Confession: being unthankful makes me a bitch

I realize that my life is amazing.

 

I have three kids who are healthy, smart, beautiful, and a lot of the time, they are flat out hilarious.

 

I know this. I know that something like 90% of the globe would be shitting in their pants to wake up every day (in response to a too-smart smartphone) in a climate controlled house, next to a heart-burstingly beautiful husband, to wake my children and make lunches from a full cupboard. And then send them off to get an education in a safe and nurturing environment. While I stay at home to play with the baby and watch educational tv.

 

I know that by having ANY complaints I am a mindbending bitch.

 

But I have to be able to say it somewhere – things feel so worn. So generic. I feel like I make as much impact as a sandpapered rubber stamp.

 

My husband works so hard. He works and does and makes sure we have what we need. He’s a dad and a podcast-er and my very best friend. Being anything less than doting and Stepford is, I realize, a failing of mine.

 

But basically I sit at home and wait for something to happen. Anything. My days feel like a series of wait.

 

Waiting…

 

For the bus

For the kids to come home

For Lucy to give me five minutes

For the dryer to finish

For the coffee to brew

For Josh to come home

For the oven to heat

 

I realize I’m being a big whiny baby, but I just feel like I’m missing something. I feel like I’m a week or so away from talking to the car upholstery, but if I up and say something like, “I just wish something would happen,” then someone will die or get sick or blow up.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I love my life and everything about it. I am grateful.

 

But, I admit, grateful is sometimes boring. Even if that makes me a bitch.

 

Confessions of a crazy woman

I had made the decision not to write about how terribly I handle certain things.

But I think I’ve gotten away from the point of why I started this blog in the first place…or why I used to spend hours on Xanga so many years ago.

So I’m going to tell you and hope that in doing so I don’t embarrass myself or my husband or anyone else.

It’s taken me a long time to finish this post.

Valentine’s day was, as I’ve said, fantastic. I spent time with the person I love the most in this world. We got a new car.

We also went out on Valentine’s night with every intention of getting tattoos. We didn’t get there in time, though, so we just made an appointment for later in the week.

The next day we started second guessing the design we’d chosen.

We designed and redesigned and googled and doodled and wondered.

By the time the day of the appointment came around, we’d changed our minds sixty times and still weren’t firmly set on a design.

Josh mentioned, after much bickery banter, that he just didn’t want to do it. It was partially done because he was frustrated and just wanted to shut me up, and partially because he was thinking like a sensible adult and knew we shouldn’t go into something like that with any uncertainty.

I know this now. I suppose I even knew it then, somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain. But I completely flipped right the fuck on out. Every insecurity I’ve ever had, every problem I’d dealt with, and every doubt I’ve ignored came rushing to the surface and I was in pieces.

He didn’t want to get a tattoo with me because he didn’t love me. Because it would embarrass him. Because he wasn’t sure. Because for some reason an inky scar carried more weight than a sworn vow and he didn’t want to have to explain something away in a few years.

Looking back now, I see how ridiculous I was being.

But it was real then, and not because I’d skipped medicine or gotten into the cough syrup.

One of the things we’ve talked about when I’m in therapy is that I just want my life to feel normal.

Normal for me – what is that? Being secure in my relationship, secure in myself, not caring so much about how other people perceive me?

Something.

 

I refuse to use the term ‘no poo’

So I haven’t shampooed my hair in over a week.

For several reasons. One being that I am a lazy ass. I openly admit that.

The other reasons are a bit more grown up and noble.

A while back I was doing some Twittercreeping. You do that, right? Someone responds to someone and you have no clue what they’re talking about, but it sounds like it might be good times so you go try and see the conversation? Then you end up, thirty minutes later, on some random person’s Twitter reading things they said 457 days ago, with no idea how you got there?

No? Just me? Ok.

Anyway, that happened, and I ended up following a link to a blog called Crunchy Betty. I read through some of the posts and found this one.

I was intrigued.

