Resolution: Overcoming Writer's Self-Consciousness

Sorry if I was kind of a downer in my last post. I am. But I don’t mean to be.

I mentioned that I may be in the beginning stages of working on my New Year’s Resolutions. I used to think it was too stressful to make resolutions. (If you click on this link… wow, get a load of my baloney!) How many people are actually successful at following through? I’m willing to bet not that many.

But, hey! I’m one of those. I’m normal. See? Just like the rest of you.

Last year and this year have been more difficult than usual to get through, though. So in a huge effort to make myself a happy person again, I’m going to take the plunge… er, at the very least, make a list. Simple stuff. You know?

I mentioned writing letters to various folks throughout the year to let them know how much they’re appreciated. I’ve always enjoyed the hand-written letter in the mail – but as we all know, those are very few nowadays. Now I look forward to my sister’s emails at work. They make me smile. I told her that one of these days, I’m going to go through them all (yes, I’ve saved them all) and publish a book – even if it’s just for us.

I’ve been thinking of a few other items that I could add to my list of resolutions for 2013. I like writing (duh!), so I want to keep up with my blogs. Doesn’t mean I will; but I definitely want to. I also want to not be embarrassed to mention my blogs. Recently, in the Verizon store, when the rep was trying to persuade me with flattery into buying up and getting a smart phone (sorry! My three year old slider is still going strong!), I told him that I really don’t need access to the internet and email and such when I’m not at work or home. I’m not in a business that requires me to travel or stay in contact when I’m not there; and even though, yes, I have four kids, they sure don’t want me to email them at all hours so I know that they are tucked safely into bed. But I did mention that I write. Why I’ll never know. But I did. He perked up, thinking he had me now.

                “Oh? What do you write?”

                “I have a blog” (said with much insecurity).

                “What is your blog about?”

At this point, I know my face is red and I’m glistening. Ok, sweating. “Ooh… just stuff.”

Geez! What is wrong with me? I know that my blog – my topics – wouldn’t typically interest the average Joe, but why do I have such a hard time the self-consciousness?

I’ve always been like this. I’ll blame my parents. Sounds fair.

So here’s what I’m going to do, or try to do: I’m going to do my best to keep up with my blog, and pushing my blog. And I’m going to practice talking about it. Which means, for me, that I’ll probably need to kind of write myself a script so that I can rehearse and feel comfortable with what I’m saying, you know, pick the right words and such.

I even feel uncomfortable saying I’m going to get comfortable with this. Maybe I should coordinate one of the Wednesday night groups for people like me. (Side note: If “Wednesday night group” is synonymous with something strange or nasty I don’t know about, say… Trekkies Anon – then I’m really sorry.) We could all practice our mantra: I write and I’m good at it. I write and I’m good at it. I write and I’m good at it….

I read one blog in particular that I really enjoy where the writer has, more than once, mentioned that he interviews himself in his head. That’s sounds like an interesting approach. I should try something similar. Or… you could leave me comments and feel free to pop a question in here or there. Keep it clean, though.

I write and I’m good at it.

I write and I’m good at it…

Feeling a little better already.

Post-Partum Christmas Blues

Now that Christmas is over you'd think I would relax a bit. But no.

Christmas was the usual (usual as of the last few years) stress of shopping with almost no money. Baking goodies with almost no money. Putting gas in my car so I can get to the family gatherings - with almost no money.

I know. I know. Christmas isn't about all of this. Well, it's kinda about family - but you know what I'm saying. I know Christmas is supposed to be a happy time as it is the birth of our Lord - not the amount of presents we give or receive; not about how many cookies we baked and frosted and put into pretty tins to give away...

But it's still very disheartening to know that your kids are asking what their limit is in response to you asking them for Christmas gift ideas. It's sickening to see the pictures on Facebook of other families with stacks and stacks of gifts under their trees, and they're bragging about how much they spent on their kids or how big their new diamond earrings are, or their family trip to Disney Land.

It's not that I'm jealous. Really. It's just depressing that I can't do that for my kids. I can't remember the last time we went on a real family vacation. Well, actually I can remember - but that's another topic that would really just add to the depression - and anger.

I want my kids to be happy. And they are for the most part. But they sure don't deserve to grow up being such deprived human beings. While I am aware that we do have many things that other families don't have, I am also very aware that it's darker in the house, and cooler in the house, and quieter in the house due to no cable television and all of us putting forth a gallant effort in trying to conserve electricity and natural gas. I've even gone so far as to make my own laundry detergent (which smells very nice!).

And now that Christmas is over, it's time to start the New Year's Resolutions. This is something I don't usually partake in. It's always been kind of stressful for me to make a list and then know that I didn't follow through on anything. But this year, I'm going to have an honest go at it.

There are a lot of ways I could better my life. And I believe that one of the best ways to feel less depressed (dare I say 'happy'? Nah, maybe just 'satisfied'.) is to help others feel better about themselves. Now really, I'm not going to attempt any huge feat. What I'm suggesting is:

Writing Letters

Now keep in mind that this is but one of the items on my New Year's Resolutions list. It's certainly got to be one of the easiest things I can do. It only takes a few minutes to jot a note, right? And I've got a drawer full of pretty stationery that I've been accumulating for years. I can hardly wait to start!

I will be posting this to sites that my family, friends and co-workers all have access to, so if you see this blog, be patient. I will do my best to keep this resolution and let you know how much you are appreciated - in time.

Cool. I'm feeling a little better already.

In Left Field

It's been a rough couple of months. Mentally. Financially. Physically.

I've been in these emotional ruts before. They're not fun. I don't mean to make myself sound like I suffer from depression. At least, I don't think I do. I just get into these funks. I have no motivation. I have no desire to write. I don't want to do anything but sit and veg.

I was sick a few weeks back. Self-diagnosed bronchitis. Sounded terrible. Felt awful. Took three days off work, plus the weekend, so by the time Monday morning rolled around, driving my car felt a bit foreign to me.

Bills are the same. It's a complete drain (mentally and financially) to pay these semi-monthly with my payroll cycle. I've got the cheapest car insurance. I traded in my car to something that was $90 less per month in payments. I've also recently shut off the land-line phone and am now completely wireless, because it saved a little money. Also, and this one broke my heart.... I had the cable TV turned off. Now, really, you must understand something. My heart was not broken because I had to give up reality shows, Spongebob, or the Weather Channel. Truth be told, I very rarely watched television any more anyways. But what I had a really hard time with, was turning in the DVR box. I had a few things recorded that will be missed - or not. But there was something else on there. Something that only I would ever, ever watch. Kate and Wills royal wedding. (Silently brushing a tear from my cheek.)

It still baffles me how anyone I've ever asked has never cared a hoot about the royal wedding. Sorry. That kind of stuff just completely enthralls me. The night Princess Di passed away, I sat in front of the TV - ALL NIGHT. I bought almost every copy of People magazine when any Royal was on the cover. I have the books: A Royal Duty and The Bodyguard's Story. I don't think it's a sad thing. I could just as well be interested in ancestors and genealogy and that would be a cool thing. Oh wait, I am interested in those things. In fact, if I could afford to not have to work, I would spend what's left of my time, after writing, on researching, history, cemeteries. Love. That. Stuff!

Oh dear. I seem to have strayed (yet again) from my initial thought: The fact that I feel as though lately, I am in left field. Stuck way out somewhere away from the game. I see everything going on around me. Everyone getting ready for Christmas: shopping, cards, baking, etc. And I just can't seem to engage. Maybe it's the onset of the horrid winter weather - which actually has not yet been all that bad. Just lots of grey skies. I need the warm temperatures. I need to sleep with the windows open. I need to be able to throw my notepad in a bag and go sit on the beach in the evenings after work. And Fall - my absolute favorite time of year - as usual, went past in such a blur!

