If the future me met the current me would the future me slap the stupid off my face?

I seem to spend my life in fear of getting older. It wasn’t always this way of course. When I was 13 I couldn’t wait to be 16. When I was 16 I couldn’t wait to be 18. And, when I was 18 I couldn’t wait to be 21. I assume when I reached 21 the desire to be older finally stopped. It is as if I treated 21 years of age as the pinnacle and after that it was a countdown to 30. Instead of saying, “4 more years and my insurance rates drop!” I was thinking, wow, just nine years closer to being 30, then eight years… then seven. Thirty was such a scary number to me.

The average 21-year old probably thinks that being 21 really is the highlight of their life. Why wouldn’t they? You can drive, you can vote, you can drink and you have very few responsibilities at that point. Anything beyond 25 is just over the hill, right? Well, I’m sure those of us over 30 can attest to the fact that we were all so very wrong at that age. 30 is not near being over the hill. Even though words like ‘kids’, ‘damn teenagers’, ‘mammograms’ and ‘SUV’ creep into our vocabulary seemingly overnight, we are not over over the hill.

I’m not about to start a rally for those of us over the age of 30 to change the pinnacle age to 40 or 50 either. That would be pointless and kind of lame. If I feel better at 33 than I did at 21 then so be it. That’s just me, although I think most women would agree. So those of us over 30 can just silently unite and reminisce about when we were 21 and how much fun it may have been all the while being very happy where we are now. It is also a bit fun to sit back and laugh at those “young kids” and how invincible they all seem to think they are and how little they really don’t know yet.

So, if I seem to be getting a bit better with age, why the hell am I so damn scared of getting older? Why am I so terrified of wrinkles and weight gain and menopause? Have I just not reached an age where I am completley comfortable with myself yet? Does the peace and acceptance of getting older just show up on your doorstep one day as an anonymous gift?

Having kids just compounds this feeling too. Youth is all around me every single day and it’s reminding me that I am not a kid anymore, I am not a free spirit without any cares. My children are five and almost four now and I look at them every day and try so hard to remember them as babies and toddlers but I can’t. It is as if those years blew through this house like a swift breeze. Am I so consumed in my own fears of getting older every year that I am not embracing all of my children’s phases and beauty? Am I so completely self-absorbed that I am missing out on some of the best things my children offer? Or, am I just consumed in daily survival with two boys who can often drain the life out of me in less than an hour.

Maybe it is a combination of all three of those elements. When my children are screaming and kicking mad and I’m yelling at them I am just trying to survive. When I’m sitting on Facebook or blogging instead of reading a book to them, I am passing up a chance to be with my children and embrace that time with them. When I’m looking in the mirror and noticing looser skin around my eyes I’m not focused on my boys.

I have no plans to change any of that either. I’m not going to scream out to the world that I’m 33 and loving it anymore than I am going to stop looking in the mirror and frowning at new wrinkles while my children run through the house screaming, “I see your buttcrack!” The fact of my life is that I am scared of getting older and surviving each day with two young boys is hard! It may even ADD wrinkles and gray hairs and subtract 5 years from life. So, when I sit down to Facebook or write a post I am not going to feel guilty about it! I will just consider it my few minutes of “me” time out of a whole day dedicated to wiping asses, breaking up fights, making meals and cleaning up messes.

I don’t spend each hour of every day worrying about age and I’m not completely consumed with fear. But, it does crop up and I do worry about it more than your average person probably does. Lately, being reunited with old friends from high school (thanks to the amazing Facebook) has probably added to my fears though. Reminiscing about the old days and realizing that we are now 16 years past graduation is a lot to handle. Sixteen years! When did that happen!?

Things get worse when I’m out with my boys and I get comments on how cute they are from strangers and how they remember when their kids were that young. Or when I see the faces of older folks watching my ‘young’ family and I can just see the flood of their own memories behind their eyes. I smile and hug my kids tighter and stare at their little faces just soaking it all up. But that feeling is soon replaced with the thoughts that that will be me someday! I will be that older person staring at a young family just wishing I could go back in time! My heart pounds a bit and I dread that thought. I don’t want be there! I want to stay right here, right now, forever! I don’t want to grow any older!

I realize just how ridiculous this all is. Honestly I do. Getting older is out of my control. It’s life… it’s nature… it’s a cycle. But this is me. Period. This is how I work. I long to be complacent with age. I long to look at the here and now with complete joy and not let those little thoughts creep in that say, “nothing lasts! this will all end soon and you will wish for it back!” Sometimes I can keep those thoughts at bay… sometimes.