Now, I have always liked the idea of being all peace love recycle dirty hippie earth mother. But the fact is it’s a lot of work, and as we have established, I am a lazy ass. So while I like the idea of cooking organic and home grown and recycling and compost, let’s just say I’ve picked up some litter and called it a day. Except one time, in sixth grade I was inspired by an episode of Saved By the Bell and I circulated a petition to get recycling bins for soda cans. I did not realize that petitions are only necessary if you’ve asked and been denied, so it was kind of pointless, but I GOT THOSE BINS BY DAMN.

I did order some herb seeds recently, though. I genuinely hope I can get them in the ground. And I even looked at Diva cups on Amazon. PROGRESS.

This, though. For some reason this appealed to me. Fewer chemicals and less plastic, and if it doesn’t work my hair has never been that great anyway.

It was a no lose situation, people.

So, I stopped. I have “washed” my hair twice with baking soda, and the second time I put/spilled some tea tree oil into the powder.

At this point I’m kind of ambivalent. My hair is not nasty like I’d expected, but it’s nothing special. HOWEVER, the fact that it’s not terribly nasty after a whole week gives me hope that it will soon be Pantene commercial glamorous.

A girl can dream.

UPDATE: I just showered/baking sodaed and this time put some lavender oil in.

I. Smell. Delicious.

In progress.

I’ve found that it’s easiest to be frustrated with change when it’s disappointing.

 

I had, like everyone does, a picture of what I expected from my life at whatever point. This point. Three years from now.

 

I wouldn’t be upset if, say, I were a millionaire this time next year. That’s not in my plan, but I think I could handle it.

 

(On a completely separate note, I’m watching the State of the Union and DAMN MY PRESIDENT HAS BALLS. Just saying.)

 

It’s when things go wrong that I don’t handle things well. 

 

When there’s less money than I need.

When a little girl looks at me to make it feel better and I can’t.

When I’m presented with a fourth grade math problem and I have no clue ho to begin it.

When the house looks like a cotillion of hobos took it over the night before.

 

I know I sound like a whiny brat. A pampered little simp. I suppose I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that sometimes I am totally at a loss. A loss of drive and fervor, a loss of confidence and security.

 

I suppose I need to buck up. Have a backbone.

 

I’m working on it.

#Sendus to #BlogHer

 

 

A few weeks ago when I was eating some meal with that man I married, we were talking about my blog and what it has accomplished and what it hasn’t. 

 

I have never harbored any illusion that I would be some Dooce-ish success story or that some obscure agent would happen upon my blog and proceed to offer me millions of dollars for what they know will be a NYT bestseller.

 

I’ve never thought any of that. Although, you know, it would be nice.

 

I’m happy with the state of things. I never would have imagined, in 2006, that I would still have this blog and that it would mean quite as much to me as it does.

 

Back to the dinner. 

 

So Josh and I were eating dinner and he said something to the effect of, “We really need to get you to a conference or something.”

 

Music to my ears. Have you ever wanted something desperately but you refrained from mentioning it because you didn’t want to be a nag or a bother?

 

Me, either. But the fact remains that I had never mentioned (in any sort of seriousness) attending a blog conference.

 

Because what would that mean, really? It would mean airfare, conference passes, hotel rooms, time away. It would mean a family vacation that was pretty much just for me. And I may be a lot of things, but I like to think I’m not that selfish. 

 

So I have pretty much given up any hope of attending a BlogHer conference (because that’s kind of the caviar of blog conferences) unless it came to Memphis or something. Which may happen, one day. But not this year.

 

Except yesterday on Twitter, my friend Ashley responded to an off-the-cuff tweet I’d made regarding someone  sugardaddying me to this year’s BlogHer conference. Which is in New York. I die.

 

Anyway Ashley and I tweetively decided that we should start a “Send Us to BlogHer” campaign. With complete acknowledgement that likely nothing will come of it, we are sending our desire out into the world.

 

The Secret says that if you speak affirmations, they will come to fruition.

 

In light of this assertion, I am putting my positives out into the void.

 

I will attend BlogHer 2012 in New York City, because someone will believe in the awesome I possess. I will learn and grow, and I will make many friends and connections. I will finally have a purpose for those business cards. I will be forever grateful.


Now, Rhonda Byrne, we’re putting this to the test. Let’s let this shit get real.

