Just call me Ann
This was my secret shopper name today. I was Ann Jones. My daughter, Tina, is 10 yrs old and in the 4th grade and having some problems with study habits in her math class. Her teacher, at our last parent/ teacher conference suggested we call Huntington Learning Centers to get an evaluation on how to better help Tina get ahead with her schooling.
It was 20 minutes of total lies. It was a pain in my ass. I blocked out about 85% of what this woman was saying. She was great. Attentive, helpful, really seemed to care. That made it harder. The worst part was when she asked me the kinds of things they were teaching her in her class and I had to tell them that my husband did all the math stuff and I did all the English. What an ass I felt like. Although, she took it all in stride "I have a good idea of the kinds of things she is studying". Good, because I have no clue.
I knew they would ask some questions and I was prepared with name, age, etc...but I fudged the rest. It was sad. I am glad I am not Ann Jones, her life seemed awful.
Let me apologize first.
If for whatever strange twist of fate in the universe you are the author of this next piece and you are reading this, please forgive me for all I am about to say. I know its not nice. I know its bad karma. I know that I should just shut up and thank my stars that I have everything I need and want right in the house with me.
This all starts with an email that a person sent in order to check up on someone we hadn't heard from in a while. Its not a personal relationship we share, just an acquaintance. We both thought she was mildly ill (cough, cold, etc.). So when this response came back, we were both floored.
Thanks. The bronchitis is getting better slowly. "V*" has not cut herself since we caught her and my son is doing better. But I am trying to find me a new place to live. I think that would help to get away from my mom. My boyfriend has helpled my son a lot even though he is in jail. Things are getting better. Thanks,
"T*"Going to hell, going to hell. You all know you are laughing. You know that you are reading saying, "Oh, that's good. Um..WHAT? Ok, improper English. Well, I understand the Mom thing....WHAT?" You know you are staring blankly at the screen with a dumbfounded smiling look on your face. You might have even let out one "Ha" as well. It just keeps coming and coming. Honestly, someone send this to Ben Stiller. He has a new script.
*Names have been altered as to not incriminate anyone*
Me and Oprah
It seems that every time I am really stressed or worried or concerned about something, I sit down with a celebrity and talk it out. No, I am not on a personal level with any of the people, I dream about them.
Last night, Oprah and I had a lovely discussion. It was frank, emotional and informative. She really helped me. I felt like we were talking like people and not like celebrity and pathetic mother.
It has happened in the past many times. I have had good, long heart to hearts with Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Oprah, Jennifer Anniston (well, and Brad but that was a whole different scenario) among many others. When I wake up, I always feel a little bit better.
I would guess that what I am really doing is working out my problems in the most interesting way I know how. Sometimes it seems pathetic, sometimes it seems really cool. But mostly, it just beats the hell out of having those dreams where someone is trying to kill you.
I just stick with the celebrity luncheons I somehow get invited to once a month or so.
BLOGFIGHT!!!!!
This is a new phenomenon that I must comment on because I am getting such a big giggle out of it. A few times now I have seen what only can be considered a "blog fight". This would be when one person, being angry at the world, one person, a group of people, pens a blog entry that vents their feelings and anger outward. It's a very constructive way to release all the thoughts and emotions that get bottled up. This is what most of us use blogs for, I would suspect. Who really gives a shit if you went to dinner? If your husband finished painting the foyer? If you finally sold that car of yours? Really, who cares but you?
Now, keep in mind that for most of us, venting is a good thing. Until you factor in that all of the people you vent about read your blog. There is a constant feeling of "Was that me?" or "Should I say something?". For the author, I am sure it is more of a "I hope no one wants to talk about this....I am just venting."
But, now we get to the juicy part. Instead of both parties having the conversation, confrontation or fight, we have one person blogging and the other retaliation blogging. Its like putting two people next to each other, with two computers and saying "Work this out, but don't directly communicate". I am not sure why, but the whole thing makes me giggle.
Is it breaking the rules to actually confront someone about a blog bitch-slap? Is this, a supposed 'online diary' actually as private as one? Do they have the right to be angry when one person calls them out, gives them their come-up-ons, or unnecessarily gives the verbal smack down?
Is it still wrong that I find this amusing?
Time is never running out.