When I’m sitting around with my friends guzzling down the wine and liquor sipping drinks and watching our kids run around and play I’m at total peace. I’m happy and feel like I am right where I am supposed to be in life and being me is wonderful. I hold onto those moments in life like they were sacred treasures. I hug and squeeze my kids and enjoy watching them grow from the wobbly toddlers they used to be into these little kids with endless energy. I just wish I could feel that way every day, every hour, instead of worrying about something that I cannot control.

If I look back at my earlier years (see, when you are 21 you don’t say that shit!) I think about how I tried to fit into other people’s worlds instead of making them fit into mine. Now, even though I still regress a bit, I am much more comfortable in my skin and don’t feel the need to fit into anyone’s life. They need to fit into mine. The fact that I know this now, thanks to that good old hindsight, has propelled me so far forward from where I was and has made me better. I still struggle with who I am and try so hard to not care what people think but in an odd way, that is denying who I really am!

I am going to be 34 years in October and I don’t see myself in my “early thirties”. I see that I am one year away from 35. Six years from 40! I see that if we were to have another baby (which I’m hungry for) that I would be on the cusp of needing that extra prenatal care because of my “advanced age”. When will I be able to say fuck it all and just accept it!?

As I write this I think about the me of 20 years from now, in a good way, actually. I think about being 53 and reading through my “old blog that I used to write” and laugh about how stupid I was and how I worried too much. I think that maybe I will be so happy being 53 with a successful career as a paralegal, grown children and the total freedom of life that I will be a poster child for “50 is the new 30!”

Hopefully that little insight into the future is spot on. I wish the future me could come back in time and tell me that I will be at my true pinnacle at 55. And that every year after is just another blessing with total freedom. That old saying, “I wish I knew then what I know now” rings out loudly because I can say it now about my younger years and I am sure I will be saying it in 20 years from now.

Dinner was great until a 90-year old bigot ruined it.

Wednesday evening a rarity happened. We all went out for a midweek family dinner, at a restaurant. I’m not talking the kind of restaurant that employs rude and incomprehensible teens either. I mean the kind that has severs and clothe napkins and pre-dinner bread baskets! That night hubs came home and decided he didn’t want to cook and wanted to go out to dinner, the destination a secret. After I finished humping his leg in excitement we were off.

About 3/4 of the way there I figured out where we were going.

“AH! I got it! We are going to Scroti-sacks!” I said excitedly… and because I’m secretly a 12-year old boy who finds humor in disgusting word play.

The restaraunt is actually called Scrementi’s in Steger, IL. Honestly, how I pull “scroti-sack” out of a nice name like Scrementi’s is beyond me and only based on the first syllable. But whatever, it’s my world. And, please, for the love all that is holy, don’t tell me you don’t know the term scroti-sack, because having to explain it would be embarrassing for you.

Moving on. The childish moniker I have given this place has been forever solidified because of our experience that night.

The family and I sat down in our booth and were immediately served water, drinks and fresh bread. We devoured the bread much like hungry carnivores on a fresh kill but somehow kept some semblance of dignity. The boys were quiet and mostly well-behaved as well. Soon we placed our orders and were also given more fresh bread.

Just a few feet behind us was a table of about eight elderly men, some where wearing Veteran’s hats like ones you see war vets wearing at their American Legion. It seemed like most of the table was relatively quiet except for one boisterous man. He was apparently the storyteller of the group. My husband and I tried not to listen or become too distracted with their conversations. On one occasion I heard him telling a story about the Hoover Dam. I am not sure if he helped build it or just knew men who did.

Just before our orders arrived a lady sitting at another table with her husband walked up to my husband and me and said she wanted to compliment us on how well-behaved our children were. We smiled and thanked her graciously for her compliment. Hubs and I were beaming at this point. It’s always nice to be recognized for your impeccable parenting skills. But I digress. This was simply the bubble we were in before it burst.

We were all finishing up our dinner, which was good, but honestly no better than one of our favorite take-out Italian places in the area. And, in hindsight, I’m certain that the food is no better than Savoia-T-Go. And Savoia’s prices are better, too. Anyway, we were finishing our dinner and the loud storytelling gentleman began piping up again.

“…they brought in two Mexican bosses…” he was saying, in a tone that seemed a little disgruntled.

He was apparently sharing a story from years past about how he was supplied with two Mexican bosses to oversee the job they were working on. So, hubs and I perked up a bit to get a better listen. It wasn’t hard to do considering the decibel level of his voice. Soon, the direction of his story took the turn that hubs and I were each silently wishing it wouldn’t do…

“… I said to them wetbacks….. how did you guys cross that river anyway!” he continued.