 

Tweet your support of our cause using the hashtags #sendus #blogher.

 

My first two-part series. Thanks, Netflix

This has been a weekend full of eating. It’s a good thing I didn’t make any resolutions to eat less or lose weight, because I would pretty much have already sabotaged myself.
We’ve been doing a good bit of Netflix-watching over the past couple of weeks. Saturday night we went to see our friends Marty and Erin in Tennessee, because Josh has this kickass beef that he’s started making and they had yet to eat any. So we went.

Whenever we go to Adamsville for dinner, Josh and Marty wait until we arrive to buy any of the preparations. We get there, we unload into the house, and the boys immediately leave to go get groceries for the meal.

And go to GameStop. And Taco Bell. And buy pies at the nearby gas station.

So Saturday night while the guys were gone, Erin and I decided to watch a movie (much to Lucy’s chagrin – she would be happy to watch the Birthday episode of Yo Gabba Gabba for the rest of her life).

Erin chose a documentary called Dive! which, in a nutshell, is about a bunch of people (and their families) in California who live primarily off the food they retrieve from dumpsters behind grocery stores.

I know, right? I think Erin chose it because she thought they were going to talk about dumpster diving for furniture or clothes or whatever – I know that’s what I thought.

But yea and verily, I was wrong. It was TOTALLY about food.

Initially I was grossed out. But then they showed the food they were retrieving…bread, meat, produce. All tossed out because of a cracked egg or a looming sell-by date. Stuff that was top-of-the-line shit…and perfectly fine. It just happened to have come out of the store by the back door, instead of a reusable shopping bag.

My snobbery started to wane when I realized that these people were eating organic, free-range, antibiotic free meats and veggies and most of the time I don’t even look at that stuff because it’s so expensive.

Then they started talking about the amount of waste the US produces and I felt like a greedy asshole.

Did you know that the US wastes 96 billion pounds of food a year? One year of our waste could feed the entire population of Haiti for like five years.

Yet, because we don’t share, and because everyone is so focused on profit, we still have hungry people in our country. That’s so bizarrely wrong on so many levels.

It’s sobering to be told things like that. Stuff we all know in the back of our mind and don’t really think about.

So while I won’t be scaling the dumpsters behind Kroger anytime soon (I totally would, by the way – but Josh said it was too close to the sheriff’s department and so he refuses to drive the getaway car), I am now actively searching for ways I can help do my part and reduce this terrible deficit between what we have and what we use – and what we need.

You can sign the online petition to Trader Joe’s here. It’s a start.

Tomorrow, I’m talking about catfish…kind of.

Stupid resolutions

I talked last week about the resolutions I’m making. And not making.

I’ve read so many people saying things like “I resolve to lose X pounds,” or “Tomorrow is diet day,” or similar statements about cleaning house or doing…whatever. Quitting smoking or getting divorced or making progress on projects.

And I get it. The fresh start of something…anything…is a stimulant.

It totally is for me too.

But I am conciously choosing not to do that this year, because maybe it’s just me but I get SO upset with myself when I inevitably mess up my goal.

So here’s the secret, kids, aim low!

Not really. I have decided, though, to be a bit more positive when choosing changes for my life.

Like I resolve to not be such a bitch. To be more giving and less selfish.

To make an effort to be happier – not to fix myself. Because I don’t need fixing. I’m ok.

These are all things I’ve said before, but where did it all ever come from? Why do we pick things we think are wrong with us and try to change ourselves?

It’s all very negative if you think on it. It’s stupid to start out a new section of your life by bathing it in things you don’t like about yourself.

Because if anyone is going to like you, shouldn’t it be…well, you?

Forward Ho

 
I hereby greet the new year.
 
There are lots of superstitions about bringing in a new year. 
 
I stayed in one spot for a full extra thirty seconds after Lucy hurled on my shoulder and hair just so I could get my midnight kiss on Saturday night. 
 
You’re welcome, surrounding partygoers. You’re welcome.
 
My point is that there are lots of things that tradition dictates one must do or not do to usher in a new year.
 
