Waving the White Flag: A/K/A Getting Your Ass Kicked by a Six Year Old

I can't be the only single mother who has bad days.  I mean, heinously bad days.  Days where you want to sell the child to the gypsies and spend the money on a trip to Hawaii. 

(Shit, did I just say that?)

I know there are a number of factors at play here.  And, I am going to guess there was a full moon over the weekend.  If there wasn't, just keep that to yourself.  It's MY story and I'm going with full moon. 

Friday night I was buried in boxes, packing things up and getting ready for the move.  Which means my house looked like it had been vandalized.  Of course, this activity did not jive with the six year old's planned evening of cartoon and cuddle time, which I kept putting off for just "five more minutes" or just "one more box, honey" because I was running on borrowed energy, having been up since 5:30 a.m. and already worked a full day.  I just wanted to get things done, ready for the next day.  It was chaos.  When I did finally stop and take her to bed for cuddle time, she passed out about two seconds before I did.  We didn't do the regular reading time before bed or any of that.  We just crashed and burned.  Way to bond with the kid, Mom.  Good job.

I was also dealing with a 13 year old boy who was completely losing his mind over the fact he had a band ensemble performance the next morning.  His first one and he was freaking the hell out.  And when he is stressed about something, it is as if he is the only person in the history of ever who has had so much stress and it is the most important thing in the entire universe and requires immediate attention. 

*Barges in while I am putting his sister to bed*

"Mom, did you iron my clothes, I have to look nice for the performance tomorrow"

(yawning) "Honey, hang them up in my room. I set my alarm and I will get up early and iron them for you."

"Okay, what time are you planning to get up?  We need to get there early for warm up.  I have to warm up before we play."

"I know.  Your sister has done these things about a half dozen times.  It's not my first ride in the rodeo."

"We need to leave at 9.  I have to be there about an hour before we play."

(No he doesn't)

"We will get there in plenty of time, I promise.  Now get a shower and go to bed so you are rested in the morning." (So mom can get some damn sleep)

(Geezus)

Meanwhile, my teenage daughter was busily texting her boyfriend, who just graduated from school that afternoon and is moving about a half hour away and they are both very melancholy about it.  I attempted to make conversation with her about that before I went to bed, but honestly, she probably got the short end of the stick that night.  I wanted to sympathize with her because I know when you are a teenager and your boyfriend leaves it is the most horrible thing ever, but I was exhausted to the point of not making any sense.  I think I may have patted her shoulder (it may have been the cat, I really have no idea) and said "It'll be fine, honey, I promise" and then walked into a wall on my way back to bed.

Sorry kids.  I am only one person.  You each have different needs and I am failing miserably at meeting any of them, much less all of them.

(Yeah.  It was one of THOSE weekends.)

I didn't sleep very well.  I woke up often during the night.  It happens sometimes.  Then, Saturday morning I continued the pattern, waking up at 4:00am, then 5:00am, then 5:20am and then 6:00am.  And finally, my alarm went off at 7:00a.m.  I was almost glad it finally went off so I had a reason to get out of that good for nothing asshole bed of mine.  My body, however, wasn't done sleeping.  It was going to be a long ass day.

I showered, got the boy up, ironed his clothes, put on something presentable and then woke up the teenager to let her know where her sister's dance clothes were because her father was going to pick her up for ballet class in about an hour (since they haven't perfected cloning technology and her dance class is at the same time as her brother's band performance, an hour away).  I threw some coffee in the general direction of my face and headed out.

Got though the performance.  He did well but they only got a 2nd division rating instead of 1st division so he was ticked off the whole way home. 

"We should've gotten a 1st Division rating."

"I told Mr. P I didn't want to do this anyway."

"Why did he sign me up for this?"

There, there, son.  There, there.

Came home and moved some truckloads of crap to storage.  Hoping some of it would blow out of the car on my way there so I didn't have to unload it.

Sent the 6 year old and the 13 year old off to their friends' houses for the evening for sleepovers. 

Spent the evening relaxing with the eldest teenager and watching movies and bonding and stuff.  That was the highlight of my weekend.  It was all downhill from there.

Sunday, I did NOT wake up until 11:00 a.m.  Well, I woke up briefly at 8:00 a.m., took some pain relief medication for my screaming back, and collapsed back into bed.  THEN, I woke up suddenly and looked at the clock and it said ELEVEN. OH.  FIVE.   Holy shit.  And the reason I woke up then was because my daughter had called to tell me she was getting dropped off soon. 

You'd think I would be well rested and ready to take on the day, right?  Oh my gods.  Not even close. 

The 6 year old came home with an ATTITUDE from HELL.  Precipitated by the fact that her friend had the nerve to go to her cousin's birthday party at Chuck E Cheese and not invite my child.  It took me a half hour to explain to my daughter why she couldn't crash another kid's party.  She was NOT having any of that. 

(Why did the other child have to rub it in her face that she was going to Chuck E Cheese?  Why not just tell my kid Santa is going to skip our house this year?  Thanks, kid.  PS:  Paybacks are a BITCH.  Yeah, I just tough-talked a 6 year old in my head.) 

