Goodbye Frumpy...maybe next year...

http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/it-turns-out-i-used-to-be-hot.html

Still in October

I'm not sure I want to remember these old posts!
http://anothertiredmommy.blogspot.com/2011/10/always-second-fiddle.html

MY Kind of List

I've decided that instead of making a "To Do" list, I am going to make an "I [will] Never" list and am checking off the item if and when I've done it. THIS way I will feel like I am ACTUALLY accomplishing something. 1. I Will Never...allow my children to eat junk food. Check. For breakfast. Check. For all three meals in one day. Check. Check-check. 2. I will NEVER let my children sass-talk me. BAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That's just not even worthy of putting a check by it because it is SO ludicrous! I think they each came out of the WOMB with an attitude! 3. I will never "diet" again. Check. 4. I will NEVER eat another carb again. Bahahahaha! CHECK. 5. I will NEVER NOT eat another carb again.Check. 6. I will NEVER say hurtful things to another human being. Check. 7. I will NEVER say (or WRITE) bad things about my children. Check. 8. I will NEVER say hurtful words to my children. Check. 9. I will NEVER say hurtful things to my husband. Check. 10. I will NEVER say hurtful things about my husband. Check. 11. I will NEVER imagine suffocating my husband with a pillow. Check. (Though I don't think I actually SAID it...it NEVER came up in my thought process and probably NEVER should have...) 12. I will NEVER allow my children to watch shows that aren't educational or beneficial in some way. Check. 13. I will NEVER let my children watch shows that are not meant for their age groups (ie Sponge Bob, iCarly...) Check. 14. I will NEVER use the television as a babysitter. CHECK. 15. I will NEVER give my children candy. Check 16. I will NEVER give my children lollipops. Check. 17. I will never convince myself that the "cherry" in the lollipop counts as fruit. Check. 18. I will NEVER let my children play outside unattended. Check. 19. I will NEVER let my children ride a bike or a scooter without a helmet. Check. 20. I will NEVER judge another mom. Check. 21. I will NEVER become defensive of my parenting because it isn't anyone else's business anyway. Check. 22. I will NEVER spank my child. Check. 23. I will NEVER let my child get away with MURDER because I feel guilty for spanking him. Check. 24. I will NEVER try to pit my children against one another so that I don't have to be the one to discipline them. Check. 25. I will NEVER let my children live like slobs. Check. 26. I will NEVER let my children become spoiled. Check. 27. I will NEVER...let my children have ice cream for dinner, tell my son that he SHOULD run away--I don't blame him, laugh AT my children--not WITH them, use sarcasm with my husband or children--BAHAHAHAHA! Do I not even KNOW myself?! Leave the dishes for more than a night, leave the laundry for more than a night, rewash the same load of laundry more than twice. More than THREE times. More than FOUR times, lose myself in my family, let myself REALLY go, put my health and well-being last, lie to my children, believe ANYTHING my children tell me, leave my children in the bathtub alone--even for a second, a minute, ten minutes,until I hear gurgling from them going under, allow my children to ride in a car without their car seats,let my children chew sugary gum, let my children's schedules dictate my schedule, let my children sleep with me in my bed, let my children sleep with me more than once a week...let my children sleep with me more often than not, spend HOURS on the phone/computer instead of being with my family...I will NEVER be like my MOTHER. CHECK. I feel so accomplished. I've NEVER had so many things checked off of a list. I think I may be on to something...

Goodbye, Frumpy...(easier said than done...)

It turns out, I used to be hot. No--it's true. I KNOW what you are thinking..."I KNEW her then (whenever "used to" was...) or dated her then and she was NOT 'hot'," but I'm sorry to say it--you are wrong.

I looked at old pictures the other night and didn't even RECOGNIZE the person in those photos. I literally ran (yes--LITERALLY) to the mirror to do a comparative study. The result? I used to be hot. Now...well, let's just say I USED to be hot. It's really all relative.

 Here's the thing--I never THOUGHT I was hot--or even too pleasing to the eye. I knew I wasn't a heinous abomination or anything and children didn't run screaming from the room when I entered (though they don't do that now, either--unfortunately...), I just didn't realize just how good I looked. Comparatively speaking. You see, if we all had a glimpse into what COULD happen, we would be far more secure with ourselves and our present state of...hotness. Compared to the facial hair-ridden-under-eye-bag-wearin'- child-totin'-overweight mess I've become, I would even go as far as to say I was SMOKIN'. Yeah--that's right--I said it. And I will not hear otherwise from naysayers.

