Four score and some odd years ago, I probably had a dream. I’m thinking it had to do with being some sort of communications professional. Maybe that was when I wanted to be a veterinarian. There was a phase where nurse or teacher sounded good. I ended up with a degree in communications and an incredible urge to hide or, at least, start all over again and find something I enjoyed doing.
Enter motherhood. Enter the sudden urge to stay home, care for my child, cook, clean, do laundry, exercise and take care of myself. So I did that. I do that. Each and every day I cook (or heat something to feed the people who live here), clean and do laundry (I have a system so I rarely get behind). But, lately, I can’t seem to find or make time to exercise or take care of myself. Since just before Christmas I’ve been burnt out on exercise. I can’t find the motivation. I’m punishing myself in some way - I’m guilt-stricken because I won’t allow myself this daily energizer and stress relief. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Exercise is the world's best anti-depressant.
I needed a push. And, this is not because I want to achieve a smaller number on the scale. I need exercise to clear my mind and prepare for the day ahead. I need to do something, however small, for myself each day. This is what I need. I thrive best this way. So, I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of the winter blahs. Honestly, it’s way too early in the year for that. I’m disgusted with how I feel having not really broken much of a sweat the past month or so. I have a plan-because I always have a plan. Perhaps my plans don’t always work but I do try.
Enter Jessie’s Boot Camp. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m taking drastic measures. I suppose I was bored with my current regime (or lack thereof). So, I went to Target. I purchased some new workout clothes. I bought my first kettlebell and a new Yoga mat. I am also the owner of some new DVDs by Jillian Michaels and Bob Harper; they are two of my most favorite fitness people. Target is where every person should go when in a fitness rut. Great prices and awesome selection. Target did not even pay me to say that. They should! Anyway, I am excited. I’m dedicating one hour a day to the treadmill, weights, a video or whatever it is I feel like doing. No pressure, just some sort of activity. I must stop this nonsense so I can return to feeling like a normal person. I recognize normal is very subjective especially since I am referring to my crazy self.
Part of the problem is my child is rising very early. She gets up at 6:30 these days! WTF? What do I do with her all day? How can I entertain her? Anyway, I’m not rising at 5 am. I cannot do this. I will be puffy by 10 am! I need my beauty sleep. I’m also not great at nighttime workouts since that is my time with Bread and, usually, the telly after he goes to bed. So, I’ve decided it is okay to exercise with her. She can either sit and watch or participate. I could be teaching her far worse habits. Ha! Could and do! So, this is my plan. I am committed. Such excitement. I can’t wait to be so sore I cannot walk! Today is day five and I'm stiff! I love this feeling! I missed it! It’s been so long! I’m a sick individual! And, there’s nothing better than watching my cute tot do squats in her Disney princess underwear! Those are her “workout” clothes. She did NOT learn this from me, I swear. I encourage her to wear clothes at all costs! She refuses! I never wear only my princess underwear when I exercise...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Chip Off the Old Block
My child is turning into her mother. I’m not declaring this as though it’s a good thing. She’s picked up on my phrases, enjoys organizing, carbohydrates and pesters me all day to let her watch more television. I’ve definitely created a monster. I’m frightened to have another child. In what ways will I be able to screw that kid up?
I suppose the circle is complete because, over the past month or so, I noticed how many things I do and say that have come from my own mother. The entire female population on that side of the family has a wonderful way of shrieking at less-than-exclaimable life moments. “WHAT? YOU’RE SHITTING ME?!!! Yep, I inherited that. I’ve notice I also proclaim, “Mother of God,” at many things. Bread informed me Bird used this the other day as well. Crap. Here I thought I was doing well because I am managing not to drop F-bombs. This is not great. I suppose there are worse things but we’re preparing to send her to preschool tomorrow. I can’t have this out in the open. The authorities will come. They will take me away. I will not fare well in jail. I need cosmetics, preferably those containing Retinol and SPF 30. I need lip balm and my magazines. Oh, and, I’m not really fond of public showers.
Bird received a Fisher Price iXL for Christmas. This is the best thing ever. It keeps her busy (educationally) while I shop! Peaceful moments in Target! I can do all my shopping! It is glorious. For some reason, she keeps putting the pen that goes with it in her mouth. This bothers me as she is too old to be doing this. Again, preschool! So the other night, we’re sitting there and she’s playing some princess game on her new toy when I see her with the dang pen in her mouth again. I tell her to take it out. She asks why to which I just raise my eyebrows. That’s all I did-raise the ol’ eyebrows. She said, “Because you said so.” Yes! That’s it. I am amazed lately how quickly, easily and without so much of a second thought that phrase rolls off my tongue. I am a mother. Mother, all right…But, my kid gets it. She’s a genius.
