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I have come to the conclusion that I need some balance in my life. My major faults include:
1. I am too hard on myself OR
2. I am not hard ENOUGH on myself.
How to I obtain such balance? Striving for nonexistent perfection only leads to disappointment and only doing enough to get by is a waste of life in my own opinion.
Sometimes I just feel muddled. If that's a word.
Maybe I make life too complicated.
My kids seem to have this whole thing down pat.
They live impulsively with no fear of showing whatever emotion they may be feeling.
When responsibility is knocking on their door, they appear to take care of business and even take pride in these accomplishments. Without the stress of worrying what tomorrow will bring or obsessing about what others may think of them. They live in the moment because they feel security when doing so.
Maybe this is a result of decent parenting or maybe it is just the innocence that dwells only within children that have not yet dirtied their hands with social pressures and hypocrisy.
Or maybe I just over think things. Fault #3
Granted, putting away the dishes after dinner or apologizing to a fellow child on the playground may be insignificant in comparison to financial issues or preparing a big speech for work...but not in their world.
And maybe (of course) my issues are insignificant compared to millions of other stressors in the world.
To circle around back to my point...I guess I am just rambling, but I sort of had a point to begin with.
Balance.
I am not sad or angry or anything like that. Just feeling like I need to discipline myself to have better balance. I need to be okay with my failures if I know I gave it my all. I need to be harder on myself for times when I give up too quickly on things I know I can accomplish but am to afraid to fail at.
I'm in the process of auto tuning my priorities so that the right ones always land on top.
The rest will fall into place.
I'm off to go push dirt around with Little Dude in the sandbox.
Because this is what SHOULD be at the very tippy top of that priority list.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
People Eating Jeans
I had a free evening after work on Friday because the kids went to party it up with the grandparents. Being the complete delusional idiot that I am, I decided to use a bit of this free time to take myself shopping. I was going out that evening (AGAIN) and was not finding anything that made me look 30 lbs lighter and tan in my closet.
I hate when that happens.
I figured I would zip into the store, find the miracle working outfit on clearance, and off I would go to begin the at- home-surgery that it takes for me to go from pony tail mom in fat pants to actually looking like a give a damn.
It seems that I forgot that I kind of hate shopping. Especially for myself. It is extremely overwhelming for me. So many choices and I have no freaking clue how to put an outfit together to be perfectly honest.
I choose to go the mall that offers a couple trendier stores. Because apparently I felt like I could be trendy. My fabulous attire at that moment in time was a work shirt that I shrunk in the dryer but stretched out and put on a tank top underneath to make it work and spandexy/polyester/fat pants that I bought when I was pregnant with Little Dude. I only wore the fat pants because I knew there would be leftover cake at work. Is that trendy?
Walking into the store I felt like the fat/old/stained shirt wearing elephant in the room. I should add cheap to that list as well. I don't think I have ever bought a single item from the mysterious front part of the store. Where prices are high and mannequins are anorexic. Straight back to the clearance racks I went.
Then, the search begins. Anxiety builds. I find something and then immediately picture the different scenarios that may happen while wearing this article of clothing. If I have to suck in, wear a strapless bra, or expose any part of my lower half while sitting it will not be a winner in my book.
Am I the only person that can spot the sales person out of the corner of my eye and freak out because I know she's coming over to try and "help" me? Just leave me alone! I have enough to deal with right now in my overwhelmed brain without having to chit chat about the best deals and styles that just came in. Before the poor girl can get one word out I blurt out, "JUST LOOKING!" Cripes.
I find a couple shirts that look like they may work finally. Then I look for pants. It takes me awhile to decipher the sizes. I stood at the rack looking like an idiot holding them up to me to see if I could stuff myself into them. I grabbed the pair that looked to be my size and off I went in the direction of tears and broken dreams. The dressing room.