My darling angel then spent the entire day jumping up and down on my last nerve.  Actually, my nerves were shot.  She was jumping up and down on my nerve ending.  The last one. 

She didn't want to eat anything I offered her. She didn't want to do any of the activities I suggested.  She certainly didn't want to help with anything or put any of her shit away.  She DID want to have a tantrum about how I packed up her very favorite doll (that she has not touched in six months) and demand that I take her down to retrieve it from storage. 

Excuse me???  (BREATHE, BREATHE, BREATHE. Don't cry.  Don't throw a tantrum.  Don't throw things.  *talking to myself here, not my 6 year old*)

My oldest daughter was busy doing homework all day long and I picked up my son around 2:00 p.m. from his friend's house.  He spent some time on the computer with his headphones on and she was attempting to focus on her homework while both attempted to stay out of the line of fire.  They can tell when Mom is about to lose her shit.  The youngest does not seem to notice when the vein in my forehead starts throbbing.  And, when she DOES see it, she is the one who will walk right up to me and push it with her finger.  Repeatedly.

We got a brief reprieve from little hell on wheels for awhile when she went outside to play with the neighbor kid, but then he ticked her off and she came home crying because 7 year old boys are stupid.

FML

I managed to get one more truckload moved yesterday afternoon with my son's help and then took the six year old with me grocery shopping, thinking maybe the one-on-one time would mellow her out and she was almost acting normal until we got back home again.  The rest of the night was a continuation of the power struggle: 

"I don't want to eat that."

"Can I have some candy?  Why NOT??"

"Why do I have to get a shower?"

"Help me put on my pajamas.  I can't doooooooooo ittttttttt myyyyyyselfffffff!"

"Why do I have to brush my teeth??"

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Why not?"

"I can't stop thinking about ghosts and scary stuff and if I don't sleep in your bed I might have a bad dream!!"

*Cries because life isn't fair and she is six and has to sleep in a warm bed provided for her by her mother who is about two bad moments from hitting the road with only the clothes on her back*

I walk out into the living room, t-shirt askew, hair a mess, wild-eyed.  The teenagers are tentatively looking up from what they are doing to see if they should say anything or if they should wait for the throbbing vein in my temple to return to normal. 

I clean up the kitchen, go to my room, set my alarm and pull the blankets as far over my head as they will go.

Except for the little white flag sticking out the top.

And This, My Friends, Is How You Get a Massage

So, I've had this pain thing that's been going on for awhile due to an injury I got awhile ago, blah blah blah (not important to this story) and it flares up sometimes and then aggravates my other body parts and they start being whiny little bitches and then it totally throws my whole walk-y talk-y rhythym off for the entire day/week/month and makes me all killy and stuff.  I take pretty good drugs for it, but sometimes they don't work enough.  Because my body is kind of an asshole.  And maybe it wants more drugs...... but I have to be able to function.  Poor me.

Well, my preggers girlfriend is going to this massage place a few times a month for prenatal massage and she gave me a referral card for a discount on a massage and I just kinda set it aside and thought about it for awhile.  Should I spend the money, or shouldn't I?  I mean, it's a great deal.  I totally DESERVE it, don't I?  PLUS, she gets a discounted massage AFTER I turn in my card so I am basically ripping her off if I don't use it.  And I am nothing if not a giver. 

I am not cooking a human or anything like that, but girl gotta get some hands on the body action going on, you know?  I mean, there is something awesome about getting totally naked and paying someone to slather on some oil and touch you every damn place EXCEPT for your naughty bits.  In fact, their JOB is to make you relaxed and they aren't even allowed to get a boner or anything. It's against the rules.  (Also impossible if the person is a chick, but I digress).  It's like prostitution, only it not as fun, it's legal, and they have to pay taxes.   

So, here's the sitch:  I decided to do the deed.  Now, this is NOT the first professional massage I've ever had.  I used to get massage therapy on a regular basis, but it's been awhile since my last one and I have a blog now and it's hard not to write about every damn thing that happens.   

Especially when it's in the dark.

With a guy.

And he's not allowed to get a boner.

So, I got there late, after hitting every damn light on the way.  I was about three minutes late and I hate being late to anything.  (Yet, I manage to be late for more things than not lately.)  I am sure I breezed in looking pretty amazing, with my hair flying everywhere, the remnants of the curses I just spewed all down the last mile of the road on my lips and the general tension and stress and anxiety I carry with me on a daily basis.  Pretty much hot, sexy and ready to go, right?  He greeted me all smiley and stuff, but I decided to let that go.  He looked slightly terrified but handed me the clipboard and I scribbled out my information the best I could and threw it handed it back to him and smiled. 

He led me back to the massage room and - holy gods I love massage rooms.  This one was giant and it smelled like that menthol-y type relaxing lotion/oil stuff and there was yoga zen budda music playing and it almost immediately made me relax a little bit.  He turned to say something and I think he caught me telling myself "You are in your safe place.  This is your safe place.  Ommmmmm....  Huh?  Sorry.  I was listening." and he wiped the uncertain look off his face, told me where to put my purse and my clothes (most of my dates don't give such concise instructions.) and then directed me to lay face down with my face over the hole (he said it better than that..) and he would check back in a few minutes. 