Don't you ever get this way? Where you feel like you're missing out on everything around you because of your state of mind? I keep telling myself to snap out of it! But then something else happens. Like a disconnection notice in the mail, or an outrageously harsh visit from Aunt Flo, or the garbage didn't pick up because I couldn't pay the bill. Do you know how incredibly embarrassing it is to haul your full recycling container back up to your garage when the garbage truck didn't pick it up? Here's to hoping all of my neighbors didn't notice.

Wouldn't it be nice if I could just drown my sorrows in some spiked eggnog? But alas! I cannot afford such luxuries. Time to stop in to the consignment shop to see if any more of my contributions have provided me with any income.

Sorry for the rambling. Thanks for listening.

I'm back.

I thought I should check in to see how you all are doing. Are you faring well without me?

I'm terribly sorry it's been so long. You see, what happened is that I went on a search... on the web...

Typically, as searches go, I search, I find, I'm satisfied - and then I get on with life. But a few weeks back, I searched for something and got completely sucked into the quagmire called Pinterest.

I have a love/hate relationship with Pinterest. I hate that I do it. I hate that I spend so much time doing it. I hate when someone walks in on me when I'm doing it. But, sadly, on the opposite end of the spectrum... have you seen how much cool stuff is on Pinterest?

Well, have you?

It's a female's delight. A wonderful place full of colorful, fantastical pictures - of everything you could imagine; everything you could ever desire is on Pinterest. I have boards, lots and lots of boards, full of recipes, hair styles, shoes, shoes, outfits, make-up tricks, laundry detergest, did I mention shoes yet?

Now you must understand that over the past few weeks, I've had several wonderful ideas as to what I can write about. I've even stolen a few moments here and there to actually write down some of my thoughts. But when I sit down to my keyboard, I see that lovely little icon on my favorites bar that beckons to me every day - sometimes twice a day. And I just can't help myself. I scroll my cursor over the favorites bar, like I'm running my index finger over the spines of books on a library shelf, savoring the feeling of the leather, remembering what I like best about each story. Then, it happens. My cursor comes to rest over the icon. The cream-colored box appears that says "Pinterest/Home http://pinterest.com/" and I just can't help myself. I click twice to open up the login page and I'm lost for at least an hour.

Now, in reality, of course I see that this is a huge waste of my time. There are just so, so many other things that I could and certainly should be doing. This is where the hate part comes in. Because I know that, unless I've won the lotto recently, I can't afford to do most of these things (even though the $30 home-made laundry detergent for a year sounded too good to be true). I hate that I could have written something entertaining for my followers. I hate that I should have done some more editing on my book and I piddled the time away. And now, having spent the best part of an evening 'pinning' various things to my boards, I find myself too tired to even try to be creative. I've made the list of ingredients for baked French toast, homemade laundry soap, black tea hair rinse, glossy lip balm... and I've lost them all in the out of control pile of stuff that has continued to build up on top of my desk while I sit oblivious to everything around me and continue to pin.

Well I've made some decisions. Considering that I've been blogging for over two years now (granted, not consistently), and also considering my dear, faithful story that I've worked on for the past 17 months, I've decided to not touch Pinterest anymore - ever again. Maybe I could handle it if I only log in after I've worked on my writing first. But I won't log in just to see what's new. I might log in to get that laundry soap recipe. And I might log in to find that hair cut that I wanted to show my stylist....

Getting Older (by the second!)

11:50 p.m.  Half cup of lukewarm coffee beside me. I can hear the breathing of everyone else in the house.... because they are sleeping.... and I am not sleeping.

I am currently waiting up for my oldest to get home.

See, she thought she needed to go to the "Halloween Festival" at her college. And mom gets to sit here, tapping my fingers on the keyboard, waiting for the minutes to tick by, until I hear the sound of the car coming up the driveway. She's 19. But there's just so much she doesn't know. So much that I don't think she's ready for.

I hate telling her no. In fact, other than the fact that she lives in my house, I almost (that's: almost) feel like I don't have the right to tell her she can't do this or can't go there. The kid, er, young adult needs her freedom - to a certain extent. If I could have all of my kids live in glass bubbles and still be well-developed, socially accepted individuals, I totally would.

But I can't. And that's hard. The silver hairs are sprouting left and right. Literally. Some on the left side. More on the right side. But then, the right side is thinner so maybe they're just easier to see.

I know she doesn't realize how much stress mom goes through staying up 3 hours past her bedtime, waiting for her to get home. She drove and picked up two friends, whom I've met and typically like. She then drove them to the college, which she apparently made it to safe and sound because she sent me a  text when she got there. And now.... I wait.

Hoping that she fixes her own drinks and doesn't accept any food or drink from a stranger. (She should remember that one; we've been covering that since first grade.) And she'd better not go out any back doors. And she should know not to go to the restroom alone. And have her car key at the ready when she goes to the parking lot so she doesn't fumble around in the dark. And I'm really hoping she remembers that the roads are still wet in places from the rain, and that there are deer that like to jump in front of cars, and that it's a Friday night and there are drunk drivers and stupid people that text while driving. And there's just so much that you'll hope they remember. After all, you don't want to sound like a nag by repeating the same things every single time she goes out.

But I do. Even though I know she doesn't like it.





Okay. I'm back. Just wanted to make sure for the fourth time that the outside lights have been left on.

Oh I remember the days when I thought mom and dad were being completely ridiculous. Driving around at night was no big deal. I never saw deer on the road. And drunk drivers? They weren't near as common as they are today..... Or maybe they were, but I was to busy being oblivious to all of the real dangers that mom and dad constantly harped about.

12:09 a.m. Officially Saturday morning. she should have texted me by now saying that she is leaving the party. Should I start freaking out now? I've asked her a million times (okay, many times) why she thinks I pay for her cell phone. Does she think I pay for it so she can text her friends, leaving her mom hanging by a thread, sags and bags building under my eyes that take more and more time every morning to try to conceal. I'm going to be forced to stop paying for her cell phone just so I can afford an eye lift in another year.

12:12 a.m. Still no text. How could she forget? Is it so hard to pull out the phone and type a two word message and press 'Send'? No. The answer is "No". She's admitted this before. In fact, I know she will get home, walk in the door, stop in to see if I'm awake, collect her laptop so she can begin posting about her fun evening. I'll ask her that question: Would it have so difficult for you to send your mother a message so that she can rest a little easier. "No. Sorry." (with stupid look on face - like she's really sorry. Who is she trying to kid?)

12:16 a.m. Coffee is officially cold. I'm slightly chilled. She told me earlier that the party ended at midnight. She and her friends would probably leave early. They would then need to be dropped off and she should be home by 12:40. I warned her: one minute past, and she won't be going out for a very long time. I can't imagine what it's going to be like waiting up for my other kids. When my youngest is 19, I will be 55-ish. How is a 55-year old woman, who probably is still going to be working full-time, supposed to stay up this late?

12:28 a.m. I just killed a little more time looking up photos for bags under the eyes and this is what I found. I thought it was pretty humorous. Maybe that's just because it's excruciatingly late and I'm so very tired. Boy when that girl gets home she's going to hear it from me. I'll have to whisper because everyone else is sleeping, but she's going to get it good for not sending a message.

12:39 a.m. Well what do you know... I just got a phone call. Yes, from my daughter. She's just leaving her friend's house to head home. There's fog. And her dippy little friend (according to my daughter) is one of the reasons why she is going to be home past 12:40. Teens today... so inconsiderate of anyone else around them and the repercussions that their actions and choices have on so many other people. Do any of them ever think that "Oh, your mom is waiting up, maybe I shouldn't take off and start dancing with some stranger when I know you have to leave soon." But they don't think.

12:43 a.m. She'll be home soon. I can finally run Spell Check and get this thing posted. Then I can snuggle into my warm bed and pick up my book and pretend that I wasn't completely freaked out of my mind. Nope. Going to play it nice and cool - after I inform her that she's grounded.

Can you ground a 19 year old?

Shopping Alone

I have a confession.

I don't like being alone.

Well I do. I totally love being alone - and left alone. Nearly all of the time.