I spoke with my sister today, who was patiently waiting for my child's temper tantrum to pass so that we could have a brief conversation. When things finally got quiet, she told me that she had friends with children over this weekend. She had a over-tired, grumpy 4 year old (acting 4) in her house, digging through her make-up and jewelry while her mother talked to her friends. She said she was never so glad to see them go.
The next day, another friend brought her 3 kids (5,3 and 6 months) over and they all went for a walk around the lake. The 3 yr old skinned his knee halfway through and insisted on being carried the rest of the way back. Again, never so happy to see them go.
Now, she says to me "I am just not cut out for motherhood. Although, I know it must be different when they are yours. I mean, its not like other kids, you love them." I agreed and now have been pondering this all morning as my child has slowly evolved into spawn of satan. I have to say, I disagree with that comment now.
I know I have less patience with other's children. Often, I am able to write off any bad behavior as lack of parenting skills or discipline, until recently.
I agree that my kid, being cute and sweet over half the time, does not hurt when she is being a total beast. But....those times hold little clout when she is in a puddle screaming on the floor or banging her feet against the crib rails protesting a nap for the 5th day in a row. What she has that no other child has, is time. I am more patient, less concerned and more annoyed because I can't get away from my child. Its more of a quiet surrender. I just have no choice.
So, when you don't have kids and you just suspect that the reason parents are sane is because their love for the child outweighs the pain in the ass, think again. The real deal is just that we know we are stuck with it, so we let it roll off. Outside, it appears that we are just taking it all in stride. On the inside, we are screaming, wishing for one quiet moment and maybe a gallon on Benedryl, and quietly sobbing at the prospect of doing this for another 16 years.
"You can find that book everywhere and the risk is that many people who read it believe that those fairy tales are real," he said. "I think I have the responsibility to clear things up to unmask the cheap lies contained in books like that."Ok, so here is the irony of the whole thing. This is how I feel about the Bible. I feel like there is some history there, but there are gross exaggerations and misrepresentations that people take as fact. I feel that there are some people who stumble upon the book and check it for everything they do.
The funny thing here is that the book he, being Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone the highest ranking Italian Churchman, is talking about the DaVinci Code. Isn't that also a book where historical fact and fiction blur the lines of reality?
Phil and I were talking about this last night and had a really good belly laugh. Um, someone please explain the reality of Noah to me? Is it like the reality or Pocahontas and Capt. John Smith? Is it more the reality of a nice story with a moral to it? I mean, did polar bears and giraffes happen to live near Noah when the floods came? And the WHOLE EARTH was covered in water? I just don't believe it. Walking on water, healing the sick, etc etc. Its all fairy tales.
What are we so afraid of? The people that believe will do so on their own. They will be compelled to learn, read, discuss and absorb. They will make their own decisions, they will be their own people. If they decide that either book is fiction or reality, then so be it. Let them decide. Does it have that much of an impact on your psyche? Or your wallet?
Selling Our House
What a pain in the ass. Part of me is really excited because I get a whole new project to do. When my house was "done", as far as I was going to do it, I got really bored. Nothing else to paint, no more furniture to dream of buying, nothing left to look forward too. Sure, we had some big ideas, but both Phil and I knew we didn't want to sink too much back into this house.
So now we are starting the whole process. I have painted all the radiators and we have put new hardware on all the kitchen cabinets. I also completed 2 rooms worth of painting projects. Anyone that knows me well enough knows that I don't finish anything to completion. Its a nasty habit, but mine nonetheless. Today I need to go buy 2 big cans of primer and closet doors. When we moved in, the second bedroom had mirrored closet doors. Not pretty. They even used them as a selling point. Um, no. They were one of the first things to go. Perhaps Phil and I are just a bit too chunky to enjoy being reflected back to ourselves all the time. Perhaps I just didn't want to see the reflection of the hellhole that was my office. It wasn't pretty.
The primer is a different problem. I love my painted walls, my "Magma" Hershey-syrup colored bedroom that gets dark like a cave when you close the blinds, the 30% grey that Phil insisted for our 2nd bedroom, the Mediterranean blue in the dining room that complements my orange living room. I love them all. Now I have to prime them and paint them dull, neutral colors. How sad. It will be tough, I will not like it, but it does make everything look clean, fresh and sparkly.