Under blinding florescent interrogation lights I disrobe. I purposefully avert my eyes away from the incredibly white legged monstrosity that I am sure was staring back at me in the mirror. Try on the first shirt. Nope. No way. Second shirt is actually a winner. Feeling pretty good now, I tackle the jeans. As I slip my foot into the leg I realize I have made a tragic mistake. These are not normal jeans. These are those stupid ankle biting skinny jeans. I figure I am already half way into the process so I decide to finish the act of trying these damn things on.
OH. MY. GAWD. It looked like the pants were eating me. But they couldn't finish me, so the rest of me was just blobbed out of the top of them. I laughed. HARD.
I managed to peel the people eaters off of me and decided right then and there no more jeans. My fat pants never felt so good.
In the end I did actually make a purchase. Instead of a new pair of jeans I bought a pair of earrings.
Because my earlobes are totally in shape.
Monday, April 16, 2012
SpongeBob is Totally a Misleading Title for this Post
I had one of those "I feel sorry for myself" type of days today. I absolutely despise when this crappy mood creeps in... like a grown up version of the boogie man. An unwelcome surprise.
I heard you can make him go away to boogie man land from a pharmaceutical company once. I wasn't interested in their tall tales.
First of all, I have absolutely no valid reason to feel like this. I am truly blessed. Sure life gets stressful and there are a lot of tough things I've dealt with and continue to deal with, but I know I need to suck it up because things could be way worse in my life.
Then I feel even less spectacular because I automatically feel selfish for even feeling down in the dumps.
Can we say just deal with it??
When I really sit down and think about it, I realize I am like a sponge. No SpongeBob jokes. This is serious. As serious as I get anyway. That being said I think I may name this blog post SpongeBob. We'll see.
I soak up everyone else's worries and tears because I don't want them to feel it anymore. I listen, offer support, try to make everything better. But I am not necessarily a very stable sponge. I'm like one that's been used for way too long and pieces of it are falling off. Yet it still sits in the soap dish by the sink.
Okay, it's a crappy metaphor but I am going to continue to roll with it.
Not that everyone asks me to do this. I put myself in this role. Constantly. Maybe it's the mother in me. OR...maybe, if I really want to Dr. Phil this beeotch up, I throw myself into other people's drama and heartache because I don't want to deal with my own. It's way easier to feel like you are helping someone else deal with something sucky, as opposed to wallowing in self pity or just feeling sad whatever the reason is.
I posted on Facebook today that I felt like I should be in a Cymbalta commercial. Not really expecting a response, just trying to put a little dry humor spin on my horrible mood. I received a response that I actually took to heart.
I heard you can make him go away to boogie man land from a pharmaceutical company once. I wasn't interested in their tall tales.
First of all, I have absolutely no valid reason to feel like this. I am truly blessed. Sure life gets stressful and there are a lot of tough things I've dealt with and continue to deal with, but I know I need to suck it up because things could be way worse in my life.
Then I feel even less spectacular because I automatically feel selfish for even feeling down in the dumps.
Can we say just deal with it??
When I really sit down and think about it, I realize I am like a sponge. No SpongeBob jokes. This is serious. As serious as I get anyway. That being said I think I may name this blog post SpongeBob. We'll see.
I soak up everyone else's worries and tears because I don't want them to feel it anymore. I listen, offer support, try to make everything better. But I am not necessarily a very stable sponge. I'm like one that's been used for way too long and pieces of it are falling off. Yet it still sits in the soap dish by the sink.
Okay, it's a crappy metaphor but I am going to continue to roll with it.
Not that everyone asks me to do this. I put myself in this role. Constantly. Maybe it's the mother in me. OR...maybe, if I really want to Dr. Phil this beeotch up, I throw myself into other people's drama and heartache because I don't want to deal with my own. It's way easier to feel like you are helping someone else deal with something sucky, as opposed to wallowing in self pity or just feeling sad whatever the reason is.
I posted on Facebook today that I felt like I should be in a Cymbalta commercial. Not really expecting a response, just trying to put a little dry humor spin on my horrible mood. I received a response that I actually took to heart.
