Stop the Clock

When my boys were little, I made an error.

A HUGE error.

It would be hard to pinpoint exactly what caused me to have such a lapse in rational, adult-like judgment. Nevertheless, I did it and there is no going back.

I wished they would get older. I couldn't wait.

Of all the wishes I had made in my life, I am not sure why THIS one had to come true. But for that one moment or twelve that I was exasperated with all manner of sippy cups, diapers, and other various and sundry tasks that sap the energy of a mother, I managed to conjure up enough superpower to cause time to fast- forward.

This seems to be a one-way trip with no refunds, no take-backs and no do-overs.

How else can I explain how two days ago I was changing a diaper on one, trying to keep another from destroying the house, while the oldest was watching "Pinky and the Brain"? Because yesterday while the oldest was sitting in the living room while we ordered her Senior pictures, the other two were stuck on the school bus that was parked on the side of the road waiting for the police to show up.

(In order to protect the not-so-innocent, I will not disclose WHY the police were called. I will say that thankfully no one was hurt, and it wasn't because of my boys.)

Of all the advice I was given as my children were growing up, the one piece that sticks out in my mind is, "Enjoy them while they are young."

I always thought the very idea was crazy. While we were in the moment, a day seemed like it strung out for a week. Enjoy it? What exactly was I supposed to be enjoying?!?

As  have finally approached middle age, I understand all the hoopla  now. Back when I was still a toddler myself, yet ironically seemed to have more patience, I thought life would just be better when the boys were older.

Older, as in the ages they are now.

My boys are twelve and ten. The youngest will be eleven in April. They are in sixth and fifth grades and I love this age. To a point...

(My actual favorite age is fourth grade, but that is neither here nor there.)

Instead of diapers, sippy cups, annoying cartoon characters/children's programming and complete and utter control over their lives, I traded it all in for unpredictable hormones, insatiable hunger, Star Wars, and compromise that will make all parties happy.

Most of the time, I am not regretting my wish for them to get older. Only between 6:00-6:10 A.M., 3:25-4:00 P.M., 8:30-8:45 P.M, and when they ask, "What's for breakfast/lunch/dinner?" or "What can I have for a snack?" do I think, "What in the world did I do?"

I love that they have an actual opinion about social issues. I love that they are interested in politics. I love that they are curious about the world and can't wait to learn more. I love that we can talk and have a real, actual conversation.

I knew when they got older, there would be issues that would be hard. And I have had to have some hard conversations with them way before I ever dreamed I would.

It's one thing to say something like, "There may be some kids at school that _______ and this is how you deal with ___________."

It is completely different to have a conversation about the hard topics when it involves a child in their grade.

While I still have the time, I plan on enjoying every minute. One bird will be leaving the nest later this year. As much as I really, REALLY don't want her to go, she is ready. My other two chicks are going to have to slow down.

I am not ready to let them fly just yet.




 




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The Fork in the Road

I love that I am participating in a 30-day blog challenge. Of course, I use the word "participating" loosely because I have no tips on how to make money online, build a bigger business, or any of the other lovely things the other 248 participants have to offer. And I may have missed a day or three.

Mostly, I am the chic at the party, sitting alone, sipping a Diet Coke, and hoping that no one is talking about my dish that I brought.

I guess that I like that it is keeping me thinking. It keeps me writing. And isn't that the point of the challenge to begin with?

Honestly, I thought it would keep me writing beyond this blog. Like the book I told my husband I would have finished by the end of July. Or the short story that is due at the end of August. Or finally get physically involved with the writing group I have been a part of since this time last year.

Except, I have done none of those things.

The other night I realized that I am afraid to do those things. I am afraid that I won't succeed. That my short story won't be selected. Or my book won't be picked up by a publishing house. As passionate as I am to be a writer, it isn't the writing that gives me pause. It's the fact that it would all be for naught.