I got undressed in record time, went to turn my phone off and laid on the table, face down, and took a DEEP, CLEANSING breath.  And then heard my phone restart.  You asshole phone.  I learned from my LAST massage, when my SON called me about a half hour into it for no reason, that you DO NOT leave your phone on.  So, my phone was just sitting there, in re-start mode, hung up and not starting OR stopping.  Like that hourglass thing on the computer, you know?  Asshole phone!  I was laying face down, naked with just a thin sheet over my ass, reaching over to grab the damn thing and try to shut it off before he came back in.  It would NOT stop.  So I pulled the damn battery out and tossed the phone skeleton and battery on top of my purse.  Fuck da police.  I'm tryin' to get all relaxed up in here.  I got no time for that! 

*breathe  breathe  breathe*

He knocks on the door and asks if I am ready.  I stifle a laugh and say "Yep!!" (too enthusiastic?) and he comes on it and gives me the instructions about relaxing and where to stick my face and stuff.  I'm glad he reminded me to breathe because 1) I had forgotten that part and 2) It let me know I am not the only hot mess he deals with in this joint. 

So, I'm doing the face down in the hole thing and he makes a point of elaborately covering up anything that may give a hint of inappropriateness.  Like, no side boob even.  I am not very modest at all so that part made me giggle.  We are grown ups here.  I know you're not gonna touch my boobies.  We are good.  (But I totally understand why he does it in his profession.) 

After making a show of covering up all the side boob, and everything else, he then removes part of the sheet from my back and starts working on my back muscles.  Holy shit.  This part is a little boring for you because all I remember is that it was amazingly wonderful and I wanted to make it rain (er, toss him some dolla bills) if he would just not stop.  Then he got to my lower back which is the bastard of my back area and started doing that hard, painful, intense, rubby massage that made me want to punch him in the balls while kissing him and then maybe have his babies.  Yes, I was ambivalent.  But it really worked the muscles I needed to be worked so it was fantabulous when he got done and the menthol lotion stuff felt great.  I think he did some shoulder and arm stuff after that (I was still in a fog) and then he moved to my legs. 

This is the funny part:  He takes part of the sheet and totally mummifies my right leg so that ONLY my left leg is exposed.   I feel like I am on Little House on the Prairie or something.  Should I have worn a bonnet?  A burka?  Oh my gods...

Anyway, he starts with the leg thing and, after rubbing the calf, he moves up to my thigh and then he does this thing with this hand where he is rubbing it up and down REALLY  fast on my inner thigh and jiggling it back and forth and stuff to loosen the muscle and the thin sheet is doing this moving up and down thing and all I can think of is what this would look like if someone walked into the room.  And then I think I snorted a little inside (Hahaha!!  Okay, focus.  Relax... Breathe...)

He does the calf rub thing (which was amazing) and then moves down to my feet. 

Oh no, I should've gotten a pedicure first.  All I can think about is how dry my feet are and how he may have to charge me for more oil and oh damn he has to touch my feet that poor, poor man.  I wanted to apologize to him or make excuses for why I am such a loser I didn't even get my feet properly smoothed out before he had to touch them and then I remembered that if I were going to get a pedicure I'd be apologizing to the guy at the nail salon and what's the diff?  SOMEONE is gonna know my feet are dry and not smooth. 

Chillax. 

Breathe.

I actually zoned out for awhile and enjoyed the next several minutes of leg/foot massage and then it was time to "turn over".  He made sure to totally cover me almost up to my neck (seriously, should I have brought a burka?)  while he turned his head and then I got comfy, closed my eyes and breathed and then I hear a very soft "click".  The lights (which had been very dim before now) were turned out.  Like totally.  I don't even know how he could see what he was doing.  I know this because when I heard the lights go off, I peeked with one eye to see what the little noise was.  I couldn't see anything but shadows and the outline of the massage guy and the heat lamp.

I have to tell you, I am not a huge fan of total darkness.  I am well aware that this guy is doing all of this stuff for MY comfort and to be all overly appropriate and stuff but I really was doing super peachy until the lights went out.  So I lay there and remind myself to chill.  Kinda reminded myself that the lights were basically already off before then (because my eyes were closed) so it wasn't a big whoop and, right about then, when I was about to get up and find the light switch myself, he did my FAVORITE part of any massage.  You know when they slip their hands under your shoulders and neck and just use the weight of your body to PULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL upward very slowly and it makes your head and toes tingle and you hope it never stops?  (If you have never felt that feeling go get a massage.  Not until you finish reading this, but right after.  Totally amazing.)  Anyway, so that took my mind off the weird lack of lighting situation. I just enjoyed the relaxy tingly stuffs for awhile. 

