SUCH a disappointment

I am so disappointed in myself. Wow--simply typing that has opened up QUITE a can of worms in my psyche (pshaww--and my husband says that my analogies are lacking! Lacking the recognition they deserve, I say!), when I really wanted to discuss just the one thing.

No...I wasn't referring to the fact that I am ridiculously out of shape, but thanks for bringing me there. I think we discussed that ad nauseum when I went on and on about how hot I used to be and when I talked about looking like "...who did it and ran," not to mention all of the posts about everything from eating healthy to plucking gnarly chin hairs.

My disappointment has nothing to do with my appearance (at least not as far as this conversation is concerned), nor does it have anything to do with my eating regimen. For once my complaints have nothing to do with food. Or lack of food. My disappointment stems from my reaction to all of my children being in school.

I really thought I had a handle on this whole school thing. When my oldest started, I was able to hold back my tears--mostly because I had two more clawing at me from their stroller and I am pretty sure that their older brother tried to drown them in the tub that morning. It's a little easier to choke back the tears when rage consumes your body. Of course, then I had to deal with the overwhelming amount of guilt I had because my day was so much better and brighter after monster-child went to school. I think I'm still harboring a little of that (and it was three? four? years ago!).

When child number two started school, I will never forget walking to the bus and almost completely losing it. With each step I said to myself, "It's not about you, it's about them, it's not about you, it's about them, it's not about you, it's about them, it's not about you, it's about them," but that wasn't working and I was a little too close to a breakdown. I felt the sob at the back of my throat and the tears getting ready to explode from my eyes when another mother said, 'Hey--didn't I see you at the school yesterday?" It is unbelievable how talking to her for a half a second was enough to save me from...me. My brain switched gears and the urge to cry did not return. After the bus came I waved and went for a long walk with my youngest. Aaaaannnndddd then came the guilt. AGAIN.

Of course, if I didn't enjoy the time I had with my youngest I would feel guilty about that, so I think we can all agree that I cannot win. Nor can you, I'm sure, because it is mom guilt. Which is [one of many reasons] why when I die I am coming back as the dad. Dad's are [generally speaking] able to stay out of their own heads. It either is or it isn't--there's no thinking about it or analyzing it further...it's so nice. All of those male traits that drive women crazy in dating and marriage really come in handy when raising children. The bastards. this is where I am supposed to quote Yoda, but I really need to get back to my disappointment. (You know there is something wrong with you when you are eager to "...get back to [your] disappointment!")

Child number three--the child God sent to me so that I wouldn't harm the other two--started "KIN-DEE-GAR-TEN" last week and I've been preparing for it all summer. I was so excited that all of my children would be in school. I even wrote pretty-stinkin-good poetry  about it.

Because we are either A. wanted for murder in seven states or 2. in the Witness Protection Program (oops--my cover is blown!), there is a chance we could move soon and a probability that we will move within a year (two?), so we decided that it doesn't make sense to get a job now. Not that they are hiring...evidently it isn't so easy to get a teaching job in NJ...and it has been so long (three? four years?) since my last teaching gig, I'm not sure what my chances would be. I did work for about a month last year at a Homeschool Academy, but the work load to money ratio was not in my favor (as it tends to be when it comes to teaching jobs). Add to that all of my crazy health issues and we decided it wasn't the right time.

Which brings me to this year. And my disappointment. I was most excited about making this the year of "ME." That's right--I couldn't wait to have time to exercise without being interrupted, have time to cook without being interrupted, to write my blog without being interrupted...to TALK ON THE PHONE...now we are just getting crazy!

So my excitement was in full force--especially after spending the last day of summer fighting and yelling and screaming --I could not wait. I even read my poem several times to get myself psyched for the big day. And then my children got on the bus without saying goodbye...without giving hugs...and without looking back.  Hindsight tells me that the oldest was trying to find seat-belts for his sisters, and everyone was frazzled and afraid of missing the bus, but I felt so...awful. I was not excited and I did not have fun. I sulked. And cried. And wallowed in self-pity. And got angry with myself for sulking and crying and wallowing in self-pity.

You see, I have been dealing with some issues lately. For example, we went to a dining establishment--the Log Jammer-- in Lake, George, NY recently--a restaurant my parents took us to when I was young. I was telling my husband and children my story and they were less than thrilled or excited (hopefully you aren't as bored as they were!). We get to our table and my children start jumping and pulling on--my husband. Great, right? It is--I know, but I looked around the restaurant and saw all of the children curled up in their mother's arms and sitting in their mother's laps, but not my kids. They aren't big cuddlers (the first two stopped the second they could walk and the third will do it, but only for minutes (seconds?) at a time or if she is hurt/and/or wants something) anyway, but I remember seeing all of the dads drinking beer, sending texts, having conversations, and I realized that I was the dad in our scene. I could have had a beer. I could have sent a text. I could have had a conversation. Okay...I couldn't really do the beer thing because of my medication, and I couldn't really text because I am the only one in this century who does not have the ability to do that (though I may be the only one in this century who needs it based on the lengthy messages and telephone conversations I've been known to have) and as for the conversation--I was having it, but no one was listening, but the point is, I could have.

I know I should be thrilled and I am. Really. This is what I've tried to work up to all these years--independent children who are able to give me five seconds to my self. Was I jealous? They do tend to idolize their father and lately they go out of their way to tell me how great he is and how much I suck (not in those words, but I know), so I'm sure that has something to do with it, but I don't know if I am necessarily jealous--it just made me sad.  And made me question if I'm "doing it wrong."

When they had the "...take her or leave her..." attitude that first day, I felt like I did at The Log Jammer. And THAT is why I am disappointed in myself. The logical person in me (waaaayyyyyy in there--you've got to want to see it...) knows that it is a good thing that my children are eager to go to school (and they have hugged and kissed me goodbye every day since) and that they can function without me. She knows that kids are fickle and they aren't supposed to be our "friends" anyway. She knows that her children love her. Unfortunately, the batshit-crazy person in me took over years ago and  we pretty much do what she says.

The point of all this is the fact that I am disappointed in myself for being so....weak with all of this. I know I am stronger than that--I believe most of the jokes I make, so feeling all gloomy and getting all weepy when school started really disappointed me. It is not, however, as disappointing as it would be to not have them in school. That would really make me cry.

I SWEAR I LOVE MY CHILDREN--MORE THAN BLOGGING!

It has come to my attention (AGAIN) that people are going to think that I do not love my children (see http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-love-my-children.html). Actually, the exact words were, "People must think that you HATE your children." I DO NOT HATE MY CHILDREN. EVER. Even when I mumble, ":I HATE them" under my breath when they all attack me at one time in the middle of the night. Even THEN I do not hate them. I ALWAYS love them. Always. I don't always LIKE them--I have to be honest. I don't always run around with a cheesy grin on my face singing about how blessed I am to have them in my life, but those who point out the whole "People must think you hate your children..." did not do that either. Some do--that is another approach, but I cannot pretend to be happy with something when I am not. I refuse to pretend that my child is wonderful if he is beating up your child (or anyone really) and I REALLY cannot pretend that YOUR child is wonderful if he is beating up mine (or anyone again).  At least I'm fair about it--right?