And there it was, loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear, which was luckily not full by any means, and for my children to hear who were thankfully oblivious to the crap spewing from this man’s mouth. My husband just looked at me and said, “This is the kind of crap I have had to put with all my life.” It took absolutely everything I had to not turn around and barrade this man for insulting my family during a nice evening out. Alas, I felt I should keep my mouth shut because I didn’t want to look like an even bigger ass for verbally attacking an elderly man.

My thoughts then turned and I realized that this man (not incriminating the entire group since only one man was speaking like this) is from an era long past and this is just how things were for them back then. It doesn’t excuse his behavior one bit but it explains it. This was a group of 80 to 90-year old men talking about the old days. So be it. My problem was that he was very loud and none of the servers or management ever asked him to keep it down, especially considering what he was saying. And it should be noted that there were Hispanic employees working there at this time.

Many people might like to think we were being uber-sensitive about this. But it must be made clear that we are fully aware that this man was simply retelling old stories and that he comes from a different time where minority races were not only heavily discriminated but blatantly so; it wasn’t the subtle discrimination like we see today. We would have simply liked to see the restaurant staff stifle him a bit. But they didn’t. We soon paid our check and as we were leaving we asked to see the manager so we could just inform him of what happened and say that we probably wouldn’t return. The manager’s first response was “Oh, he is just from a different era. He’s harmless.”

Really? Gee, I hadn’t thought of that! Thanks for clearing that up. That is when I got pissed but I let hubs continue to do the talking. The manager kept saying the same thing over and over again and never once apologized for it or offered to speak to the group of men about keeping things quiet while they were patrons in his establishment. He never once acknowledged that he has a group of people upsetting other customers (even if only just my family) and that maybe he should handle it instead of just defending them and letting other customers walk out unhappy.

My husband and I were not looking for a free meal or wanting to stir up trouble. We just wanted our concerns acknowledged, that is all. I really don’t think that was too much to ask. Instead, we left there feeling like the restaurant might be the type of place that caters to the older locals in the area and would rather risk upsetting new customers than their regulars.

If that is the case, then fine. We are much happier getting better food from Savoia’s and paying a lot less for our meals without the bigotry anyway. I must say, however, that the service we received from our waitress (server) was wonderful and she was a delightful girl. The whole service staff seemed great actually.

Now you can see why I am going to stand by my once-joking “scroti-sack” name and have now upgraded it to it’s actual name. If the manager of the establishment wants to treat his customers like we are inconsequential minions then I find it completely justifiable to keep referring to their restaurant as “scroti-sacks”.

Maybe this is an example of hubs and I blowing something out of proportion but for us, it’s just the principle and the fact that we were pretty much ignored.

The post about nothing.

I have opened up a “NEW POST” window several times over the last few days since this blog was raised from the dead. Or is it “was risen from the dead”? Either way, my intentions were to write something, anything! But, all that happened was me staring at the page full of blank spots where my text should be. Nothing was coming to me and I didn’t want to post just for the sake of posting, like I did back when I was an infant blogger. I want my words to mean something or at the very least make someone laugh. So, writing about how I got up and fed my kids and then went to put gas in my truck and then ran to Target just wasn’t worthy enough even though it was a completely thrilling experience for me.

I briefly considered writing about how my 5-year old son AJ was about to get into the shower with his brother Mateo the other night but he had to pee first. However, instead of peeing in the toilet that was literally inches from him, he decided to stand at the shower, part the doors an inch or two and just pee into the shower onto his brother. But, that would have been a very short post.

So, day after day I sit here staring at the screen desperately wanting to dazzle the few readers of this blog with something witty and insightful and yet I get nothing. But I’m not giving up! There is blog fodder in everything, I just have to find it again…. without trying to so hard. When I try to hard scary things happen. Very scary things.

I could, however, probably fill up three posts worth with all the things I should NOT say… out loud. Things like the little jokes where I innocently tease other people and it sounds hilarious in my head but when it come out of my mouth it’s just offensive and/or lame. Sometimes I honestly just want to bitch-slap myself for being such a gynormous tool. I’m quite surprised that I have not been beaten up yet. I can only assume that screaming out “I DON’T HAVE A PROPERLY WORKING FILTER” in my defense would not help me, either, if the day ever comes that I really do get punched. But, maybe if I get a t-shirt that just reads “CAPTAIN IDIOT” and wear it every day they will just nod and smile whenever I say something utterly stoopid and then move on in the conversation.

I can only hope that I get my filter working prior to me getting a job as a paralegal. It would not bode well for me or my employers if I am interviewing a potential client and he or she tries to explain why they are wanting to sue their hair stylist for injuries sustained to their ears from sharp shears during a haircut because they leaned forward really fast to answer their cell phone and I find myself sarcastically replying to them something like, “you were answering a call from the President of the United States I assume…” I’m pretty sure my career would be short-lived.

