I need a girl's night out...
I don't know how, when, or what but I need to go out and be silly with my beautiful girlfriends. It's always so difficult to get us all together, but once we do, the reward is immediate.
Don't get me wrong, I love my husband- I can even dare to say I have a blast with him- but there is just something about getting together with my three best friends since high school that is SO MUCH DAMN FUN! We speak in our own little special language almost and laugh constantly. Even when the serious stuff needs to be paraded out and looked at, we still enjoy the time with each other.
These girls (yes, I do think it's appropriate to call us 36 year old moms girls...) have seen me when I have nothing left to give, and in those moments, they give to me. These are girls that I have seen in hopeless times, and I have been honored to stand by their sides and be a shoulder to cry on. These are AMAZING girls.
I have been shown over and over how lucky I am to have friends like this in my life. They are the truest expressions of friendship I have seen.
But, enough of the serious crap... I just want to go out dancing with these girls!!!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Rylie Rain
Today marks the 11th birthday of the baby I never got to raise.
I was 31 weeks pregnant with my 1st baby, a girl, when I noticed I hadn't felt her move for awhile, maybe 1/2 the day. Being as it was my first pregnancy, I wasn't really alarmed. I just thought that I must not have felt it, or she simply wasn't very active that day. A few hours later I casually mentioned to a friend that I hadn't felt the baby move in almost 24 hours. She told me to call my doctor. I didn't want to be a "pain" so I hesitated. When I finally did call, I still wasn't too concerned. The doctor asked me to come directly into the labor & delivery unit of the hospital. Walking in with my husband and my dad around 6pm, I was laughing and joking having no idea of what reality was awaiting me.
The doctor had me lay down on the bed and tried to find the heartbeat, that was my 1st indication that something could be really wrong. I heard a faint pounding and felt relieved and said, laughing, "Oh there it is, I was worried." The doctor just said, "No, that's yours." I was so confused. They brought in an ultra-sound machine and as they moved the monitor over my belly I saw my baby for only the 2nd time. Then, the doctor pointed out the heart, that was not beating. She just said to me, "I'm so sorry." Amazingly, I still didn't understand what they meant by that. It didn't make any sense. Were they really telling me that my baby was dead? I remember screaming, "No!" and the nurses rushing to shut the door to my room so I did not disturb any of the new moms to be. As I was screaming, crying trying to comprehend what this all meant, the stupid fucking nurse says to the doctor, "O.K., I have to go to room 12 to deliver those twins now." I looked right at her and yelled, "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" To this day, I'm rather proud of that outburst because I usually would just let it pass because I wouldn't have wanted to make her feel "bad".
The doctor on call from my doctor's practice came in to the room about 8pm and asked if we'd rather go home and wait for my labor to start naturally or did I want to be induced. (I had been under the impression that they were going to knock me out and perform a C-section to take out the baby.) He informed me that the safest way to go about it was to deliver the baby vaginally. After discussing it with my husband we decided that we would just have me induced right then, rather than wait. During the time waiting for labor to begin my husband and I just laid together in one of those super comfortable hospital beds taking turns crying. We wanted to just run away and never have to explain what happened to the baby we were supposed to bring home with us. God, we were so young, I was 25 and he was 27, we just couldn't comprehend something so horrible happening to us. Why, why, why??? We must have asked that a million times.
While early in labor, one of the nurses asked us if we wanted to hold the baby after she was born. We very hesitantly said yes. When they asked us if we wanted pictures of the baby we were absolutely horrified and told her in no uncertain terms "NO!", we thought that it was the most morbid thing imaginable. (Thankfully, we had very sweet, convincing nurses who were able to change our minds.) The nurse asked about pain medication. I was so worried, that anything I took could affect the baby. I knew they had told me she was dead, but I just kept thinking, what if they're wrong and she's really alive? It could happen, right??? The nurse was so sweet not to call me a fucking loon and set me up with an IV of anti-psychotics right then and there. To this day, I am so thankful that our doctor (whom I'd never met until this very day, mind you), was very informative and let us know what to expect. He told us that she would look like a full-term baby just smaller. He warned us that often times the skin would be peeling and mottled because the blood was not circulating throughout her body. Also, that it would be very quiet when she came out. Harsh, but good to know so we weren't shocked.
There were so many people around us throughout the day, and I just remember trying to make them all feel better about the situation. It was odd, but that was my only concern is to not make anyone else upset. (What a dumbass!)