I KNOW I am blessed. I have three GORGEOUS and BRILLIANT children--and I am not even being biased. Have you SEEN them? They are RIDICULOUSLY cute and they are HORRIBLE for pictures (anyone who has tried to get them to sit still for a photo knows that I am not being hyeperbolic (that's right--HYPERBOLIC) when I say it. In fact, they go OUT OF THEIR WAY to be difficult when getting photographed. That's why most of my good photos of them are not posed (I think candid photos are the best anyway, but that's the Herff-Jones yearbook training in me I guess...). Point? Well, if they look that good when they are TRYING to look bad, IMAGINE how cute they REALLY are. Add to that their personalities and your heart just melts. Until it turns cold with rage over the fact that the oldest pushes the middle one down and spits in her face like the biggest bully you have ever witnessed in your life. Or when the middle one gets in the little one's face and tells her she should sleep with one eye open. Or when the youngest says, "I can do anyfing because I am cute and EVEWREYONE ywuffvs me--yrwight, Mama?" Okay--that last one may not fill your heart with cold rage (or any kind of rage for that matter), but it DOES make me question my actions as a parent. We were so worried about building self-esteem in our children, we forgot about humility. Oops.

I spend my time these days replaying EVERY event in my brain to see where I am going wrong. A good teacher will make time at the end of a day to reflect on the good things and the bad so that the same mistakes aren't repeated and so that the good things ARE [repeated]. Reflection is key in every avenue of life. Wouldn't things be so much easier if EVERYONE sat down at the end of the day to see what needs to be fixed and what should stay the same? The problem is, if you are the only one reflecting and changing, things will not get better and you will burn out quickly. Welcome to MY life.

Here's the problem. We have a home full of leaders. Not just leaders--DICTATORS. Everyone seems to know everything about--well, EVERYTHING. The only one who claims to know nothing is me and that is deemed weak by Stalin, Mussolini, Hitler and Napoleon. The educator in me prides herself on not knowing everything and admitting when she is wrong. The other four members of my family pride themselves on never being wrong and if they sense that they COULD BE wrong, they modify the problem so that they are right. I can't get upset with the little people--they come by it naturally.  They are like vultures--they sniff out weakness and set out to destroy it. Where I think that admitting to being wrong is a strength, the rest of them find it weak. Twice in my ten years of teaching this same thing happened to me and the result was unimpressive. The first time was during my first year of teaching high school. I'm just realizing now that it was teaching seniors and my second experience was teaching seniors as well. I've thought about this before and attributed the behavior to gifted students, but now that I am REALLY thinking about it, the problem was that they were SENIORS.

I remember the only time I "knew" everything was when I was eighteen. I was after all a SENIOR and I was HORRIBLE. My two difficult teaching years I was teaching seniors and admitted to them that I did not know everything--or even MOST things. They chewed me up and spit me out. They of course knew everything and shouldn't I? I was after all IN CHARGE, right? This is how my husband and son view things--like they are seniors in high school. You must know ALL, sniff out weakness and destroy it.  NEVER admit to being wrong. Ever. Never allow someone to show you how to do something--that is just as bad as admitting you don't know. Fake it and blame the other person if it doesn't work out for you. *sigh* It is even exhausting TELLING about it--I cannot even IMAGINE DOING it!

My goal as a parent is to create people who other people enjoy spending time with; people who are good friends and reliable, kind without being pushovers, and easy to befriend. I want my kids to be the type of people who make other people feel good when they spend time with them. I don't want them to be energy suckers or people who bring the room down just by their presence. This is a difficult job. I am CONSTANTLY on my kids for--well, EVERYTHING, and people give me a hard time for it. "Oh it's fine that he grabbed that out of my hand simply because he wanted it RIGHT NOW...leave him alone, he's just a kid!" REALLY? Because isn't that the same child you will refrain from inviting over the next time? You will remember that he is obnoxious, not that YOU allowed him to be obnoxious. I am constantly on my kids to use their manners and people give me a hard time for that, but what child do you want to spend time with--the one who demands things or the one who asks if he please could participate in things? When a person says thank you doesn't it make you feel good--even appreciated? What about when they simply take and leave? How do you feel then?

Luckily, my husband feels the same way about parenting. My son would NEVER treat my husband the way he treats me--probably because my husband does not point out his weaknesses, nor does he allow any disrespect. I have always encouraged talking about feelings and behaviors where my husband lays down the law. "This is how it is-- period." I like to think that I am the same way, but I think we all know the truth. "This is how it is and let me tell you why..."  In fact, my husband has recently gotten tougher because I am slacking. There have been SEVERAL times when I have undermined him or forgiven behavior that usually is not tolerated simply because I am sick of being mean ALL the time. Not okay, I know, but it definitely won't become a regular thing as long as I address it.

This parenting thing is more than a full time job and it is exhausting. I am honored to be privileged enough to parent my three beautiful children and it is a responsibility I don't take lightly, nor does my husband. I NEVER get a break because when I do take one, it takes five weeks to undo the damage of ignoring one rude moment or one act of bullying. My children test the boundaries DAILY sometimes hourly (secondly?!) and when I am not "on" I pay. I could spend my time not caring and letting what happens happen--and there have been days when I've done that, but I pay later. If I want the end result to be well-adjusted people who are easy to get along with and who others WANT to have as friends and companions, then I cannot afford to take ANY time off--not if I want to do my job right.

I do love my children--and they will tell you how much I love them. More than chocolate and ice cream. More than a trip to the islands. More than ANY video game or television show. And more than any amount of sleep or "time off" that I might take to make my life a bit easier. I love my children enough to "hate" them every-so-often and to know their weaknesses when they do not--not to point out those weaknesses, but to help them turn those weaknesses into strengths so that they are able to succeed in life without me. I love them more than anything in this world which is why I commit to this fight--and it IS a fight--daily--so that I can look at my work one day and KNOW that it was worth it.

I can say with confidence that my children are extremely polite (usually). I rarely have to remind them to use manners, to introduce themselves or to ask before they play with or take something at another person's home. I never get anything but glowing reviews from school (though the middle one is a bit social like her mother!) and it would seem that our constant parenting is working. They seem to only act out with us or with people they know HAVE to love them. That's something, right?  The thing is, their "acting out" is nothing compared to what I see some other children do (I know a lot of you out there and your children are also this great), but the behavior is still unacceptable.  They should respect others--period--and should not go out of their way to make another person feel bad (yes, it IS bad, not badLY--look it up...).  I want them to feel empathy--to treat others the way they want to be treated and to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. When they sniff out weakness, I want them to stand up for it, not destroy it. I think we are definitely headed in the right direction, but our job is not even CLOSE to being done.

Now I know why my mother said, "Now she's YOUR problem--I'm done!" to my husband on our wedding day. I was so insulted at the time, but I get it now. She worried about my every move for twenty-eight years. She probably didn't sleep a full eight hours during any of that time, so FINALLY she was released of that duty (though there have DEFINITELY been other times since then when I've had her on her toes!). I think of my aunt who is a second mother to...well...EVERYONE--while being the mother of two incredible young men-- and I think of how tired SHE must be! I also think (and hope!) that it is rewarding to see what that hard work created. I think that every good decision I make must make them feel proud of themselves for what they did, though I fear that every poor decision does the opposite. THIS is what I signed up for when having my babies, and I wouldn't trade it for anything--not even a solid eight hours!

I WILL continue to complain about my children. I do not EVER pretend like everything is okay if it isn't. I am honest to a fault (at least MY version of what I think is right!) and change my mind regularly. Even when I am screaming at the top of my lungs or threatening to leave my house sans children, I LOVE my children and my life. I would rather FEEL that love in my heart than PRETEND to feel it on paper.,

Potty talk...

