You’ve Got a Friend in Me

Being an introvert has its challenges. Being that any sort of unknown scares the hell out of me and the fact that I avoid large gatherings like the plague, finding and making friends is not a skill I possess naturally.  It also doesn’t help that I also have a slightly introverted husband who, as a means of introduction, tells new people we meet that we are “socially awkward and don’t have a lot of friends.”  aawwwkkward.  

But, the perk of being an introvert is, the friends I have made, are long-time, loyal ride and die beotches.   The people I have opened up to have, over time, come to love me in all my weirdness.  Most of my friends, I’ve had for 15+ year, and I will have them forever.  (Mainly because they remember me when I was thin.  Never forget!!!!!  The skinny girl is trapped in there somewhere!)

The best part of these friends is that even though most of them are scattered across the country, we can pick up where we left off and after a lengthy catch up session, we are back cracking the same jokes and acting like we live next door to each other.   

Before we go any farther, I don’t mean to shortchange my close range friends on this post.  Know I love you all, old and new, and am so thankful you are HERE with me in this God forsaken frozen tundra we call northwest Ohio.  NEVER LEAVE ME!!!   We have lost too many already!!!!  Two of my best friends are right here and know I couldn’t live without you.  One gets to see me in all my crazy glory EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.  Give this woman an award because let’s face it, I can get seriously annoying when exposed to in large doses.  The other gets to see my lovely face mostly on Sundays and Mondays, when I put on my most angelic face and pretend I am not cray cray.  But, she sees through the facade and loves me anyways.  These girls make me laugh daily and I pray they never abandon me for greener pastures, or say, popular parks ruled by a big mouse.  And I can’t leave out my blood related friends, my sister, but she already got a post, so quit yer bitchin.  And my sisters by marriage, who have put up with me almost as long as my actual sister, I love you three more than you’ll ever know.   (But, seriously SK, when are the Girl Scout cookies coming???) 

This post is for my long distance friends, two of which I had the wonderful pleasure of escaping this freakin freezing weather for a few days and hiding out in Florida with.   

I met these girls in college (remember THIN) and 5 minutes after meeting them, I knew we were soul mates.    Ever meet someone and it just clicks?  Well, that was us.  That was 1997 and even though we are all grown up, we are still closer than ever. 

We couldn’t be more different.  One is a super positive save-the-world social worker, who is seriously the world’s biggest extrovert.  This girl attracts friends like flies.  PEOPLE LOVE HER.  She is one of the most genuine real people you’ll ever meet.    The other is an extremely successful PR genius who is beautiful inside and out.  The one who’s always put together, even when she’s hot and sweaty after a workout.  The one who, after 16 years, still let’s us tease her mercilessly for taking over an hour to get ready every single day.  And me, the neurotic, introverted, long married, mother of two who makes jokes CONSTANTLY.  Especially during the inappropriate moments – that’s when I really shine. 

We have been through it all.   College, hangovers, graduation, job hunts, crazy boyfriends, big moves, promotions, career changes, falling in love, marriage, infertility, sickness, death, postpartum depression, babies.   We are basically married because we hit all the vow highlights.  Love/cherish, sickness/health, good/bad, you get the gist – we are in this until the end that’s for sure. 

I have watched these women grow more beautiful, stronger and smarter with each year.  They make me laugh, help me cry, build me up and support me no matter how far apart we are or how long the time passes between conversations.   We are very different, but share the same love and respect for each other, which makes the bond strong no matter our differences.  Even if one of us did vote for Romney. 

I’ll take these sistas before mistas anyday.

I love you girls and hope this post does you justice. 

Marriage…Loud Breathing and Other Trials

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Rockin the sexy specs.

After 11 years of marriage and 17 years of togetherness, I think I can safely say I am the foremost expert on relationships  Yeah right.

 In trying to get a flow for this post, I posed a simple question to my dear husband:  “What things annoy you about me?” 

For some reason, he didn’t want to answer this question.  SEE HOW DIFFICULT HE IS TO LIVE WITH? 

So, I started. 

  1. Sometimes he breathes REALLY loud.  It’s annoying.  I wish he would stop.  Sometimes I feel like I’m sleeping next to a horse who’s being sat on by a fat lady.
  2. He has a constant need for sex.  I mean, every second of the day.  Give the vajay a break would ya?!  That’s how infections start. 
  3. His ADD is off the charts.  Sometimes it’s just fun to sit and watch him bounce from one thing to the next.  Other times, it’s a bit annoying.  Ever see UpWe have a longstanding joke in our house that he’s the dog.  I would love to clean up the dishes and help…SQUIRREL!    