The time came that I felt the urge to push about 7pm the next day. Damn, long labor for NO BABY! (P.S. That sucked.) She was breach, I didn't have to dilate all the way because she was so small. When the doctor pulled her out, I hoped against all hope that there would be a cry, that they were wrong. But, of course, there was no cry. Except for mine. To this day, that is the saddest I have ever felt. At that moment, hearing the silence and the feeling my husband's head on my chest as he sobbed. He did not cut the umbilical cord, there was no proud moment of taking pictures of a baby covered in goo.
They bathed her, wrapped her in a receiving blanket and handed her to us. I laid her down on the bed and unwrapped her. Stared at her tiny 2 pound 1 ounce body that was absolutely lifeless. Her skin was torn, but there was no blood. She didn't need a diaper, (duh) so I looked at her little girl parts and her itsy bitsy bum. I stared at her feet and toes. She was so pretty. At that moment I was so thankful the nurse had offered us the opportunity for them to take pictures. We had our families come in to see her as well. I remember so vividly my mom holding her and not supporting her head enough so her mouth was opening and I yelled at my mom to hold her head better. (11 years and that's a detail I choose to remember.) I sang songs to her and then asked the nurse to take her away. I can't believe I was able to do that, but she was dead and it was undeniable any more.
I had to stay in the hospital a bit longer due to complications with my blood pressure. That was fine with me. I felt too vulnerable to leave the confines of my little room, where everyone knew what had happened and I didn't have to explain it to anybody.
Phew, I don't think I can re-hash any other details at this point, I'm already typing through tears. When this day comes along, January 26th, I look back at that young woman that had been so innocently trusting in the world that what I expected to happen would happen and I feel so sorry for her. This day marks the anniversary not only of my 1st baby's birth and death, but also the death of my innocence. Never again have I blindly walked through life thinking that all will be ok, just because I want it to be. That doesn't mean I think life's shitty or anything. I just think I'm realistic. I'm not in charge, I don't know why things happen and I can only control so much.
I have had many times in my life since Rylie was born that I have felt grateful for this experience. She has taught me so many things, but the most outstanding lesson I learned from losing her is that I can make it through just about anything. She gave me courage. Thank you, Rylie for being my 1st baby, you are always a part of our family and the best big sister/angel Aiden and Finley could ever hope for.
I was 31 weeks pregnant with my 1st baby, a girl, when I noticed I hadn't felt her move for awhile, maybe 1/2 the day. Being as it was my first pregnancy, I wasn't really alarmed. I just thought that I must not have felt it, or she simply wasn't very active that day. A few hours later I casually mentioned to a friend that I hadn't felt the baby move in almost 24 hours. She told me to call my doctor. I didn't want to be a "pain" so I hesitated. When I finally did call, I still wasn't too concerned. The doctor asked me to come directly into the labor & delivery unit of the hospital. Walking in with my husband and my dad around 6pm, I was laughing and joking having no idea of what reality was awaiting me.
The doctor had me lay down on the bed and tried to find the heartbeat, that was my 1st indication that something could be really wrong. I heard a faint pounding and felt relieved and said, laughing, "Oh there it is, I was worried." The doctor just said, "No, that's yours." I was so confused. They brought in an ultra-sound machine and as they moved the monitor over my belly I saw my baby for only the 2nd time. Then, the doctor pointed out the heart, that was not beating. She just said to me, "I'm so sorry." Amazingly, I still didn't understand what they meant by that. It didn't make any sense. Were they really telling me that my baby was dead? I remember screaming, "No!" and the nurses rushing to shut the door to my room so I did not disturb any of the new moms to be. As I was screaming, crying trying to comprehend what this all meant, the stupid fucking nurse says to the doctor, "O.K., I have to go to room 12 to deliver those twins now." I looked right at her and yelled, "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" To this day, I'm rather proud of that outburst because I usually would just let it pass because I wouldn't have wanted to make her feel "bad".
The doctor on call from my doctor's practice came in to the room about 8pm and asked if we'd rather go home and wait for my labor to start naturally or did I want to be induced. (I had been under the impression that they were going to knock me out and perform a C-section to take out the baby.) He informed me that the safest way to go about it was to deliver the baby vaginally. After discussing it with my husband we decided that we would just have me induced right then, rather than wait. During the time waiting for labor to begin my husband and I just laid together in one of those super comfortable hospital beds taking turns crying. We wanted to just run away and never have to explain what happened to the baby we were supposed to bring home with us. God, we were so young, I was 25 and he was 27, we just couldn't comprehend something so horrible happening to us. Why, why, why??? We must have asked that a million times.