My children never flush. EVER. This proves to be QUITE a problem because my house ALWAYS smells like pee. The thing is, they USED to flush. I'm not sure what happened--I think it may be because when we first moved into this house there was a flood in the dining room. I know it sounds like a stretch, but hear me out on this. We moved here last October and had only lived here a week or two when the sewer backed up and there was an inch (maybe more) of water in my powder room, laundry room and dining room. NICE. At first, I had thought that the washing machine had overflowed and then I thought it was a clogged toilet issue (my kids, like MOST kids use A LOT of toilet paper). We finally found that the problem wasn't with the actual toilet (though that is where the water came from initially--yum...) it was with the well and the sump pump and a million other things I don't understand. When all was said and done, we hat trennches going through our front yard and an insurance check to cover all that was damaged. Except for my psyche. I think I've mentioned my psyche before, but I didn't mention how damaged it got when I went sloshing through the dining room--IN MY SOCKS--when the sewage was slowly enveloping my home. When I found out WHAT it was on my feet, I peeled off the socks and wanted to dip my feet in bleach. Instead, I showered. And showered. Then showered again. My body has never been so clean--OR so dirty! It didn't help that we have well water which (to me) smells like sewage anyway. Just thinking about this is making me throw up a little in the back of my throat, so let's move on from here. My children and flushing. Or NOT flushing. Every time we enter one of the FOUR bathrooms, we are greeted with the foul stench of stagnant pee. Nice, I know, but it is getting to be an issue. Whenever I mention this to them--ANY of them, I get similar responses: "WHAT?! Geesh--the toilet is clogged..." or "I KNOOOOOOOWWWWW---I AAAAAMMMMMMM, but the toilet is clogged" and "But Momma, I can't fwlush da toiwlet because it is awelll cwlogged up," and they are correct--our toilets DO seem to clog pretty easily, but recently I have realized that nine times out of ten the toilet is NOT clogged and my children just ASSUME it is clogged for some reason--maybe pure laziness and lack of desire to flush? I don't know, but when I tell them to "...just try..." to flush, they always meet with success. Until the time they don't, in which case they will be scarred from flushing for life. That is a chance I am willing to take to have empty toilets and a fresh smelling house again. I'm pretty sure that all of this is because I arrogantly watched as other people's children did things like throw their dirty toilet paper in the garbage (Addie does that sometimes now because she is afraid it will clog the toilet. That she DOESN'T flush) as I silently judged and thought, "Why does that even make SENSE to throw poopy toilet paper in the GARBAGE?! MY kids never did THAT! How DISGUSTING!" And I gave my BEST sing-song-teacher voice to those children who wouldn't flush and wash when they were at my house, all the while thinking, "Don't THOSE parents ask THEIR children to flush and wash at home? What is WRONG with them?!" As if ANYONE is happy with the result of an unflushed toilet. I'm pretty sure other parents aren't out there going, "Hey, after you do your business in the bathroom, just leave it there to fester and rot. Then maybe we will have guests over and they can reap the benefits of it. What would be even BETTER would be if you would do the same when you go to other people's houses--but don't stop there. I also want you to throw the dirty toilet paper into their garbage so that their mom can get a surprise when she goes in to flush your mess down the toilet. "Atta boy...!" Like everything else in this hellblessing job of parenting, we can teach them and tell them anything we want to, but they ultimately do what they want when they want until one day, they are flushing the toilet and washing their hands without you busting a vein in your forehead to get them to do so. Oh--and today is Gym: 1, Me:2. I kept my kids home today because of our flooded driveway. Maybe I'll tell you about THAT tomorrow...

I blame EVE

I'm not sure why, but I don't laugh the way I used to laugh. I don't mean the ACTUAL laugh--I still have a deep guffaw type of laugh (though I HAVE added a snort recently. That's new--and not completely welcomed)--I mean the MATERIAL that prompts the guffaw to escape my lips. You know--the gut-wrenching, tear-flowing, body shaking kind of laugh that easily came when I was younger, but is now trampled by the child-whining, rule-establishing, incessant-nit picking life I now lead. Nothing seems as funny when I am constantly being touched, pulled or whined to by pretty much EVERYONE I spend time with these days. I can't help but think of the consequences of whatever is funny or to dwell on whether it is "fair" or not to the point where it is uncomfortable. I knew there was a problem when I was watching Seinfeld reruns and I didn't laugh. Once. This was definitely a turning point for me because I LOVED Seinfeld and would watch the reruns ALL the time. This time was different. I just felt like he was being abused by a friend who seemingly pays for nothing in his life, which stands to reason since he has NO JOB and treats those around him as if they owe him something...not to mention the psychotic mailman, best friend and ex-girlfriend--it's exhausting. The same happened with Everybody Loves Raymond. It turns out that not everyone DOES love Raymond. I used to REALLY laugh and I always thought that the wife (Debra) was a bit of a b@#$! After having children of my own, I started to DESPISE Raymond and even the funny parts didn't get me laughing because I was still stewing about the OTHER parts or the things that were SO WRONG! And Debra...well, SHE is NICE compared to what I would be if I had that life. Look at me now--I have a pretty good gig going here and I'm STILL a b@!#$! My friend and I were talking about mothers the other night (relax, mom--you didn't come up. THIS time.) and she was asking what her mother's problem was since she always had to "...put her nose in or be a part of EVERYTHING" and it was "EXHAUSTING!" I totally GOT what she meant (no mom, that is NOT a dig--I promise!), yet as I was removing one child from my leg, dislodging a lego from a nose and balancing over a doll house that miraculously moved from an upstairs location to RIGHT BEHIND ME SO THAT I WOULD POTENTIALLY FALL AND KILL MYSELF, I could COMPLETELY see the other side. "You know...I just have to say...maybe she doesn't really KNOW what her role is. She HAD to be in control of EVERYTHING FOR SO LONG (I know--it goes by in a blink--yada, yada, yada--I SO miss the Seinfeld of my youth...) and now she has NONE. LETMETELLYOUSOMETHING--if I am doing ALL of this simply to be DISCARDED one day, I will C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E-L-Y lose my S@#!--MIND--my MIND." But really--do we REALLY give up our minds, our bodies, our...MINDS only to shove our progeny out of the nest to never look back again? Are we not allowed to put in our two cents EVER without getting a snide comment or dramatic reaction? I think of my own mother (or mothers, since I was always lucky enough to have MANY women nurturing and loving me (aunts, grandmothers, cousins, stranger from Wegmans...) AND giving me their...two dollars and fifty-seven cents--and FORCING me to take it (even when they had conflicting opinions about where I should SPEND said two dollars and fifty-seven cents) probably because I was the only one who would LET them! I used to hate that about myself, but now I applaud me! I'm GLAD that I was able to do that for them for any given amount of time because there had BETTER be someone out there willing to take my hundred and forty-three-seventy-five I'M going to have left to give when these three maniacs leave the nest! Stupid Eve. Oh--I probably should tell you--I blame Eve for EVERYTHING in my life. PMS? Eve. Traumatizing (at least as far as I was concerned) labor and delivery pain? Eve again. Migraines? Eve--and that STUPID apple. It was an A-P-P-L-E for crying out loud and it WASN'T even DIPPED in chocolate! Before that day, people didn't even EAT apples let alone have someone core them and peel them and slice them into little bites for a smoother eating experience. Nope. Before Eve, no one even ATE an apple. And it was a pretty reasonable request. ONE THING. I'M ASKING ONE THING OF YOU. And what did EVE do? She BLEW IT FOR THE REST OF US! She couldn't let ADAM take the apple first? THEN DADS would lose their minds JUST LIKE MOMS do. But NOOOOOOOOOOO. Stupid Eve. Now, every time I have ONE request and they blow it, I KNOW it is because of Eve. HOW HARD IS IT TO FOLLOW ONE, SIMPLE INSTRUCTION?! I say these words more often than I breathe--okay, THAT'S a little dramatic, but I definitely say them more often than I EAT--apples or any other food--so WHY is it SO DIFFICULT?! Eve. And THAT is why I do not laugh anymore. Though some would argue that I laugh at EVERYTHING, which is a conversation with my OTHER personality for ANOTHER day. I think I want an apple...