I had finally shut my brain off, got totally relaxed and purr-y again and then, as he started rubbing the top and front of my shoulders,  I suddenly thought "Holy shit, what would I do if he grabbed my boob?"  I mean, second base is RIGHT there.  Maybe he turned off the lights so he could just "accidentally" get a handful.  Wait, would a massage guy do that?  Well, I DID read this one news story where this dentist got himself handful of boob after giving the chick novocaine and, if you think about it, him getting me this relaxed from massage is SORTA like giving me novacaine because even if I wanted to move, I wouldn't WANT to, um, I mean I wouldn't be ABLE to, so it's kind of the same thing!!  And then he did that behind the shoulder/neck/head thing again, and then moved to an intense massage of my forearms and wrists and my brain shut off for the rest of the massage and I really didn't care if he grabbed my boobs. 

Which he didn't. 

Because he's not a boob grabber.

The massage was amazing and relaxing and, other than the weird mummification and lights out things, one of the best massages I've ever had.   

I wasn't sure I should DRIVE when he was done because I was so relaxed I felt a little drunk, but I got to take my time getting my bearings, drink lots of water and then coast on out when I was good and ready.

Oh, and I also made sure I made my next appointment.

And flashed him "Deuces"

Peace.

Have a Good Day?? Don't Fucking Tell Me What to Do. (Not for the Faint of Balls. I Mean, Heart)

There is a severe shortage of people who will allow curmudgeons like me the opportunity to freely express and experience our periodic emotional cracks, grumbles, and the occasional sourness that allows us to function the rest of the time in a somewhat normal fashion.  (We even go so far as to smile and laugh sometimes.  We just don't feel the need to fucking brag about it all the damn time.)  There is totally nothing wrong with being surly.  Those of you who smile too much could really learn a thing or two about a nice cleansing grumble from time to time.       

While talking to my girlfriend on the phone the other night, I sorta experienced a psychotic break and ranted for a few minutes.  Uh, I mean, I 'had an enlightening and life-changing epiphany'.  We were talking about how 1) Shit happens. and 2) The occasional acknowledgment of said "shit" does not equal a life ruining event. (She has been on the other end of the phone for some of the fo-serious "bad shit" so...she is kind of an expert in that area.)  In fact, having the ability to be able to freely express the occasional disappointment and stuff is normal and sometimes even healthy.  We may not always do it in the most flowery and sugar-coated way, but that takes practice.  I guess.  This means sometimes I am not going to be the most pleasant person to be around on any given day.  As the imaginary sign on my office door says:  "Deal or GTFO".  It's right next to my Employee of the Month plaque (also imaginary).

Honestly, I really don't know why I have not been selected to run a Team Building course at work.  Nothing brings a group closer together than some good old fashioned bitching and non-constructive criticism.  In fact, one of my former "managers" did give me a glowing recommendation this one time when she told me she had a dream I came into work and went postal on everyone.  My response was "Well, you know, Captain Twatwaffle (not her real name), if anyone was going to do it, it would be me!"  *charming smile*  It dawned on me later that she may not have intended that as a compliment.  Huh....go figure.  

ANYhoodles - If you want to be my friend or .... something, don't be afraid to ask me how my day is going - even if you know I'm going to say I stabbed someone with my stapler.  You have to be willing to hear the bad shit along with the sunshine and rainbows stuff (which I personally find a little boring).  Also, don't try to force a smile out of me before I am good and ready.  I will get there in my own time.  But there exists a fine line between me tolerating your "charm" and my foot up your ass.

Do you want to know how to irritate me before I've had my coffee?  Tell me to have a good day.  Bonus points:  Do it in a sing-songy voice.   Bossy asshole.  I will shove that coffee stirrer so far up your ass, your proctologist will have to perform a deep sea dive to get that sucker out.  (Snorkeling, anyone?)

Things I Could Do Without:

• Endless optimism for no apparent reason.  That shit is annoying as fuck.  I don't care if your glass is half full.  If you incessantly brag about it, I will turn that mother fucker upside down on your head.  

      

• Birds chirping.  (Also annoying as fuck.)  It's snowing outside you asshole birds.  Knock it off.

• Singing mice who also whistle while making me pretty dresses.  (Eh, on second thought, those might be pretty cool.  I will kiss them and hug them and name them George and Marley.  I will teach them to juggle tiny things and we will get discovered and have our own variety show and become rich and famous.  See?  I'm charming as FUCK.)

• Lemonade.  I prefer tequila and salt with my lemons.  And lots of it.

• Someone saying to me:  "Smile!  It could always be worse!*smiley face*"  No shit, Sherlock.  I've probably seen more "worse" than your happy little ball of friggin sunshine ass would allow to enter into its awesome bubbly realm of glowing fantastical and utterly magical happiness.  Please allow me this moment of "Ugh" while I work my way up to "Not killy".  If you tell me to smile for no god damned reason I will stab you in the face with a crayon.   (That may not sound very bad, but it will probably be a broken crayon - yes - as broken as my poor twisted black emo heart - and thus maybe slightly sharp.  Or at least kinda jagged..or something.)  Danger?  My middle name is Danger.  So suck on that.

