I needed that

It's been a crazy hectic few weeks around here, and I feel like I haven't put any energy into my girls.  You know those days where you fight with them for an hour, drop them at school, race around doing housework, fill orders for one job, race to the other job, race home, force feed vegetables to children barely done with homework, pack them back in the car for some prescheduled event, race back home to throw them in the bath, hastily kiss a still wet forehead and lay them down before collapsing in a heap?  Yeah, that was me for the last toomanydaystocount.  So, while almost all of the energy I can muster is spent on them, it doesn't feel quality enough.  I haven't spent those few minutes focusing on the story they're repeating or singing along while they practice for their programs.  It has not been a stellar mama showing lately, for sure.

And, yesterday was no different - until I found a story Eva's been writing.  She had left it for me in the only place she knew I would find it - on top of my order book.  As I came across the paper, I remembered her asking me to read it.  But I was busy finishing dinner and practicing spelling words with Maya, so I told her to just wait a minute, please.  Well, that minute turned into hours turned into the next day after she was at school.

I won't reveal the entire story, she may be a famous writer one day and want to release it to the highest bidder, but I will quote the lines that got me.

"Alice likes doing fancy moves her mama once told her she was born to be a soccer pro.  Alice wanted to believe her but when Alice played soccer games everybody would think she was the best player on the field everybody except Alice.  Her mama was her biggest fan she could cheer for her so loud that the parents who were cheering for the other team were afraid to cheer."

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This is the story of Alice Crater, The Soccer -Pro.  Alice is a nine year old girl who is serious about sports.  This Alice girl has a mama that makes her feel proud and confident in herself.  This Alice girl loves her mama so much that Alice believes what she says, even if she doubts herself.  That mama is doing something right.

Some days, I really miss the little moments.  I don't kneel down and kiss every minuscule scrape or concentrate on every detail of the latest middle school drama.  Some nights, I cannot wait for them to just go to sleep already so that I can have ten minutes of silence.  Sometimes, I wish away the little moments in favor of the sweet bliss of sleep.  Sometimes, I am failing miserably at the only thing I really cannot afford to fail.  And, at those times, it feels like I am drowning in mistakes.

Then, my kid throws me a lifeline.  You're doing something right, mama.  Look, this is how I see you.  Don't overlook these times, mama, because we aren't.  

Thank you, Alice.  

Manbashing, party of one.

It's not "man bashing" if I'm only talking about you.  I don't hate all men if I'm only having a semi-conversation with one member of the male species.  I've lived too much life to generalize an entire group of people based on the actions of one sub-par representative.

In fact, I really really love men.  My best friend is a man among boys.  Almost all of the people I have the most fun with are men.  I've met some really sweet ones lately, and I've been friends with a couple of awesome guys for quite some time.  I have always been more attracted to friendships with non-women.  And, in general, I much prefer the company of beer drinking, football watching, beard sporting, 5-second-rule following, penis owners.

So, as an exception to the "don't take it personally rule", I encourage you to accept it when I say....nope, it's just you.

You who can't figure out how to complete a sentence, so you stop halfway through and say "nevermind that may be too complicated for you.".

You who says "women WANT to think they provide the shelter and the food and pay the taxes etc etc. it's easy to throw stones when you don't have to pick them up baby" side note... Women don't like to be called baby by anyone other than their grandma or the man who rubs their feet when they've been busy eating bonbons all day.

You who says "my dad always used to say 'don't bite the hand that feeds you'. Women don't play by the same rules, do they?"

You.  

So, as I carry on with my day, I promise to keep in mind all of the powerful insights you spewed onto my screen last night.  I promise to really consider exactly how my disinterest in your multiple advances turned me from "HOT" to a manbasher.  I even swear to spend at least thirty seven seconds contemplating your theory that women are lined up just waiting for a chance to get at the pinnacle of manhood that is you.

Then, I will forget all about you and go back to loving men.  The grown kind, of course.

Proud mama moment #47653956

"Mama, today was kind of a sad day.  Can we talk when you get home?"

At this age and with this particular kid, I wasn't sure whether to take it seriously.  Honestly, I thought she was going to tell me something happened to a book character.  Or, maybe, someone didn't like the new shirt she was wearing.  But she came with me while I got ready for my movie date with her sister so we could have a "private" talk.

"Do you remember M.  that I said used to be a good friend?"

"Yes, as of this morning she was one of your best friends....what happened?"

"Have you ever heard of the 'salt and pepper factor'?"

"I think so, but you tell me what you think it means."

"A. told me today that it's when black people and white people have babies."

"Yep.  Why? Did you use that term?"