Perhaps it's the pessimistic side of me coming out. Why would I spend all that time writing only to have someone say, "Sorry. It's just not what we are looking for." I have never succeeded at anything I have attempted, so why would this be any different?

Actually, if I take a step back and analyze the situation at hand, it could be said that is the lazy way out. To try and accomplish something I claim to be "so passionate" about and not try, not work hard at something I "love" is pure lazy. Just as I haven't lost the weight that I claim daily bugs me as I eat another handful of M&M's. Or got the house back to the way that I like. Or saved money. Or worked with the boys on their math facts. Or Darrin's reading. Or couponing.

Life is not simple. Nothing worth having comes easy. There is no easy button. (Well actually, you can purchase one at Staples, but I doubt that pressing it would just make things happen.) No fairy godmother is going to appear out of thin air and wave her magic wand. No publisher is going to post a comment and say, "We like you. Here is a check. You have until August to hand in the first draft."

I am not sure there is a point to this post. It started out to have one, but I lost it a couple of hours ago. These other words just sort of spilled out of my fingers.

It's time to turn over a new leaf.

Who wants to hold me accountable?

Hit me with your best shot

I am currently stuck in fiction mode, which frankly is so much more exciting than anything I could write as non-fiction.

That is unless you think ants, 498 loads of laundry, soap scum, and cries of "I am bored" or "I am hungry" are interesting.

So, here is my thought:

What do you want to know?

Some of you have known me since way back when, some of you I have only known for a year or so. Maybe less.

Ask me [almost] anything. I am an open book.

Exceptions:
*Big Daddy. He has asked that I don't talk about him much. I have to respect that.

Fire away! I'll be answering questions as they come in....

Lowered Expectations

I think I need a shopping intervention when it comes to getting groceries.

I've known for quite sometime that I had issues in this department. I should probably turn myself in to do some psychological study. Someone could get wealthy from studying me, and I am hoping that I am not alone when it comes to my shopping habits.

I mean, I could probably give a whole new meaning to passive-aggressive behavior.

Today was especially bad being that it was Saturday and in interest of saving as much money as I could, we chose to go to the gates of hell Wal Mart.

And just let me tell you, that if we were in a better financial position, I would never set foot in that establishment. Hopefully after my neighbor shows me what she has been doing with her couponing next week, I shall never have to darken that doorway again.

The passive side of me comes in the path that I walk. I tend to be the person on the right side of the aisle, as if I were driving a car. Apparently, I am the only one that does that as I tend to have to stop a lot to allow others to pass me that are coming head-on. This is where the aggressive side comes in, as I getting rather (rhymes with hissy) for having to do this.

Big Daddy doesn't mind coming with me, and for this, I am eternally grateful. I always channel Monica saying to Chandler, "I'll cook whatever you want in there, and do whatever you want in there."

While we go through the Health and Beauty section, I'll leave the buggy at the end of an aisle, he stands guard, and I dart in to grab my selections. Sounds easy enough, but inevitably, some person will be all, "Excuse me" (said in an exasperated voice) and get right in front of me.

Sure, go ahead. Your deodorant/shampoo/soap selection is more important than mine.

See what I mean?

So, we bob and weave up and down the aisles, all the while my heart rate and anxiety is escalating. No matter what methods I try to take, I am in someone's way. How do I get past this?

Another example: two nights ago, Nick and I ran into Krogers to pick up some junk for his "non-end-of-the-year-party," cat food, and dog food. We are walking to the exit, and I notice that four or five people are coming in. We have to make a turn to get out, so we stop. (Passive) This dude that is walking behind me goes around and continues his exit. This ticks me off, so I loudly say, "Well of course you should go ahead. I am clearly not trying to get out of this store. I am standing here as decoration." (Aggressive)

Not that I think I am better than anyone else trying to get those everyday low prices, but it just seems to me that if we all did the same thing, there would be less aggression for all. Instead of people wheeling those buggies around willy-nilly, there would be better flow.