So after this rapid fire list came at him, he finally had some thoughts of his own. 

  1. I never finish anything I start.  Gardening.  Organizing the house.  Tons of printed cleaning lists pasted all over the fridge that have never been attempted.  Tons and tons of printed recipes.  Crafts for the kids.  Thousands of photos stashed in every corner of the house.  I have long asserted that I am a totally organized person trapped in a disorganized person’s life.  I can’t help it.  I have grand ideas and fabulous plans, but hey, wait…a rerun of Friends is on.  Maybe later.  Alright honey, score 1 for you. 
  2. I always have my nose in an electronic device, and apparently, this includes magazines.  ??  Well lover, you my dear are a world-class enabler.  Last year’s AWESOME Christmas gift?  Kindle Fire.  This year’s?  An iPhone.  Quit buying me these shiny new toys and maybe I would keep my nose out of them.  Besides reality sucks.  Why be present in life when I can be planning the perfect one via Pinterest or reading about the perfect guy in a smut novel (ahem, Unidentified RedheadSeriously READ THIS). 
  3. Apparently I complain about my weight a lot.  This is annoying to him.  I think it’s funny.  Apparently it’s not funny to complain and then NEVER DO ANYTHING TO FIX IT.  Yeah well, I like pie and hate exercising.  SUCK IT.  Good thing he likes squishy, so really, the pressure’s off anyways. 

So – I think we are a successful couple because the above conversation made us crack up at each other while discussing the above items.  Really, we know it’s all true, but we put up with each other anyways.  Because really, who else will? 

MIA

Sorry I’ve been MIA this week. Christmas, a full week of work, holiday parties, more food inhaled than humanly possible, combined with a lingering sadness that I can’t quite kick has made the desire to be funny put on the back-burner.

But, my sister is sitting in a hospital room with one sick kid at home with Dad and the other with her in a cramped, non-private room getting roto rootered every so often, just enough so that he screams bloody murder and wakes up just enough to be a squirmy, not-feeling-so-bad 7 month old in a tiny cage of a crib so that she can do nothing but try desperately to entertain him until the next round of suctioning. (which, by the way is awesome. Why don’t they pass these things out to go home? Best snot suckers EVER.). So for her, I have to try to come up with something funny to lighten the mood right? OK, here goes…

I think motherhood is off the table for the moment, as I can’t quite stop kissing on my kids and being thankful for them. So… let’s find bigger game…

Marriage? I can give a brief taste of the book I just finished that I mentioned a few weeks ago. Created to Be His Help Meet was all sorts of fun to read and has made for quite the after the kids go to bed conversation topics.

In a nutshell, Debi Pearl hates women. We are not supposed to have fun, leave our children or our husbands. EVER. Babysitters make you a horrible mother. Don’t even get me started on how much I am a failure for working. If she had her way, I’d be stoned on sight.

In addition to homeschooling our delightful children who are never to leave our sight, we should do all the household work…changing light bulbs, mowing the lawn, taking out trash, painting the shed, fixing the car, hand whittling kitchen chairs, all so our husbands can relax after a long hard day’s work. Not only should we do these things, but we should do them joyfully. Joyfully! HA! THEN after a full day of sheer joy, we are supposed to jump in bed and please him sexually so that he doesn’t stray, as men are wont to do if they aren’t pleased in every way. Yes, ladies, this book has been put in the freezer many a night, which was then followed by a stiff drink and leaving the dirty dishes to SIT in all their glorious dirtiness.

Needless to say, I can’t quite accomplish this attitude in my home. Let’s face it, even if I wanted to turn over a new leaf and be a reverent, joyful slave, my husband would NEVER be able to take me seriously. When you have a solid 17 year relationship built on mutual sarcasm and self-deprecation, being that positive just doesn’t quite fit my personality.

And really, who wouldn’t want me this way? Doesn’t every husband need a bit of ball busting every now and again? Can you imagine if NO ONE ever told him he was wrong? G would be wearing purple polka dot pants and bright pink plaid shirts with mismatched socks every single day. Will would never be allowed to bring his sexy back, put a ring on it, or vogue in any way. He would just be this mash of jerky offbeat gyrations my husband calls dancing. (I love you honey, I worship at your altar of smartness, but let’s face it, Channing Tatum you are not on the dancefloor.)

If I was a reverent super happy wife, who would teach my kiddos the greatest defense mechanism ever….sarcasm? When my husband teases me for being a “rich girl,” and then I break out my tiny violin (which totally does not annoy the piss out of him) when he talks of how SOOOO poor he was, we help to put each other in perspective with a little touch of dry humor and teasing. All in good fun I say.

