Let me start off by saying that I thank my lucky stars every nite that I have happy healthy children. With that being said, every year about this time I find myself wondering why they had to grow 2 inches over the summer. The thing is, I never notice that they've grown until the first cold day of fall when they have to wear their pants to school.You'd think after 13 years I would take it into consideration that, yes, it is going to get cold, and, yes I should buy them new pants before the cold hits. I just never think to, I'm a procrastinator.
Every fall it's the same scenario, we wake up one morning, and there is frost on the ground. That's my cue to start digging under the beds to find a wadded up pair of jeans that have been there since last winter. After wiping off the stains, and throwing them into the dryer to get out the wrinkles, I give them to the kids. When they come out to model them, there is always an inch of ankle showing. I try to appear calm and tell them to pull their socks up, maybe noone will notice. But who am I kidding?
Olivia, my 3 year old, is down to 2 pairs of pants. One pair that fit great, they are just lost at the moment. The other pair are an inch too big in the waist, and an inch too short in the legs. I had to take her out in those today in order to buy her new pants. What a sight she made. She is going through a phase of not bathing. Don't judge me, I'd rather bathe my cat than to try and hold Olivia down for her weekly hosing off. I keep her wiped off, but her hair is another story in itself. I'm not even going to admit to the last time her hair saw the business end of a hair brush. I have been tempted to chop it off, but she will not stay still long enough. Needless to say, she basically looks like a wild animal. A very cute one though!
As we're walking through Target I look down and notice she is wearing 2 different flip flops. She insists on dressing herself, and for some reason she thinks as long as she's wearing shoes, it doesn't matter if they match or not. So, here I am, with a toddler wearing 2 different shoes, hair knotted up sticking out in all different directions, with her butt crack shining. I was horrified. I'm actually shocked that noone was trying to give us spare change and the phone number for the nearest soup kitchen.
Long story short, we get into Target, she starts throwing a tantrum, I walk right back out the door. So here I am in the same boat, faced with the prospect of taking her out into public looking like a wild child again. I'm already dreading it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Satan's In The Advertising Business
It's that time year for me. Time to admit I have relapsed on my New Year's resolution. I tried to make world peace happen, really I did. Nah, I'm just kidding, I just want to lose some weight. I started out strong. I was eating a lot of fruit, cut back on the fried foods. I was faithfully doing 50-75 crunches a day along with push-ups, and trying to walk whenever the weather permitted.
I don't know what happened. Wait, yes I do. It started when I brought home a bag of Valentine's candy. Just to have around for the kiddos, right? Now I have never been a huge fan of sweets so I didn't think it would be a big deal. Till I ate that first piece. I would equate it to someone getting their first shot of heroin. No, I've never done heroin, but the way it's been described to me is the way I felt when I popped that first sweet in my mouth. I couldn't wait for the next one, or the next one, or the...well, you get the picture.
After getting my tattoo and taking pictures of it, I realized that I had alot more upper arm than I had thought. ALOT. So last nite I was googling "exercises that tone up the arms". Every site I went to had some good exercises, but I started noticing something. All of the advertisement banners were saying, "take this pill, eat whatever you want, forget about exercise". I even went to one that had an annoying pop-up of McDonald's newest skillet burrito. It came zooming across the page like the Goodyear blimp and I had to chase it around trying to hit the "close" button.
It was like satan himself was placing these advertisements. I mean, who really wants go give up fried chicken and walk 10 miles a day when you can just take this pill or drink that shake and the weight magically falls off? I am going to hop back up on my diet wagon and hope I can steer my course past the devil. I think the key to weight loss is healthy food, exercise and a little common sense. But just in case I'm wrong, all I have to do is google "weight loss" and it will take me to a zillion different sites selling that magic pill.
I don't know what happened. Wait, yes I do. It started when I brought home a bag of Valentine's candy. Just to have around for the kiddos, right? Now I have never been a huge fan of sweets so I didn't think it would be a big deal. Till I ate that first piece. I would equate it to someone getting their first shot of heroin. No, I've never done heroin, but the way it's been described to me is the way I felt when I popped that first sweet in my mouth. I couldn't wait for the next one, or the next one, or the...well, you get the picture.
After getting my tattoo and taking pictures of it, I realized that I had alot more upper arm than I had thought. ALOT. So last nite I was googling "exercises that tone up the arms". Every site I went to had some good exercises, but I started noticing something. All of the advertisement banners were saying, "take this pill, eat whatever you want, forget about exercise". I even went to one that had an annoying pop-up of McDonald's newest skillet burrito. It came zooming across the page like the Goodyear blimp and I had to chase it around trying to hit the "close" button.
It was like satan himself was placing these advertisements. I mean, who really wants go give up fried chicken and walk 10 miles a day when you can just take this pill or drink that shake and the weight magically falls off? I am going to hop back up on my diet wagon and hope I can steer my course past the devil. I think the key to weight loss is healthy food, exercise and a little common sense. But just in case I'm wrong, all I have to do is google "weight loss" and it will take me to a zillion different sites selling that magic pill.
Viva Evolution!
I don't claim to know how we all began. I do believe in evolution to an extent. Not because I'm a big fan of Darwin, but because every picture I've ever seen of cavemen doesn't look like anyone I know. Okay, maybe a couple of guys I dated in high school, but other than that we all look different now. Just for the record, I personally think the Geico caveman is pretty hot. But anyways.
What I do believe in is that our bodies need to evolve. It is my personal belief that our bodies are designed to exist on a diet high in fruits and berries and red meat. Also our bodies are designed to walk all day tracking wooly mammoths. So I have come upon a new theory - if we could just figure out a way to make our bodies understand that we can now drive to get where we are going. If we could make our metabolism understand that we now have a more varied diet that no longer includes brontosaurus burgers.
My point is, I think we as a nation are fat because our bodies just don't understand all the yummy foods that are out there. I'm not saying that you shouldn't eat healthy, but why everytime do I even consider eating a piece of cheesecake my jeans get tighter? I think our bodies are expecting way too much exercise and not enough food. It's not like I have to beat on a piece of flint all day to get a fire, I just pick up my bic and give it a flick nowadays.
Now before you discount me, just give it a thought. I think I'm onto something here, what do you think?
What I do believe in is that our bodies need to evolve. It is my personal belief that our bodies are designed to exist on a diet high in fruits and berries and red meat. Also our bodies are designed to walk all day tracking wooly mammoths. So I have come upon a new theory - if we could just figure out a way to make our bodies understand that we can now drive to get where we are going. If we could make our metabolism understand that we now have a more varied diet that no longer includes brontosaurus burgers.
