You cannot live in Tahiti and Italy at the same time

I never used to indulge in regrets. They're a waste of precious time and completely illogical. Why think about what you cannot change? And, if you COULD change something which you regret, what unforeseen adverse effects would that one difference bring about in your life? I've seen The Butterfly Effect; I am quite aware of the ripples caused by the smallest of moments.

This month has been... difficult. Why? Why, exactly. That is the question, to which there is no answer. I live a life full of love and privilege. It isn't without an enormous sense of guilty self-indulgence that I am allowing these feelings to be written about on this blog. I am fully aware that to complain about not being able to live to Tahiti when I am currently living in Italy* is a first world "problem." But to ignore it any longer isn't helping, either.

It's got to be the age. I am 39 years old. I have currently lived, hopefully, half of my life. Or more...Or less! Who is to say how many days or years we have left on this world? Within those 39 years, I know I have accomplished much and experienced every possible opportunity within my path. Within those 39 years, each time I turned left, I never once looked over my shoulder at the pathway that forked to the right and watched it slip further and further away. I knew that I couldn't go down each path; it's pretty freaking obvious. 

But this month.... THIS FREAKING MONTH... I have spent more time thinking about each and every pathway that wasn't explored. I have felt intense anger at myself; not for choosing the left instead of the right, but for feeling this overwhelming anger and regret. REGRET! WHAT THE FUCK?

Honestly, I don't know how to "get over" this, other than to go straight through it. And so I'm allowing myself this space in time to feel the anger and regret when it comes to me. Not for long, maybe 15 minutes a day? And then I will force myself to count, LITERALLY COUNT, my beautiful blessings. The results of every decision I've ever made are right in front of me and I will not waste this 39th year in mourning for anything I didn't choose. I will feel the feelings and acknowledge the losses. When regret and anger begin to knock, I will not ignore it. I'll answer that goddamn door and look it in the eye. I might even let it give a slick sales pitch. But when it comes right down to it, I will shut that door in its face and say "No thanks. I'm not interested."**

*I live in Illinois, not Italy. This blog is full of analogies, people. I am a fan.

** Because you really should be polite to door to door salespeople. They're just trying to make a living.

Blame Xfinity

It’s Xfinity’s fault that this post was written 2 days ago but is appearing on Thursday.

They’re playing with army men in the other room. A random assortment of Civil war soldiers, traditional little green army men, and some special Ops guys won years ago at an arcade.

“Ooh, look! I have Abraham Lincoln. And he’s signing the peace treaty!”

As a homeschooling mother, I cannot NOT intrude here and, from my perch in the living room where I am hiding underneath the laptop (that has no internet connection because Xfinity has been off-the-charts-effed-up this week) and spitting out the fresh mint from my mouthful of lemonade (Where did I get the idea to put mint leaves in drinks? They may add a nice taste and sure do look fancy, but there’s nothing refreshing about getting a mint leaf stuck in your teeth), I interject:

“I think you mean the Emancipation Proclamation, right?”

“No, Mama. The peace treaty. It’s ABRAHAM LINCOLN.”

 I could practically hear the unspoken ‘duh’ and dramatic eye rolls he was including in his not-so-patient response to my not-so-welcome interruption.

“Ah, no, EVAN. Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation.”

“MA.MA. It’s ABRAHAM. LINCOLN. I can see his face on this figure guy! LIN.COLN.”

At this point, I am smacking my own head for the need to educate during the summer. But I cannot ignore an obvious mistake in their historical gameplay.

“Evan. TRUST me. It’s the Emancipation Proclamation. The document that freed the slaves and basically started the Civil War. Do you REALLY want to question me on this one?”

Surely fearing a mid-July history lesson complete with lapbook, timelines and actual reading, he hastily replied,

“Ohhhhh…. THAT. Yeah, yeah. That’s what I meant.”

~

And this is what you get when I have to write a blog post on Word because our internet is so down it's on anti-depressants and Xfinity can’t get here til Sunday to see why. 

Blame my internet provider.

To top it all off, I was wearing a Thong...