Ms. Pearl, the ultimate help meet, would just listen and nod enthusiastically when my engineer husband makes the simplest task the most complicated, confusing, full set of blueprints, series of instructions that you ultimately give up and fall asleep while he is “explaining” how this will work instead of just doing it.

She would kiss his feet just for hanging the curtain rods a few inches from the top of the ceiling so the bottom of the curtains have at least a foot of clearance betwen them and the floor.

She would revel in his awesomeness when he proposes gunmetal gray floors because they won’t ever show dirt. She would lovingly buy his 30 different types of saws while she enjoys her one pair of sensible black shoes.

She would of course be supportive of his NEED for fog lamps on his truck while you have a phone my great grandma would laugh at.

OK – so maybe I am not the ideal wife, but let’s face it, I am WAAAY funnier than Ms. Pearl will ever be. I think that’s a much better arrangement. What do you think honey??

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Created to Be His Help Meet: Mark Your Calendars…This Sh!Ts about to go Down!!

Created to Be His Help Meet: Discover How God Can Make Your Marriage Glorious: Debi Pearl: 9781892112606: Amazon.com: Books.

 

So, my cousin thought she’d  give me a book to eviserate after my mention of one of our church ladies being obedient to her husband and being thankful for it.   So no one goes after her, she gave it to me as a joke, not because she believed a word of it.

 

I am 6 chapters in, and have run the gamut of emotions with this book.  A lot of it was laughing out loud and yelling, “Mark!  Read this part!”  Some of it is utter disbelief that in 2012, almost 2013, there are people still out there who believe this pile of crap coated with crazy.

 

Oh, it’s on Ms. Pearl.  It’s so on.  If I am taking a break from my awesome smut collection to be “taught” by you, please know that a most awesome book review will be coming your way shortly.

 

I hope the rest of you enjoy.  If God is actually like the God within her pages, He will not be pleased.

 

It’s coming, be warned….

Kind Of Deep Thoughts By Jen….

Yeah, I wouldn't take advice from me either.

Yeah, I wouldn’t take advice from me either.

“MOOOOMMMM!”  ….   “Whaaat?”  ….  “MOOOOMMMM!”    My oldest is screaming through the house, while Dad’s on the pooper and I snuck downstairs to clean some cat poop while the chokeable Dora is making its evening run.  Quit staring at me, answer your own questions!  It’s creepy.   Is something wrong I think?  It’s only been two minutes since I was last upstairs, but this sounds frantic.  So, I stop scooping and run upstairs.  “What?” I huff out of breath, because you know, 13 stairs are a toughy.  “What’s 5 + 2?”   Of course.

 

 

So, I’ve been MIA for a few days.  Been in a bit of a mood.  Either pissed off or sad for no reason.  Yep, you’re right men, it’s totally my period.  (Really it kinda was.  Even Mark left me alone.)  So, I decided to stay quiet.  Didn’t want to write something snarky and mean, although trust me, it would have been entertaining, and I did write some feelings I was having about the fact that cancer seems to rearing its ugly head EVERYWHERE, but Mark said it made him want to jump off a cliff and could I end on a happy note?  At this point with that subject, no I can’t, so I’ll save that little gem for another day.  Let me know when you’d like a good depressing, there is no hope, is there a God and if so, WTF is His plan post.  Never?  Yeah, I thought so.

 

 

Hold on, I’m getting some pretty detailed instructions on how to wipe a butt.  Apparently, there is a procedure and very detailed rules…..

 

 

OK, I’m back.  I think I did it right.  God that kid scares me.  He is about six months away from being smarter than Mark and me, or maybe he is already at 6 and I am just too proud to admit it.  And yes, I wipe my 6 year olds butt, but I’ll take that stigma over track marks and itchy assholes any day.

 

 

I wonder if I’m hovering, if I’m one of those so-called helicopter parents.  Maybe a little.  A few weekends ago, Mark was with the kids at a function without me, and he came back with a story that Will was being punched and kicked by another kid during some rowdy play that got out of hand.  My mother bear instinct came out and I was ready to go right then, but Mark told me that while he kept an eye on the situation, he wanted to see how Will would handle it himself.  Apparently, he did great.  He stayed calm, didn’t freak out and told the other kid that he wasn’t playing by the rules.  Not sure what happened after that, but my guess is they went back to being friends and playing their game.  Now if I had seen that happen, you’d bet your ass I’d be up and in the middle of it.  Mark did the right thing and took a breath and let Will spread his wings a little.  It all turned out OK and maybe Will learned something about how to handle a situation that might be uglier and intentionally meaner next time.    That’s why I keep my husband around ladies.  As he would say, clearly, he’s smarter.  Until you ask him to spell ridiculous and then he yields his greatness to me for a bit.  We all have our strengths.