The next night we were playing around. I may have been a bit sleepy. I may have been lying on the couch under a blanket trying to convince her to rub my back and put me to sleep. May have been-I’m not quite recalling exactly what we were up to. Ahem. So, at some point she’s talking and talking and I’m dozing. She says, “Nutjobs! They’re nutjobs!” I have no idea to what or whom she’s referring but of course I perk right up at this. I ask her who she’s talking about. She says, “Nutjobs! We’re all a bunch of nutjobs.” Yep. Shit.
Yesterday she was happily playing with her “friends” as she calls her stuffed animals. Bread was in the kitchen and I was sitting at the computer. Bird goes running by, yelling, “If I have to tell you again, I’m going to beat you.” She starts school on tomorrow. I suspect the authorities will be at my door by Thursday. It was nice knowing you.
I suppose the circle is complete because, over the past month or so, I noticed how many things I do and say that have come from my own mother. The entire female population on that side of the family has a wonderful way of shrieking at less-than-exclaimable life moments. “WHAT? YOU’RE SHITTING ME?!!! Yep, I inherited that. I’ve notice I also proclaim, “Mother of God,” at many things. Bread informed me Bird used this the other day as well. Crap. Here I thought I was doing well because I am managing not to drop F-bombs. This is not great. I suppose there are worse things but we’re preparing to send her to preschool tomorrow. I can’t have this out in the open. The authorities will come. They will take me away. I will not fare well in jail. I need cosmetics, preferably those containing Retinol and SPF 30. I need lip balm and my magazines. Oh, and, I’m not really fond of public showers.
Bird received a Fisher Price iXL for Christmas. This is the best thing ever. It keeps her busy (educationally) while I shop! Peaceful moments in Target! I can do all my shopping! It is glorious. For some reason, she keeps putting the pen that goes with it in her mouth. This bothers me as she is too old to be doing this. Again, preschool! So the other night, we’re sitting there and she’s playing some princess game on her new toy when I see her with the dang pen in her mouth again. I tell her to take it out. She asks why to which I just raise my eyebrows. That’s all I did-raise the ol’ eyebrows. She said, “Because you said so.” Yes! That’s it. I am amazed lately how quickly, easily and without so much of a second thought that phrase rolls off my tongue. I am a mother. Mother, all right…But, my kid gets it. She’s a genius.
The next night we were playing around. I may have been a bit sleepy. I may have been lying on the couch under a blanket trying to convince her to rub my back and put me to sleep. May have been-I’m not quite recalling exactly what we were up to. Ahem. So, at some point she’s talking and talking and I’m dozing. She says, “Nutjobs! They’re nutjobs!” I have no idea to what or whom she’s referring but of course I perk right up at this. I ask her who she’s talking about. She says, “Nutjobs! We’re all a bunch of nutjobs.” Yep. Shit.
Yesterday she was happily playing with her “friends” as she calls her stuffed animals. Bread was in the kitchen and I was sitting at the computer. Bird goes running by, yelling, “If I have to tell you again, I’m going to beat you.” She starts school on tomorrow. I suspect the authorities will be at my door by Thursday. It was nice knowing you.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Paul McCartney is Cringing, This is a Fact
Circa 1998ish, my friend Jackie and I became loyal followers of a local band. We invested pretty much our entire summer into chasing these boys around, drinking with them and thinking we were the coolest. I mean, we were the coolest. We were about to be sophomores in college and we knew all the answers to life’s questions. These guys were lucky to have us as groupies, honored actually.
In our young, naive, minds these three boys (yes, definitely boys) were the most talented musicians we’d ever heard. Were they really? I have no idea. I’m sure they had some talent as they could play and sing at the same time which far outdoes any of my own musical abilities. But, given my musical expertise was limited to whatever they played on the radio, I don’t think I should be the one to say whether they could have been destined for great things.
The best part of all this was since we were underage we couldn’t go to the bars where they played. The only times we ever actually heard them play was when one of their parents was out of town and they played their backyard. Awesome. We pretended we knew how to smoke and that we knew every word to every song they ever wrote while wearing shorts entirely too small with tank tops, our best push-up bras and lots of eyeliner. Our moms would have been so proud. We were with the band!