My point is, I think we as a nation are fat because our bodies just don't understand all the yummy foods that are out there. I'm not saying that you shouldn't eat healthy, but why everytime do I even consider eating a piece of cheesecake my jeans get tighter? I think our bodies are expecting way too much exercise and not enough food. It's not like I have to beat on a piece of flint all day to get a fire, I just pick up my bic and give it a flick nowadays.
Now before you discount me, just give it a thought. I think I'm onto something here, what do you think?
Painful Memories of That First Time
I remember my first time, I was young and naive. I foolishly thought it would be a fun experience, and I might make a little money to boot. It was an all day ordeal, and at the end of it, I just felt used and wore out. And I was still broke.
A lot of time passed between my first and second time. The first one was so bad that I just didn't think I could ever handle doing it again. But, as time has a way of doing, my bad memories were replaced by the thought of a quick dollar. The second time was even worse than the first. By the time nite fell, I felt completely dejected, and was still broke.
2 years passed since that last time. This time, I got cocky. I told myself that I would make a lot of money and would have a great time. With this third strike, I believe I am finally ready to admit defeat. I will never do it again.
Now I know what you're thinking. 3 times I've done it and I have 3 kids, hmmmm. Get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about having a yard sale! Yard sales, they seem so glamorous and romantic to think of. You are going to put out your prized possessions and people will fight each other trying to pay you top dollar for them. That's not how it ever works. At least not for me.
I always spend a week getting prepared; making sure everything is clean and folded and priced to sell. I make bright colorful signs and strategically place them around town. I get up the morning of the sale while it is still dark outside, trying to arrange everything so that it will be pleasing to the eye. Then I sit back and I wait for the customers to arrive in droves. And I wait, and I wait. People slowly trickle in. They are always looking for the one thing I don't have. I had someone ask me today if I have any cassette tapes of gospel music. Are you kidding me?
Finally, by the end of the day, worn and weary, I'm reduced to almost begging people to take my stuff for free just so I don't have to bring it back in the house. I always end every yard sale the same way; cussing myself and swearing to never do it again. Yet I always do, I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.
A lot of time passed between my first and second time. The first one was so bad that I just didn't think I could ever handle doing it again. But, as time has a way of doing, my bad memories were replaced by the thought of a quick dollar. The second time was even worse than the first. By the time nite fell, I felt completely dejected, and was still broke.
2 years passed since that last time. This time, I got cocky. I told myself that I would make a lot of money and would have a great time. With this third strike, I believe I am finally ready to admit defeat. I will never do it again.
Now I know what you're thinking. 3 times I've done it and I have 3 kids, hmmmm. Get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about having a yard sale! Yard sales, they seem so glamorous and romantic to think of. You are going to put out your prized possessions and people will fight each other trying to pay you top dollar for them. That's not how it ever works. At least not for me.
I always spend a week getting prepared; making sure everything is clean and folded and priced to sell. I make bright colorful signs and strategically place them around town. I get up the morning of the sale while it is still dark outside, trying to arrange everything so that it will be pleasing to the eye. Then I sit back and I wait for the customers to arrive in droves. And I wait, and I wait. People slowly trickle in. They are always looking for the one thing I don't have. I had someone ask me today if I have any cassette tapes of gospel music. Are you kidding me?
Finally, by the end of the day, worn and weary, I'm reduced to almost begging people to take my stuff for free just so I don't have to bring it back in the house. I always end every yard sale the same way; cussing myself and swearing to never do it again. Yet I always do, I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.
Find Out What It Means To Me!
When my oldest daughter was born 12 years ago, I received the most important piece of advice I had ever been given. It was given to me by my aunt, Jerri Ann. She told me that the key to a happy family was to respect my mate, respect my child, and respect myself. Being 20 years old at the time, I had no idea what she was talking about, but it struck me so deep that I mentally filed it away until I could understand what it meant.
It didn't take me very long to realize what she meant, and I have tried to live by those rules. I respect Mark, not only as the head of our household (so he thinks), but also as my husband and best friend. I respect my children, I try very hard to realize that they are actually really little people with feelings and thoughts of their own. I also respect myself. It works out because by following my lead, we all respect each other. Now that's not to say that I don't have a few smart ass kids, but they are still great.
If I could talk to every parent out there, I would ask them to please use that same rule of thumb with their kids. Alas, this isn't true though. Case in point, I took my kids to the park the other day and there was a gang of teenagers loitering around. I could not believe the language coming out of their mouths! Now, I am not a prude, if you know me for more than a minute, you realize that I drop the "f" bomb more than most sailors, but I try to be respectful with it. I won't say it in certain company, but I do say it, alot.
After listening to the colorful language for a few minutes, I realized I had a choice to make. Before I even thought about it, I made that choice. I jumped up and in my meanest tone of voice I could muster, I told them to watch their mouths in front of my kids. Now by nature, I am a very laid back person, totally not into confrontation, but I just couldn't allow the disrespect to go on anymore. After I had my say, I was scared to death. What if they wanted to fight? What if they scratched the f word into my car? But none of that happened, they scattered. I was greatful.
I am not a perfect mom by any means. I raise my voice on the average of once every 17 minutes. I get exasperated. I lose my patience. But I try to maintain that line of respect. I just wish other people would teach their kids the same thing, I think the world would be a lot better place to live.
It didn't take me very long to realize what she meant, and I have tried to live by those rules. I respect Mark, not only as the head of our household (so he thinks), but also as my husband and best friend. I respect my children, I try very hard to realize that they are actually really little people with feelings and thoughts of their own. I also respect myself. It works out because by following my lead, we all respect each other. Now that's not to say that I don't have a few smart ass kids, but they are still great.
If I could talk to every parent out there, I would ask them to please use that same rule of thumb with their kids. Alas, this isn't true though. Case in point, I took my kids to the park the other day and there was a gang of teenagers loitering around. I could not believe the language coming out of their mouths! Now, I am not a prude, if you know me for more than a minute, you realize that I drop the "f" bomb more than most sailors, but I try to be respectful with it. I won't say it in certain company, but I do say it, alot.
After listening to the colorful language for a few minutes, I realized I had a choice to make. Before I even thought about it, I made that choice. I jumped up and in my meanest tone of voice I could muster, I told them to watch their mouths in front of my kids. Now by nature, I am a very laid back person, totally not into confrontation, but I just couldn't allow the disrespect to go on anymore. After I had my say, I was scared to death. What if they wanted to fight? What if they scratched the f word into my car? But none of that happened, they scattered. I was greatful.
I am not a perfect mom by any means. I raise my voice on the average of once every 17 minutes. I get exasperated. I lose my patience. But I try to maintain that line of respect. I just wish other people would teach their kids the same thing, I think the world would be a lot better place to live.