I've been working and shopping at the same Children's Toy and Clothing Resale gig for quite a while. 12 years, in fact. Once I was turned onto the benefits that buying used children's clothing could bring (i.e. extra money for wine and coffee), I became a die-hard volunteer. Every September and March, you will find me waiting in line to stampede the fairgrounds' gates; eager for my chance at AMAZING DEALS.

This year was no different.

I stood in line in the light drizzle, dressed for success: comfortable shoes, t-shirt that breathes, and pants that allow freedom of movement, but still have pockets for the wad of cash I use to pay for my loot. I was armed with my laundry basket on a belt (to pull along behind me when the pile of shoes, jeans and winter gear becomes too heavy to carry) and no purse or jacket to weigh me down.

The doors opened, and I wasted no time. No hemming and hawing at the tables for me. You have to know what you want and where to find it.

I zeroed in on the clothing for Justin. At the age of 12, his clothing is the most expensive in stores, so the greatest money is to be saved at that section. I totally scored on jeans, long sleeved tees and a dress shirt for this winter. Doing a happy little jig, I moved on down the table, and found that there were plenty of winter shirts and tees for Evan, too. Feeling quite proud of myself, I turned around to check out the shoe situation before hitting the girls' department.

Aha! Winter boots for Corinne and they're only... $2.50!! Ka-Ching! I could practically FEEL the condensation from the bottles of wine in my hand as I squatted down to snatch those boots up...

And then I had the strangest sensation...

Almost as if my skin were being drawn upon by a pen, all along the backside of my leg and rear...

The telltale "rrrrriiiippppp!!!!" had me freezing in mid-boot-grab. When I reached around behind me to survey the damage, my hand felt nothing but the soft fuzz of my bare thigh.

Oh yeah. And my ass, as well.

That's right. I had ripped my pants. But not just "ripped" them. Nay. My beloved capris had shredded themselves into a gap so wide that my entire thigh and left cheek were now COMPLETELY exposed.

In a room full of women who were all trying to get MY DEALS.

What to do?

Well, in a situation such as this, there is only one answer: Go with it, girl, for there are no tears in Resale.

It was lucky for me that I had shopped for Justin's clothing first. There was a soft, long-sleeved tee on top that easily tied around my waist. I tugged it low enough that no flesh could be glimpsed and I continued about my merry way, securing the jeans and Christmas outfit that Corinne needed in addition to a cute ballet leotard and a puzzle on the U.S. states, all the while enjoying a cool breeze down below.

Because that's how I roll.
Note: View of "cheeks" may be slightly altered to remain PG and to spare your precious eyes.

Sex Radar and Monster Dreams

I was busily trying to simultaneously clear away the wrappings of the day, wrangle Justin off of the computer and herd the entire group up the stairs to bed when I heard a quiet sobbing behind me. There at the kitchen table sat my baby girl, all 5 years of her, pouring out the most heart-wrenching tears you've ever seen.

"I'm afraid! I don't want any more bad dreams! Please don't make me sleep in my room!!"

My heart dropped and my eyes met Patrick's in dread as we cringed and thought "Not another one!"

I cuddled and coddled and read to her. I tucked her in with fluffy doggies and bears and blankets. I stroked her back and sang 20 minutes of songs, humming over any negative words lest they evoke anything unhappy in her pre-sleep brain. She drifted into a defeated doze, her tears wetting my shirt and hair.

My first attempt at escaping her bed and meeting Patrick alone after an entire night of come-hither looks was thwarted by her sweaty and desperate hand. She jerked awake, clutched my shirt and desperately began to whimper "I want to sleep with you! Please, Mommy, Please!"

Rinse and repeat. And repeat.

40 minutes later and I managed to MacGyver roll myself off of her creaky bed and down the hall to my waiting husband.

It was so nice to just be alone with him. The stress of the kids, friends, and just overall life was starting to wear me down. I simply needed to don only one title, "wife", for a while.

Alas, my children have sex-radar in their brains. Within 20 minutes, not one, not two, but ALL THREE of them were at our door, asking questions. One was crying. Another sleep-walking into the wall. The final begging to sleep on our floor.