Aside from my own short-lived stint as a flute player in middle school band, the summer of the band was as close as I ever got to being an actual rockstar. Secretly, and even as introverted as I am, I had a dream of becoming a member of a band as the lead singer. The year was 1999. You must know I have absolutely no vocal ability whatsoever. I would have been laughed off stage. I always envisioned myself as a Serena Ryder-type or Lisa Loeb-a cool chick with a guitar. For a while I wanted to be in a country band. I now despise country. Perhaps there is some underlying reason for this. I feared rejection by country music fans. Therefore, I rejected country music before it could reject me. Ah, yes, I am also a therapist. Er, rather, a complete and total nutter…
There is a local bar we go to with karaoke. I tried. I sucked. I went home and cried for weeks. Not really, I’m pretty accustomed to sucking at most things. It’s fine. What am I really good at? I’m still trying to find my calling. I think I pretty much have being a crazy SAHM in the bag, if that counts. Anyway, Bread is good. He can sing. He’s entertaining. He refuses to do it, though. I’m not sure why. He does a mean Johnny Cash. This was before it was cool to do a mean Johnny Cash. He’s such a trendsetter! He also does David Bowie. My man (faints).
So the years have gone by, I have come to terms with the facts. I will never be a rockstar. As difficult as it has been, I was able to carry on. That is, until I met Rock Band! I am in a band! We received the best Christmas gift ever! Beatles Rock Band! I’m the singer! I get to play tambourine sometimes too! It’s the best fucking thing ever! Now, my dream has come true! I get to sing off-key, in my basement, while wearing my best flannel pajamas and fearing my neighbors can hear that awful shit!
My brother plays the guitar (usually), while Bread rocks out (not with his, you-know-what-out either-we ain’t that kind of band) and I sing. I must say, as an adult, I don’t know many people who play video games. I have sort of a negative opinion of them. I was fearful we’d turn into a bunch of crazies and the next thing you know none of us would be able to function as normal members of society. I have visions of becoming the dude who hangs out in the basement gaming and constantly obsesses about the faux world he has created and can no longer function as a productive member of society without thinking about said world and needing to go conquer it…
I mean, because what we’re doing is so much cooler. It requires real skill! We have talent! We’re going places! People will be lining up at the door! It does not matter that for the first week we had it we were texting each other all day waiting to play. That is a minor detail. I have to go. I am shaking so badly I can barely type this. I need my fix. Lucy in the Sky with di-a-monds!
In our young, naive, minds these three boys (yes, definitely boys) were the most talented musicians we’d ever heard. Were they really? I have no idea. I’m sure they had some talent as they could play and sing at the same time which far outdoes any of my own musical abilities. But, given my musical expertise was limited to whatever they played on the radio, I don’t think I should be the one to say whether they could have been destined for great things.
The best part of all this was since we were underage we couldn’t go to the bars where they played. The only times we ever actually heard them play was when one of their parents was out of town and they played their backyard. Awesome. We pretended we knew how to smoke and that we knew every word to every song they ever wrote while wearing shorts entirely too small with tank tops, our best push-up bras and lots of eyeliner. Our moms would have been so proud. We were with the band!
Aside from my own short-lived stint as a flute player in middle school band, the summer of the band was as close as I ever got to being an actual rockstar. Secretly, and even as introverted as I am, I had a dream of becoming a member of a band as the lead singer. The year was 1999. You must know I have absolutely no vocal ability whatsoever. I would have been laughed off stage. I always envisioned myself as a Serena Ryder-type or Lisa Loeb-a cool chick with a guitar. For a while I wanted to be in a country band. I now despise country. Perhaps there is some underlying reason for this. I feared rejection by country music fans. Therefore, I rejected country music before it could reject me. Ah, yes, I am also a therapist. Er, rather, a complete and total nutter…
There is a local bar we go to with karaoke. I tried. I sucked. I went home and cried for weeks. Not really, I’m pretty accustomed to sucking at most things. It’s fine. What am I really good at? I’m still trying to find my calling. I think I pretty much have being a crazy SAHM in the bag, if that counts. Anyway, Bread is good. He can sing. He’s entertaining. He refuses to do it, though. I’m not sure why. He does a mean Johnny Cash. This was before it was cool to do a mean Johnny Cash. He’s such a trendsetter! He also does David Bowie. My man (faints).