 

 

Then Gracie’s teacher tells us she wishes she was more assertive, and she was glad that just last week she stood up for herself for the first time.  And all this time I thought she was a bulldozer who let no one get in her way.  Apparently, that’s just her brother, or me.  Not her dad, cause he’s wicked fun, but even he loses a few battles now and again.  She lets kids take her toys and tell her to do.  NOOOO!!!!!  That’s the downfall of having a bossy older brother.  That’s how I was growing up, and while I didn’t get picked on so much, I did let those that I loved around me get picked on while I tried to fade into the wall.  I also let these strong-willed people define me as a person, and it took a good 20 years before I realized those people have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about, they’re just louder.

 

 

So, what’s next?  Homeschool?  Yeah right.  I am a horrible teacher.  I’d just end up assigning them homework and then doing it for them.  They’d end up hermits who couldn’t conjugate verbs, let alone balance a checkbook, because I would skip math completely.  So, I’m not sure what to do.  I guess face my own fears as they grow up and teach them to be the kick ass person I always wanted to be.  Somehow make them comfortable in their own skin, in love with their uniqueness and quirks.  Aware of their appearance and proud of it, but not be obsessed by it.  Mess them up just enough so they can be funny.  Help them to focus on what’s important and what’s not.  And most importantly, not let the loudmouths define who they are.

 

 

Ga!  See??? I got all bummer at the end.  What’s my deal????

 

 

Until next time…now I have to go make a Christmas list….Grrrr…  How much are maids and full time chefs????

Obsessions

I have weird obsessions, or addictions, if you will.  I get obsessed and then can’t think of anything but for months on end.

Way back when Titanic came out, I cried for a week over what turns out is a really dumb movie.  I saw it three times in the theaters, which at 3 hours, meant some serious dehydration tactics to make it the whole time without peeing.  That was when I was 18, now, it’s just impossible – I didn’t even make it halfway through Magic Mike, which was only an hour and a half total.   And trust me, I was tempted to just pee in my seat rather than miss a good part (oh Channing, you can dance boy).  Anyways, back to sad ships.  For the next year or so, I bought every Titanic book I could get my hands on, played Titanic video games, memorized the passenger manifest, drug Mark and various roommates to Titanic exhibits and listened to that stupid Celine Dion song a billion times crying alone in my room.  I even convinced myself my strong feelings for this movie were because I had actually died on the Titanic, which is why I felt such a strong spiritual connection to it.  Clearly, I am the most rational person you’ll ever meet.

Seriously? Why didn’t anyone tell me this was so awful?

And… Magic Mike, just because.

As for recent addictions, Twilight was my first post-kids addiction.  I couldn’t put my finger on why it was so freakin good to me.  I read Breaking Dawn 4 times.  I’ve never read a book more than once ever.  But, like I said before, it was pure escapism.  How awesome would that life be?  Richer than God.  Beautiful.  Sparkly. No need to poop.   A kid that tells you what they want by touching your face thus eliminating the guesswork and who also happens to come out of the womb pretty much a fully functioning human being.  A husband who exists solely for you.  I could go on, but recently Grace hit her head last week on the curb, which meant crazy amounts of blood EVERYWHERE, and it finally put the nail in the coffin.  Blood is disgusting and smells really super gross.  I guess, I’ll keep my cake and poop it too.  Oh well.

I am sensing a theme with cheesy movies…

Next obsession.  50 Shades of Grey.  Mark is having the best year of his freakin life.  Too bad this book didn’t come out when I was in great shape, 10 years younger, 30 pounds lighter, and no kids in the house to quiet it down for.  Oh well, he’ll take what he can get, and thank God the kids are really heavy sleepers.  This has led to other smutty books, hence a happier Mark, who actually just recently told me I needed to “slow down,” which means the poor man is tired.  Ladies, I have tons of recommendations.  I go through a book every few days, all while working, raising kids, cooking and keeping a house clean.  OK, OK, I was joking about the last two, but the first two, I do everyday.  I have some that make you laugh out loud (Alice Clayton, seriously read the Redhead series. Best. Books. Ever.)  to books that make Christian Grey look like a pansy (Tiffany Reisz Original Sinners’ series.  There are no words).

You can do WHAT? in the bedroom?