But, doing certain things alone is really nerve-wracking for me. Okay, really only one thing freaks me out.

Shopping.

Weird, huh? I know I'm always going on about how I can't get enough peace and quiet around here. And about how I wish I could just have a few hours alone. But that's when I'm here at home. Where I'm safe and secure and I've got things to do, like write to you.

I can drive alone. I can go to the library alone. I can work alone. I can go for walks alone. But shopping..... yeah. Just awkward.

And sadly, I really need to get used to doing it on my own. My oldest daughter used to go with me all the time. She was my Go-To grocery partner. But she's growing up and she's busy and she just doesn't want to spend as much time as she used to with her mother - particularly grocery shopping.

My son is sometimes a willing participant, but I find myself avoiding asking him to accompany me because I always get suckered into buying him something that, on the ride home, I question why in the world I just did it again! And while we're shopping, he continuously bugs me to get him this, get him that, so he's a major distraction as well. And in today's Super Markets that are as big as 5 football fields, missing something on the shopping list due to distracted shopping, makes for a very perturbed mother.

My third child is a girl. But not your atypical girl. She's more of a tom-boy (never understood that expression). She doesn't really enjoy getting cleaned up and going anywhere. If she's psyched about it one minute, she always turns ice-cold within the first aisle. It's like, in her mind, we are going shopping for soccer balls or something; but when mom puts cotton balls in the cart and then heads to the toilet paper aisle, it occurs to her, yet again, that shopping with mom is not her cup of tea.

Then, of course, there's my five-year-old. Now this child is you're all-around girly-girl. Up until she started Kindergarten, she actually believed her name ended with "Princess". She likes to do her hair and make up and nails. She likes to wear dresses and click-y shoes. And she loves to shop. But, and let me first preface this by telling you that I dearly love all of my children. And when Princess cries because she so badly wants to go with mom, it really, really breaks my heart. So much so that I have actually broken down and taken her shopping with me. Which I know is a major mistake. She doesn't want to ever sit in the cart. She prefers to walk. She likes to disappear around the ends of the aisles instead of staying within peripheral vision of her mother. She asks for things that are, in a little girls mind, so beautiful she simply must have it or she will have a crying fit. You know, those super cheap fake jewelry and tiara sets they have hanging from the shelves in the cereal aisle? Those things that break if you even just look at them. And of course she will need to visit the bathroom at least once. And I will literally gag if I explain the bathroom. Besides the fact that they always smell and are gross, gross, gross - I mean, can't they even try to make them pretty instead of that brain tissue gray color? Blech!

     (Okay, that analogy was a little gruesome for me... how about... that gray paint they used in
     the old, old schools? Usually in the locker rooms. I think that thick, rubberized gray paint
     actually came with it's own salty urine smell. Maybe that's why I hate it so much.)

So this is why I'm left to do the grocery shopping alone. Or really any kind of shopping.

I think it's because I've been a mom for so long now that it just feels weird to go to a store alone. You know when you're backing out of your driveway heading somewhere and you get that feeling. "What am I forgetting?" That's kind of what it's like. And I can sit here right now and tell you with all honesty that I know people don't pay me any attention at all when I'm in a store. But when I'm in a store - all by myself - I feel like they're are looking at me. And I don't have any kids there to steal their attention away or distract me from this weird line of thought. And weirder still, is when I run into someone I know - and we start talking. Really, I could talk all day. And without a child there with me as an excuse to get going, or as a topic of conversation, it just gets awkward, fast. I feel my face turn red, the sweat prickling my scalp. I don't know why I react this way. I could talk a mean streak at work (but I don't) and not blink an eye.

I know it won't be long before all my kids are grown and doing things completely on their own. And thank goodness that when that time comes, I will be shopping a lot less. But even for those quick trips to the grocery store for those few items that I may eventually need, I'm going to have to start practicing doing it - All. By. Myself.

Just a little freaked out, but I think I can. I think I can.

Okay! So who wants to go with mom?

Tea Cups and Doilies

I've managed to get about 4 more lines down on paper today. And looked up manufacturer names of vintage tea cups. My main character has decided she likes the Japanese styles the best. So do I. I still pine away for that one cupboard in my kitchen that has glass doors that will be home to my teapots and tea cups. A girl's gotta have something pretty.

What is it about candles, tea cups, vintage handkerchiefs, lace tablecloths, claw-footed tubs...? And why are guys (most guys) so against pretty, clean, feminine things? They are such dirty, smelly, cloddy beings. Always stomping around the house. Always stinking things up. I mean, they can't even say the word "doily" without sounding like a complete Neanderthal.

Mom, Sis and I have often discussed having a little getaway cottage that us females could escape too. Sadly, I fear I would end up living there, in our little secret Utopia, never, ever, ever wanting to return. Clean wooden floors. No grungy sofa arms. No pieces of popcorn all over the floor near their favorite chair. No plates with dried, hardened egg left on them. No whiskers in the sink. There would be toilet paper always on the roll. The cupboard doors would all be shut. The cushions and throw pillows on the furniture would always be neat and tidy. Closet doors would be shut. No dirty boxers would lay within millimeters of the dirty clothes basket.

I just got a little worked up. That's all. I don't think there is a female on this earth that doesn't feel the same way. Men are just men. Some of them are smart, or talented, or sweet, or funny.... But they are still men. And it just goes with the territory of being a man, that they do the everything (and more) on the list noted above.

And, what's sadder, is that guys aren't willing to change, or better themselves to make anyone happy. They would prefer to fight you on it, making it sound as though we are the bad guys because we nag, because we're never happy. Well, of course we're not happy, when you accuse us of bickering with you constantly just to get our way. If men could simply take a calm, common sense moment, they would probably all agree that "Hey, it would make life easier if I got my boxers in the basket. And it would make my life better if my spouse were happy. What should I do to make her happy? Should I walk around the house, especially the kitchen, in my underwear? Should I use the last of the toilet paper - every time and then not replace it with a new roll? Maybe I should fry an egg, splatter oil all over the stove top and tea pot, then when I eat the egg, let the yolk smear all over the plate and fork, then let it sit and glue themselves together."

Hint: the answer is 'No'. Don't do that. When it comes to doing almost anything in the house, you should really just stop for a split second and think: Is there a way to do this better? Can I do something different to make my life easier?

Doubt it. But there's no harm in trying.

S.O.S.

Friday night.

Quiet.

Boys at football game.

Can't decide what I want to do first. I've plugged in my thumb drive with the best of intentions to write some more. However, after plugging in the earbuds, it has become a little hard to concentrate. A little S.O.S. by Abba, Run Around - Blues Traveler, Salt'N'Peppa, Savage Garden...

I do have "writing music" loaded onto my little music device... but this is what came up first and I really don't want to change it right now. Which stinks, because I'm watching my precious writing time shrink minute by minute. The weekend has only just begun, but I'm already down almost one entire evening.

What I really should be doing is cleaning up my room - and the rest of the house. But I'm kind of miffed that I'm working all week long, and my weekend is still full - completely full - of household chores. I really don't mind chipping in once in a while, but there are a few other people in the house who seem to not do their fair share. Gahhh!

It's Friday. I won't start venting. Friday night is a happy time.

Hey! Guess what? I'm going to try to shoot my cover photo this weekend! I need a book cover and I have a specific idea in my head, but need to photograph it - and then edit it. I should also be putting together the "front matter" for my book. Never would have guessed that it was called "front matter".

Times are tight and I'd really like to get this going. But I don't to rush it to the point where it's just a piece of fodder either. I want to do it right. At least, as right as I know how. This work was started in June 2011.... so why rush it now?

I'll let you in on a little secret... I've begun a second book. Since I'm waiting (patiently) for my current work to be gone over and honestly rated, I figured I might as well. Since I've got a few ideas, might as well put them on paper - or the thumb drive. Mostly it's on paper - since I don't have my own laptop and I have to beg and borrow from other people. Which really, really stinks! I keep telling myself: One of these days, I'll get my own laptop. I'll be able to crank out blog posts and stories by the gazillions! But then something always happens. Something that makes me redirect any money that I've managed to save up into bills, bills and more bills.