• Stop trying to make "perky" happen.  It's not going to happen.

Things I Need in My Life:

• Friends who will leave me the fuck alone when I need space to just think, or breathe or .... cry (Psh, I don't cry, but I mean, IF I did.)

• Friends (uh, probably different friends) who will let me call and scream into the phone for no apparent reason.  These friends should speak fluent Angst and also be able to reassure me that, no matter what I am upset about, I am right, everyone else is wrong and I was completely justified in keying the car of the barrista who failed to put enough cream in my coffee. I mean, justified in whatever action may or may not have been the result of my distress.  (Ignore the part about the car keying.  You can't prove SHIT.)

• A period playlist.  Some tunes to jam out to while I am droppin' eggs would be the shiz.  Something upbeat and soothing by, like, "Drowning Pool" or "Avenged Sevenfold".

• A gay best friend.  I need a man in my life who can hold me, stroke my hair, (without the boner thx) and let me lament about that shoe sale I missed, while I beat my fists against the wall and scream "Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!?!"  And then write some haiku poetry about why DSW hates me.  Nobody understands the fucking tragedy of a missed shoe sale like a gay BFF.  Nobody.

• An unlimited supply of chocolate-covered-everything with zero calories - covered in whipped cream.

• Bacon.

• A life-sized Jon Hamm doll.

• Ten thousand dollars in unmarked bills.  (Why? Because fuck off, that's why.  It's MY list.)

• A heating pad and some Midalium.  (That's a drug I invented which is a combination of Midol and Valium.  You're welcome.)

I really don't think that is too much to ask, do you? 

Dick.

This blog has been brought to you by the letters "P", "M", and "S"  and the color "Red".

If you took any of this blog seriously, you need help.  I am usually a ray of fucking sunshine.  

Ask anyone.  

 

Who the Hell Am I?

This is a blog I put together because I was tagged by a fellow blogger:  The Zookeeper's Wife (She is all kinds of awesome so please go give her a read!) and asked to do a lil informational bloggy type thing, so........strap in!  It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

1.  Where were you born?

I was born in Fremont, Michigan at Gerber Memorial Hospital.  My father quickly joined the military so my grandfather wouldn't shoot him and we moved around a lot after that.

2.  Were you named after someone?

I was born in the month of April, about nine months after my teenage parents engaged in back seat antics that I do not care to even think about.  I guess when the doctor said I was a girl, one of them said "Shit!  What month is it??"  So, here I am.  (Side note:  My father told me at one point he wanted to name me Heidi.  I have red hair.  I feel like I dodged a bullet there.)  My grandmother begged my mother to terminate the pregnancy but my mother decided that 16 was a perfect age to raise a child and said "Hell no" and then took off with my father.  [I personally think adopting me out would've been a viable option, but, that's just hindsight talking.]

3.  If you have children, how many do you have?

I have three kids and one who didn't make it home from the hospital when he was born (a long time ago).  This has always been a hard question for me to answer, but I promised I would be more "real" with my writing because real stuff happens sometimes so, there it is.  

4.  How many pets do you have?

We have two cats.  Sammy and Batman.  Sammy has been with us for over 8 years and was named after a Girl Scout cookie (my daughter was in Girl Scouts at the time so she named her gray tiger "Samoa" (also known as Caramel Delights..purrr)  We call her Sammy).  Batman is an asshole who pees on things if he is unsupervised.  I almost pepper sprayed Batman one night when he got stuck in my son's room, made a huge racket that sounded very robbery and killy and I jumped out of bed naked (um, I was alone, shut up) grabbed my pepper spray, kicked the bedroom door open and almost got him (and myself) in the face.  See? Asshole.

5.  What was your worst injury?

I'm just gonna go with a funny one here.  When I was about five years old, I wanted something that was on top of my dresser.  I decided it would be a swell idea to climb UP the dresser to get to said item and the dresser fell on me.  My father had to take me to the ER, bleeding everywhere, and he almost passed out because he can't handle the sight of blood.

6.  Do you have a special talent?

I can take my bra off while remaining otherwise fully clothed.  Shut up, that totally counts.

7.  What is your favorite thing to bake?

Lasagne and brownies. 

8.  What is your favorite fast food?

Does Qdoba count?  Totally Qdoba.  Or Chipotles.  Mexican.  (Taco Bell doesn't count.  Unless I'm drunk.  But seriously - what is IN that stuff?)

9.  Would you bungee jump?

Are you INSANE?  I'd be the one pooping my pants on the way down and I am SURE my daughter would get it on video.  So, we are gonna go with a big ole "Negative Ghost Rider" on that one.   I would love to go sky diving though.  Even though I am super afraid of heights.  Dammit.

10.  What is the first thing you notice about people?

This is gonna sound weird, but.. the way they make me feel.  I get a hinky sense about people and I can usually smell a bullshitter a mile away.  This skill has taken me almost 39 years to develop.  

11.  When was the last time you cried?

Please.  I never cry.  Unless I am out of coffee.  Alright, I cry about once every 28 days and it usually has something to do with my thighs. 