Identity Crisis
I am having an identity crisis, and I have the mall to thank for it. I went shopping for some new clothes recently at a large department store, name withheld. I look at the store directory to try to figure out where to go. I see the "women's" department. Yep, that's me I'm thinking. I head over there, and after checking the sizes, I see that I am mistaken. I am not a woman, which makes me feel bad to admit to myself.
Back to the directory. I see "Misses". Oh, okay, I'm married, so duh, that does make more sense. I take off in search for the perfect outfit. I'm thumbing through the racks, hmmm, polyester pants, sweater sets, embroidered t-shirts. Wait a minute! I'm not a grandmother! So even though I am technically "Mrs. Denney", clotheswise, I am no "miss".
Fast foward to me standing in front of the directory again, scratching my head. I see a "Petite" department. Well, I am 5'3", so maybe that's where I'll find my new clothes. I look around the department and do not see anything. Something on the floor caught my eye and I looked down and lo and behold, there were the clothes rack. I got down on my knees and started looking at the selection. After finding a pair of jeans, I go to the fitting room and try them on. Why do they look like shorts on me? Maybe I'm not petite, I decide.
Directory, here I come again. The last option is the "Juniors" department. Juniors? Aren't they kids? I don't want to shop in the kids department! I am a woman! Or at least I thought I was before I arrived at the mall. I guess I'll try it, what do I have to lose? As I'm looking through the clothes, I see a size I didn't think was possible, 00. Are you kidding me here? I pull the pants off the rack and see that the only way to fit into them is to have the bottom half of my body removed and replaced with a set of chopsticks. Depression sets in, I decide to leave. Who needs clothes when there are more important things in life, like trying to figure out exactly what I am?
Back to the directory. I see "Misses". Oh, okay, I'm married, so duh, that does make more sense. I take off in search for the perfect outfit. I'm thumbing through the racks, hmmm, polyester pants, sweater sets, embroidered t-shirts. Wait a minute! I'm not a grandmother! So even though I am technically "Mrs. Denney", clotheswise, I am no "miss".
Fast foward to me standing in front of the directory again, scratching my head. I see a "Petite" department. Well, I am 5'3", so maybe that's where I'll find my new clothes. I look around the department and do not see anything. Something on the floor caught my eye and I looked down and lo and behold, there were the clothes rack. I got down on my knees and started looking at the selection. After finding a pair of jeans, I go to the fitting room and try them on. Why do they look like shorts on me? Maybe I'm not petite, I decide.
Directory, here I come again. The last option is the "Juniors" department. Juniors? Aren't they kids? I don't want to shop in the kids department! I am a woman! Or at least I thought I was before I arrived at the mall. I guess I'll try it, what do I have to lose? As I'm looking through the clothes, I see a size I didn't think was possible, 00. Are you kidding me here? I pull the pants off the rack and see that the only way to fit into them is to have the bottom half of my body removed and replaced with a set of chopsticks. Depression sets in, I decide to leave. Who needs clothes when there are more important things in life, like trying to figure out exactly what I am?
The Case of The Humming Gyno
This is an old one, but I hope you enjoy it..
Hey ya'll, it's been awhile, sorry about that. I guess I've had blogger's block. I haven't been able to come up with anything worth writing about in a long time. I came up with an idea, of all places, carrying a urine sample through the doctor's office.
I started thinking, with all the modern technology out there, is it really necessary for me to be prancing around in public with a shot glass of urine? Today I had my annual woman's exam. I always come out of the office feeling very uncomfortable and confused. I am a married woman, have been for 11 years. I would never dream of cheating on my husband. Yet I met my new doctor and within 10 minutes of saying "hello", I'm dropping my drawers. It makes me feel like a woman with loose morals.
I know that they say that gynocologists see so many naked woman that they don't even pay attention. But I always secretly watch them from the corner of my eye just to make sure he's not admiring me, or even worse, laughing. I've had a few different gynos over the years. I like this one alot. He's very professional. Alot better than my last one, he used to hum to himself the whole time. And the one before that, he had the shortest, stubbiest fingers on a human being I've ever seen.
I think men have it lucky, even more lucky than they realize. Sure they have to do the whole "turn your head and cough" thing, and I'm sure a proctolgy exam isn't a trip to the beach either. But when you compare that to paying a stranger to fondle you, no drinks involved, I think men are the luckier sex.
Hey ya'll, it's been awhile, sorry about that. I guess I've had blogger's block. I haven't been able to come up with anything worth writing about in a long time. I came up with an idea, of all places, carrying a urine sample through the doctor's office.
I started thinking, with all the modern technology out there, is it really necessary for me to be prancing around in public with a shot glass of urine? Today I had my annual woman's exam. I always come out of the office feeling very uncomfortable and confused. I am a married woman, have been for 11 years. I would never dream of cheating on my husband. Yet I met my new doctor and within 10 minutes of saying "hello", I'm dropping my drawers. It makes me feel like a woman with loose morals.
I know that they say that gynocologists see so many naked woman that they don't even pay attention. But I always secretly watch them from the corner of my eye just to make sure he's not admiring me, or even worse, laughing. I've had a few different gynos over the years. I like this one alot. He's very professional. Alot better than my last one, he used to hum to himself the whole time. And the one before that, he had the shortest, stubbiest fingers on a human being I've ever seen.
I think men have it lucky, even more lucky than they realize. Sure they have to do the whole "turn your head and cough" thing, and I'm sure a proctolgy exam isn't a trip to the beach either. But when you compare that to paying a stranger to fondle you, no drinks involved, I think men are the luckier sex.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Tales of A Dirty House
I don't, in general, consider myself a bad housekeeper. That being said, NEVER pop up on me unannounced. Give me at least 15 minutes warning so I can be prepared. I have a 15 minute cleaning routine specifically for popper-uppers. First I run into the kitchen, and shove all my dirty dishes in the oven. I then dash around the house gathering up all the dirty laundry. For some reason, my family does not understand the fact that we have a little room in the house that has a washer and a dryer and is used for no other purpose than doing laundry, if so, then surely they would bring their dirty clothes there themselves. After removing the offense laundry and clothes, I then open the closet in the living room and shove all of the toys in it. Spray some pine sol in the air, and viola, a clean house ready for company.
It's a completely different story when I have advance warning of company coming. Take for instance, Olivia's birthday party. I threw together an impromptu get together because for the 3rd year in a row her birthday crept up on me. I'm not a bad parent, she was just born too close to Christmas. I will always procrastinate doing my housework until the day before any get together using the excuse that the kids would just mess it right back up, so why bother.
I start out in the kitchen, because I am very funny about my kitchen being clean. I will make sure all the dishes are washed and put away. Then I will wipe down everything and then sweep. But I'll notice there is a sticky spot, so I have to mop. Then I will think to myself, what if someone wants a drink and opens my fridge? Will they be scared of the fuzzy things in the bottom? I believe they used to be grapes, but I can't swear to it. Thus I am now cleaning out the refridgerator.