I am trying my best not to get too nostalgic about my first home. I got engaged here, married here, had my first child here (conceived here too!), lost my big fat cat here, and much more. This is the house we will drive by when we are 50 and show Vivienne where she grew up. She will barely remember anything about it, if at all. But I know its time to go. Its time to let someone else start their marriage/ family/ life here. I just hope our second house brings as much luck as this first one.
"The Miracle of Life"
Someone posted this cliche on my board today so I thought I would risk pissing everyone off and share my philosophy one more time on this subject.
Many people like to refer to it as "the miracle of life". As far as I know, it's not so much a miracle as it is science and biology. I was born to breed. That's my job as a woman. I can only explain it in one way, the way I told many, many people who wanted to be repeat that my pregnancy was a "gift from god" or such a "little miracle":
If you took a bowl of cold water and placed it in a microwave, cooked it for 3 minutes on high power and then took it out, would you touch the water and say "Its a Miracle!" I don't think so. A microwave's job is to heat things. My job as a female is to grow other little beings in my uterus. Hell, that's even what its there for!
Now, if I put a letter in my microwave and it arrived at Stacey's house in Colorado, you better believe THAT would be miraculous. But hot water? Nope. Not even a little. A baby? Not really. Not unless you didn't have ovaries and a uterus OR you never touched a man in your life. Now THAT would be a miracle.
Sorry if I have offended. It is just something that has bothered me for a long time. Don't get me wrong. YOU can go on and on about how its a little miracle that a person could grow inside you. If that is what you believe, I will let you have that. But please don't expect me to nod enthusiastically and hold my hands to the heavens and say "Blessed Be".
Garnier 100% Color
Guess what doesn't work? Garnier 100% Hair Color. Actually, it less than sucks, it was a complete and utter waste of $6 and 45 minutes of my life.
A few weeks back I decided it was time for a change. So, I dyed my hair dark dark brown. It was a nice change for a while. I enjoyed not being an outcast for a few weeks. My In Laws thought it was a much needed update to my "out there" colors. My mom said it was "striking" (see previous entries for details). I was just kind of sick of it though. It was my only way to take a little vacation from being me. Thats right, all it takes is a little hair color change.
Tonight I decided it was time to revisit myself, so I took me into the bathroom and used my Garnier 100% color in Bright Auburn Blonde. I even consulted the side of the box which clearly shows that when applying it to dark brown hair, one would be left with a beautiful bright red in its place.
Thats a lie. I now hair red roots with nice red highlights when IN DIRECT LIGHT. Oh goodie. Now Phil will have to follow me around with a flashlight pointed right at my scalp so I can mutter "Its red, no really, its red" to everyone we pass.
Its so hard to be me. Not vacation me, but all-the-time me. Ugh.
bored bored bored
I have to admit. I am a little bored of my computer. I look for sites to read or do something or anything interesting and I find myself in the same old places staring blankly at the same old boards and the same old sites. My refresh button is worn down because I am just waiting for someone to amuse me or tell me a touching story or give me something to think about. So I sit. And I refresh. And refresh. I go to a new site and I read, then refresh. Then back to the other and sit, and refresh. I might even go get a cookie and some milk. Sit ack down, refresh.
I then find myself sitting, staring blankly at a screen that I have looked at for days waiting for something new, clicking refresh. I make a mental list about all the things I have to do, refresh. All the things that I need to put on eBay, refresh, laundry, refresh, cook dinner, ctrl + refresh because maybe my browser isn't working correctly.
Its a sickness. It must stop.
Singing
All Vivienne does all day is sing. She keeps us guessing from minute to minute which song she is currently singing. Sometimes it is really easy to figure out, like the Sesame Street theme or Mary had a Little Lamb. Others its like hearing that song that you know but you aren't sure of the title or can't get the words quite right. Its unnerving.
We have a CD of folk nursery rhymes that Phil bought her back in October. She has listened to it constantly since then. Now, she can recite each passage, each song and knows the exact order of all of them. So, if we sing one to her without the CD, she automatically goes into the next one without provocation. Its kinda freaky.
It has to be one of the cutest things ever. She really likes BNL and will put the CD on in my bedroom which always has BNL in it. She dances and sings. Lets hope she inherited her mom's love of music and not just the love of nursery rhymes.