While early in labor, one of the nurses asked us if we wanted to hold the baby after she was born. We very hesitantly said yes. When they asked us if we wanted pictures of the baby we were absolutely horrified and told her in no uncertain terms "NO!", we thought that it was the most morbid thing imaginable. (Thankfully, we had very sweet, convincing nurses who were able to change our minds.) The nurse asked about pain medication. I was so worried, that anything I took could affect the baby. I knew they had told me she was dead, but I just kept thinking, what if they're wrong and she's really alive? It could happen, right??? The nurse was so sweet not to call me a fucking loon and set me up with an IV of anti-psychotics right then and there. To this day, I am so thankful that our doctor (whom I'd never met until this very day, mind you), was very informative and let us know what to expect. He told us that she would look like a full-term baby just smaller. He warned us that often times the skin would be peeling and mottled because the blood was not circulating throughout her body. Also, that it would be very quiet when she came out. Harsh, but good to know so we weren't shocked.
There were so many people around us throughout the day, and I just remember trying to make them all feel better about the situation. It was odd, but that was my only concern is to not make anyone else upset. (What a dumbass!)
The time came that I felt the urge to push about 7pm the next day. Damn, long labor for NO BABY! (P.S. That sucked.) She was breach, I didn't have to dilate all the way because she was so small. When the doctor pulled her out, I hoped against all hope that there would be a cry, that they were wrong. But, of course, there was no cry. Except for mine. To this day, that is the saddest I have ever felt. At that moment, hearing the silence and the feeling my husband's head on my chest as he sobbed. He did not cut the umbilical cord, there was no proud moment of taking pictures of a baby covered in goo.
They bathed her, wrapped her in a receiving blanket and handed her to us. I laid her down on the bed and unwrapped her. Stared at her tiny 2 pound 1 ounce body that was absolutely lifeless. Her skin was torn, but there was no blood. She didn't need a diaper, (duh) so I looked at her little girl parts and her itsy bitsy bum. I stared at her feet and toes. She was so pretty. At that moment I was so thankful the nurse had offered us the opportunity for them to take pictures. We had our families come in to see her as well. I remember so vividly my mom holding her and not supporting her head enough so her mouth was opening and I yelled at my mom to hold her head better. (11 years and that's a detail I choose to remember.) I sang songs to her and then asked the nurse to take her away. I can't believe I was able to do that, but she was dead and it was undeniable any more.
I had to stay in the hospital a bit longer due to complications with my blood pressure. That was fine with me. I felt too vulnerable to leave the confines of my little room, where everyone knew what had happened and I didn't have to explain it to anybody.
Phew, I don't think I can re-hash any other details at this point, I'm already typing through tears. When this day comes along, January 26th, I look back at that young woman that had been so innocently trusting in the world that what I expected to happen would happen and I feel so sorry for her. This day marks the anniversary not only of my 1st baby's birth and death, but also the death of my innocence. Never again have I blindly walked through life thinking that all will be ok, just because I want it to be. That doesn't mean I think life's shitty or anything. I just think I'm realistic. I'm not in charge, I don't know why things happen and I can only control so much.
I have had many times in my life since Rylie was born that I have felt grateful for this experience. She has taught me so many things, but the most outstanding lesson I learned from losing her is that I can make it through just about anything. She gave me courage. Thank you, Rylie for being my 1st baby, you are always a part of our family and the best big sister/angel Aiden and Finley could ever hope for.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
So, it's been awhile...
Wow, it's kind of embarrassing that I haven't posted in over 6 weeks. Who I might be embarrassed by is sketchy considering I don't think anyone reads this sucka, but whatever.
Anyhoo... I've been inspired lately by the usual hilarity offered up by my blog addictions so I thought I'd give it another go.
I hate to start off the year by going with the standard "girl-issue" but man, I have GOT to lose some of this weight I got hangin' on. It's sad that that's been what has consumed my thoughts as of late, but truly it's all I can think about. After my injury (stress fracture/tendonitis in my ankle) I've gained 15 lbs & lost my work-out groove, not to mention that I'm limited since the injury is still, well, injured for lack of a better word. In the last 3 years I had become a gym-rat, never lost any major poundage, but I LOVED working out- only for the immediate anti-depressant feeling I got after doing some heavy cardio. I actually enjoyed the feeling of knowing I could push myself and get to a physical goal. So, on top of my injury not allowing me to stay in that regime, I have health issues that SHOULD be enough to push me to lose the extra 35 pounds I'm holding on to. I am on high blood pressure medication and have found out I'm pre-diabetic. For FUCK'S SAKE!!! These are issues for fat, middle-aged women. Oh, I guess that would be me.