I look at pictures of high school and college friends and they look like they walked off of the Desperate Housewives set. Perfect makeup (pshaw...MAKEUP!), perfect hair, perfect bodies...I think they may even...SHOWER. REGULARLY. Bitches. Just kidding--excuse the language. Especially since those of you reading ARE hot--and have kept your hotness throughout childbirth and parenting. Some of you are even HOTTER than you were (as if that could even be POSSIBLE!). Instead of calling you names, I need to be happy for you--and I am. Really. In fact, there should be some kind of an award or something for those of you who didn't lose it...I know how hard it had to be considering how hard it was for ME to be HERE! Yes...it could get WORSE...I need to do something about it. TODAY.

 So if I get "hot" again, will I know it, or will I constantly be reaching for something that is unattainable? I think of when I used to babysit (I didn't stop until I was like thirty--I made more money doing that than what I made TEACHING. So sad...) and some of the moms REALLY had it together and were still hot. Some of the moms, however, didn't start to look (their degree of) "hot" until well after their children left the toddler years. Don't get me wrong--no one got THIS bad and they were all pretty--I'm talking about HOT. You could tell they missed it and when they got it back, they took frumpy by the neck and laid it out for good. THIS inspires me. A little laser-hair treatment (a dear friend asked me after the chin hair debacle why I haven't done this yet. Money? Time? Complacency? Good question!), regular trips to the gym (instead of four days on...one week off...one day on...two weeks off...three days...you get it), clothing that doesn't look like I got it from the PE lost and found...THESE things will help in my quest. And THIS time I will appreciate HOT. I will embrace it, love it and nurture it like it is a deserted baby on a stoop. Hopefully then, it won't leave me again.

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.

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...

A hundred dead bodies simply aren't enough [dead bodies]

There are a hundred dead bodies in my kitchen. They are splattered around the walls like a Trading Spaces episode gone wrong. Personally, I would rather have some freak of nature PAINT MY WHITE CARPET RED (WHAT?! It REALLY happened--back before having children destroyed my hang-around-in-my-PJs- (I was going to say UNDERWEAR, but I want you to be able to sleep tonight) and-watch-random- television-shows-days) than have a hundred dead bodies covering my walls. Just sayin'...

I finally snapped on Monday night. I couldn't take it anymore. The last time I felt this way it was about the floor in my house in Montana THREE years ago and there were no dead bodies. Thankfully, though my husband and children were pushing it. That particular time, I was scraping hardened oatmeal off of the floor for the ELEVENTH time that week (it was Tuesday) when some poor child had the misfortune of being THE ONE who dropped frozen (yet defrosted enough to REALLY do the job) blueberries. On my head. And on the floor. That I had JUST cleaned and washed. On my hands and knees. With my freshly showered hands. Yes--I took a SHOWER that day. THAT was definitely the straw.

Anyone who met me after January 17th 2009, knew a person who NEVER washed her floor. EVER. Everyone who knew me BEFORE that date knew a person who RARELY washed her floor. BIG DIFFERENCE. People would come to my house and try to take their shoes off and I would accost them at the front door noting,
"My floors are far dirtier than your shoes could EVER be and you will probably leave here with peanut butter and chili on your sock."
"You made chili?"
"Two weeks ago...and I don't want to TALK about the peanut butter."

This was my way of dealing with THAT breakdown. That was BEFORE little gnats (or fruit flys) invaded my home. I don't believe those bugs (and they are called "BUGS" for a REASON!) exist in Montana. *SIGH* Montana...(cue soft music for my brief reverie...thank you). Who would have thought that a place I referred to as "MonFREAKINtana" before we lived there would be so close to my heart. I love Montana. FRUIT-FLYLESS, GANGLESS, ROAD RAGE-LESS, Corwinless, Montana. But I digress...again. I KNOW what I was talking about because a little gnat is CRAWLING ON MY SCREEN and when I smash his little face in, I'm not sure if my husband will be pleased that I can no longer use the computer, or ticked that HE can no longer use the computer.