Sorry. There I go again. Ranting, venting. Getting my stomach all upset so I can taste dinner. Tasting it once was enough, thank you!

So I'm just going to go now. Wash my face, brush my teeth, put on the flannel jammies. Curl up in bed with my pencil and notebook. To anyone who doesn't write, or who doesn't get writers, this may sound really pathetic. But trust me. This fills a gap for me. Because it's for me. From me.

Good night!

I think I may have completely blown my challenge. But in my mind, it's only for a day! Back on the wagon tomorrow.

Oatmeal for breakfast, 1/2 stuff bell pepper for lunch, water, water, water, salad for dinner. That's good right?

But today, I really (no, I mean really) did not want to go for a walk. Really!

But I did. I went. It was miserable, but I went. No shortcuts, did the whole darned route. Sides of calves ached nearly the entire way. But I did it.

So for my reward:

I think I deserved it. It's sad that I need to reward myself for these small steps, but I don't live with my mother any more and the kids don't realize that these things that I'm doing mean way more to me than it does to them, so I can't really look for a pat on the back coming from them any time soon.

It was good, sweet, cold. We've actually had it for 5 years.

I also had a glass in honor of a friend who has just received some good news. Love you dahling (LE)!

So I realized today, in a major way, that I may have a problem withcommitting to this “challenge” that I’m doing for myself. Silly thing really. There was a homemade chocolate cake floating around my office today brought in by my boss to be taken home by someone else who’s spouse is recuperating from surgery. The cake looked deliciously moist, and did I mention it was chocolate? And have I already mentioned that Aunt Flo is within one day of arrival, which means for me, maniacal cravings.

But! When offered a piece of the cake, I said “No thank you. I’m being good. I just started a thing on Sunday.”

A thing? Really? You should have heard the laughter inside my head. I didn’t want to use the word “DIET”. This word, to me, has all kinds of negativity that goes along with it. I’ve always hated diets. I hate it when people talk about diets. It’s been proven over and over again, that diets fail and fail miserably. The key words here are: Life Style Change. They really need to come up with a better term for this, as ‘Life Style Change’ is really a bit scary. It’s a huge undertaking.

My challenge that I set for myself consists of simply trying to make better choices. Like, do I really need a candy bar everyday? No, I don’t. Do I really need that cream cheese and cherry Danish for breakfast? No, I don’t. And what is the real reason I don’t go for walks? Hmmm... all of my reasons are just excuses when I think about it. So I’m giving myself a mental kick in the arse for being so lazy and for getting to the point in my life when spending over $75.00 on a bathing suit is a necessity to hold all the necessary things in place while tricking the eye of the onlookers who are brave enough to sneak a peek. Embarrassing! This is why, even though I’ve wanted to many, many times, I don’t go down to the beach by myself. People need to know that I’m this way because I’ve had so danged many kids. Again – another excuse....

Blah, blah, blah.... yeah I know. I really just wanted to share my challenge for the day. Thanks for listening/reading.

It's Tuesday, 9 p.m.

I got home after work today, then ran the oldest to her job. After arriving home the second time, I changed, stretched and headed out for my walk. Another 3 miles, this time it didn't feel so good. I thought someone would need to push me up my front steps. I just couldn't get into the feel-good-groove.

I think there were several contributing factors....

     One being that my 11 year old accompanied me. When I walk, I have my mp3 player on pretty
     loud. This is to distract myself and also to drown out outside noises, such as my footsteps, passing
     vehicles and my breathing - all of which are pretty distracting. I've told my kids before that when
     they walk with me they should bring their own music because I'm not going to respond to them if
     they're talking and I'm certainly not going to run my mouth while I'm gasping for air.

     Two, I think that dear old Aunt Flo is definitely getting within days of her arrival. Sad really that I
     can spend three weeks going through the various symptoms that "prepare" me for the fourth (and I
     ain't talking Fourth of July!) I'm bloating to the extreme. All that extra water I've been drinking?
     Yeah, it's around my ankles and fingers. I really hate men right now! But that's besides the point...

     Three.... did I mention it was still about 90 degrees Fahrenheit? The heat feels good to me after I
     sit in the air-conditioning all day, but trying to power walk? More like drag-walking.

Food-wise I was good today, though. Breakfast was yogurt and granola (granted it was chocolate granola), but it was good. For lunch I had packed some of the same salad I had last night for dinner, but with Ranch dressing this time, rather than the vinegar and oil that we typically use at home. Late afternoon snack was a protein bar.

Dinner? Bad! Bad! Bad! First of all, it was eaten after 8 p.m. and since it was so hot (and since no one else was volunteering to cook) I ran down to the store and got fixings for nachos. Yeah, I know.... Bad! Bad! Bad!

But so... sooo yummy!

Thank you to those who have responded with well wishes and support. Love you!! :)

Sunday evening. I've been thinking about this for a little while. Wondering if I should share. With the help of my sister, I believe I have talked myself into taking the plunge and sharing.

"Share What?" you ask.

Thanks so much asking. That shows me you really care.

I'm going to share with you my personal challenge. If you've read along over the past year or so, you'll know that my blog is typically about me and being the age that I am and the obstacles I face day to day. I realize (sadly) every day that I am no longer a spring chicken. In fact, I can't remember when I crossed that line, fine or not, from being a spring chicken to what I am now - whatever that may be. Let's say, ummm, old hen? Don't care much for that title. And who came up with the scale of age as compared to barnyard animals? What's up with that?

Anywho... the challenge: Now keep in mind that I don't really have super-specific parameters set yet for this goal. It's just one of those things that I've been wanting to do, and I'd really like to see how far I can get. It's (gulp!) simply: losing weight.

A little background: I am technically "over" 40. (Don't cringe - it's really not that bad.) I have given birth to four children. This, as you know, takes an extreme toll on a woman's body. Some things just never go back to normal - namely: the belly-button. (Don't ask!) I have a wonderful job! However, it's a job that consists of mostly sitting in a wheeled chair, with almost everything I need to do my job with arms reach - or a short wheely-chair ride away.

Sad - but true.

These circumstances, well, that and being a bit on the inactive side of, well, anything I suppose, has led to an increase of inches in my midsection and probably several other places that I cannot see unless.... well, we won't go there. Even I want to sleep tonight and dream happy dreams.

So my personal challenge is this:

Can I lose 20 pounds by my birthday?

I will be (gulp, again!) 41 on September 12th, and this weight that I am currently at, and the shape that my body has taken is, to me, unacceptable! I don't like it.

I mean, really, how can I have a real mid-life crisis while I'm overweight? Nope. Won't do at all. So I'm going to take the plunge and go public with you, my faithful readers. Hopefully, being public will urge me on. Or, at least, guilt me on. If there are any readers who, oh let's say... work with me... then please don't say anything to me about it - just give me a shameful look when you see me order a cheese danish from Neil. I mean, this is embarrassing enough!

I'll try to keep you all posted how many pounds I've lost each week. Starting now.

I had a few glasses of wine (shaly loam = quite tasty) with dinner tonight, which was grilled chicken (thighs - the fattiest part), sauteed zucchini and squash and a salad made with romaine, green olives, tomatoes, baby cukes, red bell pepper, celery... I did go for a walk after that; about 3 miles I think. That. was. hard. It wasn't until about half-way through the walk, when my mp3 player hit Pump It by the Black Eyed Peas, when it finally started getting a little easier. (Phfew! Thank you BEPs!)

I will let you know up front, that this week, and possibly part of the next, could be more difficult for me as it is, you know.... Aunt Flo is scheduled for a visit. And I tend to bloat - immensely!

I know: TMI.

Deal.

So, as of the after-shower weigh-in, I was (and I bought a brand new scale just for this purpose. It is scha - weet!) 150.9.