"Do something different and at a whim. It will remind you that you are still young. We have a bad habit of thinking we are older that we are."
Well I'll be damned. He's got a point. If you let life get to you it will. Life is a confusing bitch. It throws a lot of things at us that are pretty tough to handle. But we are so quick to age ourselves with worries, stressors, and demands that sometimes we forget to breathe. I am not talking about the involuntary process of breathing we do day in and day out. I am talking about really taking a deep breath, feeling your lungs fill up and truly appreciating what you have. Being impulsive because you have the ability to do so.
I chewed on that for awhile. Nice reality check and I needed that.
If we use the commercial comparisons again I am definitely out of the Cymbalta realm. Not quite tampon commercial happy...but then again who is ever THAT happy. Especially if they need a tampon. That's just weird.
Did I really just end this semi-serious blog post with a tampon commercial reference? Yes...yes I did. It was an impulsive move.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Creepy Old Guy
February 28th was my last post??? Holy crap. Well, this just proves that the procrastinator in me shines through once again. Or I am just lazy. Whatever. You can't force creativity. Or productivity...judging by the laundry pile sitting in the basket next to me. Sometimes you just have to say, "Nope. Not gonna happen. You, dear basket of laundry, will NOT be folded tonight."
Anyway...back to an actual blog post. My sister and I went out last night. We discovered a band that we could groove our mom thangs to sometime last year and they come to our teeny tiny town about every three months. One of the members of this band created a new band that we, being loyal music supporters, decided to check out. Hence, a mom's night out occurred last night. Who says hence? That was weird.
You have to first understand that "going out" does not happen often for us. So there is much preparation. Daughter was with grandma so I only had to disappoint Little Dude with the sad news that mommy would not be perched on her usual Friday night spot on the couch. When I told him I was leaving he asked me if I was going to the grocery store. Of course the first thing I thought is, "Yeah right, like I would ever spend time to put on makeup, do my hair, and wear an outfit with a carefully planned shirt to hide the butt crack pants that I had to wear...to go strut my stuff in the dairy aisle." Then, the guilt sets in. Here this innocent four year old is looking at me all sad and wonders if poor mommy has to go out after a long day at work and go grocery shopping. And I am about to head off to a bar to escape all memory of motherhood for a couple hours. I'm a horrible person.
Once I get in the car, (after putting my hood up over my hair that I meticulously spent more then my usual 5 minutes on because it was fricken raining) I finally feel the spirit of freedom. If you don't get out very often like myself then you know what it is like to get into a car by yourself and drive away...jail break!
Kids Bop CD is demoted and a radio station with suggestive lyrics can blare away since those car seats in the back of the car are EMPTY! YEOWWW lettin' my hair down. So I park the car and wait for my sister. There's a fight brewing down the block somewhere... immediately feel a bit out of my element. Wishing I had some pepper spray. Perfume will do. At least the attacker will smell like vanilla. Sister pulls up. Breathe sigh of relief. Walk to the bar and find an empty table. Sweet the hard part is done! So we thought...within 5 minutes of sitting down some 60+ man asks if he can sit with us. Us, being the incredibly nice people we are say, "Of course!" As he's downing whiskeys and the table becomes an abyss of awkwardness, Sister and I exchange glances of, "Why US?" Soon the geriatric drunk becomes a bit too inappropriate towards me and I turn bright red, look at Sister, and we scurry off to the place that girls go when things take a turn for the worse...the bathroom. We peek back out the door and...damn it...he is still there at OUR table. Ok. We can do this. We are nice people but can hold our own even while being sickeningly polite.
Get back to the table and the full on COLD SHOULDER is in full play. No eye contact, nor conversation will be made with this sick man. Thankfully, the guitarist of the band we came to see saved the day. Pretty sure he doesn't know he saved the day...but he did. A conversation between three people ignoring a fourth is usually enough to give the other person THE HINT. Guitarist understands our pitcher of water at the bar as he doesn't drink. Christian values. Married. Has a big family. Can exchange funny stories about our children. THIS is the type of person we gravitate towards. Let this be a note to all CREEPY OLD GUYS!!! Great conversation ensued until, alas, Guitarist had to perform. Crap. Back to the two nice sisters and the perv creeping around the corner. We are SUNDAY SCHOOL teachers...leave us alone. Or else.