And don't even get me started with the family reunions that seem to happen on the most popular aisles. They always block the way and are oblivious that this is a public place and there are other people trying to get their groceries on.

Now that the kids only have one more day of school, and I am officially unemployed, my shopping shall be done early on a weekday. That will help somewhat, but there will come a time that Big Daddy needs to go somewhere on a rare Saturday or Sunday he is off.

How do you handle the shopping?

Childhood dreams

My friend texted me today and said that I she got a 100 on the paper that I she wrote. I was pretty excited for myselfher since I have never gotten a 100 on a paper that was going to be graded for spelling and mechanics as well as content.

***************

It would seem that I have myself a little stalker on facebook. Well, more accurately, Farm Town. If you aren't familiar with either, Farm Town is an application (haha, Sara) game that is the internet equivalent to crack. Once you get set up, you grow crops. As you make money and move up in levels, you can buy more things, and grow more types of crops. The crops have to be harvested in a certain amount of time. You can go to the Marketplace and hire other farmers to harvest for you. Folks pimp themselves out for a few coins...

Anyway, in this meat market chat room, I like to sit there and watch the cropstitution. And if I do say so myself, the quietness works because I get hired a lot. I wished I had never found this little gig.

Yesterday, some little cartoon dude comes up and is all, "You sure look pretty today." I LOL'd him because there are like four options for our "look" so the ladies all look similar.

Make a long story short, he is all mackin' on me. Which is ridiculous. But cute at the same time. Dude sends me a "friends request" for Farm Town. I am thinking there is no harm.

I have recieved EIGHT messages today from him.

I don't think I received eight messages total when I was dating pre-Big Daddy. Sad, really.

************

This whole Facebook/Blogger/Twitter thing has gotten me to thinking about my kids' childhood vs. my childhood.

There are little things that remind me of my childhood when I hear/smell them. Things like Magic Sizing, The Price is Right, the theme song to "Young and the Restless", Dolly Parton songs, machine grease,...the list goes on and on.

Today, as I played on Farm Town, I wondered what would be my kids' triggers to childhood?
"You've Got Mail" when I sign on to AOL? The theme song to "Roseanne"? The smell of snickerdoodles? The sound of the washing machine? Eminem?

I just hope it makes them happy....

Try as I might...

...I've turned into a grammar snob. Which is weird because I am not that good or consistent in my own writing, obviously.

The realization didn't hit me until yesterday. Picture this....

Big Daddy and I are standing in the kitchen cleaning up the supper dishes. I am talking about something and mention my new obsession with the craigslist classified ads.

"I clicked on an ad, and it said Y-O-U-R instead of Y-O-U *apostrophe* R-E. I wouldn't apply for a job that had grammatical errors in the ad."

(He then pointed out he'd prefer I didn't apply for any job off of craigslist. I think he may have turned into a snob of another sort.)

"Well, that doesn't surprise me. You have got me to where I don't want to write anything because I am afraid I'll misspell something and you'll focus on that instead of what I wrote."

Because we had plans for later in the evening, I didn't want to start anything, but the fact is he hasn't written me anything in the twelve years we've been together. Spelling and punctuation isn't the thing that is holding him back.

He then pointed out that the other night we were watching TV. They were showing parts of letter and someone was reading it. I said, "She misspelled meteor."

I didn't understand then why he laughed. It was right there; anyone could have seen it.

Later on, I told him that someone mentioned I sounded happier and asked if the medication had helped with my obsessions.

He answered with a hearty, "NO."

Oh well...

Uphill both ways

Yesterday I pulled up to the McDonald's to order the boys some lunch. They both wanted Happy Meals, but one wanted a cheeseburger with only pickles and sweet tea; the other wanted a plain cheeseburger and Dr. Pepper to drink.