12.  Any current worries?

• Are my thighs engaged in some sort of conspiracy against my pants?
• Is my cat trying to kill me?
• Where am I going to live in a few months? (I'm not homeless, just looking for a new place - chillax)
• My daughter is going to be 18 next year.  Holy shit.
• Is YouTube ever going to stop showing me "demo" videos when all I want is the fucking OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO?  And where is the "YES TO ALL" button that should be next to "Skip this Ad?"  It is ALWAYS "Yes" YouTube.  Always.  (This keeps me up at night.)

13.  Name three drinks you drink regularly.

Coffee, milk with coffee in it, and water.  If I am feeling boozy, it's a GOOD red wine or sangria.

14.  What is your favorite book?

I loved "Gone With the Wind".  Read it three times as a teenager.  It's over 500 pages long but I spent a lot of time locked in my room trying to avoid my family. :)  I love a wide variety of books so I could fill this entire blog with titles.

15.  Would you like to be a pirate?

No.  If I am a pirate, and Johnny Depp is a pirate (a'la Captain Jack) it kinda ruins the whole "damsel in distress" thing I had going on.  I think I would keep some Listerine breath strips handy for when he goes in for the kiss though.

16.  What are your favorite smells?

Coffee, jasmine, lavender, men's cologne, fresh baked bread, that newborn baby smell (I could sniff their heads all day long)

17.  Why do you blog?

I blog because as I go through my daily routine and see the most innocuous things, my brain turns them into stories and I get distracted unless and until I sit and write them down.  I have a lot of things I have written that I am sure nobody will ever see.   

18.  What song do you want played at your funeral?

Chumbawamba "Tub Thumping"  

Just because.

19.  What is the least favorite thing about yourself?

The fact that I am so neurotic.  I also wish I was less intelligent so stupid people didn't bother me. (Sheldon Cooper much?)  I know, I know...

20.  What is your favorite hobby?

Reading and writing.  And embarrassing my children.  (Yelling out the door "MAKE GOOD CHOICES!!" as the older two are getting on the bus in the morning. Ah, I love it.) I'm a simple girl.  I also don't have a lot of time for hobbies.

21.   What do you look for in a friend?

The ability to laugh at almost anything.  Someone chill who will complement my neurotic, yet charmingly awkward personality.

22.  Name something you've done that you never thought you'd do.

We went through a "TEAM BUILDING" ropes course when I worked at the University and my boss said that, at the end of it all, if I'd climb to the top of the telephone pole with a harness on, counting on my DUMB ASS co-workers to pull the ropes tight so I wouldn't SPLAT, then he would do it too.  I am deathly afraid of heights but I also was (and am) very competitive.  I couldn't turn down a dare and he knew it.  (Also, I was like, 22 years old and a total show off)

He and I were the only two who did it.  We took turns climbing to the top of the damn pole, stood on it (the tops of telephone poles are about six inches wide you guys and the thing was about 60 feet tall) and counted to three and jumped - counting on our co-workers to yank the ropes, tightening our harnesses and preventing us from plummeting to our certain deaths.   

That was the first time I ever said "HOLYMUTHAFUCKINSHITBALLS IFUCKINGHATEYOUGUYS!!!!!!" in front of my boss.  

Also something I never thought I'd do.  

Kind of a two-fer there.

23.  What are your favorite things to do?

Cuddling with my youngest child (gotta enjoy it while she still lets me), watching movies with my kids, traveling, seeing and doing new things, going on adventures, making people laugh, drinking mah coffeh!!

24.  Any pet peeves?

I can't stand listening to people chew with their mouths open, slurp food or chomp their gum.  Bad table manners disgust me.  

25.  What is the last thing that made you laugh?

The last thing that made me full-on belly laugh was when my friend and I went to Subway and I told her I wonder if the sandwich guy has self esteem issues because chicks spend all day asking for 12 inches on white and when he gets home he only has 6.  Her chokes of laughter made me choke and we both looked like a couple of idiots and that made us laugh more and I don't know how either of us made it out without peeing our pants.

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I'm supposed to tag some other bloggers but I am a newbie (on this particular site) and don't want to annoy less tolerant writer-types so I am going to just come back later and give you a list of some of my favorites and ask you to go read them.

Updated:  Here are my personal Top Ten - The bloggers I read every day:

Seriously!?!

Insane in the Mom-Brain

People I Want to Punch in the Throat

Bitches Gotta Eat

The Klonopin Chronicles

The Happy Hausfrau

What I Had Really Meant to Say

I Want a Dumpster Baby

Slice of Humble

Underachiever's Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess


Go give them a read and tell them I sent you.

Go on - git.

The Things They Don't Tell You About Being a Single Parent

A single parent (or solo parent) is a parent, not living with a spouse or partner, who has most of the day-to-day responsibilities in raising the child or children.

Sounds fairly straight-forward doesn't it? Oh, what a short and neat description for one of the most intense, difficult jobs I could've ever imagined having.