So that’s where I am stuck right now.  Mark is happy and thankfully, fixed, and I am waiting for the next thing to totally obsess about.  I am hopeful that one day, it will be a eating healthy and exercising addiction.   One where I’m all like, “Oh my God you guys, I just can’t stop eating these brussel sprouts!”  Or, “I just did the Insanity workout and can’t wait to do it again tomorrow!”  Or maybe just once say, and really mean it, “Ew.  All you have are donuts and pastries?  Do you have any apples I could eat?”  Maybe one day.  Not likely, but maybe.

Happy God = Chained to a Stove?

After two glorious days of not leaving my house, I thought it might be time for a test run back into society before I had to return to the real world and life’s responsibilities tomorrow.    If you’ve learned anything from this blog, you assumed correctly that I stayed as far away as possible from the madness of the retailers on Friday and Saturday.  I am much more of a Cyber Monday type of girl, where I can do my purchasing safely and on my own time.  I don’t like people in general, let alone half mad, sleep deprived people willing to claw, scratch and kick small children and puppies out of their way to be the first in line for that crazy deal on a TV or iPod.  They could be handing out FREE TVs and I’d be running the other way.  Anyone who would skip Thanksgiving food to camp out in front of Best Buy scares me.

Anyways I digress.  I thought church would be a great way to slowly emerge from my cocoon of comfort.  But first, this happened….

Duggar Family Values

And then this happened….

G vs. curb. Curb – 1. G – 0.

Nothing super glue can’t fix.

And once we returned from the ER safe and sound, I vowed never to leave the house again.

Let me go back.  Today was one of my favorite Sundays.  Every Sunday after Thanksgiving, my church takes the church hour for the congregation to stand up and say why they are thankful.  This is always a heart-warming, life affirming morning that gives you renewed faith in humanity and God’s presence in the world.  I love it, and I still do, even after this story.

A mother stood up about halfway through and said she was thankful that this year she had truly learned to submit to her husband, become the obedient wife God intended and let her husband be the man of the household.  I had to physically refrain from snorting in derision because this statement goes against every fiber of my liberal, feminist being.

Before I launch into my opinion, let me give this disclaimer.  I am in no way bashing this lady for her beliefs or thoughts.  My mother in law, God bless her, being so quick to point out the good in people, reminded me that I have no idea where this woman is coming from, what her marriage is like, and how exactly she intended this to sound.  This I keep in mind as I launch into my tirade.  Another thing my mother in law reminded me was that in order to obey your husband as she is perhaps suggesting, he must respect you first, because if you don’t have that, you are treading into some very dangerous territory.  I agree.  I don’t think for one minute this woman was saying stay in an abusive relationship or with a douche bag, lazy, good for nothing waste of space.  I think what she means is playing your God-given role in society.  Raise your kids.  Take care of the home.  Be an animal in bed….wait, no, maybe not that last one.

Anyways, this statement just goes against everything I have come to believe is right in this world, and why organized religion will always make me skittish.  When someone stands up and says something like this, I assume that EVERYONE in the congregation agrees and totally judges me for having the audacity to work and actually enjoy doing it.  To have a crazy messy house and dinners that consist of PB&J more often than not.    Am I wrong to assume this?  Of course, I am also one of the congregants and I don’t agree with her, so why should everyone else?  It’s just my insecurity with my faith and with organized religion.

For me, every time I walk into church, I assume everyone around me is more wholesome, more genuine, more giving, but also waaaay more judgmental than me.   I go to church to deepen my faith and understand my God and Christianity as a whole, and the church I attend has never ever preached hate or intolerance, which is a total deal breaker for me, so I try to attend as faithfully as possible to help answer my endless questions and also help give my kids a good jumping off point for their own religious journey.  But for me, it is imperative the church I attend be welcoming, accepting and loving to all God’s children, not just the ones organized religion deems “acceptable.”  And believe me, in Christian churches, this is no easy task.

I am fortunate to have found this in my church, where we have been going for the past three years.   That still doesn’t alleviate my discomfort with organized religion.  And when someone stands up and says I must be obedient to my husband, I just take it as a slap in the face and I feel a sadness that I will never truly fit into a church lifestyle.  At church, I put on my most wholesome face (yes people who go there, that’s as nice looking as I get) and to some extent pretend to be a nice girl who doesn’t swear, drink, tell dirty jokes, read really dirty books, or laugh at TV shows like Family Guy.   Because to me, this girl is a sinner, one God wouldn’t enjoy having around.  But this girl is me, warts and all, and I doubt no matter how much I read the Bible or donate to charity, she will always be me.

