, waxing regularly, getting at least five hours of activity a week, making sure blood pressure and cholesterol are in check, changing the oil in my car every five thousand miles, sending thank you notes, and remembering to have a life between working all day and trying to get settled into the new house; it's just one more thing to worry about.

To me it's enough to immediately turn me into a temper tantrum throwing three year old. When I heard the words "time for a teeth cleaning" I just wanted to throw myself on the floor and cry my eyes out. I was just there six months ago. Why do I have to go again? I don't want to go again. I. Hate. This.

Of course there is an alternative. I could not go. At all ever. Nobody is forcing me to go. But then my teeth would totally rot out of my head. Which would be fine if I were a hockey player or heavily involved in roller-derby or if I was addicted to meth and living in a trailer park in some red state. Because I am sure that is the norm in those kinds of situations. And probably considered attractive and/or convenient. But I want my teeth. I just don't want to have to deal with all the up keep.

Left Overs

It will never cease to amaze me how much people just love to start shit. For no reason. And all just up outta no where too.

Things are all fine and dandy. I am enjoying my day. "Oh what's that? You're enjoying a nice day? Well please, allow me to throw this fist full of dog crap into your apple-tini of a day"

Seriously, Why The Face?

I do not nor will I ever understand it.

I am sure there is some deep seeded psychological reason for the need. They are bored. They are not loved enough. They don't have cable television. Who knows. But whatever the reason may be I really really wish that I could just be left out of it.

I have made it very clear to said shit disturber to think of me like Switzerland. If they have an issue with someone or feel like starting a revolution or whatever it is that is bothering them at that particular moment; Pretty please with a cherry on top, don't involve me.

But it seems to have fallen of deaf ears. And my reluctance and unwillingness to participate in their childish games has resulted in me being the new target. Which is just the dumbest thing I have ever heard of. Wait, I take it back. The "Shake Weight" is the dumbest thing I have ever heard of. But regardless, it is still just dumb.

It bothers me that it has come to this. It bothers me that this even bothers me.

I know it is stupid. The people who matter know that it is stupid also. So then why am I feeling the need to use up my time and precious blogging space to even discus it? Why am I even giving it a second thought? Why not just ignore this nonsense like the ramblings of a three year old? Why not just regard it much like I do when my Grandma goes on and on about how I look just like Elizabeth Hurley, which thanks for the complement grammy, I most certainly do not.

I guess it's because it is so unwarranted. So untrue. So hurtful.

It hurts when I have been nothing but nice to said someone and they turn around and tell lies. Just the most blatant malicious untruths. I am left speechless. But at the same time not at all surprised.

People always say things like "the truth comes out in the end" or "what goes around comes around" or "they will get theirs"

But is that even true? Will that ever really happen?

I am having a hard time seeing the happy ending in this poop in my martini of a situation.

Grrrrr.

Late night last minute ramblings.

I can't quite figure out how to do this new lay-out thingy and it's making me bonkers.

I think the new template I picked is so, I dunno, vanilla. Is that a good way to describe it? It's like a pinkberry with no toppings or an episode of Springer with no weave pulling. Bor-ring.

But I am too lazy and/or unmotivated to do anything about it right now. My brain is fried from overdosing on moving boxes, boxes and more boxes and from yearly projected budget proposals in excel format that needed to be revised and revised and revised again.

Between work and moving I am amazed I have enough energy to brush my hair. I don't even have the energy to finish posting this. But I want to finish. Even though there is absolutely no point or story that I want to get across. I am just posting for the sake of posting. I had the time and as tired as I am, it is still to early to go to bed.

I have had that No Doubt song "making out" stuck in my head all damn day. I even tried my song-stuck-in-your-head remedy of singing "Safety Dance" instead but to no avail it's 10 pm and it's still there "I'm on the second floor with a lock on my door". I have the iPod on shuffle but for some reason all it is playing is my Christmas music, which feels really weird to be listening to in August. Especially when it's like, the hottest day ever. I think it was 102 or something today. But I won't complain, the new place has got central air. Friggen Sweet.

That's all I got in me for now kids. A comfy bed and a Sudoku puzzle book is calling my name.

Flove you!

Cha-Cha-Cha-Changes

Nine years ago my boyfriends sister was moving into a house with her fiancée.

She had mentioned to her landlady that we (her little brother and his girlfriend) were looking for a place and the landlady said we could have it. It saved her the trouble of looking for tenants.

So on August 6, 2001, I moved into a tiny apartment with my boyfriend. It was small, close to both of our jobs, cheap and available. I remember as we were having our first dinner together in our kitchen that was covered in boxes, we made a joke that we would never move out.

" I bet you a nickel we will live here for like, eight years " I said

"No way, try 15 years " he replied.

Both of us could not imagine the idea of living there for any longer than three years. But life has a funny way with those kinds of things. Nine years seemed like a blink of an eye. And we just, never moved.

Within in that first year we grew to love that apartment more and more. It was this cozy little nook that we had made our own. We strung twinkle lights and got Ikea furniture. We would sit and drink wine while we pretended we lived in New York because of how tiny our place was. We would be adventurous and cook new things. Some of them were total failures others were smashing successes. We were happy in our little place.

The first year passed and my boyfriend became my fiancée.

The second year passed and my fiancée became my husband.

Years four, five, six, seven, eight and nine passed with so many life events lived and experienced inside that apartment.

An engagement that turned into a marriage, the birth of six nieces and nephews, the loss of a parent, a grandparent and a pregnancy, the witnessing of 9/11 and the election of our first african american president, the start of two wars, fights of our own, holidays like Christmases and New Years, birthdays, thanksgivings, layoffs, trips, daydreams, joys, accomplishments, failures, hangovers, stupid jokes that made us laugh so hard we thought we would pass out from not being able to breath, conversations that lasted until sunrise and a broken closet door that was never fixed.

All I see when I think of that place is years and years of happiness.

So as I sit here in the apartment, surrounded with boxes again because we are moving into a house, I can't help but feel a little sad that this chapter is ending.

But I am so hopeful and excited for what will be in the next chapter.

A chapter that starts with a washer/dryer hookup non the less.