After spending 4 hours on the kitchen, I'm exhausted, but I plow on furiously scrubbing my house. I will grab my trusty bottle of cleaner and a rag and start scrubbing the walls, thinking to myself, what do they do when I'm not looking. Are they making mudpies and then practicing their high five skills on the wall? I always end up frustrated, wondering if I'm raising a filthy pack of animals who have no regard about what people think of their home.
It always ends the same way. The day of the party arrives, I'm cranky and tired, the kids are mad because I have spent the whole day fussing at them. And what happens? Noone wanted a damn drink anway, go figure.
It's a completely different story when I have advance warning of company coming. Take for instance, Olivia's birthday party. I threw together an impromptu get together because for the 3rd year in a row her birthday crept up on me. I'm not a bad parent, she was just born too close to Christmas. I will always procrastinate doing my housework until the day before any get together using the excuse that the kids would just mess it right back up, so why bother.
I start out in the kitchen, because I am very funny about my kitchen being clean. I will make sure all the dishes are washed and put away. Then I will wipe down everything and then sweep. But I'll notice there is a sticky spot, so I have to mop. Then I will think to myself, what if someone wants a drink and opens my fridge? Will they be scared of the fuzzy things in the bottom? I believe they used to be grapes, but I can't swear to it. Thus I am now cleaning out the refridgerator.
After spending 4 hours on the kitchen, I'm exhausted, but I plow on furiously scrubbing my house. I will grab my trusty bottle of cleaner and a rag and start scrubbing the walls, thinking to myself, what do they do when I'm not looking. Are they making mudpies and then practicing their high five skills on the wall? I always end up frustrated, wondering if I'm raising a filthy pack of animals who have no regard about what people think of their home.
It always ends the same way. The day of the party arrives, I'm cranky and tired, the kids are mad because I have spent the whole day fussing at them. And what happens? Noone wanted a damn drink anway, go figure.
Who Could Be This Mad at Me?
Someone is very angry at me. That's the only solution I can come up with about the problem I am having. Someone is so mad at me that instead of hiring a hitman to just shoot me point blank, they have hired someone even worse. A hateful foe whose only mission in life is to see me slowly lose my mind.
This foe must've been a ninja before he took his current job of slowly torturing me. Because he is stealthy. I've never seen him, but I have heard him. He causes me to get up in the nite inspecting the house, looking for him. Praying that I'll find him, yet not knowing what I would do if I ever confronted him face to face.
I have threatened to go armed, but Mark will not tell me where the key to the gun safe is. That's probably a wise decision, I don't know how to shoot a gun anyway. I would probably go into overkill mode and shoot out an entire wall in our house.
My adversary has gotten bolder over the last few nites. He started out being just outside of my bedroom, softly calling to me. Taunting me into finding his hiding place. He is a very aggressive opponent, and as of two nites ago, he took up residence in my bedroom. Always out of my site, but never out of my hearing. He's relentless with his torture, he says the same thing over and over, for hours on end. Why would someone want to see me crazy this bad?
So, if I have offended anyone out there, I am throwing up my white flag. I surrender. I will do whatever it takes if you will just call this ninja off of me. I have reached my breaking point. I will tell you anything you want to hear. I will even do your laundry forever. Just for God's sake, please call this cricket and tell him to go away.
This foe must've been a ninja before he took his current job of slowly torturing me. Because he is stealthy. I've never seen him, but I have heard him. He causes me to get up in the nite inspecting the house, looking for him. Praying that I'll find him, yet not knowing what I would do if I ever confronted him face to face.
I have threatened to go armed, but Mark will not tell me where the key to the gun safe is. That's probably a wise decision, I don't know how to shoot a gun anyway. I would probably go into overkill mode and shoot out an entire wall in our house.
My adversary has gotten bolder over the last few nites. He started out being just outside of my bedroom, softly calling to me. Taunting me into finding his hiding place. He is a very aggressive opponent, and as of two nites ago, he took up residence in my bedroom. Always out of my site, but never out of my hearing. He's relentless with his torture, he says the same thing over and over, for hours on end. Why would someone want to see me crazy this bad?
So, if I have offended anyone out there, I am throwing up my white flag. I surrender. I will do whatever it takes if you will just call this ninja off of me. I have reached my breaking point. I will tell you anything you want to hear. I will even do your laundry forever. Just for God's sake, please call this cricket and tell him to go away.
I need the Number to a Plan Therapis Please!
When I close my eyes and picture my home, I see clean, dust-free surfaces with everything put up carefully where it belongs. But most of all, I see plants. Lots of them. Green everywhere. Leaves, vines, flowers invading your vision.
When I open my eyes, I see chaos. Okay, I've got 3 kids and a bit of a lazy side, so I accept that. But what breaks my heart is that instead of lush plants everywhere, I have alot of pots with sticks poking pitifully out of them. I try so hard to be good to my plants. I water them, I feed them, I'm not ashamed to admit, I even talk to them. Yet they all choose to commit suicide. Is it possible I am driving them crazy?
Last year when my brother-in-law, Robert passed away, I received some beautiful house plants. They were the first plants trusted to my possession since my father-in-law passed away almost 10 years ago. One of the plants I got was a peace lilly that Mark and I had got for the children for the funeral home. I explained my brown thumb to the lady at the flower shop, she scoffed at me in that way that only people with a green thumb can do, and informed me there is no way to kill a peace lilly. Are you kidding me? In my lifetime, I have killed 4 peace lillies, but we still chose it anyway.
Some friends also bought a lilly that we brought home. The day we brought it home it was a big, beautiful, green bushy plant. Today it is a sad anorexic shell of itself. Only about a fourth of it is still alive, but I can't bear to trim off the dead leaves because then the plant would look even worse. I've thought about trying to get it into some kind of therapy before it completely goes to the big garden in the sky.
My personal record for killing houseplants is 3 in one day. A friend told me to water them with leftover coffee. Sounded like a great idea, so I brewed them their own pot, then let it cool, and served it to them black in the morning. By that afternoon, I had the carcasses of a peace lilly, a rubber plant, and a schefflera in my living room. That was 10 years ago, and I guess I haven't gotten any better at plant nurturing.
The funny thing? The peace lilly that Mark and I bought is actually still alive and thriving nicely. The really funny thing is that that plant sits behind our entertainment center. The reason for that is because the pot was just the right height to hold a stick that I use as a prop to hold up the surge protector for the TV. I figured it would die anyway, so I just stuck it back there. Lo and behold, I check it every so often, and there it is grinning at me, almost as if to say, "I'm one tough SOB lady, it's gonna take more than you to kill me". Who am I to question that?