Helpful or not?

When I first got on facebook (about three years ago), I had SO MUCH FUN connecting with people I had truly missed throughout the years. It seemed I was constantly finding new friends and they were finding me. It was the BEST thing for a person like me--one who MEANS well, but has a little trouble with the follow-through. The road to hell REALLY IS paved on good intentions--I can feel the heat beneath my feet! I INTEND to be a good friend, but the truth is, I kind of suck. There is something else you should know about me. I think EVERYONE feels the same way I do about things. Let me correct that--I KNOW that SO MANY PEOPLE DO NOT SHARE MY VIEWS. I just refuse to accept that. It's not that I am a know-it-all. It's quite the contrary in fact. I admit to being wrong about pretty much EVERYTHING. Until I think I'm right. I base what is "right" to me on what benefits most people or what creates the happiest ending. I've found in recent months that MANY of my "friends" do NOT share this method of reasoning. Duly noted. I first started this...feeling...when I went off to college. I was blessed to find the MOST PATIENT roommate EVER. Seriously, she should be a saint with all that she had to put up with when I was there. Example? Day one. My parents and I set up the room before she arrived. We made SURE to take over every inch of one half of the room--maybe even going over that inch in some areas. No complaints from her. I went out--ALL the time and kept her (or woke her) up until all hours of the night. No complaints from her. I even passed my "line" and took over the ENTIRE ROOM with all of my...prized possessions scattered around like...well, a junk hole--no hyperbole here, it's the truth. Some complaining, but she still loved me. Don't get me wrong--I wasn't ALWAYS horrible and I used to be very nice actually. I also used to be the person who would do anything for anyone with a smile on my face. I think the old me would REALLY annoy the new me. In fact, I kind of feel like going back in time to punch the old me in the face. THAT is a conversation for another day. I made such good friends in college and loved how there was no...ranking...or anything to prevent me from being who I was or being friends with anyone. It didn't matter what I wore, or even what I said or did--my friends were my friends. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't necessarily COLLEGE that did this. I realized that everyone had grown up and we were all on the same playing field, unlike the competition and ranking in high school. This revelation infested me with confidence and I made it my goal to befriend--well, everyone. My friends used to make fun of how many random friends I had. From townies to transfer students, I made it MY MISSION to be liked by everyone (maybe too much in some cases, but my mom [may be] reading this, so I won't get into THAT). When I went home for the summer, I ran into this couple who went to high school with me. He was very friendly with me--always had been nice to everyone it seemed--but SHE was a different story. She wasn't Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls or anythhing, she was just...aloof. Having this newfound insight, I thought I was friends with EVERYONE and that EVERYONE got the memo about being on the same plaing field. Evidently not. I remember chatting amiably and telling them to give me a call if they ever wanted to get together that summer. Not because I didn't already have WAY TOO MANY people to keep up with (along with working three jobs), but because EVERYONE had to be my friend. As I walked away, I realized that I may have been off on that one...and unless they legitimately lost my phone number AND their phone books, I was. I tell this Sue Heck-like story not to make you sad for the bushy-unibrowed gangly girl I once was, but to tell you how I did a similar thing on facebook. (And if you don't know Sue Heck, check out The Middle. I think I laugh more out of the embarrassment that Sue Heck is ME circa 1986 than the fact that the mother is me now!) You see, I have a theory. I have A LOT of theories. THIS particular theory is about pregnancy, delivery and post-partum depression. I believe that pregnancy and delivery SUCK. I believe that those who THINK they love it are lying to themselves. That Duggar woman? Certifiable. I actually feel sorry for her because her brain is so far into that mommy cloud, it will never be able to come back, which is a good thing in her case. IMAGINE what would happen if her brain DID come back now? "HOLY *&#!! I have HOW MANY children? AND I'M PREGNANT?! What am I, A CAT?! Or worse--A RABBIT?!" Better she should remain in the mommy cloud. Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about when I say "mommy cloud" because any woman who has given birth to a child and any woman or man who has (or are currently) raised or lived with small children KNOWS what a "mommy cloud" is. My sister calls is "Placenta brain" which I love, but it happens regardless of the placenta. It happens simply because there is a child or are children snipping away at your brain with their constant demands (Now I have to feed them AND be nice to them? Apparently I also have to LISTEN to them, though they don't reciprocate) and incessant whining. Add to that the fact that so many choose to stay at home to give their children..."The best care ever"(which in my case is a joke at times because, REALLY? They are better off with me as a raging psychopath than with children their own age and teachers who do fun activities with them each day? REALLY?! so they don't have contact with the outside world. THIS is where I have been for the last few years. After having my children I worked for just over two years (not consecutively) and have been home the rest of the time. My son will be eight this year. That is SIX YEARS of spending the majority of my time with people who seemingly cannot be taught anything and who do not listen to a word I say unless I YELL IT LIKE A LUNATIC. No wonder I have no brain. HOW does this relate to my facebook incident? I'll tell you. The year after I "retired" from teaching for the third time, I acquainted myself with facebook and spent my time searching for those I thought I had wronged in some way or had a falling out with for some reason. One of my closest friends in high school was on and he posted that his wife was pregnant with their second child. I was so very happy for them and (although we hadn't SPOKEN in almost twenty years)I somehow thought it was MY responsibility to to warn him about ONE of my theories (though in the eleven page email I sent him I did not MENTION it was MY theory...hmmm...)about parenthood and pregnancy. I believe that EVERYONE suffers through some form of "baby blues" or another. Not everyone goes all Susan Smith on their family or dislikes their babies, but simply being sleep-deprived is enough to mess with your psyche--add to it everything else that comes with the job (and the PREPARATION for the job) and who WOULDN'T be depressed or feel disconnected at times?! Notice you never heard Tom Cruise say another negative word about postpartum depression after HIS wife was pregnant. I mentioned ALL OF THIS (plus a little more, I'm sure!) to my "friend" and felt compelled to explain more. I'm SO VERY HELPFUL, no?! There are varying degrees of this depression and add to it ANOTHER baby (before your brain comes back from the first) and it can be madness. If your spouse doesn't UNDERSTAND this, imagine how bad it can get. Some of you know because you've been there. Wouldn't YOU want your spouse's freakish friend from a few decades ago to offer unsolicited advice about how devastating it is going to be when your new baby comes?! YOU'RE WELCOME is what I should say to THAT family. Only, I'm not sure we are even friends on here anymore and if we are I'm P-R-E-T-T-Y sure he "hid" me. Let's just say that the happy commenting we had done BEFORE my "helpful" note was no more and I could almost HEAR the crickets in the room after he read the note--probably aloud--to his spouse. Evidently we don't ALL think the same way and what may seem "helpful" to me may seem a little stalker-like to others. Who knew?! I'd like to say "lesson learned," but I think you know me better than THAT.