So the years have gone by, I have come to terms with the facts. I will never be a rockstar. As difficult as it has been, I was able to carry on. That is, until I met Rock Band! I am in a band! We received the best Christmas gift ever! Beatles Rock Band! I’m the singer! I get to play tambourine sometimes too! It’s the best fucking thing ever! Now, my dream has come true! I get to sing off-key, in my basement, while wearing my best flannel pajamas and fearing my neighbors can hear that awful shit!
My brother plays the guitar (usually), while Bread rocks out (not with his, you-know-what-out either-we ain’t that kind of band) and I sing. I must say, as an adult, I don’t know many people who play video games. I have sort of a negative opinion of them. I was fearful we’d turn into a bunch of crazies and the next thing you know none of us would be able to function as normal members of society. I have visions of becoming the dude who hangs out in the basement gaming and constantly obsesses about the faux world he has created and can no longer function as a productive member of society without thinking about said world and needing to go conquer it…
I mean, because what we’re doing is so much cooler. It requires real skill! We have talent! We’re going places! People will be lining up at the door! It does not matter that for the first week we had it we were texting each other all day waiting to play. That is a minor detail. I have to go. I am shaking so badly I can barely type this. I need my fix. Lucy in the Sky with di-a-monds!
Monday, January 3, 2011
Resolved
The holidays are over. I had ten (ten!) glorious days with Bread at home. Some marvelous things happened! For one, we did not kill each other! Second, we spent some time together doing fun things like watching movies, playing Scrabble (he totally cheats) and eating all that was not nailed down. Also, we attempted to take our tot to the local dinosaur museum (culture and education were calling). They had a Big Bird and Elmo show at the planetarium. The bleeping thing was overloaded with people seeking the same experience! It was hours until close and a 30 minute wait to just get into the parking lot! We aborted and, naturally, took her to McDonalds to play in the germ-infested play structure. Because, as a friend pointed out, the Hamburgler is almost the same as Elmo. Almost. Said trip also had Bread climbing in the play area. My hero. A brave man he is. He wanted to show Bird how to do it. When he returned from his “adventure,” I informed him there was not enough hand sanitizer in the world to make me want to ever touch him again. Did I mention we did not kill each other whilst he was on vacation?
New Years Eve was fun. Friends came over. The kids played, Bread cooked meat (people come from miles around to sample Bread’s meat); kids went to bed and parents played. It was a great night and a fun way to ring in 2011. One friend asked me what my New Year’s Resolution was. One? I can only pick one? I have several. Each year, I (mentally) make loads or resolutions. I figure if I make many, maybe at least one will stick. To date, the only one I’ve ever stuck to was to stop returning my library books late. It was costing me a fortune! Am I a failure? Do people really stick to these things?
The past year was crazy for us. There were so many changes-some good, some bad and some having both positives and negatives. I’m welcoming 2011 and excited for the clean slate that is January. For 2011, I’m trying something different (insert my Grandma’s voice here-she pronounces it diff-ernt). I’m documenting my resolutions on the internet! This way, I can revisit them. Perhaps I shall have a quarterly update on my progress. Look out! Exciting posts to come (insert sarcasm here)! For now here they are, as usual, in no particular order-
1. Spend more time reading. With this, I’m also adding-read more classics. My goal is to spend at least one evening a week with the television off.
2. Be a slave to organization. I need to write my to-do list down. I think, because I have no job, I can remember everything. Alas, I am old and the memory is not what it used to be (was it ever).
3. Stop obsessing about the cleanliness, or lack thereof, in my house. A little dirt does not hurt too much. I need to step away from the Swiffer, people. Besides, it’s not as if we live in squalor. Do we? No! No! Stop! Stop!
4. Stay away from the crazies. I am a magnet. I’m not sure if I can help this.
5. Stop beating myself up. I am not perfect but nobody is. I know this and, yet, I am so mean to me. WAHHHHH!
6. Schedule a date night with Bread at least once a month. We used to do this all the time. I don’t know what happened but we don’t do it very often as of late. We have ample sitters now, especially since the ol’ BFF is a sucker for the tot and back in town. While it is fun to hang in our living room, it’s even more fun to go out in public! ALONE.
7. Watch more Lifetime Television! Ha! Just kidding! That shit is awful! Does anybody watch that? No offense if you do…Mostly. I guess my resolve would be to continue avoiding this station.
8. Blog more. I like it. People read this shit. So, either they like it too or they are making fun of me with their friends. Both situations are fine.
9. Write a portion (chapter, paragraph, a word) of that book I speak of. Just do it! Jump in. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.