I didn't sign up for this.

I didn't plan to be a single parent. I didn't get "knocked up" and plan to raise children by myself. I thought I was going to have help. I got married almost 20 years ago, had two planned babies and one surprise (er, blessing) and then, when my youngest was two and a half, and the other two were nearly teenagers, I left my husband. What. The. Fuck. Was. I. Thinking? That is a thought that has crossed my mind often in the last four years. Followed quickly by a remembrance of some dumbass thing my ex had done and a sigh of relief I didn't have to live with him on a daily basis anymore. Honestly - three children is enough.

But really. The realization that these little humans are, like, my responsibility. That gut-wrenching "I took them from their father" thing that happens (still) in the middle of the night sometimes. The constant questioning of whether I could've sucked it up for another 15 years so they could've had the illusion of a happy childhood.

Yeah...no. I was dying inside. So, I left.

Seven years prior to my actual departure, we had had the "I'm leaving your ass if you don't knock your shit off" discussion and I almost left him then. But I gave him about six hundred second chances. Also, I didn't want to be alone. Raising (at that time) two babies. By myself.

This time shit was real. I fucking did it.   Damn, I really did it.  What the hell am I gonna do now??

The first night alone in my new place, when he picked them up for their first "overnight" visit, I cried for pretty much the whole night. That sucked. It got better but not much. Nothing prepares you for that feeling. And, nothing can prepare you for the job of being a single parent.

Here are some things I didn't know:

Nobody understands - unless they are other single parents.  Other parents will judge you immediately. They will question why you didn't suck it up for the sake of the kids. (Never mind that you didn't tell them the dirty details of it all to spare HIM) They don't understand why you are so tired and stressed out all the time. They have NO idea what that extra warm body at home means. And your married girlfriends bitching about how their lazy ass husbands fed their childen FROZEN PIZZA that night for dinner? Well, they are gonna make you want to punch them in the throat. You had help? You selfish.... Ugh. They just don't get it. Don't expect them to.

 There really are NO sick days. Or tired days.  After working for 9 hours a day (plus my one hour commute each way to and from work) I would pick up the little one from day care, go home and start my second shift "job". The thing about kids is they need to eat every single day. (They don't tell you that shit in the hospital). Also, dishes and laundry need to be done. Every day. And bath time. And general house cleaning. School papers need to be signed. Field trips need to be noted on the calendar. Checks for lunch money need to be written. There is no handing this stuff off to anyone. It's all you. Maybe you can make time for the flu this weekend. Right now, suck it up and let's do this. Pansy.

Your friends aren't going to see you. Ever. Especially the single, kid-less ones.   Remember how, when you were married you could go out for girls night every now and then, have a drink and know that the kids were taken care of? Remember when you had money to buy new clothes, matching undergarments, and beer? Forget it. You don't have any extra money. And you can't afford the recovery time a night of drinking will require. Even if they are at dad's that particular night, they will be back tomorrow. And, tomorrow? Well, you're pretty much fucked. Kids don't care if you have a headache. They have shit going on and it's important and you better listen. Dammit. She just learned how to sing "Wheels on the Bus" and that shit rocks and if you don't sit there for an hour listening to it fifty times in a row you suck as a mother. Haven't they already been through enough?? (Yes, you will put up with some crazy ass shit because of that sentence)

Your ex is going to drive you insane. One of the most difficult things for me was not bashing my children's father in front of my children. When he doesn't make child support payments on time and/or doesn't help pay for school activities or lunch money, or winter coats. It's really, REALLY, difficult not to go on a total psychotic rant about what an irresponsible fuck-wit he is. When your child tells you they NEED money for band shoes for a performance tomorrow and you don't get paid for two days and you write a check hoping it clears .... Yeah, you kinda want to bad mouth him a little bit. When he responds to any message you send him - UNLESS it has to do with money or stuff the kids need - and you want to strangle him. Or scream. Don't do it in front of your kids. As much of an ass as he can be, he is still their dad and they need to hold on to some semblance of their father as being a decent human being. But, DO go punch something after they leave. It will make you feel MUCH better.



Guess who's going to the convenience store at midnight?  You are. There is no one to help you run errands anymore. If the three year old stuffs the last of the toilet paper down the john, not only do you have to do the plumbing repair, you also have to go to the store in the middle of the night to re-stock. That twenty year old kid who is always working at 2:00 a.m. at the Circle K better get used to your disheveled hair/yoga pants/fuck-with-me-and-I-kill look otherwise your relationship is going to be very strained. You will become buddies. Trust me. He will never be out of milk or toilet paper. Or chocolate. Or tissues. He knows.

There are a million and one other things you learn as a single parent but I guess the most important lesson is that you are strong enough to do it all alone.  

Even if you wish you didn’t have to. 

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If you've enjoyed this blog, please take a moment to vote for me:
http://www.circleofmoms.com/top25/Top-25-Single-Moms-2013 

Can Moms Be Sexy?