So my vow to myself is to keep going to church, evolve in my faith, be the best person I can be, but still be true to myself, tell the occasion raunchy joke, get really excited about the DVD release of Magic Mike and read smut like it’s going out of style…or soon to be banned.

PS – G is fine.  Poor girl got my clumsy gene and maybe my bad eyes.  We’re looking into that.  She was a trooper at the ER and thankfully no needles were needed.

Twilight…Goodbye Old Friend

MMM. Sparkly vampires.

 

Of course I saw Breaking Dawn 2 this weekend.  Thought I’d give you my two cents, because really, you can’t judge the critics’ reviews, because they have no idea what they are talking about.  Only fans of the book in my opinion have judging rights. 

 

Yes, I am the typical demographic for an older Twihard.  Mid-30s, married, mother of two, voracious reader.  What pulls us in?  For me, it’s pretty simple.  Total and utter escapism.  A man who craves you, who is so intensely in love with you he watches you sleep.  He would rather die than live without you.  He’s beautiful and sparkly and never ages.  And Stephenie Meyer creates such a new and interesting vampire folklore, you become entrenched in these new vampires and the all the new rules she presents.  Admit it fans, you really wanted to be a vampire when you finished Breaking Dawn amirite? 

 

Yes, in real life Edward would be super annoying.  Watching me sleep?  Not letting me hang out with my friends?  Having to suppress a constant desire to eat me?  Yes, in real life his intensity and blood lust would be worrisome.  But I say relax feminists.  It’s escapism.  It’s for us women who have grown up, become responsible, had children who are constantly needing something, a husband who, shock and surprise, is human with feelings and needs of his own.  We pay bills, are constantly making hard decisions and always doubting those that we make.  So, Twilight for me was not Bella submitting to Edward.  It was a fantasy world where she is worshiped and has a devoted partner.    One who has tons of money because your sister in law can see the future and plays the stock market.  Whose only worry (at the end anyways) is finding a deer or mountain lion to eat for dinner.  Sounds like fun right?  Let me have my fun people. 

 

Ok, back to the movie.  Yes, I know girl at work who hates me and makes passive aggressive side comments about how stupid the movies are, the movies are kind of cheesy.  They had a tough time developing a respectable werewolf.  The werewolf telepathy in BD1 was cringe-worthy.  I know they are cheesy.  And this movie did have a few laugh out loud at inappropriate moments.  Aro’s Pee-Wee  Herman-esque glee at meeting Renesmee was hilarious.  Bella running in front of a very obvious green screen as a new vampire.  Renesmee’s aging was a bit creepy, but they did what they could.    But honestly, Bill Condon and screenwriter Melissa Rosenberg took an awesome second half of the book and translated it perfectly for us fans.  I kept wondering how they’d take the most anti-climatic fight scene in book history and make it interesting on screen, but they did it.  Slow clap, Breaking Dawn, slow clap.  It.  Was.  Awesome.   And yes, this introvert yelled “WHAT THE WHAT?” in the theater when “the twist” happened.  I was freaking out, as I am always totally sucked in at movies and never have them figured out before it’s totally spelled out for me. 

If you haven’t read and loved the books, you probably won’t like or even understand this movie.  For me, this was a final love letter to the books’ fans.  It wasn’t meant for anyone but us.   Would I drag my husband to it?  No, but I will make him do a Twilight DVD marathon sometime in the not too distant future.  You know, to make up for the August through February football season, where every TV in the house is on from Thursday through Monday, with that annoying crowd cheering, ridiculous ever-changing rules and hilarious commentators filling time with asinine comments, such as this gem…”If Villa got another goal now it would change the scoreline completely.”  (Yeah, I totally googled that.)   I’m not going to waste my $10.50 to hear him make side comments the whole time.  Last time I took him to a girl movie was Titanic (the first time, not the 3D time).  At the end (SPOILER ALERT, but then, if you haven’t seen Titanic by now, forget it), when the whole theater is sobbing hysterically and I am beside myself with grief because of that stupid Celine Dion song, my husband, who after seeing old Rose throw the Heart of the Ocean into the sea, yells out, “What the heck? Now, that’s something to cry about!”  So, yeah, not wasting my money taking him to the theater.  I’ll take the side comments at a much cheaper and more intimate place thank you very much.  But, don’t worry my dear, 50 Shades is coming, and that movie you will be drug to.  But don’t worry honey, it will be worth your while 😉

Getting Old

For the first time the other day, I really felt old.  I was checking out at Kroger, buying my ton and a half of veggies and fruits for my crazy diet.  Which, by the way, since it is now defunct, does anyone want a head of cabbage?  What the heck am I supposed to do with that?  Is sauerkraut hard to make??  It’s the only thing I can think to do with cabbage that at least one of us will eat.