10. Save more money, use more coupons and be more aware of each and every purchase. Do I need six pair of brown shoes? No! Yes! No!
11. Be more health conscious. I always make this resolution. I think I stick to it, mostly. I’m not as thin as I’d like to be but I eat healthy and exercise. I thought about not including this on my list but, dammit, I couldn’t do it. I think this is forever and there’s always room for improvement.
12. Walk the dogs even in the cold. It’s fucking cold out there. It’s hard. It’s dark when Bread gets home. Whine. Whine. Whine.
13. Be more grateful.
As you can see, it’s going to be a busy year for me. I’m sticking to this. I’m using the beginning of the New Year as a chance to improve upon myself. It’s hard to imagine I could need any improvement, I know, but really, I do. Jessie Domestic-Work in Progress. To be continued…What's on your list?
New Years Eve was fun. Friends came over. The kids played, Bread cooked meat (people come from miles around to sample Bread’s meat); kids went to bed and parents played. It was a great night and a fun way to ring in 2011. One friend asked me what my New Year’s Resolution was. One? I can only pick one? I have several. Each year, I (mentally) make loads or resolutions. I figure if I make many, maybe at least one will stick. To date, the only one I’ve ever stuck to was to stop returning my library books late. It was costing me a fortune! Am I a failure? Do people really stick to these things?
The past year was crazy for us. There were so many changes-some good, some bad and some having both positives and negatives. I’m welcoming 2011 and excited for the clean slate that is January. For 2011, I’m trying something different (insert my Grandma’s voice here-she pronounces it diff-ernt). I’m documenting my resolutions on the internet! This way, I can revisit them. Perhaps I shall have a quarterly update on my progress. Look out! Exciting posts to come (insert sarcasm here)! For now here they are, as usual, in no particular order-
1. Spend more time reading. With this, I’m also adding-read more classics. My goal is to spend at least one evening a week with the television off.
2. Be a slave to organization. I need to write my to-do list down. I think, because I have no job, I can remember everything. Alas, I am old and the memory is not what it used to be (was it ever).
3. Stop obsessing about the cleanliness, or lack thereof, in my house. A little dirt does not hurt too much. I need to step away from the Swiffer, people. Besides, it’s not as if we live in squalor. Do we? No! No! Stop! Stop!
4. Stay away from the crazies. I am a magnet. I’m not sure if I can help this.
5. Stop beating myself up. I am not perfect but nobody is. I know this and, yet, I am so mean to me. WAHHHHH!
6. Schedule a date night with Bread at least once a month. We used to do this all the time. I don’t know what happened but we don’t do it very often as of late. We have ample sitters now, especially since the ol’ BFF is a sucker for the tot and back in town. While it is fun to hang in our living room, it’s even more fun to go out in public! ALONE.
7. Watch more Lifetime Television! Ha! Just kidding! That shit is awful! Does anybody watch that? No offense if you do…Mostly. I guess my resolve would be to continue avoiding this station.
8. Blog more. I like it. People read this shit. So, either they like it too or they are making fun of me with their friends. Both situations are fine.
9. Write a portion (chapter, paragraph, a word) of that book I speak of. Just do it! Jump in. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.
10. Save more money, use more coupons and be more aware of each and every purchase. Do I need six pair of brown shoes? No! Yes! No!
11. Be more health conscious. I always make this resolution. I think I stick to it, mostly. I’m not as thin as I’d like to be but I eat healthy and exercise. I thought about not including this on my list but, dammit, I couldn’t do it. I think this is forever and there’s always room for improvement.
12. Walk the dogs even in the cold. It’s fucking cold out there. It’s hard. It’s dark when Bread gets home. Whine. Whine. Whine.
13. Be more grateful.
As you can see, it’s going to be a busy year for me. I’m sticking to this. I’m using the beginning of the New Year as a chance to improve upon myself. It’s hard to imagine I could need any improvement, I know, but really, I do. Jessie Domestic-Work in Progress. To be continued…What's on your list?
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Animosity Coat
For my birthday two years ago, my dear friend, Matt, bought me this coat. He is a loyal Eddie Bauer employee. He recalled me mentioning that I wanted a new casual, warm coat and purchased this for me. To be honest, I liked it but I am not a huge Eddie fan. I’m not being rude, Matt knows this. They sell mom jeans! I can’t! I can’t! It’s bad enough that I get the mail in the morning while wearing my bathrobe. I cannot participate in the bathrobe and mom jeans!