Turns out, not only is it UGLY to gain your weight in your stomach, it also sets you up for some AMAZING perks like the predisposition to the aforementioned health problems. I don't feel like a "fat person" but I sure am starting to look and feel like one.
I just finished reading a book called Thin is the New Happy by Valerie Frankel which is a memoir based on her life-long struggle with bad body image. It was good, earth shattering- NO, but good. She has adopted a Non-dieting strategy that has kept her within a healthy target zone where she fits into her "skinny" clothes and has stopped mentally kicking her own ASS every time she eats something just for the enjoyment of it. I would like, or LOVE, to get to that place. I've let fear rule my eating for too long and I think that's where she was going with her book is to let people know that you don't get anywhere living this way.
I believe that there are reason's I can't lose weight that have VERY LITTLE to do with my actual eating habits. Well, I know that my eating habits have very little to do with actual hunger.
Phew
I guess I said I would be treating this blog as a journal, so I went with it. Maybe if I can get some insight I'll share that too. I don't want this to be my place of whining about my lack of self-control with eating and how I've become a person I don't recognize physically anymore so hopefully that's the end of that.
Peace out
Anyhoo... I've been inspired lately by the usual hilarity offered up by my blog addictions so I thought I'd give it another go.
I hate to start off the year by going with the standard "girl-issue" but man, I have GOT to lose some of this weight I got hangin' on. It's sad that that's been what has consumed my thoughts as of late, but truly it's all I can think about. After my injury (stress fracture/tendonitis in my ankle) I've gained 15 lbs & lost my work-out groove, not to mention that I'm limited since the injury is still, well, injured for lack of a better word. In the last 3 years I had become a gym-rat, never lost any major poundage, but I LOVED working out- only for the immediate anti-depressant feeling I got after doing some heavy cardio. I actually enjoyed the feeling of knowing I could push myself and get to a physical goal. So, on top of my injury not allowing me to stay in that regime, I have health issues that SHOULD be enough to push me to lose the extra 35 pounds I'm holding on to. I am on high blood pressure medication and have found out I'm pre-diabetic. For FUCK'S SAKE!!! These are issues for fat, middle-aged women. Oh, I guess that would be me.
Turns out, not only is it UGLY to gain your weight in your stomach, it also sets you up for some AMAZING perks like the predisposition to the aforementioned health problems. I don't feel like a "fat person" but I sure am starting to look and feel like one.
I just finished reading a book called Thin is the New Happy by Valerie Frankel which is a memoir based on her life-long struggle with bad body image. It was good, earth shattering- NO, but good. She has adopted a Non-dieting strategy that has kept her within a healthy target zone where she fits into her "skinny" clothes and has stopped mentally kicking her own ASS every time she eats something just for the enjoyment of it. I would like, or LOVE, to get to that place. I've let fear rule my eating for too long and I think that's where she was going with her book is to let people know that you don't get anywhere living this way.
I believe that there are reason's I can't lose weight that have VERY LITTLE to do with my actual eating habits. Well, I know that my eating habits have very little to do with actual hunger.
Phew
I guess I said I would be treating this blog as a journal, so I went with it. Maybe if I can get some insight I'll share that too. I don't want this to be my place of whining about my lack of self-control with eating and how I've become a person I don't recognize physically anymore so hopefully that's the end of that.
Peace out
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Ultimate Frustration
I do NOT know how to deal with our family's dinner time battle. Every F-ing night it's the same thing. The fight to get the kids to EAT. Aren't we just the meanest God-damn parents ever??? I mean I want to feed them. It's absolutely unconscionable isn't it?
Every afternoon I prep myself for the biggest problem, which is the peanut. I tell myself not to get into the power struggle and she'll eat if she's hungry. But, there is the issue, she is the queen of, "I'm not hungry!" and then minutes after I've excused everyone from the table and cleaned the dinner plates, she's fucking asking for something to EAT! I swear to God, it takes every fiber of my being (and an AMAZING husband) to just walk away and not scream like a maniac at her.