I guess now might be a good time to publically apologize to my neighbor for implying that she had a large rear-end the other day. It really didn’t quite come out right. And, to my good friend’s husband, I know you aren’t gay just because you know every single flower on the planet. I was just teasing. I love gay people. To the newly pregnant acquaintance of another friend from years ago whom I completely offended by implying you were just going to get fat, I’m really, really sorry. I was young and stoopid and was making a lame comment about someone else without remembering that you were in fact pregnant at the time. I was 20 years old and didn’t have kids or pregnancy as even a tiny blip on my radar yet!

It should be known, however, if you are a dumbass stranger who does something really stoopid, rude or insane, I mean everything that comes out of my mouth. I’m just sayin’.

Now that I have filled this post with about 670 words that don’t mean much I will excuse myself back to realm of nonsense and try to post something much better in the near future.

The Phoenix

New title, new look, new blog.

This is the former “Emancipation of a Drama Queen” rising from the ashes and reinventing itself.

I haven’t been feeling the blogging bug for some time now. Maybe because my blog was stale. Maybe it was because I became incredibly busy and sidetracked. Whatever the reason, I’m going to try and start over. I’m going to try and write a little bit each week and see if I still have an audience.

The new title is pretty obvious, just like the old one. I chose something that truly represents me. As I was scanning through web images today I ran across a mosaic pattern and everything just clicked. A mosaic is a perfect depiction of me. Some might argue that it’s a perfect depiction of everyone. Aren’t we all mosaics? And maybe that’s true. The art of mosaics is based on putting bits and pieces of broken things together to create one image, right? So yeah, we are all mosaics. But, each mosaic is different; it’s elements, it’s colors, it’s design… all different, no two alike. My own mosaic is unique because mine might contain bits of crystal along with bits of coal; contradiction can create some pretty great things.

Hopefully I will still have some of my old readers out there and maybe I will even earn some new ones. I will do my best to update more regularly. I do enjoy writing but the fact that I have two boys who demand a lot of attention and create tons of havoc often makes writing a blog post take a far back seat.

More to come…

The Evolution of a Mother's Day

For us mom’s we were either pregnant during our first Mother’s Day or had that beautiful new baby… and in some cases, babies. For me, I was pregnant and getting ready for the birth of my first son a few weeks later. There is nothing like that first Mother’s day. When it comes around you feel like you are finally part of an elite club and your new membership card is all shiny and wonderful.

If you were pregnant during your first Mother’s Day then your husband probably did something cute like get you a nice card from your future child, some gorgeous spring floral bouquet and maybe even took you out to a nice breakfast… to enjoy the solitude before the storm of parental duties set in.

If you were in the throws of sleepless nights and size 0-2 diapers on your first Mother’s Day then your husband hopefully let you sleep in and did all the diaper changes that day, along with a nice card and maybe even a pedicure. You probably got flowers too.

In either case, you were probably ecstatic to be able to finally relish in the day yourself instead of making sure your own mother got a card and some flowers on time. Well, of course you still made sure your own mom got her card and flowers on time. And if you were like me you may have even said to your husband something like “Oh, thanks sweetie! You didn’t have to do that! I don’t mind! I’m a mom! This is great!”

A year goes by and soon another Mother’s day is upon you. This time you have a toddler in tow and crumbs in your hair. Your husband and toddler make you breakfast in bed and you eat a very oddly shaped pancake created just for you by your child. You receive a beautiful card signed by your husband and child and a small bouquet of flowers. You enjoy your morning and then get up to begin the rest of the day of light duty, even though you still vacuum, do some dishes and change a few diapers. Your husband tries to make sure you have a day of rest but you insist that it’s not necessary. You love being a mom!

Year three comes fast and you cannot believe that you have a child who is potty training or in preschool already! Where did the time go? By this point you may even have a second child or one on the way. Mother’s Day is filled with special construction paper cards adorned by child-sized hand-prints and probably a cup full of “special” dandelions picked just for you by your child. You are greeted in bed with the cards, breakfast and dandelions and you smile so bright that the house lights up. You even go back to sleep for a little while. Later, your kid or kids try to help out a little more on this day as you get them ready to head out to a Mother’s Day gathering with family. You try to wash a few dishes but your husband comes and takes over the duty so you can relax. Instead of putting up a small fight you relinquish control and let him finish the dishes and you head off to find something else to do.