Eat certain foods. 
Be loud at midnight to scare away evil spirits.
Refrain from paying bills.
Postpone laundry (something I only found out AFTER I put the puke clothes in to wash).
Along with lots of others…some that make sense and some that simply sound stupid.
 
But it can’t hurt, right? Like avoiding black cats or throwing salt or not stepping on cracks…why tempt fate?
 
Except I think sometimes I get so focused on the why-not-it-can’t-hurt-just-do-it mindset of a new calendar that I overlook some things that might actually be useful.
 
Like starting new. Forgetting things past and having a clean slate, letting go of baggage which serves no purpose besides gall.
 
So instead of remembering why QR Nobody  annoyed the shit out of me in 1999, or what Sal Asshole did to give him his Asshole name, I’m clearing accounts. 
 
Starting over.
 
Cleaning out.
 
Second (third, fourth) chances all around.
 
I feel it will help my soul.
 
Happy new year. Look ahead, not behind.

To dream, perchance to beg

Alright. I really don’t know exactly how to say this.

I last asked for you guys to vote for me during a contest held to find a resident blogger for a popular website.

I didn’t win, but I think it was a little close.

The next contest I didn’t even mention on the blog, but that was just because I never had a chance to be Cheap Sally’s gojillion dollar saving savvy blogger.

So after all that, I don’t really blame you if you brush this off and ignore it – except please don’t.

Every year, collegescholarships.org grants a $10,000 scholarship to a blogger. The only requirements are that you live in the US, have a blog, and go to college.

Just so happens – and you may not know this since I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it – I am, in fact, a college student. In fact, just this week I was admitted to the University of Mississippi, where I can hopefully finish my BA in record-ass time so I can go on to grad school. Yeah, I’m really doing that. No sarcasm.

So on a whim, I wrote an essay. I talked about how I’d blogged through so many major transitional times in my life, how it meant so much to me to be able to say what I think and feel. How this blog has become part of my identity and a project I adore and never want to leave.

The guidelines say they look for passion and depth. I don’t know how deep I am, but passion I have in spades…because people, this is my life. My kids. My family. My hopes and dreams. If this isn’t my passion then I’ve misunderstood the word.

Now I’m a finalist – and that may not mean a ton since I have no clue how many entries there were – and I’m happy about that.

The final round is based on votes. Which means I have to ask you to vote.

You can vote once a day (though i may be wrong about that) until November 23rd, from any and every device you come across.

Click through, select my name, and submit. The end.

I cannot tell you how much this means. How grateful I am. Please help.

Should

Is the autumn a reflective time for anyone but me?

No? That’s stupid? That’s okay. I’m used to that.

So anyway, I have this blogging calendar and it suggests topics for most days, days like the ones when I just sit and stare at empty because I know of nothing to say. Days that I wonder why I do this at all.

THOSE DAYS PASS, OBVIOUSLY.

This calendar – which is meant to have you schedule all your posts and be very on top of things – one of the suggestions was “throw away your shoulds,” which is abstract but not so much that I’m going to ignore it.

I find myself thinking lots of shoulds. Lots of times.

I should be more patient with my kids.
I should run miles.
I should write 1,600 words a day instead of the less than 1,000 I have thus far.
I should floss and shave my legs. Not that I don’t ever – I do. I just should probably do it more.
I should study more.
I should eat broccoli and rice and I should like sushi.

I do have some rice. It’s in a big bowl and Max’s ereader (which he dropped in the toilet) stayed in there for about a month so I’m thinking I should probably throw that out before someone eats it.

I should have a job.
I should be a better wife. Clean house and all that shit. Make the bed.
I should remember birthdays and anniversaries and send sweet heartfelt cards.

There are so many things that I should be doing that I don’t and that I shouldn’t be doing that I do.
Like go back to bed after the kids leave for school or send peanut butter sandwiches every day.

Seriously, I could go on. For days.

But why? I waste so much energy thinking about things I should and shouldn’t do and then suddenly I realize I haven’t done anything except sit and think about how I should be doing things differently.

So, screw all that. I’m not great at living, but DAMMIT I’m really good at being me.

Throwing away my shoulds sounds a lot easier than it is, and I’m really not sure what good this is doing.

Maybe a little.

I’m just glad it’s Friday.