Pat and I looked at each other. "I love you," he said. "...and I love our kids. I love our kids. I love our kids..." he repeated as short people invaded our sanctuary.

I love you too, babe. I love them a lot; truly. But I LOVE YOU like no other.

Feeling Horizontal...

Need Help.

Head Cold + sideways computer screen + insomnia = Bitchy blogger with a neck ache and a tendency to yell at anyone who chants "Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Hey, Mommy?"



How do I fix my computer screen?!?! This is seriously ridiculous and highly annoying. I can't read anything longer than a paragraph and I can NOT figure out how to fix it. How did it happen? Well, according to Evan and Corinne, they were only playing on Nick Jr. and it just "happened." Heh. Naturally.

Help.

Me.

A New First for the "baby" book...

There are a lot of firsts in your child's life.

The more obvious ones are expected: first steps, first words, first foot-stomping tantrum and "NO!" shouted in Mama's face.

Some Firsts are a little more slippery and catch you off-guard: the first time they don't hug you goodbye, the first private joke they share with someone and don't share with you, the first grown-up conversation that leaves you filled with pride and amazement that THIS was once your toddling baby...

And some Firsts just knock you flat on your back and leave you so flabbergasted that you fume and rage and want to punch someone with your Mighty Mommy Fists. Some Firsts are ones that you need to write about but fear to do so before angrily scratching several days from the calendar as a buffering distance. You need to allow your mind and heart to reevaluate and try to diffuse the gut-instinct rage that keeps boiling over whenever you picture that first time...

Everyone's ok. Everyone's fine and my children did NOTHING wrong. This is a rage that involves a stranger, a PERFECT stranger, and how his behavior and words affected me, my children and several other children. I feel emotionally violated and am still shaking, 5 days later, over the treatment that innocent kids were subjected to at the hands of someone they are told to respect and trust. I am also furious at the actions that a fellow parent took which brought this situation about...

But I am still too angry (Obviously; I'm shaking as I type this) to properly convey how this simple situation got out of hand....

I guess I still need to cross off a few more days on the calendar...

Apparently you CAN put the wrong bag in, provided you use electrical tape...

I just couldn't take it any longer. The tree is DOWN. The dry-as-a-bone, needle-free-branched fire hazard of death tree is awaiting the trash pick up in the slush by the curb. Is there anything more depressing than a discarded Christmas tree?

Of course, once the tree had been undecorated and heaved through the front door (by my lonesome because I am SuperWoman) I was confronted with the Worst Aspect of Christmas ever: post-tree needle duty. Oy vey. I was wearing my new cozy red socks and knit pajama bottoms which were both magnetically attracted to the lovely green needles of agony. Every step I took resulted in being impaled in any number of appendages. Yeowch! Knowing that my vacuum wouldn't be happy with me if I started sucking them all right up, I decided to sweep my carpet and eliminate a majority of the debris. It went pretty well, and I worked up quite the calorie-burning sweat. Bonus! (Except I hadn't showered. Bummer...)

I lugged the vacuum to the kitchen and peeked inside to assess the space left in the bag and found (not to my surprise) that it was full well beyond the "Do Not Fill Above This Line" line. Damn. Ok, ok. So the bag got tossed into the trash and I crossed all of my fingers that I would find the appropriate bag for this particular vacuum cleaner. You see, we have had several vacuums over the years and no two have ever used the same bag types (naturally). But when you replace a vacuum cleaner, what do you do with the surplus bags? Toss them out?!? Well, NO. Of COURSE NOT. You keep them, just in case you need them for another cleaner! Or, in a situation as I was in, to jerry-rig them into the vacuum cleaner that they DON'T fit into because your carpet is coated in needles, despite your attempts to "sweep" them up.

It actually worked, you know. The suction was fine, and there was nary an electrical spark that resulted in any fires or deaths or anything. I'm quite the successful handyman, eh?

Twisted Sister Soldier...*

Conflicted, conflicted. So twisted up inside...

Did I have a good time at BlogHer? Yes. I did. It was nice. Met some wonderful women. Have some faces to put to the blog headers now. I experienced kindness in faces I had been only imagining for 3 years.