I decided to wait it out with the gnat. He's looking at me and I at him, but no one is making the move. The thing is, I will be able to "visit" him later with my (now broken) hot pink swatter that took care of hundreds of his little buddies. And my glass cabinet. And a vase from my mother. And almost my middle child. Yes, sacrifices had to be made, but don't judge. On Monday night I went all Norman Bates on their...wings? and slashed through  my kitchen like Freddie Krueger on Elm street. Yes, I am aware that most of you weren't even IN THE WOMB when either movie came out, but EDUCATE yourselves, people. Watch a little "Remember the eighties (seventies, nineties...)" on VH1 (YES, it IS a channel) and come play when you are done. You won't be disappointed.

So now I have black-spotted crown molding and little black splatters all over my ceiling. My cupboards (the ones that did not break in the attack) have a faux-bug-polka-dot finish. When I get going with my (now broken) (yes, I know I told you, but I'm really annoyed that a gnat the size of a sliver (and equally as painful) was able to split my swatter in half at the top. NO--I DON'T THINK I HAVE RAGE ISSUES--THANK YOU.) hot pink fly swatter, no one is safe. I heard my husband say to my children, 'Mommy's gone to the bad place again," and knew he was right. Though I AM winning the fight and will not go down until every last gnat-fruit-fly-bug is splattered somewhere in my house. Even if it's under the dried oatmeal and blueberries.

Goodbye, toaster!

So Friday afternoon as we are walking by our toaster (if you are just joining us, there is--WAS-- a toaster in my driveway) after a long day at preschool, Addison says, "Mommy--it's a sunny day and the toaster's not wet." I know you are jealous because you will NEVER have this conversation with your child. EVER.
 Anyway, she was noting that it hadn't rained (like it had the two or three days prior) when she pulled out the hardened charcoal that was once a roll, but now looked more like a bagel (from a Tim Burton movie!) with a big hole in the center looking it over as only a four-year-old can, and she started to lift the toaster up from its new (Who am I kidding? It had been there almost a week!) home.I ran to help her as my husband (who was home sick on Friday...he's feeling better, thanks!) opened the door.
"What are you doing?" he asked me.
"I'm helping her lift this because it's very heavy."
"What?! Well, what're you going to DO with it?!"
"We hafta bwring it IN Daddy...'cause it's not wraining anymower, so now it's dwry," she responded for me as she attempted to lug the enormous appliance by herself.
"Well, what do YOU think we should do with it? Should we just leave it in the yard?!" I asked (a bit snappishly, I'm thinking now...).
"I thought you said you were going to 'write a letter'?!" Yeah--I'm GOING TO WRITE a lot of letters. He knows that. I know that. My daughter who is toppling to the side knows that. "There are probably ants in there."
He is probably right and I am NOT a fan of bugs (I will get to my GNAT issues later), but what would he have me do? Create a shrine to the toaster while I write the letter (which, let's be honest here, probably won't happen) mail the letter (not-so-great at this, either),and  wait for a response...the four-year-old knew that the toaster had to go. We brought it to the garage.
"Nyeah, 'cuz we don't want owar toastewer to be in the YARD, wright, Mommy? 'Cus dat would be SILLY?!" she laughed, thinking that we BOTH knew this to be true. At least we have our CHILDREN to take care of us.

Everybody loves Addie

Picking up my youngest from preschool is the BEST JOB EVER! The minute she sees me (which is usually after four preschoolers scream at the top of their lungs, "AD-DI-SOOOON---YOUR MOOO-OOMMY'S HERE!), she runs at me with every bit of her 39 pounds, beaming from ear-to-ear and tackle-hugs me. Given that my children have never been snugglers, I LOVE it! She squeezes for a full minute or two then repels off of me to begin the "goodbye tour."

Before we leave the school, Addison needs to go around and hug everyone--it's like an Italian funeral. Or Sunday dinner. Or anything Italian, really. Which stands to reason, since I come from a huggy-kissy Italian family. Though I thought these things were learned, not inherent and we've been away from family for a while now. At any rate, Addison spends a good five minutes saying goodbye. The same thing happens when I drop her off...she does the "hello tour." All of the three through five-year-olds gather around to yell "HELLL-LLLLOOO ADDISON" and push each other out of the way to give her hugs first. It's like watching eight-year-olds with Justin Bieber. Only she seems to exclusively sing Selena. "WHOOOO SAYS...WHO SAYS YOUWAR NOT PEWERRRFECT..WHOOOO SAYS YOUWAR NOT WORWF IT..? WHOOOO SAYYYYYYS?!" (That would be Addie singing Selena. It's MUCH cuter in person, so if I ever figure out how to post the video...stay tuned!)