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
A Day at The Park
I love to take my children to the park. I am a big people watcher anyway, and I really enjoy seeing all the different parenting styles that everyone has. These are some of the things I noticed today:
First you have your "hover mothers" who are following their children around, ever mindful that they don't get dirty. These moms are still packing diaper bags for their 8 & 9 year olds, complete with bleach wipes and hand sanitizer. They are often seen wiping down the swing chains and seats before they allow their children to sit on them.
Then you have your "delusional moms". They are often crowded into groups with other moms just like them, loudly crowing about how they only feed their children organically grown veggies. And not regular vegetables like corn and potato chips, mind you, they feed their kids veggies with exotic names like swiss chard, endives, and watercress. While these moms are busily telling everyone that their kid had the Preamble to the Consitution memorized by the age of 2, they don't happen to notice that little precious is grounding sand into an innocent toddler's face. These are also the same children that hang out under the slide uttering phrases that would make a soldier blush.
Where do I fit in all of this you might ask? Well if you have to know, I'm the one cringing, watching my children climbing to the top of the swingset pole, or hanging upside down from the monkey bars. I'm one of those "regular moms". The kind who enjoy watching their children enjoy being outside and breathing fresh air. The kind of mom who knows where my kids are, not trying to impress anyone with my parental skills, not overworried about germs, just there, watching my kids do what they do best...be kids.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Too Much Of A Good Thing
I live a rather boring, typical suburban housewife's meager life. In other words, not a lot happens around here, so I find excitement in the smallest of circumstances. One of the most exciting things that happens to me is when we run out of body wash around the house. That means a trip to Wal-Mart, which in itself is a form of torture, but it also means that for the next couple of weeks we get to smell completely different.
I might choose for us to smell like spring rain in the high prairie, or like a tropical rainforest in southern Venezuala, or even like a handful of lavender, grown especially for our bathing pleasure in the Mediterranean. I have a hard time deciding, because each one smells better than the next. I love the idea of transporting to another location without even having to leave the comfort of my bathroom.
The complete opposite of my joy in picking new body wash is my experience when we run out of shampoo. I cringe when the bottle starts running low. I will add water to it trying to stretch it out. That's because there are too many different varieties of shampoos on the market. I don't know how to choose. When I was a child, you had your shampoo, your dandruff shampoo, and if you had a particularly itchy problem, you had your lice shampoo.
Now a days, you have shampoo for volume, shampoo for heat damage, shampoo for shiny hair, shampoo for an unhappy aura. I have no idea what the difference is. When I make the trek to the store to buy shampoo, I usually end up standing in the aisle muttering to myself, "I just want clean hair, is that too much to ask?" People tend to stear clear of me, giving me the side-eye as if I'm some kind of lunatic. It's not fair, there is a such a thing as too much a good thing.
I can't find one shampoo that I love and stick to it. My hair already has too much volume, it's shiny enough, I don't use heat on it, and my aura is fine, thank you. I guess my alternative is to either get used to having greasy hair, or just shave it off. I hate to be that extreme, maybe I should just talk to the doctor about a prescription for xanax to be taken ONLY on trips for shampoo. Speaking of, I only have about a half a bottle of shampoo left, I should probably go ahead and call the doctor tomorrow.
I might choose for us to smell like spring rain in the high prairie, or like a tropical rainforest in southern Venezuala, or even like a handful of lavender, grown especially for our bathing pleasure in the Mediterranean. I have a hard time deciding, because each one smells better than the next. I love the idea of transporting to another location without even having to leave the comfort of my bathroom.
The complete opposite of my joy in picking new body wash is my experience when we run out of shampoo. I cringe when the bottle starts running low. I will add water to it trying to stretch it out. That's because there are too many different varieties of shampoos on the market. I don't know how to choose. When I was a child, you had your shampoo, your dandruff shampoo, and if you had a particularly itchy problem, you had your lice shampoo.
Now a days, you have shampoo for volume, shampoo for heat damage, shampoo for shiny hair, shampoo for an unhappy aura. I have no idea what the difference is. When I make the trek to the store to buy shampoo, I usually end up standing in the aisle muttering to myself, "I just want clean hair, is that too much to ask?" People tend to stear clear of me, giving me the side-eye as if I'm some kind of lunatic. It's not fair, there is a such a thing as too much a good thing.
I can't find one shampoo that I love and stick to it. My hair already has too much volume, it's shiny enough, I don't use heat on it, and my aura is fine, thank you. I guess my alternative is to either get used to having greasy hair, or just shave it off. I hate to be that extreme, maybe I should just talk to the doctor about a prescription for xanax to be taken ONLY on trips for shampoo. Speaking of, I only have about a half a bottle of shampoo left, I should probably go ahead and call the doctor tomorrow.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
A Little Help, Please?
My husband used a phrase today that I have heard other men use, but am having a hard time figuring out what it means. He said he needed some "me time". I had to stop and scratch my head. I'm truly puzzled.What does that mean, to have "me time"? Is that like when I go to the bathroom and know I have .9 seconds to get business done before someone pounds on the door exclaiming that they have had to go all day and if they don't get in there now, they will go on theirselves? Or is that like when I go in the bedroom, after stepping in an unidentified wet spot on the floor, and I have 1.7 seconds to change my socks before I hear glass shattering? Quite possibly it could be those 3 minutes that I get to sit down at the computer before someone screams that they HAVE to have the computer for homework. Funny, I didn't realize Facebook was a site to go to for homework help. Wait, I bet it is those 10 minutes I spend yelling for everyone to come put up their folded laundry. Funny how everyone wants to leave me alone when they know I have clean laundry ready.I guess I'm having a hard time figuring out exactly what a "me" is. I think I used to be a "me", but I can't remember that far back. For as long as I can remember, I have been a "mom" and a "wifey". So maybe it's best that I don't know what "me time" means, it would probably set me off into a fit trying to figure out what it was, and what to do with it.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Identity Crisis
I am having an identity crisis, and I have the mall to thank for it. I went shopping for some new clothes recently at a large department store, name withheld. I look at the store directory to try to figure out where to go. I see the "women's" department. Yep, that's me I'm thinking. I head over there, and after checking the sizes, I see that I am mistaken. I am not a woman, which makes me feel bad to admit to myself.
Back to the directory. I see "Misses". Oh, okay, I'm married, so duh, that does make more sense. I take off in search for the perfect outfit. I'm thumbing through the racks, hmmm, polyester pants, sweater sets, embroidered t-shirts. Wait a minute! I'm not a grandmother! So even though I am technically "Mrs. Denney", clotheswise, I am no "miss".