I was pondering this question after I fell off the scale at the doctor's office.  Okay, that probably requires an explaination:  I stepped on the scale, saw a number I had never seen before, nearly fainted, and the nurse had to catch me.  (PS:  If I go to the doctor's office for a sinus infection, DON'T make me step on the scale.  I already feel like crap thankyouverymuch.  Giving me cardiac arrest is not cool.)

 

I then re-examined my need to get my ever-expanding ass back to the gym.

 

I have always been a little bit vain.  I have always wanted to look nice, both for myself and for my partner.  It feels good when I look good.  Right now, I don't look my best you guys. 

 

Not only do I want to firm up and lose some weight, but I also miss that terrific feeling I get after a good workout.  Even though the results don't come as quickly as they used to, the endorphin rush, the muscle tone, and the sense of a job well done always felt pretty damn good.  It was a GREAT stress reliever.

 

Yep!  I did Power Step!

Last time I made a full-on commited effort to get my ass back in shape, I did it with a vengeance.  The weight wasn't really dropping (in large part due to a not-as-of-that-time-diagnosed medical-type issue), but my BODY felt good.  I remember distinctly, after my first full month going to the gym four times a week, I was kind of strutting around in front of the full length mirror, ignoring the flaws, checking out the muscle I found in my thigh – oh yeah, they're on their way back baby! Then I started shaking my booty. It didn't shake as much as it did last month. Then of course, I had to flex my arms a bit. Nice biceps (I say to myself). Keep up the good work!

Then I pulled a muscle patting myself on the back (dammit).

 

It made me think that I can be a mother AND be hot and sexy again.  Is that vain?  Am I allowed to want to be as pretty as I can?   I haven't been taking the best care of myself this last few years. Time to change all that. There is hope for me yet. Motherhood is job number one - but can we be great mothers and still take pride in our appearance?

 

 

With everything mothers have going on in our day to day lives, it's so easy to put our looks and health at the bottom of the list. I have always tried to stay in shape, but I have to tell you that being a single mom, working a full time job, transporting kids to their various instrument lessons and concerts and ballet (don't forget ballet!), and also keeping up with the house work it's not easy!  I am tired all the time and I rely far too often on convenience meals.  I don't make time to work out.  Or sleep.  Hobby?  What's a hobby? 

 

I really think we Muthas tend to put ourselves last.  I don't think we even mind or give it a second thought for the most part.  It just is the way it is.  And then we wake up one day and wonder what the HELL happened.

 

Sometimes, this causes relationship issues. One partner (we will say "Mom" for the sake of this blog) quits taking care of herself because everything else comes first. She isn't getting help from her mate because he figures he put in 9 solid hours or so at the office so he's done his part. Time to sit back, enjoy the hot meal before him, and then go take a snooze in front of the tube, while she cleans up the kitchen, washes dishes, gets the toddler out of the dishwasher, bathes the children, pulls the toddler out of the toilet…….the list goes on.  

  

By the time the work/transporting/chores are done, she is exhausted.  He's refreshed after his dinner and his nice little nap on the couch and when they finally do get to bed the only action he is seeing is a punch to the nuts when he tries to touch her. 

 

Men are visually oriented. He sees her in sweat pants and a hair bun and no make up one day too many and he's lost the attraction. Women are action-oriented. Show us something and we will show YOU something (IF you know what I mean). Don't be afraid of things like dish soap and diapers. If the only action you are showing us is your napping ability, the only action you will be getting is the do-it-yourself kind.  We really WILL be too tired to be enthusiastic about your penis.  (Hehe - I said "penis")

 

The formula is really quite simple:

Tired, overworked and ignored moms and wives = NO SEX

Happy, relaxed and loved moms and wives = HOT SEX.

 

Now, ladies.... I am NOT suggesting you "use" sex to get what you want.  That's not cool and if you withhold sex as a form of behavior modification, that's totally wrong.  I mean, I hear it works REALLY, REALLY well, but still... Let him know he's not doing enough.  Ask for what you want.  With your words, not your locked vagina.  (But, you know, save the really dirty stuff for when he washes the pans.) 

 

Guys - when she makes an effort - acknowledge it.  When in doubt - ACKNOWLEDGE IT.  "Your hair looks really great with yogurt in it." goes over much better than "You haven't shaved since the Clinton administration, have you?"

 

If I could, I would get manicures, pedicures, massages and facials (hehe, I said "facials") a few times a month; Just to feel pampered and good about myself. That's just not possible on this budget, but someday, when my first book is published, I will pamper myself - A LOT. Until then, I will make do with what I have. I'll get my ass back to the gym, put on my make up everyday, and drink my 8 glasses of water a day.  

 

I DO get my nails done every few weeks and I am okay with that.  I quit smoking two years ago and I would much rather spend a little bit of money on something that makes me feel pretty rather than a lot of money on something that is going to kill me.  

 



It makes me feel great.  And everyone should have the opportunity to feel great, don't you think?

(This is the re-working of a blog I originally published in 2007, when I was married, the youngest was a toddler, and I really needed to feel like it was okay to want to be sexy. It has been updated/edited to fit my current situation.)