We are not drinking this evening. I asked how much a Red Bull was and about had a heart attack so opted for water. Ok...wait I lied. I had one beer. But you would too if Creepy Old Guy was at your table. Most of the time we like to go and drink our water, dance, and just have a great time. But... it takes a few songs before we are confident in our ability to go out and dance. This time we went out a bit sooner than usual to get away from creepy old guy. Yeah...we get comments all the time about, "What? You go out to the bar and drink water??" Yeah whatever...we feel awesome the next day and you feel like doggie poop. So there. I'm mature. Anyway, we are definitely feeling the band's vibe. Sister and I were concerned when we heard the news that our original beloved band was changing...we have expectations that they must uphold! But, it turns out the new band was fantastic and we could dance just as awesomely bad to this band's music as we could to our other fave band's music. So...win win. Except these bands are now playing back to back weekends and I will feel like a horrible mom again when I sneak out next Friday for another show played by our original favorite band that comes to entertain my teeny tiny town. Hopefully Creepy Old Guy will not be in attendance. If he is...I will learn to grow some balls. I can't take any more embarrassing awkwardness.
Oh, by the way. Even though we did not drink, if I were to be pulled over on the way home, I am pretty sure my bluff would be called. I probably had a total of 5 drinks spilled on me as "fun loving drunks" stumbled into me on the dance floor. I realize I am being a bit hypocritical venting about this, as I have been in their shoes a time or two. But it's my blog and I can vent hypocritically if I want. Almost cut my toes off on the plethora of broken glass in the corner on the floor. Sister and I played interference with each other as well as other girls on the dance floor from pathetic drunk dudes trying to find anything warm to grind up against. Ugh. Gross. And for the record, "Ballroom Blitz" and Blur's "Song "2 are NOT "bump and grind" tunes. (Is that a thing?) But...this is our fun. We like good music. We like to dance...we are not good at it but LIKE it damn it! This is what makes all the tantrums and whining we hear on a daily basis tolerable. Our MOM time! We go to listen to music and have a fun time...and usually come back with a story or two. Or a harassment lawsuit. Whatever. It's all worth it in the end.
If you ever get the chance go see Junk Fm or Captain May I. Maybe Creepy Old Guy will sit at your table. Maybe you will punch him. If you do...please make it a point to tell me.
Anyway...back to an actual blog post. My sister and I went out last night. We discovered a band that we could groove our mom thangs to sometime last year and they come to our teeny tiny town about every three months. One of the members of this band created a new band that we, being loyal music supporters, decided to check out. Hence, a mom's night out occurred last night. Who says hence? That was weird.
You have to first understand that "going out" does not happen often for us. So there is much preparation. Daughter was with grandma so I only had to disappoint Little Dude with the sad news that mommy would not be perched on her usual Friday night spot on the couch. When I told him I was leaving he asked me if I was going to the grocery store. Of course the first thing I thought is, "Yeah right, like I would ever spend time to put on makeup, do my hair, and wear an outfit with a carefully planned shirt to hide the butt crack pants that I had to wear...to go strut my stuff in the dairy aisle." Then, the guilt sets in. Here this innocent four year old is looking at me all sad and wonders if poor mommy has to go out after a long day at work and go grocery shopping. And I am about to head off to a bar to escape all memory of motherhood for a couple hours. I'm a horrible person.
Once I get in the car, (after putting my hood up over my hair that I meticulously spent more then my usual 5 minutes on because it was fricken raining) I finally feel the spirit of freedom. If you don't get out very often like myself then you know what it is like to get into a car by yourself and drive away...jail break!