Honestly, it’s the best coat ever. It’s huge; massive really. It’s like bringing an extra person. You have to have an extra chair when dining out. There’s no stuffing it on your seat next to you, no sir. I love it! I love it! I feel the need to repeat myself! I feel the need to repeat myself!
No, really, down is most definitely God’s answer to cold weather. I start salivating at the mention of cold temperatures in October because I cannot wait to put the down comforter on my bed. Bread hates this as our sleeping preferences differ. I like warm and cozy in the bed and freezing cold outside. I love to turn the heat down really low at night and turn our ceiling fan on. Bread wants a sheet with the heat cranked. I am frugal. That, my friends, is a terrible plan. Imagine the gas bill!
So, the coat is glorious. It’s like wrapping yourself up in a huge down blanket. It’s toasty and cozy. I never feel cold, even on the chilliest of Michigan days. It’s perfect for the days where the temperature is in the single digits with a vicious wind chill. I will say, because it’s so large, it’s not very practical to take it places where you have your coat and nowhere to put it while you shop, play or whatever.
Just as Bread loathes the down comforter, he loathes THE COAT. It wasn’t always this way. It happened last year around this time. We went to the mall. Bird was happy as she was allowed to play in the giant, germ-infested kid pit. Bread was happy because he could just sit and watch her. I was happy because I could shop in peace and I had someplace to leave my coat; it was cold outside so I needed to wear THE COAT that particular day.
I headed out on my way, found some items to try on and went to the dressing room with a huge pile. Of course I heard my cell beeping furiously from my bag but I wasn’t too worried about it. I was busy trying on clothes! What could be more important than me scoring a cute outfit to wear to my BFF’s rehearsal dinner? I can think of nothing.
Well, it turns out Bird crapped her pants. Bread was alone in the kid pit with her, her shit-filled pants, his coat and THE COAT. He was trying to get me to come and get THE COAT. He was pissed. I mean pissed. There was steam rapidly flowing from his entire self. He was livid.
I get that. I understand the frustration. But, I always answer my phone. Shouldn’t I get a free pass once? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? Once. But, no, he was mad. I, being a mom and able to master several tasks at a time while balancing a stack of books upon my head, thought this not to be a big deal. Bread, however, felt the opposite. It was very traumatizing for him to try and juggle a toddler with shitty pants and a corpse of a jacket.
I believe he spent the rest of the day pissed at me. I know for certain he complained (being polite here) the entire drive home. He spoke of it being ridiculous and huge. He told me that half the time I don’t wear it and we have to reserve a seat in the car for it. He said he wanted to light it on fire. He ruined the coat for me. I didn’t wear it for the longest time. I couldn’t. I felt like wearing THE COAT was putting us on the brink of divorce.
He got over it. He didn’t speak about it. I eventually began wearing it again. He still scowls at it. I watch him look at me when we leave the house. I know he’s saying a silent prayer for me not to choose it. I try but, well, you know. So, this year, I bought him the best Christmas present of all-I got myself a new jacket, thus, guaranteeing us martial stability! It’s half the size! Who knew the answer to matrimonial issues was only a new coat away? Wait! I still feel off! I need a new bag, some shoes and perhaps some perfume. Then, I will feel great. Merry Christmas!
Honestly, it’s the best coat ever. It’s huge; massive really. It’s like bringing an extra person. You have to have an extra chair when dining out. There’s no stuffing it on your seat next to you, no sir. I love it! I love it! I feel the need to repeat myself! I feel the need to repeat myself!
No, really, down is most definitely God’s answer to cold weather. I start salivating at the mention of cold temperatures in October because I cannot wait to put the down comforter on my bed. Bread hates this as our sleeping preferences differ. I like warm and cozy in the bed and freezing cold outside. I love to turn the heat down really low at night and turn our ceiling fan on. Bread wants a sheet with the heat cranked. I am frugal. That, my friends, is a terrible plan. Imagine the gas bill!
So, the coat is glorious. It’s like wrapping yourself up in a huge down blanket. It’s toasty and cozy. I never feel cold, even on the chilliest of Michigan days. It’s perfect for the days where the temperature is in the single digits with a vicious wind chill. I will say, because it’s so large, it’s not very practical to take it places where you have your coat and nowhere to put it while you shop, play or whatever.
Just as Bread loathes the down comforter, he loathes THE COAT. It wasn’t always this way. It happened last year around this time. We went to the mall. Bird was happy as she was allowed to play in the giant, germ-infested kid pit. Bread was happy because he could just sit and watch her. I was happy because I could shop in peace and I had someplace to leave my coat; it was cold outside so I needed to wear THE COAT that particular day.