Yesterday, after my hug and the beginning of "the tour," Addison ran back to finish a picture she made for me. It was one of five blue birds she had drawn and colored. PRET-TY talented, I'd say. Last week she was drawing pumpkins. It's funny--she gets a stencil, draws the first picture and then pushes out twenty more free-hand like she's Ms. Xerox or something. As she was finishing the beak, the little boy next to her informed me that HE was drawing HIS picture for ME. It was a bright, blue star he drew from the stencil and he added some purple to make it "sparkle." When Addison saw, she gave him a questioning look, finished her bird and demanded we leave. "Now."

I thanked the little boy and as we left Addie asked, "Why wouwood he wantta give his stawar to you when youwar MY Mommy? Did you make HIM sit in time out, too?"

DO YOU HEAR THE WORDS COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH?!

So today it was Brayden's turn. I'm not sure what it was that he was DOING for twenty minutes in his room, but when I went back to see him (for the THIRD time), there he sat, seemingly doing nothing at all. He wasn't making his bed. he wasn't cleaning his room. He wasn't dressed (or GETTING dressed...or even CONTEMPLATING getting dressed, it seemed). He wasn't reading a book, singing a song, writing hate mail to me, picking his nose...he was just sitting, evidently to simply irritate me and send me over the edge. Mission accomplished.

I honestly try (really, I swear) to start off talking with my children in a nice, calm voice...singsong even. By the third time, I look like the bride of Chucky with eyes bulging, nostrils flaring and head contortioning...it isn't pretty. The fact that I'm quite certain my neighbors DOWN THE STREET can hear me in the winter is a problem I'm trying to fix. My fuse seems to get shorter the older I get. Or is it the older THEY get? Either way, it's ugly. I want to patiently wait for my children (and quite honestly, my husband) to do what I ask after I ask them the first or second (or even THIRD...) time, but I feel that MAYBE THEY CANNOT HEAR ME AND SO I HAVE TO YELL. And let's be honest--I usually have to ask TWENTY times before they even THINK about moving. Why do they hate me? I swear it's a conspiracy.

I have friends who very calmly and peacefully interact with their children. Some have children who just automatically do what their mothers/fathers ask them to do. THE FIRST TIME they are asked (or even TOLD) to do it. I swear--I've SEEN it and SOME of you are living it. Secretly we hate you, but don't take offense. I also have friends who ask their children to do things and their children blatantly disregard them--and THEY DON'T CARE! They don't become raving lunatics (like one blog-writer we know), they simply continue on as though nothing happened. HOW?! When three(make that FOUR) people ignore my existance on a regular basis, I start to feel like I'm not even really here. I look around and ask strangers, "You see me, right? I'm not, like a ghost or anything, am I? You're not experiencing a Bruce Willis/Sixth Sense moment with me are you? 'Cause I KINDA feel like I may be a figment of my own imagination..." I often wonder if I'm speaking out loud or if it's only happening in my head. And the longer this..."epidemic'? "condition"? goes on, the more I find that at times I'm really NOT speaking out loud--the line gets grayer with time--and frustration.

It's about significance, really. If none of the people around you find you significant enough to listen to you, you start to feel...well, insignificant! Suddenly you are ranting at mom's groups and exploding at WalMart to the nine-year-old stock boy (seriously--how old DO you have to be to get a work permit these days?) who REALLY wishes you WERE a ghost...And you are yelling. Yelling because you are angry for them not listening to you, yelling because you actually want them to do the thing in question and yelling so that you know you are actually still alive. Okay, so maybe not YOU as much as ME...but you (this time I really mean you!) see where I'm going with this...right? I'm not sure even I see where I'm going with this...no wonder no one listens to me--I don't make any sense! I said I DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE! But you (yes, YOU) already knew that--even BEFORE I started yelling.

How trashy ARE we?!