Fast foward to me standing in front of the directory again, scratching my head. I see a "Petite" department. Well, I am 5'3", so maybe that's where I'll find my new clothes. I look around the department and do not see anything. Something on the floor caught my eye and I looked down and lo and behold, there were the clothes rack. I got down on my knees and started looking at the selection. After finding a pair of jeans, I go to the fitting room and try them on. Why do they look like shorts on me? Maybe I'm not petite, I decide.
Directory, here I come again. The last option is the "Juniors" department. Juniors? Aren't they kids? I don't want to shop in the kids department! I am a woman! Or at least I thought I was before I arrived at the mall. I guess I'll try it, what do I have to lose? As I'm looking through the clothes, I see a size I didn't think was possible, 00. Are you kidding me here? I pull the pants off the rack and see that the only way to fit into them is to have the bottom half of my body removed and replaced with a set of chopsticks. Depression sets in, I decide to leave. Who needs clothes when there are more important things in life, like trying to figure out exactly what I am?
Back to the directory. I see "Misses". Oh, okay, I'm married, so duh, that does make more sense. I take off in search for the perfect outfit. I'm thumbing through the racks, hmmm, polyester pants, sweater sets, embroidered t-shirts. Wait a minute! I'm not a grandmother! So even though I am technically "Mrs. Denney", clotheswise, I am no "miss".
Fast foward to me standing in front of the directory again, scratching my head. I see a "Petite" department. Well, I am 5'3", so maybe that's where I'll find my new clothes. I look around the department and do not see anything. Something on the floor caught my eye and I looked down and lo and behold, there were the clothes rack. I got down on my knees and started looking at the selection. After finding a pair of jeans, I go to the fitting room and try them on. Why do they look like shorts on me? Maybe I'm not petite, I decide.
Directory, here I come again. The last option is the "Juniors" department. Juniors? Aren't they kids? I don't want to shop in the kids department! I am a woman! Or at least I thought I was before I arrived at the mall. I guess I'll try it, what do I have to lose? As I'm looking through the clothes, I see a size I didn't think was possible, 00. Are you kidding me here? I pull the pants off the rack and see that the only way to fit into them is to have the bottom half of my body removed and replaced with a set of chopsticks. Depression sets in, I decide to leave. Who needs clothes when there are more important things in life, like trying to figure out exactly what I am?
Find Out What It Means To Me
When my oldest daughter was born 12 years ago, I received the most important piece of advice I had ever been given. It was given to me by my aunt, Jerri Ann. She told me that the key to a happy family was to respect my mate, respect my child, and respect myself. Being 20 years old at the time, I had no idea what she was talking about, but it struck me so deep that I mentally filed it away until I could understand what it meant.
It didn't take me very long to realize what she meant, and I have tried to live by those rules. I respect Mark, not only as the head of our household (so he thinks), but also as my husband and best friend. I respect my children, I try very hard to realize that they are actually really little people with feelings and thoughts of their own. I also respect myself. It works out because by following my lead, we all respect each other. Now that's not to say that I don't have a few smart ass kids, but they are still great.
If I could talk to every parent out there, I would ask them to please use that same rule of thumb with their kids. Alas, this isn't true though. Case in point, I took my kids to the park the other day and there was a gang of teenagers loitering around. I could not believe the language coming out of their mouths! Now, I am not a prude, if you know me for more than a minute, you realize that I drop the "f" bomb more than most sailors, but I try to be respectful with it. I won't say it in certain company, but I do say it, alot.
After listening to the colorful language for a few minutes, I realized I had a choice to make. Before I even thought about it, I made that choice. I jumped up and in my meanest tone of voice I could muster, I told them to watch their mouths in front of my kids. Now by nature, I am a very laid back person, totally not into confrontation, but I just couldn't allow the disrespect to go on anymore. After I had my say, I was scared to death. What if they wanted to fight? What if they scratched the f word into my car? But none of that happened, they scattered. I was greatful.
I am not a perfect mom by any means. I raise my voice on the average of once every 17 minutes. I get exasperated. I lose my patience. But I try to maintain that line of respect. I just wish other people would teach their kids the same thing, I think the world would be a lot better place to live.
It didn't take me very long to realize what she meant, and I have tried to live by those rules. I respect Mark, not only as the head of our household (so he thinks), but also as my husband and best friend. I respect my children, I try very hard to realize that they are actually really little people with feelings and thoughts of their own. I also respect myself. It works out because by following my lead, we all respect each other. Now that's not to say that I don't have a few smart ass kids, but they are still great.
If I could talk to every parent out there, I would ask them to please use that same rule of thumb with their kids. Alas, this isn't true though. Case in point, I took my kids to the park the other day and there was a gang of teenagers loitering around. I could not believe the language coming out of their mouths! Now, I am not a prude, if you know me for more than a minute, you realize that I drop the "f" bomb more than most sailors, but I try to be respectful with it. I won't say it in certain company, but I do say it, alot.
After listening to the colorful language for a few minutes, I realized I had a choice to make. Before I even thought about it, I made that choice. I jumped up and in my meanest tone of voice I could muster, I told them to watch their mouths in front of my kids. Now by nature, I am a very laid back person, totally not into confrontation, but I just couldn't allow the disrespect to go on anymore. After I had my say, I was scared to death. What if they wanted to fight? What if they scratched the f word into my car? But none of that happened, they scattered. I was greatful.
I am not a perfect mom by any means. I raise my voice on the average of once every 17 minutes. I get exasperated. I lose my patience. But I try to maintain that line of respect. I just wish other people would teach their kids the same thing, I think the world would be a lot better place to live.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Single Women Are So Lucky
Single women are so lucky. Actually single women without children are lucky. Some of the things they enjoy are:
1. Dancing with a dark haired stranger until the sun rises.
2. Sleep until noon if they are so inclined.
3. Spend $200 on a new purse that catches their eye.
4. Lie on their backs and stare at the stars, pondering the meaning of their existence.
5. Go to bed at nite on silk sheets and a bed full of pillows, knowing they can sprawl all over them to their heart's delight.
6. Wake up in the morning, knowing that they have an important job they go to, one that provides them a life of comfort, and security.
7. Have lunch dates with "the girls" where they discuss their latest dating adventure, or misadventure.
8. Flirt with a handsome stranger.
9. Cook an elegant dinner that would be appreciated by someone with only the most refined palate.
10. Live their dream, whatever that might be...write a novel, record a song, paint a picture.
Making this list reminded me of how dull and unimportant my life now seems. Humor me while I make a comparison, please?
1. Dancing with a dark haired stranger? Not likely, the most dancing I get is in the kitchen with the kids. They are kind of impressed by my moves.
2. Sleeping in? Those days are long gone for me, instead all I have to look forward to in the morning is kisses goodbye from my family when they leave for school and work.
