Sunday, January 3, 2016

Hey Barbie, I own you b*tch!

So this blog has been sitting in my draft file for while now, I just haven't been in the mood to finish it.  I finally got the energy to sit down and write.  Writing has always been like therapy for me so I figure I might as well work through my sh*t.  Like I said, some of this was written weeks and weeks ago, but I have updated where appropriate.  So here goes....

I have not been in the best of spirits lately.  I am really dreading the holiday without my mom.  I wish I could just curl up in a ball and sleep through the next month and a half.  Thanksgiving is a few days away, my favorite holiday, and I just don't feel it this year.  I have my 25th high school reunion coming up and I don't feel like going.  I am just not in a social mood.  Then Christmas is right around the corner.  Last year, Christmas Eve 2014 was the last time I saw my mom alive outside of a hospital.  She was at my house, sitting on the over-sized chair in the living room.  Every time I look at it I think of her.  I can't imagine looking at it on Christmas Eve this year.  I start to panic just thinking about it!

So with all this going on I have been waxing poetic about life....mine in particular.  Let's just say it has been less than spectacular lately.

*My older two girls are at that beautiful stage in life where they are embarrassed to be seen with me.  Oh, how do I know you ask?  Well, I took them to a movie with their buddy and stopped at McDonalds for ice cream on the way home.  It was a Friday night...I thought I was the cool mom until they whispered among each other then asked if they could sit by themselves at another table.  So there I was sitting alone on a Friday night with my ice-cream and  newspaper I borrowed from the manager.  Not so cool after all.

*Emily has become fascinated by my tattoo.  Of course she spends most of her waking time staring at me in the could be in the shower, she likes to come in and pull the corner back and spy on me, it could be brushing my teeth, or sitting on the toilet.  She has seen me in various states of undress a million times.  Guess when she notices my tattoo?  WHEN WE ARE IN A PUBLIC BATHROOM OF COURSE!!   So I have this tiny little flower where the top of my leg meets my hip... Long story short, it is not exactly where I wanted it but that is a story for another time!  So she starts asking about it and I explain it is a pretty flower tattoo.  Now keep in mind, Emily is two and she believes everything that is covered up by shorts is a bum.  She makes no distinction between a hip, lower abdomen, inner get the gist.  She also doesn't quite get the concept of a permanent tattoo.  Her only experience is those crappy rub on ones that she picks off in 2 seconds flat.  So I think the conversation is over.  I was wrong, my friends.  SO. VERY. WRONG!  We are now standing in line to pay for our breakfast when she starts talking, very loudly I might add.  "Mom why do you have a cutie mark on your gina?"  (Cutie Mark for those of you without young children is the tattoo like marks My Little Ponies have)  Umm, Em it is on the top of my leg...I try to explain to her several times over and it ends with her crying because I won't say I have a cutie mark on my 'gina.  Again, cool mom is no where to be found!  (For the record a similar, equally embarrassing situation occurred when  she saw a tampon for the first time).

*Since the day Sara was born 8 1/4 years ago our children have become all consuming.  This includes during the evening hours.  For the past 8 1/4 years it is a rare occasion we actually sleep in the same bed.  I think the fates align about as often as the sighting of Halley's Comet.  One of the girls inevitably needs us for something.  It is completely mind blowing we actually went on the have 2 other children.  Recently my husband and I had some free time, the older 2 were in school and Em was off playing...we decided to try and take advantage of some "almost alone" time.  I said "try" because instead of being something romantic it turned into one of those cliche Rom-Com movies about the super stressed suburban couple doing their best to raise their children while everything gets wacky and goes haywire.  Sadly, we are that couple.   We get into our room and no sooner do we lock the door, toddler foot steps come shuffling down the hall calling for Dad.  "AND.....CUT!"  I swear to God I could hear Nora Ephron's ghost laughing at us from the corner of the room.  Again, cool, spontaneous mom was MIA.

*The last straw came during an epic shower adventure.  The girls gave me a really hard time getting out the door for school.  Emily was having diarrhea and the dog and cats were having a grudge match.  I was beyond stressed and needed an escape.  I put the dog in the kitchen, locked the cats in separate bedrooms and set Emily up with an ipad and Oreos and went to take a shower.  Great!  No effing towels left for me.  We have plenty of towels and Chuck does laundry every single day.  However, more often than not, I have no towel for my shower.  So as my faithful readers can predict it was table cloth time.  Yup, I had my old stand-byl table cloth by my side as I walked into the bathroom for some peace.  I get in the shower and reach for the shampoo.  It is gone.  Not a drop left.  I was in favor of Sara taking showers, I am now reconsidering.  She uses an entire bottle of shampoo and about a dozen towels each time out.  So I stooped to an even lower low than the table cloth towel...I used Mary-Alice's, our dog's shampoo.  Yeah, you read that right, I used her Hartz Extra Gentle Puppy Shampoo.  At least it was Jasmine scented.  So as I am drying off the wet dog smell from my naked mom body with a flippin table cloth I notice a naked Barbie staring up at me all Judgey-McJudgerton like.  She was giving me the stink eye with her perfect blue eyes, her long skinny legs attached to her unrealistic waist and her huge rack.  Then I thought for a moment...  I bought that f*cking doll!  I stood a little taller, looked her dead in the eye and said, out loud, "Hey Barbie, I own you b*tch!"

I decided then and there I was taking back my life!  Insert Rachel Platten's Fight Song here!
                                 This is my fight song-take back my life song!


I called the gym I belong to and signed up for personal training.  I started at 8 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning.  Take that Barbie!  I was doing great but Christmas derailed me a bit.  I plan to start back soon.

Thanksgiving came and went.  My brother and sister-in-law put on a great meal but I just couldn't get into the spirit of the day. I tried, but...meh.

I ended up driving down last minute to my 25th High School reunion.  I didn't stay very long, again, just wasn't in the mood.  It did end up turning out to be just what I needed.  As I was heading out I stopped to say hi to one of my old classmates.  Turns out he was in the same boat...his dad had recently died and he wasn't going to come to the reunion but changed his mind last minute also.  We cried together, laughed and cried some more.  This is someone I knew and kind of hung out with in high school, but most of our conversations were just things like hey, what's up?  Do you have any Bartles and James?  But this time we were both in the right place and the right time and that talk with him was just what I needed.

Christmas Eve was at least 100 times more difficult than anything I could've imagined.  Full on anxiety attack, couldn't even pretend for the kids.  I would rather have been in a hole somewhere by myself than let my girls see me like that.  Christmas Day was the same misery.  I did fake it for the girls but my mind was a million miles away all day.  I don't even remember what they got for Christmas and I am friggin Santa Claus! 

Oh well, they say the first year is the hardest, though I am not sure it will ever get easier...the holidays just plain sucked. 

But, I just keep telling myself...I am better than Barbie....I am better than Barbie!

Here is to a New, Less Stressful Year!  In the name of all that is Holy, it HAS to be better than last year.

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