My goal, then, is to get down around 130 pounds. There! I said it. And no, I don't feel freer (more free? Whatever!)

My reward? Still thinking about that one... have a few things in mind. Maybe I'll let you know what my ideas are in my next blog update. Or I'm welcome to suggestions.

Thanks for reading!

Torn, torn, torn.....

I don't know how all those people on Twitter do it. How do they finish their books, their stories, and manage to get them into the e-book market? It's mind-boggling! There are soooo many out there and they all have e-books they're pushing.

Then there is me. I work (so do a lot of them - according to them), I do manage to get some chores done around the house, I can still manage a shopping trip, typically weekly (for groceries - not pleasure).

I don't like to sit down to write when I only have a half hour. It's got to be a good solid hour or more when I know I won't have any interruptions. That hour? Very rare these days. But when I am able to pin one down, it's either very early morning and then I'm fighting for just the right place to sit down and begin. Fighting as in the mess left from the evening before. There might be just enough space at the kitchen table, but that's obviously not the most comfortable place. Some mornings are good on the front porch or back deck, as long as the mosquito fogger is still active. Some evenings are good, as long as I'm willing to sit on my bed hunched over the lap top. After the first 10 minutes, and every 10 minutes or so thereafter, I find myself arranging my sitting positions because there's always some body part that's falling asleep. Oddly enough, there have been more than a few times when my actual derriere has become numb. (What's up with that?) Even tucked away in my bedroom - with the door shut - the kids and spouse still manage to walk right in and strike up a conversation, plopping down on the bed beside me. Odder still, is that when I'm amongst them at any other time, Mom's advice or conversation is never warranted. I suppose it's one of those things where you don't miss something until it's gone, or until it's trying to write or have a telephone conversation.

Now here is what I'm torn about: Writing and getting things done. I want to write.

I want to write.

But deep down inside, there's this nagging feeling that something is wrong. You know? That feeling where if I'm doing something I enjoy, that means that there's other things that aren't getting done. Right now, at this moment, I really should be putting away the dry dishes, and i should be in the shower so that I'll be ready to get into town to get groceries and return bottles and make a quick stop* at the laundromat*.

     *First, when I said "quick stop"? Yeah, that was totally sarcasm.

     *Second, I just love that word: Laundromat. It's so retro. Don't you think? Any word
     that has 'mat' at the end (except HASMAT) is just a gas.

So I'm torn. My subconscious, which is nothing but a trouble-maker, says to my conscious self:

          You know, if you just got up now, stepped away from the laptop, and got aaalllllll of
       your chores done, you'd have more time to write later - and you wouldn't feel guilty.

And there it is.  How do you reason with that?

What's most upsetting to me, is that I can't quite get a grip on my decision to adhere to one plan. I make up my mind frequently. Too frequently. Enough so that it looks like I'm being indecisive. But I'm not. So now I'm in this midst of a story that was (and I checked) officially begun Wednesday, June 1st, 2011 at 8:06 p.m. A year and a month people. A year and a month.

I'm disappointed in myself in some ways. After all, I am an adult. So why is it, that I can't accomplish a simple story? In other ways, I can justify not being finished by reminding myself that I do have a full-time job, I do have a family with plenty going on, and I do have a house, car, life that need cleaning and maintenance.

Alright kid. Hang on to your shorts. Here we go. (insert drum roll sound clip)

I, Ruby Iadeluca, am setting a goal to complete my story by August 31st, 2012. I will put any extra time to good use. And most of all, I will not make myself feel guilty for devoting time to accomplish this goal.

And here's where you, my faithful reader(s) come in. I'm counting on you to stay on top of me (don't make me feel guilty - I'm very susceptible to guilt), make sure that I've worked on this goal every day/week. Keep my spirits up. Cheer me on as I approach the finish line.

And thank you.

Just a slice of last evening...

These are Merganser ducks - Mommy with babies on her back.

It's Friday. The last day of the long, hot work-week.

It was technically a short work week since I took Monday off as a "vacation" day. I took the vacation day knowing I would need a full day to pack up all of the tables, chairs, tent top, left over food, lights and basically get the house, back-yard and garage re-organized.

Nearly a week later..... it's almost done.

Yep. Friday evening. And here I sit. On my front porch..... originally my hope was for some quiet time so that I could visit with all-a-y'all, but I'm realizing that's going to be just a tad difficult.

As such, this is my life:

Clean lawn chair. Mosquito coil smoking away. One kid at work. Spousal unit not home yet. Two little girls riding bikes up and down the driveway "Look Mom! Look Mom!" Flip-flops slapping the concrete as they run around. Older girl telling younger to do it like this or like that. Younger girl whining about everything she's told. Never a happy medium. Cranky son (really, who can blame him after helping his grandfather all week in this weather) sitting on the outdoor toybox, noisily sliding his skateboard across the surface of the porch. Not quietly rolling it back and forth, but obnoxiously, noisily scraping it from side to side. And of course, as teens do, gets angry at mom for asking him to stop.

Okay, he's gone. I'm having a hard time getting over it. Because this seems to be our new normal. Mom tries to be creative in finding a way to avoid making people angry - particularly on a beautiful Friday evening leading into what deems to be a beautiful weekend. It's not as simple as just getting them to bed earlier or making them take a nap. And even if I can get the spousal unit to let them sleep in on Saturday morning, they still manage to wake up hating life.

I know. I know. As a kid I was the same way (sort of - not really that bad). I dreaded waking up in the morning. I never did manage to put enough sugar on my Cheerios.... Yeah, I'll stop there. After all, I've got a reputation to uphold...

So the three kids are temporarily getting along, because for the moment they are all getting their way. Brother is filling and throwing water balloons and the girls are getting wet. So until someone gets a water balloon square in the face, I suppose they're all "content".

I often wonder what our neighbors think of us this time of year. Windows are left open and most normal people sit outside on their decks or porches enjoying the weather - but when the kids start getting annoyed with each other and screaming I begin to feel really guilty. When we first moved here, our immediate neighbor on the right said it would be good to hear kids playing in the neighborhood again - I wonder if she still feels the same way. I do notice she goes for a lot more walks now.

Well, they are starting. I knew it wouldn't take long. And, guess what? The spousal unit is finally home with a fresh supply of wine coolers.

**Note to Seagram's: Jamaican Me Happy! :)

The Good & The Bad (Customer Service)

The good:

My oldest has graduated high school with honors.
We have successfully planned, held, and cleaned up from the open house (details to be forthcoming in another blog).
Have only found 1 bug so far in the leftovers...
We are now looking forward to a relaxing summer and being able to catch up on all of the things that have been left in the dust for the past couple of months.

The BAD:

SAM'S CLUB CUSTOMER SERVICE (and Lowe's) ((read on...))

That's it. Only one "bad" thing happened to make this happy event a little bit of a downer.

Let me explain.... in gory detail.... and be prepared.... I'm going to mention (a lot) that I got the cake, and therefore, the horrible customer service from Sam's Club.

In planning our daughter's once in a lifetime high school graduation open house, one of the main details was to order The Cake. Because that's what you do. You order a cake for almost every big event/party/celebration that you have. And it has a message on it. In this case, it was congratulating the graduate. Easy enough, right? I mean, I assume that the message I had written myself on the order form is fairly common.... "Congratulations Monica - Class of 2012"

I took my scheduled "vacation day" off on Friday preceding the party. I left one kid in charge of cleaning the garage and getting some other house/yard things in order. I took another kid with me to pick up three tables and a 10'x10' tent top (thank you to Smitty's Roasted Corn). Brought them home. Unpacked the back end of the Pilot. Then it was back into town for round two. Went to Lowe's to pick up a few bags of gravel for backyard, fogger, bathroom towel rack and lattice and finials for the back deck.

     side note: By a show of hands, who here has ever messed with lattice? Pain in the arse, right?
     Well, being new to lattice myself I have found that it's not easy to pull off the rack that some CEO
     at Lowe's thought it would be a good idea to set at the height of 5' 6" from the floor - just over my
     head. Keep in mind, I have an 11 y.o. helping me. I have also found out that lattice catches easily
     on the piece that's underneath it, it's extremely rough and gives slivers and it breaks without
     warning.