I know that so much of parenting is picking your battles and knowing what is worth pushing for, but I truly feel like this is important. I don't ask them to eat too much. I give them VERY age appropriate portions. It happens no matter WHAT is for dinner, whether it's salmon and green beans or mac n' cheese. I feel like this is an important battle to be fought and WON by ME. I want to raise children that will go out into this world knowing that you eat healthy foods when it is meal-time. (Not just graze on Goldfish crackers and cheese all throughout the day.) I want them to be exposed to a variety of foods and not grow up all picky and shit. I want them to know that this is what has been prepared for them and if they don't like it they can lump it. To me, these are important things to learn.
UGH!!! I am to the point where I don't want to eat dinner with my kids anymore. I wish I could just allow them to turn on the TV and I could read a nice book while I drink my glass(es) of wine. I just honestly don't know how to make this part of our family life more harmonious. I know that my kiddos are by no means the ONLY ones who pull this bullshit, but they are mine and therefore I must manage their bullshit and I just can't seem to.
So, until that time comes, I'll just continue to walk away from the dinner table multiple times each evening...
Every afternoon I prep myself for the biggest problem, which is the peanut. I tell myself not to get into the power struggle and she'll eat if she's hungry. But, there is the issue, she is the queen of, "I'm not hungry!" and then minutes after I've excused everyone from the table and cleaned the dinner plates, she's fucking asking for something to EAT! I swear to God, it takes every fiber of my being (and an AMAZING husband) to just walk away and not scream like a maniac at her.
I know that so much of parenting is picking your battles and knowing what is worth pushing for, but I truly feel like this is important. I don't ask them to eat too much. I give them VERY age appropriate portions. It happens no matter WHAT is for dinner, whether it's salmon and green beans or mac n' cheese. I feel like this is an important battle to be fought and WON by ME. I want to raise children that will go out into this world knowing that you eat healthy foods when it is meal-time. (Not just graze on Goldfish crackers and cheese all throughout the day.) I want them to be exposed to a variety of foods and not grow up all picky and shit. I want them to know that this is what has been prepared for them and if they don't like it they can lump it. To me, these are important things to learn.
UGH!!! I am to the point where I don't want to eat dinner with my kids anymore. I wish I could just allow them to turn on the TV and I could read a nice book while I drink my glass(es) of wine. I just honestly don't know how to make this part of our family life more harmonious. I know that my kiddos are by no means the ONLY ones who pull this bullshit, but they are mine and therefore I must manage their bullshit and I just can't seem to.
So, until that time comes, I'll just continue to walk away from the dinner table multiple times each evening...
Saturday, October 3, 2009
When Birds Break Your Concentration.
I have this cast on my leg and it's really bringing me down. I honestly feel a depression comin' on because of this thing. I'm gaining weight, I can't drive (Just let that sink in.), I can't wear jeans or cute shoes, I have to put a plastic bag over my leg to bathe, and I'm sure my foot really stinks. Let's just talk about the itch factor for a minute... IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!!!!
I have a stress fracture in my right ankle that doesn't seem to want to heal. My first introduction to this whole "process" was one of those super sexy plastic and velcro robo-boots for 5 weeks. When that didn't help- AT ALL Dr. Stinky Hands (get it? He's a podiatrist so he touches a lot of feet.)* put me in a fiberglass cast. 3 weeks later, I still haven't healed all the way and have pain, particularly when Dr. Stinky Hands squeezes my ankle like he's trying to juice it. So, on goes ANOTHER cast. This time the casting tech got all fancy and put burgandy and black stripes on this baby. It's adorable.** My only comfort is when I look at the burgandy stripes on my cast I think of red wine which makes me relax.
Anyway, I go in two more weeks to see Dr. S.H., get this cast off and my ankle squeezed again. I have decided to tell the doctor that it feels just fine, I am so OVER this cast bullshit. I don't know what to do, but I can't deal with this thing anymore. I'm usually a gym rat who hasn't been to the gym in almost 2 weeks.
Break in the action... As I was typing this post, sitting on my bed, in my FREAKIN' bedroom- inside my house- a BIRD just landed on my bed. What the fuck, that scared the shit out of me! (Let me explain the logistics of that, living in AZ, now that it's cool finally I had my door from the bedroom to outside open, so I guess it's not all that surprising, but it still just shocked the hell out of me!) Luckily it was a smart bird and he/she just flew her little bird ass back out the door after I screamed like I was being bludgeoned.