"Prewarding:" The Newest Thing at Our House

So I told you already that Ryan wanted to go as "fun" for Halloween, but "fun" changed each time we went somewhere.After she was "fun," she was (what she refferred to as) a "ghost bride." She wore a green and pink (BRIGHT green and BRIGHT pink) striped shirt, a pair of Addison's jeans (ie-two sizes too small) and an old sleeveless bridal costume that she got for her birthday two years ago. I seriously need to learn how to post pictures so you can witness her wardrobe! I also need to post their Halloween...creations...so that you can witness for yourself Addison's Batman/Snow White masterpiece or Brayden's Spiderman/Cinderella debacle. At least they are creative... We were pretty booked last weekend, which I liked. I love taking my kids AWAY from my house. Maybe it's because they fight at home. Maybe it's because they make messes. Maybe it's because I see ELEVEN loads of laundry and a food-covered floor that I simply refuse to clean staring back at me. Whatever the reason, my kids go out--A LOT! The Saturday before Halloween was a prime example. Addison's very best friend from school (and her mom) told us that our mall was having trick or treating on Saturday morning and a local glass-blowing museum (which is set up like the most adorable small town) was doing the same on Sunday. "Fun," 'Beauty" and Karate Guy ( before they "created" costumes, they decided to wear the costumes as they were intended--except for Ryan (who was "Fun"). Addison wore an old Belle costume and Brayden wore his Gi (Karate robe), tied a red rope around his head and called himself a ninja.) decked themselves out in their costume--ON THEIR OWN I might add-- to head out in the freezing monsoon that enveloped our town. I shouldn't complain about the weather--everyone else seemed to be fighting "Snowtoberfest--" we were lucky by comparison! We rushed from the mall to basketball practice with a pit-stop home to "lose" "Fun" and "Beauty." While at basketball, another friend called to remind me that her church was having a Halloween party-trunk-or-treat chili cookoff and they would love for us to come. VERY exciting. THEN ANOTHER friend (this story is making me look MUCH more popular than I am...) called to see if we wanted to go trick-or-treating with them at Walmart at four. Hmmm. As I was trying to figure out the logisitics, Brayden and I stopped at Shop Rite to find pumpkins. They were out, but luckily THEY were having trick or treating, so thirty dollars (and one excited boy with his own bag of candy that his sisters did not get) later (cider, donuts, pretzels, chicken...) we headed to a different store. I already complained about the price of the pumpkins in one of my last posts, so let's move ahead to when we got home. The girls were "counting" all of their candy from the mall. Brayden joined them and I attempted to fill my husband in on all of the events we may or may not be attending. Unfortunately, my children cannot be alone together for more than five minutes without fighting. As the arguments ensued, I found myself saying to my husband (seconds after I decided Walmart would be too much), "Maybe we SHOULD go to Walmart. If we stay here they are probably going to get in trouble and we may not even BE ABLE to go to the church party tonight..." I was lost in the thought when I noticed the look on my husband's face. "What?" "WHAT?! We are going to "preward" them now? Let them do something fun BECAUSE they are children who get in trouble so to prevent them from misbehaving we are going to take them somewhere fun?!" "When you put it THAT way..." I laughed. "And really," he continued, "how many times are they going trick-or-treating? WE went trick or treating ONE TIME when we were kids. Once. Brayden has already been TWICE, they all are going tonight AND tomorrow, AND IT ISN'T EVEN HALLOWEEN YET!" He makes a valid (if not uncharacteristically LOUD) point. When did this happen to me?

Trick or Treat...

Halloween. I know that some people wait for it all year and decorate their homes like the seasonal aisle at Walmart and I LOVE participating in their fun--I do. I love going to OTHER people's houses to look at their decorations and even to help if they need me to. For us, the only decorations we've been known to have are the overgrown weeds in our garden and the white-trash trash that accrues in our yard (TOASTER OVENS, for example...). We usually carve a few pumpkins, though this year we almost missed THAT. Luckily, there was a place that still had them--ONE place that still had them--and THEY were only charging six bucks a pumpkin. SIX BUCKS A PUMPKIN. Eighteen dollars later, I head home, knowing there is NO WAY we will be carving them until mid-November. They are FROZEN. We probably won't even carve them at all--goodbye eighteen dollars. My Halloween moms are cringing right now. How could I wait so long for the Halloween experience? My friend Laura starts getting ready in August. How COOL for her kids! I LOVE looking at the photos of all the fun she and her friends have getting ready for and enjoying Halloween. My friend Marcia always gets a pumpkin the size of Texas and generally hands out beer and hot dogs along with the sweet treats. THAT is something I can get on board with--SOMEONE ELSE providing the fun FOR my family. My friend Cathy seriously owns enough Halloween stuff to open up her own Spirit of Halloween store. I'm serious--if they made it, she has it and no words can really describe her Halloween...menagerie...? Their houses are like Halloween wonderlands and I love driving by with my kids or bringing up facebook photos to show them. Only now they say, "Why don't WE ever have fun things like that at OUR house?!" Because YOUR mommy is lazy--shut up, kid! I feel like I should adopt my children out during this time of year--just so they can have the experience of living with someone fun and organized for an amazing and exciting Halloween experience. You know--someone who actually DECORATES, does gift bags, makes orange and black baked goods, serves eyeballs and worms...someone who is not me. I don't know what my problem is really. I seem to be able to make an effort for Christmas, but that's all I have in me. One holiday. I would claim Easter as well, but I'm lucky if I throw a bunny or an egg on the window and we tend to use our palms from Palm Sunday to decorate. And by decorate, I mean throw strips of pulled-apart palm leaves around the floor. Happy Easter! Currently, my children can be distracted by and are mainly concerned with the candy of course, but that is because they don't know what they are missing. Eventually they will find out that I am a dud. Eventually they will learn that they can have candy AND fun. Hopefully by then they will be old enough to run it for me.

Carbon Monoxide...not so silent at the Corwin's (thank goodness!)