3. Spend 200 bucks on a purse? Why would I do that when I could divvy it up 3 ways and get each of them that new toy they've had their eye on, but wouldn't dream of expecting?
4. Lying on my back to ponder the stars? Who has time to ponder when I'm explaining them to Olivia, who now never fails to remind me how the sun goes "nite nite" so the stars can come out.
5. Sprawling on silk sheets and pillows? I'm kind of used to having "my" side of the bed, with Mark holding me tightly, warding off bad dreams.
6. Having an important and fulfilling job? Yeah, if you count raising 3 kids important and fulfilling then, okay. I do have a husband who leaves this house for work every morning, and never fails to meet any of my needs.
7. Having lunch dates? For me, it's play dates. Meeting other moms in the park who understand why it's okay to feed your kid cheese for dinner every nite of the week.
8. Flirting with a stranger? Not likely for me. But for some reason, something about Mark still makes me look in his blue eyes and feel all tingly, even after 15 years.
9. Cooking an elegant meal? Psh, the only meal we agree on is when we have "taco nite". Dinner time isn't a quiet affair, it's when we sit around the table, everyone clammoring for their turn to share how their day went.
10. Living the dream? Who? Me? I'm so busy chasing a toddler, chauffering kids, playing referee, kissing boo-boos, finding vases to put the flowers they sneak out to pick for me, receiving hugs and kisses, who has time to live a dream??Oh, wait...this is my dream...to be a wife and a mommy...maybe I'm the lucky one..the one the single gals with no kids envy.
1. Dancing with a dark haired stranger until the sun rises.
2. Sleep until noon if they are so inclined.
3. Spend $200 on a new purse that catches their eye.
4. Lie on their backs and stare at the stars, pondering the meaning of their existence.
5. Go to bed at nite on silk sheets and a bed full of pillows, knowing they can sprawl all over them to their heart's delight.
6. Wake up in the morning, knowing that they have an important job they go to, one that provides them a life of comfort, and security.
7. Have lunch dates with "the girls" where they discuss their latest dating adventure, or misadventure.
8. Flirt with a handsome stranger.
9. Cook an elegant dinner that would be appreciated by someone with only the most refined palate.
10. Live their dream, whatever that might be...write a novel, record a song, paint a picture.
Making this list reminded me of how dull and unimportant my life now seems. Humor me while I make a comparison, please?
1. Dancing with a dark haired stranger? Not likely, the most dancing I get is in the kitchen with the kids. They are kind of impressed by my moves.
2. Sleeping in? Those days are long gone for me, instead all I have to look forward to in the morning is kisses goodbye from my family when they leave for school and work.
3. Spend 200 bucks on a purse? Why would I do that when I could divvy it up 3 ways and get each of them that new toy they've had their eye on, but wouldn't dream of expecting?
4. Lying on my back to ponder the stars? Who has time to ponder when I'm explaining them to Olivia, who now never fails to remind me how the sun goes "nite nite" so the stars can come out.
5. Sprawling on silk sheets and pillows? I'm kind of used to having "my" side of the bed, with Mark holding me tightly, warding off bad dreams.
6. Having an important and fulfilling job? Yeah, if you count raising 3 kids important and fulfilling then, okay. I do have a husband who leaves this house for work every morning, and never fails to meet any of my needs.
7. Having lunch dates? For me, it's play dates. Meeting other moms in the park who understand why it's okay to feed your kid cheese for dinner every nite of the week.
8. Flirting with a stranger? Not likely for me. But for some reason, something about Mark still makes me look in his blue eyes and feel all tingly, even after 15 years.
9. Cooking an elegant meal? Psh, the only meal we agree on is when we have "taco nite". Dinner time isn't a quiet affair, it's when we sit around the table, everyone clammoring for their turn to share how their day went.
10. Living the dream? Who? Me? I'm so busy chasing a toddler, chauffering kids, playing referee, kissing boo-boos, finding vases to put the flowers they sneak out to pick for me, receiving hugs and kisses, who has time to live a dream??Oh, wait...this is my dream...to be a wife and a mommy...maybe I'm the lucky one..the one the single gals with no kids envy.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sweet and Innocent..Who?Me?
The other day I noticed Mark trying to slyly glance at a pretty girl. He always thinks he is being subtle, but he never is. Now while I am a very jealous person, we are at a place in our relationship where we realize that each of us look at the menu, but we eat our dinner at home. I asked him why he was looking at this particular girl and his reply was, "she looks sweet and innocent, why can't you be like that?"
Hmmmm, pause, crickets...Now I feel like I do not have the appearance of an ax murderer, or a skid row bum, so I was confused. I tried to let it go, but couldn't. I finally broke down today and googled "sweet and innocent". After weeding through a million porn sites, I finally found one that had an article titled, "How To Be The Sweet and Innocent Kind of Popular Girl". Okay, that sounds like a good start.
Tip #1, practice good hygiene. Yeah, that sounds easy enough. Tip #2, be sweet to everyone. Huh? What about assholes that I don't like? I skim farther down. Tip #7, never swear. Are you shitting me? How would I ever get a point across if it didn't include at least one 4 letter word?? Another tip I found at the bottom, "Always be really nice to your family no matter how much they annoy you". The author must not know my family very well, not many people could stand any of them.
I then see something something about bejewling your cellphone and not dating until you hit the 6th grade. Jeez, I found an article written for 11 year olds. Thinking back, I don't even think I was sweet and innocent when I was 11. Back then, if I found out that any girl I knew was reading articles like that, I probably would've made fun of them. I don't like girly girls. I don't like excitable girls. Never have been able to stomach cheerleaders.
I guess what it all boils down to, is I'm a realist. I can't be fake. I am what I am. I curse alot. I don't wear skirts very often. There are days that I live in my pajamas, but dammit I'm a good person. I have made a vow not to fart at the dinner table anymore, I think that's a good start down my path of pursuing sweet and innocence.
Hmmmm, pause, crickets...Now I feel like I do not have the appearance of an ax murderer, or a skid row bum, so I was confused. I tried to let it go, but couldn't. I finally broke down today and googled "sweet and innocent". After weeding through a million porn sites, I finally found one that had an article titled, "How To Be The Sweet and Innocent Kind of Popular Girl". Okay, that sounds like a good start.
Tip #1, practice good hygiene. Yeah, that sounds easy enough. Tip #2, be sweet to everyone. Huh? What about assholes that I don't like? I skim farther down. Tip #7, never swear. Are you shitting me? How would I ever get a point across if it didn't include at least one 4 letter word?? Another tip I found at the bottom, "Always be really nice to your family no matter how much they annoy you". The author must not know my family very well, not many people could stand any of them.