     After four pieces of 4'x8' lattice have been loaded onto the blue cart - without any help from
     Lowe's staff, we make our way to the checkout. A young girl checks me out - again with no offer to
     help me out the door, to the car.... no "would you like to drive up?", NOTHING! 11 y.o. daughter
     and myself maneuver the uncooperative blue cart to our trusty Pilot. We open the back end and
     realize that we have a problem: The pieces of lattice are WAY TOO LONG! Well, after finagling
     one piece into the Pilot, (and up over the front seat headrests) a lovely lady offers a bungee so that
     we can tie down our tailgate. Very nice offer, but not very realistic. Still, I was very appreciative
     and said likewise. After we scrape arms, legs and interior of Pilot all to heck, the second piece of
     lattice is now safely in the vehicle. Then, my hero, the extremely nice older gentleman who had
     parked next to us offered to help us get the last two pieces in. I felt horribly guilty accepting his
     help since he was obviously older, but felt I would be a fool to turn him down. During the process
     of fighting the last two pieces in, another gentleman stopped to watch - I suppose, in case we
     needed the help? The last two pieces went in much more smoothly than the first two and I am
     forever grateful to the older gentleman in the light green Prius who helped us.

     Please note: In the living out of this story, NO LOWE'S EMPLOYEE HELPED OR EVEN
     OFFERED TO HELP!!!

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program...

We are now home and, after a deep breath and resigning myself to the phrase: slow and steady wins the race, we unpack the car without inflicting too much damage on the lattice, the Pilot or ourselves.

What? We don't have enough stain? Well, you'd better believe that I'M NOT GETTING IT FROM LOWE'S!!

I feel I must apologize here, as my story becomes a bit of a blur. It's been a long hot weekend and I know that between Friday at 1600 hours and Saturday bedtime we accomplished cleaning the garage, cleaning and organizing the shed so that most of the garage would fit into it, cleaning most of the house, mowing the yard, staining the lattice, installing the lattice, installing the also newly-stained finials, making 4 batches of Italian pasta salad, 3 batches of coleslaw, painting signs, putting together decorations/flowers/candles, setting up tables and tablecloths in the garage, wiping down coolers and chairs, spraying the backyard fogger, picking up the cake and cupcakes......

Now we are going to screech to a halt, because in all of the set up and clean up involved in any typical graduation open house, as I have just mentioned, I was actually able to squeeze in yet another trip to town to pick up the pre-ordered cake (large sheet cake) and cupcakes (60 to be exact) from our local Sam's Club. They had the best prices in town, which made the icing choices (minimal and a bit obnoxious) easy to overlook. I completed the three separate (very confusing) order forms. Went over each one of them, orally, with the lady behind the bakery counter and was very satisfied and pleased that that chore was done. Upon picking up the cakes the day before the party, I was slightly disappointed in the actual icing colors, but complimented the bakers/icers anyways. Got the overly huge boxes safely into the trusty Pilot and was happily on my way home - again.

Once home, we pulled the boxes out of the car and made it into the house with each box without any catastrophes. Then, the moment we had all waited for..... like the beginning of Wagner's Bridal Chorus, as the church doors open, and there she is.... the bride of all brides, her radiance to behold. She steps into the light and.... What?! Her name was spelled wrong?! Her name is spelled wrong! I couldn't believe it! My first thoughts were of how could I not have checked more closely while I was at the store? Because she has a very simple first name. That's why. And because I wrote it out myself - in capitals, block lettering. How can they mess up something so easy?

I immediately took pictures and then got on the phone to call the bakery. I explained the problem and that I simply did not have the time to bring it back to the store to be fixed. Remember, I'm putting together an open house added to the fact that it was a large sheet cake. The lady was apologetic and was sure that if I brought in my receipt that I would be given a refund.

Sunday evening came, the guests arrived, the food was excellent, the sun was shining, laughter and good times were everywhere. My kids and I told the story to everyone of how my daughter's name was misspelled on the cake (by the by: they spelled it "Moncia" rather than "Monica"). Oh well, we all laughed, it will be something funny to remember. I harbored no ill-will towards Sam's knowing that they would make it right. It was just a funny human error. After all, anyone of us could have done it.

The party's now over. Everyone went to bed happy and slept soundly. Monday morning seemed to roll in just a little too early. But I knew I must get up and start the clean up and break down of all the party items. Table cloths laundered. Tent taken down. Tables and chairs folded, stacked and returned. Stop by Sam's with receipt and camera in hand to show them pictures, if necessary.

We stood at the Customer Service counter (ironic, isn't it?) for a few minutes. The stand-offish clerk asked if she could help us (no, we just really like standing here). I explained the problem to her and she immediately said she would need to speak to her manager, "coach so-and-so". This "coach" was already at the counter along with two other Customer Service reps, looking at what was apparently a huge, unsolvable mystery on one of the computer screens. No other customer is there, they are just trying to figure out this issue before actually helping a real person.

Finally, the coach turns her attention to the CS rep, who literally mumbles our problem to her. Coach then, without acknowledging me AT ALL, proceeds to call another "coach" in "the back". Coach number 1's back is to me as she recites the issue over the phone. After the call, she hangs up, turns back to the CS rep and says "Half." The CS rep moves to another register, around the corner and more towards the back and asks me to step over there. I don't know what was wrong with the four registers that she was standing at when I first approached her. I think it's so that "happy customers" don't see "disgruntled customers" getting refunds. The CS rep then repeats to me what I had already her Coach number 1 snap out. "We can give you half back."

"But I was told that I would get a full refund."

"The refunds are at the manger's discretion."

"Manager's discretion?" I pause to make sure I heard this correctly. "Can I see the written policy that states that you only give half refunds in these situations?" It sounds to me that they are making this up as they go along.

"I can call Coach Mike, if you'd like."

I stand for a few minutes, getting angry, realizing that up to this point, neither the CS rep, nor Coach number 1 have even offered an apology. That, the apology, (a sincere apology), would have made taking the "half" refund feel better. But... "Yes, please call Coach Mike."

Coach Mike comes out and barrels towards the counter with his hand outstretched. "Hi, I'm Mike."

I take his hand, as I'm not to the point of blowing up quite yet. "I'm Ruby." I explain the situation, which he's already heard through Coach number 1's first phone call.

He pretends to mull this over. He's really doing me a favor standing there thinking about it. "Did you eat the cake?"

Now really, what kind of a question is that? We just had an open house. Of course we ate the cake. What else was I supposed to offer my guests on such short notice? "Yes."

"Well, if you've eaten it, then I'm really not supposed to give you a full refund. I'm going to be out forty dollars."

First of all, sweetie, the cake was $36.00. That's the price that you are charging the customer. The cost that you are actually "out" is the seventy-five cents it took you to make the cake and the $3.70 for the half hour at minimum wage spent "decorating" the cake. So really, I'm not convinced in the least that you are "out" forty dollars.

"Well, unfortunately" I say, "I noticed the error at home, rather than in the store. I simply did not have time to bring it back to be fixed. And, of course we ate it. That's why I bought the cake - to feed my guests. And -" I continue, "It's not like it was a birthday where it happens every year. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event."

"I'm really not supposed to do this, but I'll do it, this one time. I'll give you a full refund." Coach Mike again explained that because we'd eaten the cake, he wasn't supposed to give a refund. Mike was steaming, but kept himself maintained, barely, as he gave his lordly approval for the full refund to the CS rep.

"Card please."

I hand my membership card and my receipt to the CS rep. She does her thing and rings up the refund. "MasterCard?"