Certain family issues were occuring while I was in Chicago, though. And my absence during those situations became heavier on my shoulders the closer I got to home. The guilt I own over that absence is monumental and deafening.

I have a thousand posts in my head. I have a thousand brilliant, ingenious, never-before-seen spins on topics that will surely astound your brains. I have pictures of women I now hold as Friends with a capital F. I have cute stories and funny quips on how we never really leave high shool too far behind.

But not now.

Now, I must turn off this computer, withOUT checking all of your updates. Now, I need to figure some things out in silence, and dig through the mountain of responsibilities and issues that rest upon our shoulders.

Bear with me, old friends and new.

*For Cynthia. :)

Getting over myself...

That's pretty cute, right? It fits the theme of my homemade blog header. It's to the point and obvious.

Too bad my printer is out of colored ink. Too bad I procrastinated so long that there isn't any time (or money!) to get the ink. Too bad anyone who meets me at BlogHer won't receive that simple but purposeful business card.

Nope. You'll get my basic stats on a colored piece of cardstock. No frills. Hand cut. Totally homemade here. I will TRY to be nonchalant about the crappy calling card I must pass out. I know it really doesn't matter. I mean, it won't matter to ME if YOUR card is homemade! I just want a card to remember your name and address by! So. I will pass them out and hope that next time, I remember to buy colored ink, if I should ever go to BlogHer again. (I sure hope so!)

Holy Holy Holy...

This post?

This post is one of those posts where I am aiming to make YOU, the reader, feel better about yourself. And, trust me, after realizing what I DID? You will be able to shake your head and smirk in utter superiority and say "Well, at least I never did THAT. I can't be THAT bad!"


I have never gone anywhere by myself. As in, anywhere. I have never gone on a trip without family and never went on a business trip (back in the day). For me to spend money on myself for BlogHer was completely out of character. Even though Patrick was always pushing me to do SOMEthing for myself, I never made the move or had the guts to spend our sparse "spending" money on ME. At least, not THAT much money! BlogHer is expensive!

Of course, the joy of paying for it with mostly my own money earned from writing articles and blog ads (hey! Advertisers! Lots of space on that sidebar! Hint! Hint!) was short-lived when, within a week of cementing the tickets, Patrick lost his job.

Irony. It never goes out of style.

He refused to let me cancel (which I reallllly didn't want to, anyway) and I kept the reservations, etc. We arranged for sitters for the kids for the entire weekend as Patrick works nights at his new job and wouldn't be available to take care of them until Saturday night, anyway. Everything was set. My roomie was paid for my share of the room (again, my paypal account is reaaalllly low. ADVERTISERS interested??), I scrounged through my pathetic wardrobe and found 3 outfits that aren't too embarrassing (except for shoes. I may be barefoot at BlogHer...) and have never been more excited for something in a looooong time.

And then.

A quick check to the BlogHer site to see how we get the tickets (mail? pick-up at the front desk? please let me know!) and I did a double take on the dates....

Holy. F'ing. Shit.

For about 6 months, I have had the WRONG WEEKEND written on my calendar!

To make matters even more upsetting? The weekend that BlogHer is actually on? Is the weekend of Patrick's best friend's wedding.

Holy Holy Holy...

Remember yesterday's swinging pendulum? Picture it detaching and smashing into chunks the shape and size of me all over my computer desk.

A blubbering mess, I began to leave phone messages for everyone I could contact. Our original sitter couldn't help, she was going to the wedding! My mom was out of town and working that weekend. Pat's aunt wasn't at her phone. My sister finally answered and agreed to take the kids on Thursday evening overnight until Patrick can pick them up on Friday afternoon (when he wakes up). The final and last piece of the puzzle that must fall into place for this whole circus to run smoothly is for Patrick to get Friday night off. He asked for it off months ago. We're STILL waiting to find out and if he can't? Well. If he can't, I probably won't be at BlogHer and we still wouldnt' be able to go to the wedding easily, anyway. If he can't, I'll be out hundreds of dollars that we REALLY didn't have available to spend on, oh, NOTHING.

But he will.