As I was paying, I overhear the tail end of a conversation between two co-workers.  Two girls were talking and must have realized they both attend/attended the same high school.  The younger girl asked when the older girl graduated, to which she replied 1996.  The younger girl was all like, “OMG, that was the year after I was born!”  What the what???  You are old enough to work and you were born when I was a sophomore in high school?  If I had had much worse luck and God truly decided to punish me for my mischievousness, this girl could feasibly be my daughter???  Holy crap!

Then a few days ago, I drove by my alma mater, Bowling Green State University, on my way to take my son to a doctor appointment.  It’s been 12 years since I graduated and I started waxing nostalgic.    Sometimes I really miss those carefree days.  Although, to say college was not stressful would not be fair.  The stress of being an adult and when I was in college is just different.  I remember the killer math and science classes, which almost put a stop to obtaining my useless degree, because as Barbie would say, “Math is hard!”  These were not my forte for sure.   I remember feeling the pressure that at 20 years old, I should have what I want to do for the rest of my life figured out before college ended, which honestly, I didn’t figure out until 6 months ago, and I’m still not sure.

But I do miss the absolute freedom and the ability to be completely self-centered and responsible for only me.  I think of college as a summer camp to life.  All the freedom of an adult, but 1/3 of the responsibilities.  (Yes, I am very lucky and had VERY supportive parents who made the hard decisions and big tuition payments (mostly), but to my credit, I didn’t disappoint them…right Mom and Dad??)  My life consisted of the following decisions:  Skip class and sleep til 11?  Check.  Eat Spaghetti O’s for breakfast?  Check.  Sleep over with your boyfriend who just happens to live one floor down from you in your dorm?  Check!  God it was great.

I miss the days of smoking weed in some random cornfield with my best friend and his roommate, who got all New Agey when getting high.  This was fun because while he wanted to pass the energy ball (read: nothing) between friends and ooo and ahh over the Earth’s aura (read:  lights from Perrysburg), the rest of us were stifling giggles and naming and making out with cornstalks.  PSA:  WEED CAN MAKE YOU STUPID!  I miss having all my friends in one apartment complex, fondly referred to as Melrose, and the Halloween party thrown by my best girlfriends my first year.  Getting totally drunk in our matching couples’ genie costumes for which we totally won the bottle of Absolut for Best Costume, and then recovering the next day with a nice greasy cheeseburger.  If I drank like that now, I’d be in a coma.   Sitting on a couch for the entire day with your best friend watching the crazy Christian channel where everyone got healed and redeemed and you just made fun of the dramatic screaming and jubiliation.  Playing jeopardy so competitively that no one wanted to be your friend afterwards.   Watching endless hours of Golden Girls and realizing that each of your roommates was one of them. Yes.  I was Dorothy, as I have never been the fun one.  Someone, who shall not be named but who now lives in San Fran was Blanche, one very smart nurse was our lovable Rose and my husband fit perfectly as Sophia, the wise-cracking older person who just made fun of the rest of us.  God those were fun days.

College could be hard, but the stress now sucks way more. I have a mortgage, a car payment, a low-paying but comfortable job (therefore little motivation to achieve higher success), an unemployed husband, and a house I desperately want to scour with a magic eraser the size of a car.  I have two kids who are growing up in a world where kindergartners are expected to be able to publish something on-line by the end of that year (seriously, next year’s new standards), where they can’t play alone in the front yard, and bullying has reached new and terrifying levels.  I have no time for anything because dishes are piled in the sink, the kitty litter needs cleaned, and apparently my daughter needs clean underwear every day, and I only have around an hour a night to do it before falling into an exhausted heap in my bed because I’ve spent the evening after getting home from work making dinner, doing homework and catching up with my kids and husband who I haven’t seen all day.  Heck, the only reason I’m typing this is because I am ignoring the dishes in the sink and my husband has been banned from any 50 Shades action tonight because I have my annual check up tomorrow and I don’t want the doctor to get all judgy down there.    Too much?  Sorry.  That, and he just got Black Ops II because, under the guise of “looking at some cool lamps he saw online,” he took us to Target after dinner and just  happened to see it on the shelf, and just happened to suggest it be my Christmas present to him.   Lamps?  Really, was I born yesterday?  It took staring at the Black Ops shelf, a quick tour through Christmasland and then another run up the boy toys aisles before I had to remind him why we were there.  “Lamps honey remember?”   “Oh yeah! umm, uh, yeah…these!  These right here!  I really think these are awesome!” (insert fake enthusiasm here).