I headed out on my way, found some items to try on and went to the dressing room with a huge pile. Of course I heard my cell beeping furiously from my bag but I wasn’t too worried about it. I was busy trying on clothes! What could be more important than me scoring a cute outfit to wear to my BFF’s rehearsal dinner? I can think of nothing.
Well, it turns out Bird crapped her pants. Bread was alone in the kid pit with her, her shit-filled pants, his coat and THE COAT. He was trying to get me to come and get THE COAT. He was pissed. I mean pissed. There was steam rapidly flowing from his entire self. He was livid.
I get that. I understand the frustration. But, I always answer my phone. Shouldn’t I get a free pass once? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? Once. But, no, he was mad. I, being a mom and able to master several tasks at a time while balancing a stack of books upon my head, thought this not to be a big deal. Bread, however, felt the opposite. It was very traumatizing for him to try and juggle a toddler with shitty pants and a corpse of a jacket.
I believe he spent the rest of the day pissed at me. I know for certain he complained (being polite here) the entire drive home. He spoke of it being ridiculous and huge. He told me that half the time I don’t wear it and we have to reserve a seat in the car for it. He said he wanted to light it on fire. He ruined the coat for me. I didn’t wear it for the longest time. I couldn’t. I felt like wearing THE COAT was putting us on the brink of divorce.
He got over it. He didn’t speak about it. I eventually began wearing it again. He still scowls at it. I watch him look at me when we leave the house. I know he’s saying a silent prayer for me not to choose it. I try but, well, you know. So, this year, I bought him the best Christmas present of all-I got myself a new jacket, thus, guaranteeing us martial stability! It’s half the size! Who knew the answer to matrimonial issues was only a new coat away? Wait! I still feel off! I need a new bag, some shoes and perhaps some perfume. Then, I will feel great. Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 17, 2010
Your Mom Won't Stop Calling Me
I get the the inkling to blog a lot lately. I just can’t find much time. I technically have no excuse since many people have actual jobs they go to. I do not. I have only one tot. I am here. I am still alive, although, I’m threatening to take drastic measures if I don’t get my Christmas shopping done this weekend as well as find a super-duper lotion to help my hands. Cracked and bleeding is so not a good look for me.
Christmas is creeping up; I swear it was Thanksgiving just yesterday. We haven’t really got into the spirit too much over here as we’ve been very busy painting and cleaning our basement. I don’t think normal people decide to do this two weeks prior to the holidays…Ha! We aren’t normal! This is not a revelation. It’s a fact, people. My stress level is high. I don’t like messes. I hate disorganization and I definitely do not like clutter. But, the end is near and Bread will be off from work for nearly two weeks! Vacation, all I ever wanted…
Obviously, this holiday season is sad for us because it will be the first without the Greatest Man Ever. We’re trying to carry on. He wouldn’t want us all mopey and depressed. So, we shall have a beer or two or three in honor of him. It won’t, however, be a Busch Light. Sorry, Grampy, your choice of beer makes me retch. That’s okay because I never found it offensive that you didn’t like guacamole or lasagna.
Things make me laugh on a daily basis. My child is probably on the top of that list for obvious reasons. She’s so smart, a genius perhaps. I know I am supposed to say this because she is my offspring but I’m a firm believer in telling the truth, even if it hurts. The kid is definitely the next Albert Einstein, for shizzle. Do people still say that? I am doubtful. My level of “cool” has seriously gone downhill. In fact, my friend called for fashion advice this afternoon. I laughed and then divulged I was wearing cropped Yoga pants, a miss-matched tank and t-shirt (teal and green) and a pink hoodie complete with a stain from lunch. Yes, I am a regular Kate Moss- trendsetting, beotch.
Oh! I’m a bit off topic. Was there a topic? Is there a point to this nonsense, you ask? Of course, er, I suppose…No! No! I remember! Bird is funny. Yes! That’s it. So, why is she funny? Well, somewhere, once upon a drunken evening or two (not only am I fashionable, I’m also an alcoholic-stellar role model), the friends and I started in with mom jokes. It started as your mom called. It has progressed for months now with random phone calls, texts and jokes back and forth about mom calling. Sometimes she just calls. Other times she calls for a reason-to say it’s cold and to wear a sweater, to tell someone congrats on a getting a high-paid job, to mention the need for more beer. Mom is a smart lady, amongst friends she’s “calling” a lot. The joke has yet to get old. One night, for whatever reason, one adult amongst us did not understand this joke. Joe, a friend of a friend’s husband, couldn’t fathom why his mom was calling me. Sometimes people just don’t get it.