"No.  I don't like it.  But M. is a racist. She said she doesn't like salt & peppers."

"Ok.  Well, we can't help ignorant people."

"She said I was a jerk."

"Why?"

"Because I told her she shouldn't say that."

"Well, I think you and I can agree which one of you is the jerk here.  Right? Is that why you're sad?  Because she called you that?"

"No, it's sad because I can't be her friend anymore because she is a racist."

"It's sad that you lost a friend, but it's good that you get to choose what kind of people you want to be around.  And you're choosing not to hang with people who are stupid."

"Yeah."

My Sofia took a stand yesterday.  In the often land mine-filled halls of the middle school, my kid chose a side.  At an age when kids just want to be accepted and liked, my preteen girl gave up one of her best friends because she knows what is right.  And she did it on her own.  She didn't come home and ask what she should do.  She didn't waffle about whether this would be good for her image.  She didn't even care that this kid wasn't directly insulting her.  Sofia drew a line in the sand and didn't waver a bit.

I hate that the girls are surrounded by the ignorance and blind hatred that many think disappeared long ago.  It infuriates me that my kid was introduced to a term that should be reserved for the hair of distinguished men and superfluous table shakers.  But, my oh my, how proud I am of her backbone.  Strong and secure, she leads the way.  And, I would follow her anywhere. 

All I want for Christmas is you

So, I've been working outside the house for about six weeks now.  Six weeks of raising the girls, running my little business, and working six day weeks at the new job.  Six weeks of "wait...where am I supposed to be right now?".  Six weeks of "how did these bags under my eyes go from overnights to no way that'll fit in the overhead compartments?".  Six weeks of making this our new normal.  Six weeks of ithinkwecanithinkwecanithinkwecan.  

Each day, I leave the girls a note on the table welcoming them home and/or reminding them of the rules.  At the end of each note, I tell them: I love you more than.....  Could be coffee, or sleep, or clouds in the sky.  They get a giggle out of it and it softens the blow of "don't get into the cookies" or "don't go through my closet".  About two weeks ago, this started: 

That's my bedroom door.  Covered with "you can't understand how much I love you mama!!!!!!" and "smuch smuch I love you" and "I love you more than all the stars in the whole wide galaxy".  Maya started this all on her own and they now add to it every day.  Kind of makes the whole raising kids thing seem worth it.

Anyway, last week, I left a note telling them to write down their Christmas lists for me.  Knowing there is almost no chance I'll be able to fulfill any of their wishes this year, I was a nervous wreck when I got home that night.  We are still getting on our feet, and the idea of letting them down breaks my spirit like nothing else.

More than half of Sofia's list is books.  I love my little book nerd!  The iPod touch isn't going to happen, but I applaud the nerve it took to include it on her list.

I love that Eva's is so polite.  All those thank you's makes the list more bearable.  And, the "saftey stuff" request with the skateboard is adorable.  Maybe if she had spelled please correctly she would've gotten the dog.....nah,  but it was worth a shot, I suppose.

Then I read my Maya's.

This kid is breaking my heart.  Six weeks and she is no closer to accepting the new job than she was the day we sat down and cried about it.  Six weeks and she still begs every single day for me to come get her from school.  Six weeks and she still "forgets" her glasses almost every day so that I have to make a special trip back to her classroom.   Six weeks and she still hates my new boss.  Six weeks and all she wants for Christmas is for it not to get to seven weeks.

"I don't want to go either, love; but you have to eat.  So, I have to earn the money to buy food!"

"I want you more than food!!!"

"You like sleeping inside, right?  I have to earn the money to pay for our house."

"I want you more than our house!!"

So, I guess I'll be buying a cotton candy machine with the money I earn not fulfilling the rest of her Christmas list.

10,000

I've wanted to be  a writer my whole life.  From the first sentence I ever put on paper, I knew words were my thing.  I don't think or even really dream in pictures... It's prose.  The silly teenage poetry about boys and boys and boys that made Taylor Swift a gazillionaire filled notebook after notebook in the little room I used to hide away in.  The journals filled with the confusion and pain and loss of my early twenties still sit on a shelf in the slightly bigger room I call my refuge now.

I even went to college to study journalism, thinking I could make a career out of the words that come relatively easily to me.  Then I realized you can't really make a living like that, so I became a mama instead.  Hahaha.  Joke's on me....there's not a dime to be made raising human beings either.  So, for a long time, the only thing I wrote was my name on class mom rosters and recipes on the back of grocery lists.

And my soul died.  The loss of words was really the loss of me.

So, I started this little blog.  In a moment of sheer desperation and more than a little twinge of embarrassment, I wrote the first words I could let go of in years.