He WILL get the night off. He will take the kids to the wedding without me... I hate that. I wanted to see our friends cement their long relationship with vows and a ring and the dress and the dancing... I wanted to doll up Corinne in her fancy pink dress. I wanted to see my kids attending their first wedding.

I hate that no matter which choice I made, I would be hurting inside. But really, this weekend away is about more than just the money spent. It's about me validating the one thing I truly enjoy doing. It's about me standing up and saying "Yes! I am important in this household and I do deserve a chance to do something for myself. Not for my kids, or my family, or my marriage, but for ME."

Check out my review of a HYSTERICAL new book! Also, don't forget the 2 giveaways that end on Friday!

Still scattered...

Huh. Well, what do you know? It's Friday. A whole day has gone by and I didn't even realize it...

I could post about my regular 2 am wake-ups from weird dreams. The one where my parents handed me a huge pile of bonds and stocks that they "forgot" they had bought for me when I was little. And how I woke up feeling euphoric until I remembered: Ah. Dream. Dangit...
~~~
I could write about the toilet that won't stop running. Even after I turned the water off. Even after I messed with it and messed with it until I said "Well, we'll just have to wait until we have a bit of cash for that suction piece thingy" and was thankful that at least it was just the water bill which is a small expense. Until I woke up at 6 am (After falling back asleep for the first time this week!!!! Grrrr!!) to Patrick's dismayed call. "Why is there water in the hallway?!?"

Groaaannnn....

I remembered my actions from the night before. I remembered Evan's description of how the toilet he'd just used (ahem) was almost overflowing. It was too full of water to plunge without splashing icky water over the floor, so I locked the bathroom door with the thoughts of plunging it once it drained a bit. EXCEPT I hadn't taken into account this whole "continuously refilling tank" issue. And the water all over the hallway (and some of the living room carpet! Joy!) was from the toilet.

FUN TIMES! You can imagine how happy I was to be starting my day by using ALL of the towels I had literally just washed AND put away (a rarity). They are now BACK in the washing machine with hot water and extra soap. Please don't let the washing machine overflow...
~~~
That said, some very sweet friends and family have provided bits of help this past week, making it possible to not only feed my family without a trip to the store but also to keep good on the birthday present we promised Justin. He and I will be going to Mammoth Cave for a Mother/Son bonding fest. And we will have the money for gas AND food while there!!

Thank you all..
~~~
Keep your eyes open for another really cool giveaway that I will soon host. I am just having issues with the videos I have made and cannot really fathom using the ones that are done. Really, I look weird and am rambling which isn't unusual but is still annoying...
~~~
The coffee is calling my name and Corinne is begging to play her Webkinz Jr. (have you entered that giveaway yet?) so I am off. Have a great Friday!

Pinching pennies till they scream in agony...

So. Any advertisers looking for someone to review FOOD? Anyone? Anyone?

I love the stuff I get to review. Really, I do! It's just that I sure would appreciate reviewing something I NEED right now. Like, um, Food. And gas. Yes. I would love to review a new gas station. Anyone want to send me a gas card for review?? How about shoes for my 10 year old whose toes are pushing up and out of the front of his sneakers? That said, so are my 7 and 3 year olds' feet...

I guess being broke makes for a much more environmentally sound home, right? That said, I must sign off for the DAY as I am trying to cut back on electricity. Yes. It's that tight...

Just a little bragging post...

Well, I was going to show you all 2 minutes of pure cuteness. A darling video that you ALL would have surely been enraptured by. I mean, my kids are as freaking amazing to everyone else as they are to me, right? RIGHT?

I thought so.

Sorry to say, but Blogger has once again made my life difficult and I can't upload a short video of 3 year olds dancing to "You are My Sunshine." Trust me when I say it brought tears to my eyes to see the 7 little girls that we've spent an entire year in class with doing their best on stage.

Go ahead, let your tears flow. Maybe someday we'll all get a lovely surprise and I will figure out how to upload videos without a techie degree.

I swear, this girl got more flowers for dancing for less than 3 minutes than I got for delivering 3 children!

I guess the priorities of our family are finally clear...

:)