O.K., I can't focus anymore, I'm all wierded out. My stream of conciousness has run its course about my cast. Let's just hope birds are harbingers or good healing.
*By the way, I believe a joke ceases to be funny once to have to explain it with that many words. Oh well, I tried!
**Is the sarcasm coming through here?
I have a stress fracture in my right ankle that doesn't seem to want to heal. My first introduction to this whole "process" was one of those super sexy plastic and velcro robo-boots for 5 weeks. When that didn't help- AT ALL Dr. Stinky Hands (get it? He's a podiatrist so he touches a lot of feet.)* put me in a fiberglass cast. 3 weeks later, I still haven't healed all the way and have pain, particularly when Dr. Stinky Hands squeezes my ankle like he's trying to juice it. So, on goes ANOTHER cast. This time the casting tech got all fancy and put burgandy and black stripes on this baby. It's adorable.** My only comfort is when I look at the burgandy stripes on my cast I think of red wine which makes me relax.
Anyway, I go in two more weeks to see Dr. S.H., get this cast off and my ankle squeezed again. I have decided to tell the doctor that it feels just fine, I am so OVER this cast bullshit. I don't know what to do, but I can't deal with this thing anymore. I'm usually a gym rat who hasn't been to the gym in almost 2 weeks.
Break in the action... As I was typing this post, sitting on my bed, in my FREAKIN' bedroom- inside my house- a BIRD just landed on my bed. What the fuck, that scared the shit out of me! (Let me explain the logistics of that, living in AZ, now that it's cool finally I had my door from the bedroom to outside open, so I guess it's not all that surprising, but it still just shocked the hell out of me!) Luckily it was a smart bird and he/she just flew her little bird ass back out the door after I screamed like I was being bludgeoned.
O.K., I can't focus anymore, I'm all wierded out. My stream of conciousness has run its course about my cast. Let's just hope birds are harbingers or good healing.
*By the way, I believe a joke ceases to be funny once to have to explain it with that many words. Oh well, I tried!
**Is the sarcasm coming through here?
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Where's my bailout, bitches???
Working outside of the home is a double-edged sword. On one hand- Man, do I miss my kids when I'm not at home with them. On the other hand- Man, is it nice not to listen to the high pitched shriek peanut emits that tends to make my ears bleed.
This whole "economic" situation has changed my life. I NEED to work more, and in some ways I WANT to work more. I feel vindicated by earning a pay check (as measly as it may be). I also provide the medical & dental benefits for the family so I feel an extra boost of self-importance.
The price I pay for working more hours is the dis-connect I feel from my kids. (Not so much hubby because we still have the after bedtime bliss to hang out and ignore each other while we're either watching T.V. or each on our own laptops.) As I mentioned before I'm not a FUN mom. As much as I want to be, there is not one ounce of me that wants to pretend two pillows are "mommy" and "baby" with little peanut after working all day. (Hell, to be completely honest, I don't really want to do that even when I'm home all day.)
Whew... Tangent... Sorry about that.
I was planning to go all IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE on your asses and instead I'm bitching about my kids. Nice.
OK, so back to my original thought. So yeah, the economy, particularly the failing housing market, has really fucked up our lives. We were the prime example of $30,000 millionaires. No savings, no planning for the future, while living in a million dollar home and buying pretty much everything we wanted, let alone needed. We went on trips and stayed in nice hotels. We went out to eat most dinners. Life was "fun". And even though it was "fun" there was always a part of me that felt like a fraud. Then it changed and it became painfully obvious that we were frauds. It was, and still is sometimes, very embarrassing.
Silver lining time, I am so grateful that the shit hit the fan at this time of our lives when we are relatively young. We still have some time to make up for the mistakes we have made and I have HOPE that we will. We have been given the gift of learning what is REALLY important. Not to say there aren't times I miss our old, fraudulent life. Particularly when I've worked all day and have to come home and cook dinner when in our other life I would have been home all day and gone out to dinner. But I am enjoying, wholeheartedly, dinner around our kitchen table with the four of us- even when it's hot dogs and salad night. (The beauty of hot dogs is you can choose red or white wine to pair with them- either one works.)
Alright- I went off course but what I'm trying to say is, even though shit is REALLY hard right now and money seems to funnel out of our hands at an alarming rate, I truly can say that my life is good and I am blessed.