I have to say, my rantings about Halloween are itching to come out, though everything was trumped by the cries of our carbon monoxide detectors tonight. Or should I say, last night? Here we are at 3:34 in the morning and all three children are laughing hysterically at Little Bear hanging upside down in a tree. yeah--that's right. 3:30 IN THE MORNING. I know it's that late (or is it EARLY?!) because there were no fights about the viewing selection. I also know it's that late because we all have the shakes. If you didn't know better, you'd think you stumbled upon a dark alley in Philly, but alas it is our bedroom. Our bedroom that is registering 58 degrees. Fahrenheit, It all began when our furnace stopped working. I guess that made the story sound like it was going to be more in depth than it is. Our furnace stopped working. That's all. My children were limping around on their frozen toes, so my husband decided to use the fireplace (that we've NEVER used in the year we've lived here) and to get a space heater. It turns out the space heater has no significance in this story at all. So why do I mention it, you ask? BECAUSE IT IS 3: (40 now) IN THE MORNING AND I'M NOT IN COLLEGE ANYMORE. Where was I? The fireplace. I had a raging migraine all day (side bar) which isn't really unusual, but this one felt a little different. I thought it was because of "Snowtoberfest" and just tried to deal with it. After Dave did whatever it is you need to do to shut down a fire before bed, we headed upstairs. I felt a little lightheaded, but again--when DON'T I?! We checked the kids and crawled into bed. A few minutes later we hear an alarm that could wake the dead (NOT a complaint!) accompanied by that lovely voice that greets you on several voicemail services and the self-checkout at Wegman's or Target. You know--the one who gets annoyed if you place too many items in the bag before she's ready for you? Her. Well, she informed us in her haughty voice, "Carbon monoxide...carbon monoxide, CARBON MONOXIDE!" I swear she gets more insistent with time. The back up carbon monoxide alarm started going off as well. GOOD TIMES. Now, here we are with a stranger telling us that there is poisonous gas engulfing our babies as they sleep and contrary to popular belief (mostly because I SAID I...didn't like them very much sometimes. When I'm TIRED (which could be argued is ALL THE TIME...)) I love them with every fiber of my being. That said, I did not want to panic. I also did not want THEM to panic. Mostly I did not want THEM to panic. Dave called 911, we carried each child with minimal belongings and plopped them in their car seats. About a second later, the fire trucks arrived. 11:30--I'm certain the neighbors LOVED that show! The paramedics told me all that I needed to know about going to the hospital and I was concerned with how my children would react. They were so understanding and as I opened the door we heard loud laughing coupled with "Yeaaaaaaahhhhh--wooo-hooooo--Fireside girls PAAAAAAARRRRRRRTTTTTYYYYY!" Not sure what it meant, but pretty sure I didn't have to worry about panic ensuing. That was close. You may think that they would be a bit freaked out about forty firemen and eleven paramedics in their driveway, but you would be wrong. You might think that they would be concerned when one of the firemen yelled, "It's at 96 upstairs...that's high--they should probably go to the ER," but again--you would be wrong. You may even think that two of them would be a bit freaked out when they were told they had to go in an ambulance on their own because only two patients were allowed in an ambulance at a time and you would again be wrong. In fact, when Brayden and Ryan heard (after clebrating the fact that they "...got to ride in an AMBULANCE..." that they were going to move to their own ambulance (I of course wanted to "break it to them" in a way that wouldn't scare them, but there was no time for that since they JUMPED OUT OF THEIR SEATS and said, "Let's go!" Sadly for them, the second ambulance had to actually DRIVE to our house, so they were stuck with me for ten more minutes. The paramedic gave them each a stuffed animal, which was so sweet. Of course, Brayden's bear said, "Daddy's Little Girl," so when I went back for my purse (and a lesson on woeter versus watter--Jersey-talk versus Buffalo talk) a purple boa intertwined its way around his body. QUITE the score for a seven-year-old. The poor lady who got stuck in THEIR ambulance is now up for saint...dom? ...hood? She's a saint. She told me my life story as we entered the hospital because it can evidently be told by a first and second grader in the fifteen minutes it takes to get to the hospital! I had one person asking about Montana and another telling me the Sabres lost (like my night wasn't crummy enough)! After vitals, we all entered our triage room. The entire Corwin clan in separate corners--FINALLY. I wish I had my camera. THAT would have been a GREAT Christmas photo--each of us in our separate corners hooked up to oxygen--unbelievable! Addison kept taking hers off to see what the numbers would do. Ryan kept asking Dave (who seemed to think that he was exempt from all of this...) questions like, "What is this I'm breathing?" "Oxygen, Ryan." "So air? I'm breathing AIR?" and, "Now what is the deal with carbon monoxide again? I wanna get this straight...can we go to a store or something after this?" Poor Brayden acted like an old pro--from taking the oxygen to giving his blood, nary a peep came out of that sweet boy. The fact that this was old hat to him was a little disconcerting, but at least it wasn't traumatizing, right? He even asked if we could just please sleep there. "I hope not..." was all I could grunt between puffs. At around 3:00 (YES...IN THE MORNING) we were deemed healthy and were discharged. The slumber party in triage came to an end. Corwin, party of five (plus a snake, a bunny and a crazy looking stuffed baby-doll--ALL wearing oxygen masks with bags) meandered out of the hospital, their goodbyes echoing through the hallway. Here we are at 4:21 and Dave is the only one out. They gave me meds that are so good, I'm afraid to sleep. As much fun as it was, I feel like I'm done with slumber parties. Especially those that happen at the hospital.

So...very...T-I-R-E-D...

With a solid two hours, I would be appalled at this post. Luckily, my children won't even give me ONE... I hate them. I do. Not because they don't listen to me. Not because they are nasty to me.Not because if they heard me say hate they would go on for hours about the "bad word" I said and give me a lecture about the fact that "we don't SAY hate." Not even because they ruined my body. I hate them because I LOVE sleep. And with every one of them I lost even more sleep. I haven't slept--REALLY slept--since 2003. I know what you're thinking--"I can't BELIEVE she would EVER say that she hates her children! What a HORRIBLE mother!" Whatever. You know that you would trade your youngest for seven uninterrupted hours without batting an eyelash--you just won't admit it. There are people I have had FULL conversations with in the last eight years that I don't even REMEMBER. The conversation, the PERSON, LEAVING the house...it's all a fog. Granted, I've had some health issues, but don't tell me that a lot of those weren't exacerbated by the fact that I had little to no sleep. When I went undiagnosed for years I would say, "They are probably thinking, 'Yeah--of course she looks and feels like garbage--she has THREE kids!'" Recently I saw a comic on facebook with a woman (looking (sadly) a lot like me sitting on an examination table. The doctor walks in and says, "You've been diagnosed with having children..." I'm pretty sure that no one laughed (or cried!) as hard as I did at THAT one! The thing is, three isn't even that many. People have more, "SEVENTEEN and counting..." (though now I think it's NINETEEN and counting! What do I know? It's probably thirty-three and counting at this point--what does SHE care? She looks well rested. BECAUSE HER CHILDREN ARE RAISING HER CHILDREN...I hate when I judge. I'm just---so---TIRED.) It goes both ways, you know. They hate me, too. If they didn't, would they take turns keeping me up all night? They are almost 5, 6, and 7. There is NO reason why they shouldn't be able to sleep--THROUGH THE NIGHT. IN THEIR OWN BEDS. For AT LEAST seven hours (though I would be HAPPY with five). THEY don't appear to be exhausted. I swear it's a conspiracy. And on the off chance that they DO sleep (which I REALLY don't REMEMBER when THAT was...), my husband chimes in with his incessant snoring. See...? They ALL hate me.

I KNOW what fun is!

Well, I started a different blog about my mother and her disdain for my recent topics (it seems she DOESN'T want me to discuss my family drama with all of her friends she so kindly asked to view my blog (SO NICE of her, I know!). Who knew that the big "D" was so upsetting to so many people? Okay...I did. Though I was trying to help myself and others--I swear!

Anyway...I will post THAT later. My daughter Ryan just came downstairs with her Halloween costume on--she created it herself and she is QUITE pleased.
 "I'm going as "fun" for Halloween!" she boasted, wearing red and purple flowered stretch pants (that end at her knee), a black and orange jack-o-lantern tutu and a black, gray and pink shirt with an enormous pink, purple,teal-colored butterfly-eagle that has the word "Fubu" worked into the design with a layer of gray tutu and a layer of pink tutu at the bottom (though the sleeves reach just past her elbow, which leads me to believe the pants and shirt belong to Addison).
 "What?"
"Fun. Don't you know what "FUN" is? I guess not," she snidely remarked.
Nice.

Staying "Connected"

Facebook is TOTALLY underrated. People will readily pay hundreds--even thousands of dollars on therapy and not think anything of it--I know, because I've been there--yet the therapists I've encountered haven't really done much for me. ONE nice comment or word of inspiration from a great friend (or sometimes a friend-of-a-friend--or even an acquaintance!) can do what hours of therapy can not--give me a feeling of worth. A feeling like I'm not alone in the world--like I'm "connected" in some way with another human being. My "daily words of affirmation" come when I see the little red box light up in the top left corner of my computer screen. I anxiously click on it in hopes that SOMEONE has commented on SOMETHING. Maybe I shouldn't discount therapy just yet...

 I've noticed several things since my relationship with facebook began. 1. I DO have an addictive personality. 2. I have HILARIOUS friends (who also have HILARIOUS friends). 3. I know some pretty amazing and inspirational people. 4. My husband hates facebook.