So, would I go back to the easy days of college?  No.  I love my life.  With the crazy hard responsibility comes a strong happy marriage, two hilarious and adorable kids, a good chunk of life experience under my belt and a comfortableness with who I am that at 20, I had no idea even existed.  What I do miss was that all my friends were just a stone’s throw away (we used to call our apartment complex Melrose), and are now scattered across the country as well as the sense of freedom and self-centeredness.  Maybe, we could compromise and just meet back for one week a year and relieve the glory days?  Anyone?   How fun would that be?  Though, I am not sure our 30 something bodies could handle all the alcohol and weed, so we might have to cut it back a little.  And close the bar?  Please no, it just messes up my sleep schedule and the kids will still be up at 6 no matter what time I go to bed.  So – maybe some slight adjustments. Hey, I can dream can’t I?

Ah, good times.  I miss you my friends.  This one’s for you.

Confessions…of a Parent

I am a bit of a lull after only two posts.  Awesome I know, but I have something I want to write that I can’t share here yet and it’s taking up all the brain matter that is not currently covered with melted chocolate, unpaid bills, and smutty books.  Mainly because it’s about sex, and only my family reads this so far, so it would just become awkward at family functions, so I’ll wait a bit.  But, I might submit it in secret somewhere and fingers crossed, just might get published writing embarrassing things about myself.  I’ll keep you posted, if there’s anything to post, which most likely there won’t, so you’ll all be saved the embarrassment of picturing me naked.  Shudder.  If you do, picture it 10 years and 40 pounds ago please.

Anywho,  I thought I’d give you some parenting confessions to entertain you and make you feel just a little bit better about your life.

At 2 years old, Will dropped the F-bomb completely in context.  He comes running up to me and says, “MOM!  Michael’s fuckin around.”  Like I should do something about it.  NOW.  Let’s just say I freaked the fuck out and made him repeat it at least five more times to verify he did in fact say what he said.  Then I got angry.  What horrible bastards are saying this shit around my kids???  The daycare?  My in-laws?  My sister?  WHO??  Then, I realized.  Shit, it was me.  Driving to daycare that morning, I realized I had yelled, with my children in the backseat, to the driver beside me who was slowly merging into traffic to “Quit fucking around already.”  Yep.  Pretty epic parenting fail.

BTW, I haven’t quite learned my lesson, as this Sunday at the breakfast table, I told Mark to “Quit being a douche,” which apparently is just as funny to them as it is to me, and no, I will not explain what a douche is, other than their father was being one at the moment.

Likewise, my kids recently “made” up a word that they think it hilarious.  The word?  Twat.  Yep, now, I admit, I tend to swear like a sailor at times, but frankly, this just isn’t a word I choose to use on a regular basis.  They seriously put the constants and vowel together and made up what they thought was a funny word and then proceeded to sing-song it all the way down the aisle at Target.

I worry that Gracie might be a stripper.  She really likes to dance and take her clothes off.  Scares the bejeesus out of me.

I am secretly overjoyed that Will and Gracie both know the Single Ladies dance by Beyonce.  Honestly, it’s adorable.  Next up, vogueing.

This is a confession from Mark.  I know you hide in the bathroom to play video games.  No one can poop that much in one day.  Seriously.  I’m on to you honey.

I used to hate the grocery store.  Now, if alone, I will stay there for hours.  Pick the longest line to wait in.  Watch the fish like some crazy lady by myself.  Walk the organization aisles like I am actually going to organize my house one day. Maybe read a chapter of my book in the car before I even go in.   The longer the better.

I know I am not the only one who does this, but I hide the good food from my kids.  Oreos?  Mine. Good ice cream?  Mine.  Brownies?  Hidden until they fall asleep.  Sometimes, when I can’t wait for them to go to sleep, I hide in the corner of the kitchen with the lights off and shovel Oreos into my mouth at what I am sure is a world record pace.  Wait, that sounds sad.  Nevermind.  I don’t do that.

Mark and I play this game with a vengeance.  It’s called pretend you’re sleeping until the other person gets tired of hearing the kid scream and gets up.  Oh don’t get all judgy, you all do it.  Not the blood curdling, something’s wrong scream…the scream that says, I peed/pooped/threw up all over the room and need you to clean it up, or I want to play at 3 a.m.  with no intention of going back to sleep for the rest of the day scream.  I’d say we are equally good at it.

OK – enough confessions for today.  Got any to make me feel better?  Please don’t call Child Services.   I do love my kids and they are well fed, not neglected and honestly turning into pretty decent human beings.  I promise.