But can I pay someone to play "mommy" and "baby" with Peanut?
This whole "economic" situation has changed my life. I NEED to work more, and in some ways I WANT to work more. I feel vindicated by earning a pay check (as measly as it may be). I also provide the medical & dental benefits for the family so I feel an extra boost of self-importance.
The price I pay for working more hours is the dis-connect I feel from my kids. (Not so much hubby because we still have the after bedtime bliss to hang out and ignore each other while we're either watching T.V. or each on our own laptops.) As I mentioned before I'm not a FUN mom. As much as I want to be, there is not one ounce of me that wants to pretend two pillows are "mommy" and "baby" with little peanut after working all day. (Hell, to be completely honest, I don't really want to do that even when I'm home all day.)
Whew... Tangent... Sorry about that.
I was planning to go all IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE on your asses and instead I'm bitching about my kids. Nice.
OK, so back to my original thought. So yeah, the economy, particularly the failing housing market, has really fucked up our lives. We were the prime example of $30,000 millionaires. No savings, no planning for the future, while living in a million dollar home and buying pretty much everything we wanted, let alone needed. We went on trips and stayed in nice hotels. We went out to eat most dinners. Life was "fun". And even though it was "fun" there was always a part of me that felt like a fraud. Then it changed and it became painfully obvious that we were frauds. It was, and still is sometimes, very embarrassing.
Silver lining time, I am so grateful that the shit hit the fan at this time of our lives when we are relatively young. We still have some time to make up for the mistakes we have made and I have HOPE that we will. We have been given the gift of learning what is REALLY important. Not to say there aren't times I miss our old, fraudulent life. Particularly when I've worked all day and have to come home and cook dinner when in our other life I would have been home all day and gone out to dinner. But I am enjoying, wholeheartedly, dinner around our kitchen table with the four of us- even when it's hot dogs and salad night. (The beauty of hot dogs is you can choose red or white wine to pair with them- either one works.)
Alright- I went off course but what I'm trying to say is, even though shit is REALLY hard right now and money seems to funnel out of our hands at an alarming rate, I truly can say that my life is good and I am blessed.
But can I pay someone to play "mommy" and "baby" with Peanut?
Monday, August 31, 2009
Dance Party Night with hubby and kiddos...
This is my favorite activity to do with my kids, it's the one thing that I can agree with them is fun. Everything else they like, um, I just don't.
I feel like this makes me a REALLY bad mom.
I don't want to play Candyland, it's just not that fun with a three year old. I don't want to watch my 8 year old play computer games. BOOOOOORING. Not that I won't do those things, I just don't want to. This could quite possibly be one of the worst things to say, right?
Dance party night on the other hand brings it all together. Turn on the music and start shakin' it. My daughter loves to dance, just like her mommy and my son loves music- JUST LIKE ME! Finally, something we can all do and enjoy.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my children. They amaze me everyday with their own special unique talents. I guess the issue is, I'm not the same age as them. (makes all kinds of sense.)
My little peanut girl is the cutest damn thing- she's sassy and silly and says the sweetest things.
My skinny skater boy is so smart in a normal "un-geniusy" way and he still lets me snuggle him- which I adore. I know one day that will not happen anymore.
I guess the moral of the story is... I LOVE my kids with all of my being- just like all other moms- I'm just not a very fun mom.
Unless you feel like dancing.
This is my favorite activity to do with my kids, it's the one thing that I can agree with them is fun. Everything else they like, um, I just don't.
I feel like this makes me a REALLY bad mom.
I don't want to play Candyland, it's just not that fun with a three year old. I don't want to watch my 8 year old play computer games. BOOOOOORING. Not that I won't do those things, I just don't want to. This could quite possibly be one of the worst things to say, right?
Dance party night on the other hand brings it all together. Turn on the music and start shakin' it. My daughter loves to dance, just like her mommy and my son loves music- JUST LIKE ME! Finally, something we can all do and enjoy.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my children. They amaze me everyday with their own special unique talents. I guess the issue is, I'm not the same age as them. (makes all kinds of sense.)
My little peanut girl is the cutest damn thing- she's sassy and silly and says the sweetest things.
My skinny skater boy is so smart in a normal "un-geniusy" way and he still lets me snuggle him- which I adore. I know one day that will not happen anymore.
I guess the moral of the story is... I LOVE my kids with all of my being- just like all other moms- I'm just not a very fun mom.
Unless you feel like dancing.
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