     Side Note: During the process of having my full refund very begrudgingly rung up, one of the
     other CS reps, who was missing at least one front tooth, asked me if my daughter has a "strange"
     name. First, it's kind of late for that now. Second, it's really none of your business, as you didn't
     have any part of this transaction. And third, NO. It's a six letter name that is really very common.
     Not to mention, I wrote it out myself!

"Yes, MasterCard.... Oh, did you need it?" Most places, nowadays, simply scan the receipt and all the info is there to credit back the card - apparently not here. I hand over my card. The CS rep completes the transaction, slides one copy of the receipt towards me to sign, staples another copy to the original receipt which she also slides across the counter to me. "Thank you." I say.

Nothing....

"Sooooo.... Are we all set?"

"Yep." Yep? Did you really just say "yep"?  I don't even get an insincere apology? Wow! Customer service as we know has just plummeted off a cliff into the deepest, darkest abyss.

That was it. CS rep turned away from the counter and busied herself. I put my receipt and cards away in my purse while mumbling, quietly at first. "Yep?" I was in total disbelief. "Did she really just say yep?" I then started to make my way around the counter towards the door, corralling up my kids. "Remind me to not shop at Sam's Club anymore..... " Anywho... I'm sure that's the nicest thing I said as I was leaving. And I gradually got louder, because at one comment, I know I saw two heads snap around in my direction.

Now folks, all these people had to do was sympathize with me. Be on my side. Apologize for their mistake. Let us recap: THEIR MISTAKE! Instead, they instantly treated me like I was the enemy, like I had walked in to their store (how dare I), and was angrily pounding my fist on the counter demanding my money back. I wasn't. In fact, very truthfully, as I mentioned earlier, I figured that it was kind of funny and that we'd all have a good memory of Monica's cake-mistake. But thanks to extremely, poorly-trained customer service representatives, this entire situation has left a very bad taste in my mouth.

And, unfortunately for Sam's Club and Lowe's, the portion of the world that I can reach via the World Wide Web will know about the very serious shortcomings of two very large retailers: SAM'S CLUB & LOWE'S.

C'mon! I dare you!

So I've been told that I am a bit opinionated. Well, duh! Everyone is. Some of us are just more outspoken than others.

Funny thing is that really, it depends on a couple of different factors...

1. The Topic:

Politics: I don't really get involved with this topic too much, simply because I don't get to sit around all morning and evening listening to Fox News, so I'm not as informed as I would like to be on the political frontier.

If you'd like to get me going, one subject you can bring up is the school district that we live in. The (2 years in a row now) yearbook spread of the teen girls who had babies in high school is exceptionally high on the scale of what infuriates me the most. I actually wrote about this subject before. I tried to keep it PC, but well... you know.

And the teachers.... actually, most of them are super awesome and great for the kids because they are actually there for the kids. You know what I mean. Then you have those that think they are super heroes or something because they get to wear the school colors and hold a coaching position. And here I go again. NOT ALL COACHES AND/OR TEACHERS ARE BAD. Just so we have that clear... Ahem! We had two coaches who screwed up BIG TIME this year. (You should be able to find out about both on the local news websites.) ((Losers!)) And, yeah, I was mad. I'm sure most other parents were as well. But I got a little carried away on Facebook and then... well a few people commented back. Good. I can take it.

2. My Mood:

Now, if I'm feeling mellow, I'm probably gonna sway more towards letting bothersome topics go by without me saying anything at all. And again, it would depend on the topic and how much you want to push the subject, and/or how much you want to push the fact that you think you're right. It's funny.... Even though I sometimes agree with a statement, I'll re-state the statement the way I feel it should be stated: correctly.

I wouldn't say I'm a huge talker, but there are times when I can ramble on, getting a little too in depth, or giving too much detail to the person I am speaking to. I've been training myself to simply say "No comment". It's hard. I mean, really hard. But it's for sanity's sake that i just let it go and move on.

3. To Whom I am Directing My Wrath:

During the course of a normal day, I come into contact with a lot of different "types" of people. Some fast talkers, some who just think they know it all - on every subject; some just like to chit-chat, kids, adults, givers, takers, etc.

I've learned to talk a mean streak, which I actually enjoy. I like asking questions and finding out what makes people tick. There are rarely those that you can connect with and talk in depth about any subject. Most are people who just need something, or that you need something from. Once the need is met, they (or you) move on. Case closed.

But... Once in a while (or maybe I should say: All too often), though, there is someone who will come along and say or do something, and I, like a Venus Fly Trap, will snap. Factor #1 and Factor #2 play a big part in this as well. I am most comfortable spouting off on Facebook or Twitter, or to other people about the person/thing that has set me off.

Honing my skills at the Art of Giving People a Piece of My Mind Without Them Realizing It Until Later is something I've been half-consciously working on throughout the second half of my life. It's quite entertaining to know that it will dawn on them some time after you've said good bye.

In summary, I'd like to let you all know that I'm not a psychiatrist, nor a psychologist. Hey, I don't even know what the difference is. But I think exploring why I'm like this would make for an interesting blog topic. Also, I'd like to leave you with this final thought.... an ecard greeting thing that I came across on Facebook. It kind of reminds me of me, especially when I'm at work.... (but don't let them know that.) 

"The quieter you become, the more you can hear." -Baba Ram Dass

Yeah. Totally don't know who that is. But I found the quote here.

I was just quickly looking up quotes on relaxation and thought this applies nicely to what I try to accomplish with my kids day after day - every day.

I enjoy my job immensely. Now, keep in mind, that I enjoy it, but in reality, this is not the field of work that I would have chosen for my "dream career". The people are pretty nice and the work is just challenging enough to keep my interest. So when I need to stay a little longer to get things done before taking a vacation day, I really don't mind.

But I wonder sometimes...

Do I like my job so much because I dread the pandemonium that typically greets me at the door - and quite often before I even get out of my car?

Today, for example, I received two phone calls from the kids before I even clocked out from work. One was to ask if they could go swimming this evening. The second was to ask if she could go to a friends house down the road. Of course they know the answer: We will talk about it when I get home. They know they can't just up and take off before I get home unless it has been pre-planned. So I really don't know why they still call me at work to ask me these things when I really believe they know the answer.

Then, pulling into my garage, I see a head peek out of the kitchen door. Vehicle stops and out she comes. Before my car door even opens, I can hear the 5-year-old whine: Cassy's being mean to me. Usually this is pretty easy to deal with. A 5-year-old still loves her mother, so a kiss and a hug and a sympathetic tone will generally cheer away the hurt feelings.

After gathering my work bag and coffee cup from the car and heading into the house. I am now approached by my two oldest darlings. One is verbally listing all the chores she accomplished at home today to see if she is now qualified to go to the beach. The second child is rehashing his day at school. The third child is trying to get in the door with her friend who has just magically showed up (without any permission from me) so that she can use the bathroom. My fourth is holding her small body against the door so as not to let them in because they were mean to her earlier.

This is everyday for me.

I try my best to listen to everyone; give everyone a fair shake. I really do try.

So it really bothers me when I am unjustly accused of not listening to someone.

"Mom, I've already told you  this."
"Mom! I told you I had a [thing] tonight!"
"I can't believe you don't remember!"
"Mom, you're not listening!"

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's not my fault. And, you know? I've explained this to them - and I, apparently mistakenly, thought they understood. I have four children and when they are all trying to tell me something or tattle on someone, it makes it very difficult for me to hear everything that's being said. And the things I do manage to actually hear are usually in one ear and out the other. I simply cannot remember it all.

I've gotten to a point where my day planner is very important to me. I write down almost everything my kids need to do. You might think it's impossible to forget something as important as the 4 dental cleaning appointments. You know, the ones you scheduled a whole vacation day for? Yeah those. I now owe $50 to the dentist for these missed appointments. And what about high school graduation? I haven't forgotten that - yet! But I'm not taking any chances either.

It's in my trusty purple planner.... Now if I can just remember to look at the planner.

My personal desk at home. I think the planner is here somewhere.