Bird has picked up on the whole mom-calling shenanigan. One day last week, she picked up my cell, handed it to me and said, “Mumma, your mom called.” That was it. I was alone with her and, of course, burst out laughing. A couple days later over dinner, she looked Bread in the eyes, smiled and said, “Daddy, your mom called and she wants some roast beast,” (as in roast beast from The Grinch Stole Christmas if you are not familiar). Again, mass laughter ensued. Later that week, while riding in the car, I looked in my rear view mirror and informed her that her mom had, indeed, rung. She replied with, “No she didn’t. She just hung up.”
I was telling my friend, Claire, this story and she politely, and rather brilliantly, informed me that my tot, was indeed a genius because, “she got it and Joe, twenty-something didn’t.” Yes! Yes! You’re right! She gets it. Merry Christmas! My three-year-old is smarter than your husband, asshole. I’m having a bumper sticker printed.
Christmas is creeping up; I swear it was Thanksgiving just yesterday. We haven’t really got into the spirit too much over here as we’ve been very busy painting and cleaning our basement. I don’t think normal people decide to do this two weeks prior to the holidays…Ha! We aren’t normal! This is not a revelation. It’s a fact, people. My stress level is high. I don’t like messes. I hate disorganization and I definitely do not like clutter. But, the end is near and Bread will be off from work for nearly two weeks! Vacation, all I ever wanted…
Obviously, this holiday season is sad for us because it will be the first without the Greatest Man Ever. We’re trying to carry on. He wouldn’t want us all mopey and depressed. So, we shall have a beer or two or three in honor of him. It won’t, however, be a Busch Light. Sorry, Grampy, your choice of beer makes me retch. That’s okay because I never found it offensive that you didn’t like guacamole or lasagna.
Things make me laugh on a daily basis. My child is probably on the top of that list for obvious reasons. She’s so smart, a genius perhaps. I know I am supposed to say this because she is my offspring but I’m a firm believer in telling the truth, even if it hurts. The kid is definitely the next Albert Einstein, for shizzle. Do people still say that? I am doubtful. My level of “cool” has seriously gone downhill. In fact, my friend called for fashion advice this afternoon. I laughed and then divulged I was wearing cropped Yoga pants, a miss-matched tank and t-shirt (teal and green) and a pink hoodie complete with a stain from lunch. Yes, I am a regular Kate Moss- trendsetting, beotch.
Oh! I’m a bit off topic. Was there a topic? Is there a point to this nonsense, you ask? Of course, er, I suppose…No! No! I remember! Bird is funny. Yes! That’s it. So, why is she funny? Well, somewhere, once upon a drunken evening or two (not only am I fashionable, I’m also an alcoholic-stellar role model), the friends and I started in with mom jokes. It started as your mom called. It has progressed for months now with random phone calls, texts and jokes back and forth about mom calling. Sometimes she just calls. Other times she calls for a reason-to say it’s cold and to wear a sweater, to tell someone congrats on a getting a high-paid job, to mention the need for more beer. Mom is a smart lady, amongst friends she’s “calling” a lot. The joke has yet to get old. One night, for whatever reason, one adult amongst us did not understand this joke. Joe, a friend of a friend’s husband, couldn’t fathom why his mom was calling me. Sometimes people just don’t get it.
Bird has picked up on the whole mom-calling shenanigan. One day last week, she picked up my cell, handed it to me and said, “Mumma, your mom called.” That was it. I was alone with her and, of course, burst out laughing. A couple days later over dinner, she looked Bread in the eyes, smiled and said, “Daddy, your mom called and she wants some roast beast,” (as in roast beast from The Grinch Stole Christmas if you are not familiar). Again, mass laughter ensued. Later that week, while riding in the car, I looked in my rear view mirror and informed her that her mom had, indeed, rung. She replied with, “No she didn’t. She just hung up.”
I was telling my friend, Claire, this story and she politely, and rather brilliantly, informed me that my tot, was indeed a genius because, “she got it and Joe, twenty-something didn’t.” Yes! Yes! You’re right! She gets it. Merry Christmas! My three-year-old is smarter than your husband, asshole. I’m having a bumper sticker printed.
Monday, December 6, 2010
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