I didn't really think anyone would read them, and it felt so egotistical to post them at all; but, the release was overwhelming.  Since that day, I have written about everything and nothing.  My children, my fears, my failures, their wonders, my insecurities.  The rants, the tirades, the confessions, the questions.  I've been silly, and introspective, and sad, and angry.  I've been all the things I am in real life.  Those who know me know my voice.  This blog has been my voice.

And, today, my words have been read 10,000 times.  Seriously.  I logged on today to find that my count was at 10,002.  

I know that isn't really anything when you really think about it.  There are real writers who are read by that many in a day.  There are blogs that see that in a morning.

But, to little old me and my silly little ramblings,  ten thousand views is a lot.  I don't have sponsors or giveaways or recipes or crafting tips.  I just have this life and these words that mean everything to me.  It's truly humbling to think that anyone read even one post, so the fact that there were thousands...wow.

I am profoundly grateful for the time you gave up to me.  And, I am moved past the words that have always come so easily.

Thank you.  Ten thousand times over.

I might be a little over it...

Try being original.

Try not shouting things out of your car window....or worse, from the passenger seat of someone else's.

Try not pointing out the size of my chest before you even realize I have ears attached to the northern region of my cleavage.

Try, oh I don't know, not soliciting me for sex before you've even had a real conversation with me.

And, this will seem totally far fetched, but follow me on this one; but, try thinking of me as an entire person - not just a moving target.

Because, I've heard it all.  You're not the first....most days, you're nothing higher than third on the list of tactless, uninspiring, unworthy, unoriginal, not standing a single chance in hell...man to impede my path.

All I really want to know is...no, not your name, or your exaggerated size, or your number, or even your bank account balance...all I really want to know is: what poor excuse for a woman has ever fallen for your "game"?  What line have you ever shouted out that actually got a real life, flesh and blood, non-vegetative state, grown ass woman to take you seriously?

I imagine someone fell for it, right?  I mean why else would you be here, commenting on my ass as though you've never seen one outside of the magazines you still hide in your basement room at your mom's (or wife's) house.  Surely, you think I'm just going to roll right over here in the parking lot and moan while you huff and puff your way through the next ninety seconds because someone else did that for you.  Right?  I mean why else would you be wasting my time insulting my intelligence, my morals, and my prospects in life?

So, yeah, try being original.

Try talking or, better yet, don't.  A real woman isn't impressed by limited vocabulary and crude interpersonal skills.  However unreal it may seem to you, life exists beyond the confines of our jeans and bra size.

Or, maybe, you're right.  Maybe I am just a bitch.

Otherwise, you might have to consider that I am a grown woman with a brain and standards...and heaven knows we can't have those running around loose.

Not naming any names

There are days when I think I've got it almost all together.  Mornings when everyone gets willingly into the car, dressed and ready to go get their learn on.  Afternoons when they all come home, do homework and actually take their backpacks all the way to the hooks.  Evenings that are marked by the sweet sound of closed mouth chewing and pleasant dinner table conversation.  And, nights when they all lay down freshly washed and brushed, falling asleep swiftly and sweetly.

Well, maybe that's never all happened in the same twenty four hour period.

Ok, maybe I've never had two of those time periods in the same week.

Fine, maybe I've had one of those in the last month.... Even if I can't remember it right now.

More often, we are coming apart at the seams.

Someone, and I'm not naming any names, but someone might have been heaving a screaming six year old by a leg and an arm for a block and a half this morning.  It is possible that the unnamed person was seen hysterically laughing the whole time (to keep from crying, cussing, or yelling at the light of her life).  And, it is likely that this anonymous person would've given both kidneys if just one of the people who stopped to stare at the fiasco would've offered to help carry the backpack or water bottle or coat that were being thrown off in an attempt at escape.  Meanwhile, the child was screaming something about wanting to stay home with the suspect.  While, the suspect pleaded that it was not possible since she had to go to work.  To which, the child cried "I hate that!"  At which point, the nameless person may have just sat on the sidewalk and replied "yeah, me too."  

So, if you were a witness to the chaos of this person's morning.... if you were a bystander on the sidewalk of terror.....or an ogler from your nice cozy car, know these three things:

1.  She's a good kid.  She's got only one real parent and that parent is trying her best.  That parent tried every trick in the mothering handbook before she resorted to just scooping her up and forcing education upon her child this morning.  That parent was beyond grateful when the counselor appeared outside to help end everyone's misery.  And, that parent went home and cried for the mess she can't seem to get a hold of.

2.  Halloween should be moved to a non-school night.

3.  There should be an emergency line for liquor stores to open early on days like these....you know....for that person that definitely isn't me.