Kids Bop CD is demoted and a radio station with suggestive lyrics can blare away since those car seats in the back of the car are EMPTY! YEOWWW lettin' my hair down. So I park the car and wait for my sister. There's a fight brewing down the block somewhere... immediately feel a bit out of my element. Wishing I had some pepper spray. Perfume will do. At least the attacker will smell like vanilla. Sister pulls up. Breathe sigh of relief. Walk to the bar and find an empty table. Sweet the hard part is done! So we thought...within 5 minutes of sitting down some 60+ man asks if he can sit with us. Us, being the incredibly nice people we are say, "Of course!" As he's downing whiskeys and the table becomes an abyss of awkwardness, Sister and I exchange glances of, "Why US?" Soon the geriatric drunk becomes a bit too inappropriate towards me and I turn bright red, look at Sister, and we scurry off to the place that girls go when things take a turn for the worse...the bathroom. We peek back out the door and...damn it...he is still there at OUR table. Ok. We can do this. We are nice people but can hold our own even while being sickeningly polite.
Get back to the table and the full on COLD SHOULDER is in full play. No eye contact, nor conversation will be made with this sick man. Thankfully, the guitarist of the band we came to see saved the day. Pretty sure he doesn't know he saved the day...but he did. A conversation between three people ignoring a fourth is usually enough to give the other person THE HINT. Guitarist understands our pitcher of water at the bar as he doesn't drink. Christian values. Married. Has a big family. Can exchange funny stories about our children. THIS is the type of person we gravitate towards. Let this be a note to all CREEPY OLD GUYS!!! Great conversation ensued until, alas, Guitarist had to perform. Crap. Back to the two nice sisters and the perv creeping around the corner. We are SUNDAY SCHOOL teachers...leave us alone. Or else.
We are not drinking this evening. I asked how much a Red Bull was and about had a heart attack so opted for water. Ok...wait I lied. I had one beer. But you would too if Creepy Old Guy was at your table. Most of the time we like to go and drink our water, dance, and just have a great time. But... it takes a few songs before we are confident in our ability to go out and dance. This time we went out a bit sooner than usual to get away from creepy old guy. Yeah...we get comments all the time about, "What? You go out to the bar and drink water??" Yeah whatever...we feel awesome the next day and you feel like doggie poop. So there. I'm mature. Anyway, we are definitely feeling the band's vibe. Sister and I were concerned when we heard the news that our original beloved band was changing...we have expectations that they must uphold! But, it turns out the new band was fantastic and we could dance just as awesomely bad to this band's music as we could to our other fave band's music. So...win win. Except these bands are now playing back to back weekends and I will feel like a horrible mom again when I sneak out next Friday for another show played by our original favorite band that comes to entertain my teeny tiny town. Hopefully Creepy Old Guy will not be in attendance. If he is...I will learn to grow some balls. I can't take any more embarrassing awkwardness.
Oh, by the way. Even though we did not drink, if I were to be pulled over on the way home, I am pretty sure my bluff would be called. I probably had a total of 5 drinks spilled on me as "fun loving drunks" stumbled into me on the dance floor. I realize I am being a bit hypocritical venting about this, as I have been in their shoes a time or two. But it's my blog and I can vent hypocritically if I want. Almost cut my toes off on the plethora of broken glass in the corner on the floor. Sister and I played interference with each other as well as other girls on the dance floor from pathetic drunk dudes trying to find anything warm to grind up against. Ugh. Gross. And for the record, "Ballroom Blitz" and Blur's "Song "2 are NOT "bump and grind" tunes. (Is that a thing?) But...this is our fun. We like good music. We like to dance...we are not good at it but LIKE it damn it! This is what makes all the tantrums and whining we hear on a daily basis tolerable. Our MOM time! We go to listen to music and have a fun time...and usually come back with a story or two. Or a harassment lawsuit. Whatever. It's all worth it in the end.
If you ever get the chance go see Junk Fm or Captain May I. Maybe Creepy Old Guy will sit at your table. Maybe you will punch him. If you do...please make it a point to tell me.
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