Now the "addiction" to facebook is being shared with my "addiction" to blogging and I think that the "addiction" is not really to those things at all. I'm addicted to being validated. I'm addicted to "hearing" nice things about myself and funny things about the world. I'm married to a man and have three small children, hence there isn't a lot of communicating or validating going on around here. I turn to my facebook "friends" to provide me with what I need emotionally in life. That sounds so sad, doesn't it? P-R-E-T-T-Y pathetic. But how needy would I be if I expected the people around me to constantly comment, compliment and validate me? It's what we as humans truly want, but it's exhausting to do--at least in person (Can you imagine walking around saying, "I like that" and coming up with something inspirational to say to a person ALL day?!). I know--I've tried.

I'm a "validator" and a "complimenter." I'm not bragging--there are many things I'm not (a housekeeper or organizer for instance...a mathemetician or accountant...a super model or centerfold...you get it), but I began working with children when I was a teenager and from that I learned that people feel good when they are complimented and validated and I like to make other people feel good about themselves. For eleven years, I would begin any...disagreement...in my relationship with, "You are so great at..."cleaning the kitchen, folding laundry, playing with the kids..." and I really appreciate you, but..." Unfortunately, in the eleven years, my husband only hears the"...BUT..." which really makes me into kind of a jerk. Facebook lets me not be the jerk and I REALLY like that. BUT...it really became an issue in my relationship (which I WILL NOT get into again. I PROMISE!).

We moved to Kalispell Montana before I was ever on facebook.  I don't know if you know this or not, but Montana is on the OTHER SIDE OF THE PLANET!  I even called it MonFREAKINtana before we got there (and even when we WERE there at first--until my four-year-old son told my mother how much he loved "MonFREAKIN'tana." Then I stopped.).  For several months it was me, my children (who were 4,3, and 2 at the time) and my [cranky and exhausted] husband.  No one else. I am a talker (SURPRISE!) and although I had the phone (you KNOW how great small children are when you are on the phone...), I had no other adult contact...EVER, because my husband was quietly enduring whatever it is that men endure and was not letting me in on ANY of his secrets.

I finally joined TWO mom's groups (I tried to join a third, but it was thirty minutes away and I felt guilty for joining three!), which helped IMMENSELY ( I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THIS!), but at the beginning I still only had superficial relationships. On February 14, I decided to join facebook. My friend, Chrissy talked me through it (and she and her husband were my first "friends") and I couldn't stop! It felt weird only having two friends--like sitting in thehigh school cafeteria alone--and I couldn't help but get the feeling I had when I moved to Lockport in the second grade or Williamsville in the tenth--what if I ask them to be my friend and they say..."NO!"?! Chrissy assured me that this feeling would go away soon and that I would be surprised at how many people would say "yes" and then, would even ask ME to be THEIR friend! (I'm SUCH a geek--I know!) I spent all day thinking about facebook and how many "friends" I would have. We went out to eat for Valentine's Day--our first date in months (I dropped my kids off at a "drop-in" child care facility--a few moms snubbed their noses at that, yet weren't offering to watch my kids...don't get me started on WHY we need to SUPPORT each other in ALL that we do. That's a topic for another day!) and my husband looked over at me and said, "You're thinking about facebook right now, aren't you?" For the first time, I was the one who was somewhere else, and I couldn't stop! We watched a video when we got home and my thoughts were on facebook, which I immediately logged onto when the credits were rolling. I was on until the wee hours of the morning and it was FANTASTIC! Chrissy and her husband "commented" that I had more friends in one day then they had in four months. Chrissy wrote, "Wow--you've been busy!" and she wasn't kidding. I finally felt "connected" with other human beings and I was LOVING it! I even made a secret deal with myself (I do that...it's not weird...) to write a funny status each day. I would "write" them in bed at night. I would "write" them in the shower (on the off chance I was ABLE to shower!) and I would "write" them while driving. I cracked myself up, though I'm not sure if I was "cracking up" anyone else! All I cared about was getting it out there and (hopefully) seeing the little red box light up in the corner!

The thing is, I have made a lot of amazing friends through the years, but I am HORRIBLE at keeping in touch. I sit up at night and think, "Oh my goodness--I really need to call her--it has been so long!" or "Wow--I forgot about him--I wonder what he is up to these days..." and "I really wonder what my students will end up doing with their lives..." and would feel sad about the people I would probably never talk to again. Enter facebook. I still remember people and try to "find" them and "friend" them, but it was amazing to see how many people "found" me. Now I have "chats" with people I haven't seen since middle school. I reunite with distant cousins and make friends with my friends' friends. I am able to see former students and their babies (not the best perk--I can't believe I'm THAT old!)--NOT because they were having them in high school, but because they found me (or I found them!) on facebook after they were grown and married. I often think that I want to have a facebook reunion (or would it just be...union?!) and get all of my fb "friends" together to meet. I have maybe 500 friends and I would say at least 450 are people I genuinely would love to hang out with on a regular basis. These are good (and funny!) (and brilliant!) people who have so much to offer the world--not just facebook--and I often think about "fixing them up" with each other because I know how well  their personalities would mesh. I feel great after I've "chatted" with all of them. Of course, then there is the guilt over not staying in touch on facebook...that's what happens when your raised in an Italian Catholic family...guilt just becomes part of who you are.

These days I try not to be on facebook for too long--I don't look at ALL the updates (though some days I try to), however I want to stay connected. I feel sad if someone posted something funny or news about their family and I didn't see it. I'm not so much concerned about what they ate for dinner (unless it's something I MUST make!) or if they just got back from the store (unless it's a store I MUST go to), but my friends use those posts sparingly. They, like me, are in it to inspire or humor. And what could be wrong with wanting to stay connected to THAT?!

I feel a lot of pressure. Yesterday, I posted something very personal, and although I welcomed so many positive responses on here and on facebook, I know that two serious days in a row will scare people away from the blog. Never leave the blog, people. Some days will be funnier than others--some days will be HILARIOUS (I'm really full of myself these days, aren't I?!) and some days will be...not-so-hilarious. You have to read to find out, right?

I have to say that after I hit "publish" yesterday, I was fully prepared to hear crickets. AWWWWKWAAAAARD. Luckily, that wasn't the case. I think we all go through similar things and secretly hope that others are going through them as well. It doesn't make us cruel or mean--it makes us human. It makes us feel more normal (it's all relative!) to know that the same words, actions, fears...whatever, are going on in at least one other human being's life. I guess I shouldn't speak for "us" (That's another problem I have which resulted in the topic we discussed yesterday--speaking for my husband. In my defense, he doesn't really speak for himself, so SOMEONE needs to start talking!); maybe YOU think I'm crazy (again with the relativity) and YOU would NEVER feel any of the feelings I discuss in my posts. Contrary to what I just wrote, that would make me happy. I really should pick a side and stay on it, right? Either I'm happy for people or I want them to endure whatever I'm enduring. The thing is, I feel both things. It's nice to commiserate when things aren't going great and to compare stories when they are. On the flip side, I wouldn't wish misery on anyone and would be happy to hear of people who DO NOT go through the things I've shared. I only share so that those who ARE going through things are able to see that they aren't alone. And when you are talking ALL the time, yet no one is listening, you tend to feel alone, right?

So today I need to be funny. There is nothing funnier than a person who is forcing humor. Pretty soon I'll start explaining the jokes, too. THAT is always a knee slapper. Who even SAYS that anymore?! See--this is what pressure does to a person.