First Lasts and Last Firsts

Tonight marks my oldest daughter's last Senior prom. She was so excited and so beautiful. She has put in so much work leading up to today. Not just today - Prom. I mean today - as in kind of a final celebration for all the commitment she's put into her entire K through 12 school career.

It's hard for me to step back and let her do it all on her own. She can certainly handle it, but because she's still so young, she doesn't know all the shortcuts to getting certain things done. So naturally, I want to jump in and tell her the answer to ordering the boutonniere, to planning the after party, to packing her clutch with necessities. I know she wants to do it herself, but it's still hard to watch them falter or come back with a result they may not be completely happy with. I try to make it my daily mantra: Let it go. She can do it. Give her the room she needs to find out for herself.

It's very hard.

She's my first child. My first child to graduate from school. My first child that will be going off to college. My first that I drove to pre-school and watched her jump out of the car door and run to the sidewalk with hardly a "'Bye Mom!" She's the first child I taught to drive my car. The list goes on and on.

This fall my oldest will be my first to go off to college, while my youngest will be my last to start Kindergarten. My last first day of Kindergarten.

How will I react? I'm sure it will be much the same as when the first had her first day of Kindergarten. I'll be teary-eyed, trying to hide it so that my girl can be brave. Except this time, there's no more little brothers or sisters for me to buckle into the car seat after I've pulled myself away from the classroom doorway. My last little baby girl is going to school. My last little girl is going to learn her alphabet and her addition and subtraction. She will learn how to read and progress in her reading levels. Which means that the children's books that we have hundreds of will begin to thin out and disappear. No more Clifford or Little Bear.

In many ways, all of this gets easier. I know what to expect. I know how to get from point A to point B. I know how to avoid many meltdowns. On the other hand, it's still just as hard. Letting go of these things is like saying good-bye to a dear old friend, to a piece of my life that I'm not ready to say good-bye to. Letting the crib go was hard. Letting the collection of newborn attire go was extremely difficult. The walker, the playpen, the bassinet, the stroller. They've all had their special time and place in our family, and we've parted ways. Never to see them again.

I suppose, even though I don't want to admit it (because I try so hard to be a ((excuse the French)) hard-ass), I'm an emotional person. And in the midst of these couple of months, I am quite the emotional mess, actually. Tearing up thinking about graduation, Kindergarten, 19th wedding anniversary, Mother's Day.... excuse me while I blow my nose...

It's hard letting go of the past, even though looking back and reminiscing is easy.
It's equally difficult to look forward to the future. Because all of these firsts and lasts means that we are all getting older; we are all moving forward at a sometimes alarming rate. I'm the person who really hates cliches, but when i figure that I've got another 13 years to go before my youngest graduates high school, I can really, truly, honestly say: It's going to fly by.

I apologize for being so mushy. It just seems to be the constant frame of mind I'm in lately. I like making progress. And I really love seeing my children make progress. I just wish it would all slow down. Even if it were only on the weekends. Just slow to a pace where we can actually look at each other and notice the small changes. The physical changes, the mental growth.

Alright. I'm done. I should have posted something about Mother's Day..... excuse while I blow my nose.

Exploring...

Exploring...

It's kind of a tradition now, every year on Mother's Day to go exploring. Just me and the kids. I've always been the type of person and parent who enjoys just 'going'. I can remember as a child I would say I had to go to the bathroom really bad so my school bus driver would let me run into a friends house, just so I could see what the inside looked like. My own mother calls me a "gad-about". She says that I'm always on the road, that I'm never home.

Not necessarily true.

True, in part, because I do have four kids, and each, in turn, is always involved in something or other. Something that needs going to or prepping for or whatever. So, occasionally, in spurts, yeah. It seems like I'm always going somewhere. But, there are still plenty of Friday afternoons when I really look forward to getting home and not getting into the Pilot again until Monday morning. Sometimes I'm lucky. Sometimes not.

Mother's Day is a week away now. And, as I've already mentioned, the kids and I like to get in the Pilot and go. Okay. Sometimes, I admit, it does take some persuading to get them into the car, but I'm sure they would all willingly agree that once we actually get the heck out of Dodge, we all loosen up and begin to have some fun.

Typically we begin our adventure at the entrance to our cul-de-sac. Right or left? Sometimes the kids pick. Sometimes I pick. But whoever picks, we always end up someplace quite picturesque, where we can get out, stretch our legs and click some pics.

This year, I'm already feeling more than a little abandoned. My oldest's Senior Prom is the night before Mother's Day, so we'll be up at least until the wee small hours of the morning, as their plans include staying until the last song is danced too, then heading back to our house (thank God it's our house) and roasting hotdogs and marshmallows out at the firepit.

Because it's her Senior year, and because she has worked extremely hard (and I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother) I'm trying to let her make her plans so that her and her friends will be happy - and safe. The last of her "prom plans" includes a late (since everyone will be sleeping in) picnic brunch in the park. Sounds like fun, I'll admit. But this leaves me, well, kind of in the dust.

True, I've got three other kids that I could still take exploring, but.... two out of these three love to fight. Fight like cats and dogs (literally, okay, maybe figuratively). It's like the dog is continuously circling the cat, and the cat continuously has her back hunched and all of her hair standing on end.

This is what my babies used to look like:

Cute, huh?

Now? This is what they do - CONSTANTLY!

Not so sweet anymore.

It should be pretty plain to see the reason why I don't want to be cooped up in a vehicle with my remaining three children for a day of driving. (No offense darlings!)

Honestly, we are all probably going to be way, way tired out anyways from the late night prom stuff. I think I'll just drive down to the local ice cream shoppe and treat myself to an extra-large, soft-serve, vanilla-chocolate twist.

Yep. That should do the trick quite nicely, I should think!















Getting Excited

Have you noticed that as you age, the focus of what makes you excited has changed drastically? Why does getting older do that to a person? Why do our interests turn "boring"? And if you take the opportunity as an adult, to indulge yourself in some of the exciting things that maybe you passed over as a youngster, why is it you are considered to be having a mid-life crisis?

I decided early on to embrace my mid-lifeness: my silver hairs, my crows feet, my sags and bags and stretchmarks. But I find myself getting bored with the "every day" that I've fallen into. I'm in a rut that has deepened through the years of child-rearing and working. I feel like this guy. You know what I mean?

I used to get excited about dressing up, doing my hair, going out, meeting with friends, a new outfit, shopping, taking a trip....

Now? Things are just a teensy bit different. I can still manage to get excited about getting my hair done, since, as of late, it seems to only happen about twice a year. But getting dressed up? I never seem to have the kind of  clothing items in my closet that fit any other occasion besides work and getting groceries. Which ties in with shopping. I can't say as I actually loathe shopping - well, yes I can. I hate shopping. I hate trying things on. I hate looking for the bright yellow tags that say clearance. I hate standing in the crowded grocery aisle trying to calculate in my mush-mind just how much I'm saving if I buy the store brand rather than the name brand. It's sad, really. I've trained myself to look away from the mannequin wearing the super-cute outfit that's on sale. I've learned to remind myself that I'm only in the store for coffee filters - and nothing else. Nope! Not even a magazine at the checkout.

Yeah. I'm a bit more subdued now-a-days. Bling doesn't excite me so much anymore. Now a new washer/dryer combo? That would have me dancing in the street and shouting from the rooftop. A free oil change? I might have to do a cartwheel. Getting some spring flowers planted and sprucing up the front yard for the warm season? I might treat myself to an alcoholic beverage and an afternoon on the front porch in the sunshine.

Yep. It sure is funny how my perspective on things has changed. Realizing now what a big deal I made out of things as a teenager makes me rather angry that I wasted so much valuable time. Of course, way back then, I sure didn't realize just how valuable time is. Back then, I can't believe how much time I spent - EVERY DAY - putting my hair into just the right 80's do.


Oh yes I did!

Now, If I can just give a quick blow-dry and comb before I head out the door I'm happy. Being organized and out the door in record time in the morning? Now that's exciting!