Two separate orders are not a new thing, but I have never perfected a smooth ordering system. In the past I have tried the, "I'll have two Happy Meals, one plain and one with ketchup only," yet the person on the other end would huff and puff and inevitably get it wrong.

Back to yesterday, I pull up to the speaker and once I was given clearance to make the order, I ask for each meal one at a time. On the second one, the girl on the other end asked what I wanted to drink. I repeated it, all the while I am watching the screen as the items are popping up. But when the first meal disappeared, I panicked for a moment, thinking that I'd have to start over. Suddenly all the meals popped up and the girl said, "Is everything on the screen correct?"

I give the screen a quick scan and said, "Uh. Yeah. Looks like it."

You know story doesn't end here.

Both hamburgers ended up being plain. We didn't go back and complain mostly because that seems par for the course of most McDonald's these days. I'd quit going altogether but the boys still like them.

(I have so much more to teach them.)

At the peak of my teenage career in the food service industry, I worked at Hardee's, in the drive-thru. I can assure you that every order was repeated for accuracy. It was rare that someone came back in the store because we'd given them the wrong thing. On peak weekends, I would stand at the corner just beyond the ordering sign, and take the customer's money so that the food could be delievered at the window and the line would move faster. I was the only one that did this because I could make change. I am sad to think how many teenagers today couldn't make change if the computer didn't work.

The only thing I really got in trouble for at my job was not doing the upsells. You know..."Would you like fries/hot apple pie/a shake with that?"

I HATED that.

I still don't like being asked either.

I suppose it is just the normal progression of things for the older generation to look on the younger generation and say, "Back in my day we worked harder/longer/was more respectful."

But honestly, how hard is it to get a food order correct?

Rama-lama-ding dongdongdongdongdong...

Yesterday, Big Daddy was off work. The kids are out of school. So we started working on getting our Halloween decoratin' on. We *heart* Halloween.

I wanted to run to the next town over and hit up the Goodwill. Since today was the first Saturday of the month, and they'd be having the "everything 50 percent off sale", I thought they'd have a good bit of holiday stuff out. Of the four stores closest to us, this particular one is my favorite but the one I visit the least.

Man did they have the spread -it's a shame I wasn't in the mood to shop for Christmas.

Anyway, since we were there, I thought I'd also stop in Cato. If you have one of these stores near you, I suggest you shop there. If you don't, I will send my sympathies. They are my FAVORITE shop. We don't have a Cato here in my town, so I make a special trip just to shop in this store.
[If Cato would like to hit a sister up with a gift card, I'd be happy to do more advertising...]

When I walked in the door, the doorbell dinged as per usual. Just one ding--

About four circles around the clearance rack later, I hear two of the ladies talking about the aforementioned doorbell. A customer had left earlier and the bell didn't go off. One of the two talking had went to make sure it was working, and it dinged as normal. So, they are telling this third employee how [the customer] was so skinny that she probably walked around the beams. The third lady says, "Oh. I KNOW I would have tripped it."

I finish my shopping (only two necklace/earring sets) and leave the store. As I start to walk out the door, the door bell starts going off like I was stealing the joint.

Maybe I am overly sensitive, but I was offended.

Things to wonder...

Why do the appliances break as soon as the warranty runs out? Would they last longer without a warranty?

Why does the cat feel the need to get in the litter box as soon as I scoop it?

Why are the female guest hosts on Regis and Kelly always blonde?

Where did the sock go once it escaped the washer?

What else does Kate Gosselin do besides cook?

Why does Big Daddy lock the windows upstairs but leaves them unlocked downstairs?

Why is it, as soon as it is mentioned you are having a procedure, someone ALWAYS has a horror story pertaining to the same procedure? Then, he or she will say, "But I am sure that won't happen to you..."?

Should I just go ahead and paint the walls black and save myself another 10 years of scrubbing?

How could a child be too well- mannered?

Should "well-mannered" be hyphened?

Is it wrong that I think it's rude to walk through other people's yards?

What are you wondering about today?