I could tell you about Addison's latest antics ("Mommy, I want you to eat me so dat I can be a baby in your belly again! Just don't eat me wiff  yowor teef orI wiwwill be a dinosaur!" WHAT?! Not really sure what that was all about, but I AM pretty sure that we need to explain some things to her before she starts terrorizing the preschool children with visions of dinosaurs climbing out of bellies!) or Ryan's rants ("I just look STUPID (evidently SHE'S not concerned with the "bad word" list!) when I wear a coat and am warm. NOBODY else is warm!" Seriously?! I don't even know what that MEANS!). Brayden is always good for some insight, (Mommy, I don't think you should let the girls hang out with those boys because they use curse words and the girls aren't mature enough to know they shouldn't repeat what they hear." REALLY? Who is running this show anyway?! Now you know why we call him "The Professor!") and there is more information posted than you EVER want to hear (funny or not) about my relationship (as evidenced by yesterday's post).

What kind of makes me laugh is that a dear friend of mine called to say that she couldn't stop laughing at yesterday's post. This is one of my closest and dearest friends--she has known me for DECADES (which makes me so sad because I am old enough to know people for DECADES, but it beats the alternative, right?) and actually LIVED with my husband and me at one point, so she knew that I was actually TRYING to be funny in the post. I know the "D" word (No, not DUMB! Or the other one!) is really not a light topic, nor is it something that should make you laugh. THAT'S why we found it funny. We tend to think that things that are inappropriate to discuss or are said to be private matters are funny, mostly because no one wants to talk about them (think "fart" to a first grader) for fear of doing something wrong. I've learned two things in my old age. 1. If you act like something is wrong, then it becomes wrong and you feel like a failure or a bad person for doing it. 2. Saying something out loud (or on paper) makes it real and also helps you to see the absurdity of it. Holding on to something gives it more power--letting it out or sharing with others takes the power away for some reason.  That's why I share. A lot. Almost to a fault. Okay...maybe not ALMOST to a fault...

For those who are concerned, I am not getting a divorce. In fact, since we have been speaking these things OUT LOUD to each other, our marriage has gotten better. A new friend told me to take a look at my marriage and think, "How would I feel if my husband walked in (to wherever)with another woman and my kids--knowing that this other woman was raising my children?" and to ask him how he would feel if I were to do that to him. It made me think. We made a choice to be together and we have the ability to choose to stay or not to stay. Once the decision is made to stay, we need to commit to that decision and to do whatever possible to  make it the right decision. For ourselves, for each other and for our children.

Funny, right?

Evidently NOTHING is off limits on this blog...

I almost got divorced last month. I SAID I ALMOST GOT DIVORCED LAST MONTH. Yes, that's a bit personal, but I think that things need to be talked about so that we don't explode. Which is precisely the reason why the big "D" almost happened. Don't worry--I said ALMOST and we don't have to whisper--my husband knows--he was there. To be fair, we didn't actually SAY we were going to actually DIVORCE. We said we were going to separate (which really means divorce, let's be honest. How many people "separate" so that they can get back together and everything will be fine? None. I know.) while each of us figured "things" out. It took us all night, but "things" were figured out before the "separation" actually took place.  Maybe they weren't "figured out" exactly, but they were addressed, which is a BIG step for us! The good news is (aside from the fact that we did NOT file the papers) we peoved that we could actually DO something--I always thought we would be too lazy to get a divorce or to even DISCUSS it. See? Growth.

Now don't get me wrong--I'm the one who talked about "separating" first. My husband is...well...a man, so his communication skills are...well...lacking. Add to that the fact that I come from a very...YELLY (that is now a word) and dramatic family and he comes from a family where the most emotion they muster up is:"Yes--that is very nice," (over, say, getting a promotion or winning a million dollars). As for sad events or things that make them angry...nothing. It is simply not discussed or mentioned. One would think that they are always just...content with whatever situation arises.

I've known about our differences since before we got engaged, but being a...woman...I thought for sure that time with me would help him to feel...emotions like excitement and elation (or even anger and rage). Yes, I know you are thinking it--I thought I could CHANGE him. Don't we all? And he did change...a bit. Once we added children to the mix, he definitely changed--and so did I. The problem is, I became crabbier and he became happier--at least with them. Still not so much with me, but we're working on THAT.

In our eleven years of marriage, we have been through better, worse, worse again, a liiiiiiittttttttlllllle bit better, then worse. We've been through poorer, then richer, then even RICHER, then REALLY poorer still, then a little bit above poorer, but not quite richer. We've been through health, then sickness, then more sickness then...I think you get my point. We covered all of the bases except the "...death do us part," and with the way we were feeling about each other, that was going to be soon.

My husband is a genuinely nice guy and quite easy on the eyes. You would like him--EVERYONE does. This should be a selling factor in a relationship, no? NO! There were  times in our relationship where I despised...yes, DESPISED my husband. The anger and rage consumed me. I think some of it was post-partum depression, but most of it was...him. Just kidding--it was me, too and my need for validation. I would compliment and validate him and would in turn expect (or at least HOPE) that he would do the same for me. Instead, he was like the crabby uncle at a reunion. He would sit in his chair with nothing to say. The rage came when those around us started thinking that HE was the nice guy and I was the b*%#h (this IS PG).

I had always been the nice one--it was MY thing and suddenly he took over with his passive-aggressive ways and made ME into the mean one. His family didn't even get to meet "Nice Nika." People who met me after we met don't even know her. I used to be afraid to leave my name for the pizza guy for fear of doing something wrong in turn making him think I was mean, but I finally established that SOMEONE needed to leave a name or NO PIZZA FOR US (which really should be our motto these days anyway!). I was always the ridiculous tipper. I was a waitress for years and fully believe that someone may truly be having a bad day, so as long as they aren't mean to me, they usually get 20% plus a dollar (which changes the percentage to something I should probably know, but I don't and the NEW me won't apologize for that). If they are rude? 15%. I used to have debates with every boyfriend (and even my mother!) about that. My husband? Not only did he follow suit, sometimes he will even leave 50% (especially if the waitress is hot--don't think I'm fooled!). It's like he was trying to "out-nice" me. And it worked. Especially when we had no money and he was leaving 50% on a check. Enter "Mean-Nika."

The nice and mean problem was most prevalent in our early days as parents. I know most couples go through this--first we have to learn to live with another person, next we have to learn how to run a small town (yes, I know my metaphors are slipping, but it honestly FEELS like a small town!) as co-leaders. No easy task. Luckily, we had most of the same parenting philosophies--most of which went out the window when we realized how absurd it was for us to have "philosophies" on something we had never done. Or maybe I learned that and never told him. Maybe he's not the only one who needs to work on communication after all...

To curse or not to curse...

So we are driving with my son (Brayden) and his best friend on Saturday and his friend is telling a story about these boys he befriended in his neighborhood. One of the boys, it seems, likes to use curse words. ALL of them. "I shouldn't say them, right Miss Nika?" he innocently asks. "NO!" my husband and I (finally doing something ALONE and TOGETHER) yelled and practically jumped out of our seats.

 "I mean, that's okay--it's good that you know they aren't okay to say. Sometimes friends aren't told that their words are wrong or that they can hurt other people.  Sometimes it hurts people's feelings just by SAYING the word, even if it isn't meant as an insult,"   I added, trying to deflate the fear he may have felt when the two of us jumped on him.

"Yeah," Brayden contributed. "I know the 'H' word the 'S' word the 'D' word and the 'F' word and I wouldn't want to hear ANYONE say them!" He nodded, knowingly.

My husband and I exchanged glances and I asked, "Really? I'm glad you know not to use them...you won't be in trouble for saying them now...I don't mind, do you, [best friend]?" "No! What are they, Brayden?"

"Hatestupiddumbandfreak!"  he shouted in one breath. "And I'll try not to say them. EVER."

I love my son.