There's a toaster oven in my front yard. It's been there since Sunday. Today is TUESDAY. Yes, I am master of the obvious.

[NEW PARAGRAPH--See--I can learn!]

Where was I? Oh yeah--Tuesday. Toaster Oven. Here's the thing--most human beings don't store their household appliances in their front yards (driveway to be exact). Of course, non-human beings don't HAVE household appliances (or HOUSES for that matter) to store ANYWHERE, but that's a conversation for a later date. OUR toaster oven is in the front yard because on Sunday morning, it fought back.

The T.O. (that's what I'm calling it, though probably not consistently--fair warning!) is not even a year old--my son bought it for me for Christmas last year (or, my son made my husband buy it for me...you get it) and he was SOOOO pleased with himself. The toaster we were using burnt everything and looked like it would blow up at any time. It only "popped" when it felt like it, and then it would only do it when we least expected it to. THEN it would shoot the bread out at us like a soldier combatting enemy fire. That toaster needed to be put down for good. It never spent any time in the front yard.

The thing is, I don't particularly LIKE toaster ovens. If I want to toast my toast in an oven, I'll use THE OVEN. My son, however, was so very proud of his purchase--there was (and IS) no way I was going to tell him that I didn't absolutely LOVE it. I don't really use it too often. Half the time we have things piled on top of it (which never seems to phase my husband who goes right on toasting with the papers on top waiting to catch fire) and it is under the cabinets which are just DYING to go down in flames. I've even cleaned it a few times (which I can't really say about the demon toaster we '"let go" last year). Which leads me to WHY it is in the front yard.

On Sunday morning I decided to use the T.O. I took everything off the top, cleared the counters around it, put the bread in and turned the button to the "toast the toast" picture. I was in the middle of a psychotic episode over how many people were following my blog, so when the beeper went off, I thought I would just leave it and warm it up if I needed to when I finished "blogging." That IS what I'm doing, right? Blogging? We'll get into "tweeting" another day. Anyway, seconds later, the smoke detector "detected" a problem and when I ran to see, the T.O. was ON FIRE. I called to my husband who was frantically opening and closing the door to get the smoke out (he just assumed I had burnt another meal). I didn't panic, which kind of worried me--I mean, wouldn't you panic if there was a fire in front of you?  I simply watched the toast melt in the flames that engulfed the inside of the oven and calmly asked, "Well, what should we do?" The answer? Unplug it and take it out to the front yard where it will sit until...?

I feel like we put the T.O. in time out (HA-T.O. in T.O. get it? I need a life!) because it was naughty. It did after all try to KILL us. The last toaster went right to the garbage and that was it, but this one is forced to face the shame of sitting in the driveway where all of the neighbors can see how BAD it was. Either that, or I have to face the fact that we are now white trash and the inside of our house is now throwing up on the outside of our house. WE are the people who just don't get around to picking up ANYTHING around our house--the people who make homeowner's associations crawl into the fetal position and rock back and forth. Some of you may have even BEEN in our homeowner's association, so YOU know. I'd much prefer to think that we haven't yet come up with an appropriate punishment for our T.O. and when we do...we'll probably bring it to the BACK yard. It will blend in with the broken grill and deflated pool toys. At least then there won't be a toaster in my front yard.

Always second fiddle...

So I'm reading my facebook posts last night and a dear friend posted about her son favoring her husband. Another friend posted about the woes of single parenting (and I have to say, NOW I understand why people stay together for the sake of the children--it's about not KILLING them!)and not being appreciated for all that she does. It brought me back to a day when I felt so loved--those days are rare--when everything seemed to really go well in our home. No one fought about what color bowl they wanted at breakfast. No one pushed a sibling out of THEIR chair. No one whined about the food selection. everyone patiently waited for me to get breakfast ready and they spoke NICELY to me (and to each other)about school, their dreams, whatever came to mind. This day is so vivid, because it only happened once. ONE TIME in SEVEN years (or if we are counting from the time I had three, one time in FOUR years. Still depressing, no?) we had a nice morning that wasn't filled with yelling, screaming and whining. Just before we needed to leave for school, my youngest ran to me and gave me a huge huge hug coupled with a sweet sigh. "Oh, Mommy," she cooed. "I just love Daddy best!"