I then see something something about bejewling your cellphone and not dating until you hit the 6th grade. Jeez, I found an article written for 11 year olds. Thinking back, I don't even think I was sweet and innocent when I was 11. Back then, if I found out that any girl I knew was reading articles like that, I probably would've made fun of them. I don't like girly girls. I don't like excitable girls. Never have been able to stomach cheerleaders.
I guess what it all boils down to, is I'm a realist. I can't be fake. I am what I am. I curse alot. I don't wear skirts very often. There are days that I live in my pajamas, but dammit I'm a good person. I have made a vow not to fart at the dinner table anymore, I think that's a good start down my path of pursuing sweet and innocence.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
And the Mother of the Year Award Goes To...
I'm not a perfect mother, have never claimed to be. Do I lose my temper? Sure, only about 15 times a day minimum. Do I yell? Are you kidding? If I didn't, they'd never hear me. Do I spank my kids? Yes, I do, not often, but I do. Do I ever feel bad? Um, only about 1/2 the time, the rest of the time I'm thinking I probably could've swatted harder.All my imperfections out of the way, I actually think I'm a decent mom. I love my kids, and I'm pretty sure they know that. I have yet to catch one of them playing with fire, or torturing small animals, so I'm pretty sure I'm not raising a future serial killer. They're good, well rounded, polite kids, or so I've been told. I've never personally witnessed that behavior from them, but I've heard tale of it from other people. I do know, that I've never been threatened by someone calling children's services on me, but I also know I'll probably never win mother of the year. I've always thought that, up until today. Now I have to come to terms with the fact, that I will for certain, never be awarded mother of the year, much less even nominated.Why, do you ask? Believe it or not, I forgot to pick my child up at school today. How does that happen? It's alot easier than you think. The kids usually walk home from school, but this one day, the oldest decides to stay after school for some kind of acheivement test tutoring. I had to take my dad to the doctor today, and in the process, totally forgot that I reminded my son I would pick him up. The school calls me 20 minutes after the school day has ended, and as soon as I saw the number, I remembered. And the first words out of my mouth are, "oh no, I've forgot about Jake". I'm sure that really impressed the school secretary. I tried to explain what happened, but she didn't seem moved by my story, she just asked me to hurry and get him so she could go home.I arrive at the school, and pick up my traumatized little boy. He was convinced that I had abandoned him. Great, now I have to put my kid in therapy because I'm an airhead. So what if he doesn't torture small animals, he is now going to have abandonment issues to deal with. And I have to give up all my dreams of wearing a crown and introducing myself as mother of the year!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Two Sides to Every Tantrum
I, being the mother of 3 children, have gone down the public tantrum road before. Oh yeah, we've done that plenty of times. Today we had quite the doozy in Wal-Mart. It got me thinking, I believe there are two sides to every tantrum, the side that is seen by every one, and the side of the mother. Let me show you two scenarios of how my trip to Wal-Mart went today.
Part 1
The side the rest of the world saw
Imagine seeing a woman walking into the store with a young child, who may or may not be a girl, who could tell under the grungy hair? The child, who actually is a girl, after noticing she has Dora the Explorer on her jacket, walks over and smartly picks up a shopping basket and walks alongside her mother who is pushing a cart. The little girl picks up a package of donuts and puts them in her basket, isn't that the sweetest thing? Wait, why is that mother making her put those back? What kind of cheapskate won't buy her angel a $1.99 pack of donuts? What is this world coming to?
Look at that, the little darling has spotted the Easter display! And why wouldn't she want to look at the pretty baskets? Can you believe that mother had the audacity to pick that baby up and put her in the cart? Why? She just wanted to look at the pretties. Hmmph, mothers these days. As the mother walks off, she flings the basket down on the floor. What nerve.
What is that God awful noise? Are humans even capable of making a sound like that? That mother must've hit that child to make her scream like that. I should call Children's Services and report her, why would you smack a child in public?? Did I see her smack the child? Well, no, but she must have for the poor angel to be crying that way. And look at that mom, she's not even paying attention to the poor baby, she's just carrying on like it's business as usual. With that smug look on her face, someone should teach her a lesson. Now look at that, there's an elderly lady trying to comfort the child, yet the mother is ignoring her too. Imagine the nerve of that woman, some people shouldn't breed. I just saw her at the check out, I shudder to think what she does to that poor kid when they get out of everyone's sight.
Part 2
What really happened
All afternoon long, I have tried to lay Olivia down. I layed with her, I scratched her back, I read a book, nothing worked. I gave up. I knew I had to swing by the grocery store before I picked up the other 2 from school, so I decided to go ahead and make the trek to Wal-Mart. I live 2 miles from there, she fell asleep as we were pulling out of the driveway. Argh. All I can think about is the fact that she will not let me brush her hair, and has thus taken on the appearance of a caveman. I wake her up when we arrive, and she actually seemed okay. So I then walked into the store with the intent of putting her in the buggy so she could rest a little longer. She was having no part of it. I've started letting her carry her own basket so she feels like a big girl, it usually keeps her in a chipper mood so I can shop. But the first thing she saw was donuts. And she HAD to have them. Now I'm thinking about the fact that I have 2 opened packages of the SAME damn donuts at home because for some reason, when we go to the store, she insists on a new package. Now I'm not above bribing my kids to behave, sad, but true. And I didn't want to play my bribery card as I was walking in the door, so I made her put them back.
She then spots the Easter baskets, and freaks out and starts running towards them. I tell her "no". I knew I only had 15 minutes to shop, I had no time to waste on a tantrum. She started crying, so I had no choice but to pick her up and put her in the cart. It would've been easier to give a cat a bath, she fought and clawed, it was horrible. As soon as she was deposited in the back of the cart, she proceeds to howl like a wounded animal. How do kids perfect that cry that sounds like you've pinched them when no one was looking?? As we're walking down the aisle, she HURLS the shopping basket, I ignored it and left it laying in the floor. I had no choice but to walk along and finish shopping, I knew I had to pick the older 2 up from school, and I knew they would be starving and I had no snacks in the house to feed them.
We were almost done, and an elderly lady approached Olivia. She started baby talking to her. Which only freaked Olivia out more, she has a stranger phobia. I had to just walk out and leave the woman with her mouth hanging open, she was only making a bad time worse. We finally make it to the check out, where I cheerfully ask the cashier if we've broken the Wal-Mart record for longest tantrum? She then tells me that she could hear Olivia yelling through the whole store. Yikes. I then left like a dog with my tail tucked between my legs.
That's my side. Oh, my smug face? Yeah, that's because I don't care anymore. With my oldest, I was horrified when she would act up in public, worried about what everyone was thinking. After 3, I have discovered, I really don't have the time to worry about what you're thinking of me and my screaming she-devil, just let me pay for my stuff and get the hell out!
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