Mother’s Day #4 arrives so quick that your head is still spinning from the previous year. There is a small family gathering planned at your brother-in-law’s house and you get up to start the day and finish the side-dishes you are supposed to bring. Your husband kisses you and say’s “Happy Mother’s Day honey!” and you head upstairs to dress the kids. Suddenly, you turn around and say, “you know what honey? would you get the kids ready for me? ” and you go back to sipping your coffee. You decide to try and relax just a bit on this fourth Mother’s Day. Even though you didn’t get a card from your husband, you still love the little things your kids made you in preschool and figure that it’s enough. Soon, they come running down stairs dressed in clothes that don’t match and scream “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY MAMA!” You smile and hug them tight. When messes are made you pretend like you are going to clean them up but secretly hope your husband takes over. When he does, you smile and thank him. If he doesn’t you clean it anyway and think, “jeez! would it be so hard for you to take care of this, especially today!?”

Mother’s Day #5 comes. You got your Mother’s Day gift 3 weeks earlier in the form of a pair of shoes you just had to have even when the funds were running low. You agreed with your husband that those would suffice as an early Mother’s Day gift. He didn’t get you a card but you got a sweet Mother’s Day kiss and some coffee. Your kids hug you and say “Happy Mother’s Day” and then run outside to play. You need a shower but feel too lazy to take one. You have to be somewhere at 1pm for a family gathering and you are procrastinating. The had kids dressed themselves while your husband watched SportsCenter. He needs a shower and the kids are wearing completely mismatched clothes and you have to ask them if they remembered to put underwear on. You grab your coffee and a donut and make sure you wish all your friends and family a happy Mother’s Day. The kids are fighting, your husband is trying to run interference and there are dishes in the sink.You have no plans to touch those dishes and if he expects you to you will probably kick him in the nuts.

We can only imagine what the 6th Mother’s Day will be like… I will let you know when I get there.

Happy Mother’s Day to ALL of you amazing and wonderful mom’s out there! God Bless all of you!

Values, not just a positive economic term these days.

For most of my life I have had a bad habit of basing my self-worth by the accomplishments, failures, talents and traits of other people. If I met someone prettier than me, I was jealous and called myself a troll. If I met someone smarter than me, I was dumb loser. If I met someone with any amount of talents, I was just a sad, boring shell of a human.

If you are thinking that I’m dramatizing my thoughts or embellishing my feelings then you are dead wrong. Those thoughts are 100% authentic and true, because I’m dramatic. You can probably imagine the antithesis to those feelings  when I was among people who didn’t seem prettier, smarter or more talented than myself. That is an ugly truth and by-product of my insecurities.

So, the entire problem lies with judging myself by other people. The rest of the world’s population are not my own personal barometer for my worthiness! Recently I figured this out because of certain circumstances that I had never experienced before. After that I swore to myself that I would not let anyone else make me feel like I’m not worthy whether it be anything they said to me or by just feeling they are superior. Unfortunately it’s not easy to break a lifetime-long bad habit.

Today, I slipped back into the old ways and felt like an untalented, crappy mother. Now, judging my personal values and self-worth before kids was bad enough; I’m not as skinny as my friend’s girlfriend or I don’t have as nice a car as my co-worker does. Whatever the case was I could find a way to feel inferior. Well, after having kids that issue compounded itself and became 100 times worse. I believe mommy-envy is a major problem for many women. If we see a mother doing something better than us we naturally get jealous… well, not every mother does, some are actually secure in themselves to not let this happen. Becoming a mother made me almost competitive. My friend’s little boy is not even two yet and knows some letters of the alphabet by sight. My boys didn’t know that at his age. Oh my gosh, where did I go wrong!? Can I flip a switch and go back in time and teach my boys their letters sooner? Heh. Riiight.

I blame myself for so many things. I also happen to be fighting the ghost of my father and trying not to be like him, but I slip so often. Sometimes I think that I’m so consumed in fighting off my dad’s bad habits and worrying about being a good mom and keeping a clean house that I forget to just breathe, sit down with the boys and not move. I should read more books, play more games and not worry so much about the little messes. I’m too controlling to let that go though. I’m too wound up all the time. Sitting down and just being with the boys means there are other things I’m not getting down. Plus, I know that being with them won’t be peaceful for long because one of them will want to read one book and the other won’t and then the drama starts… or something else begets a fight… so I don’t bother usually.  Deep down I think that I’m doing the best that I can. But the daily self-reminders of how I’m not a “playful” mother, I’m not a spectacular photographer and don’t have amazing photographs of my kids, I’m not a world-class cook who can whip up kid-friendly creations to eat and I’m certainly not a calm and centered parent are just too much to handle sometimes. Today was one of those times….

Awhile later, as I was going about my day here at home, tidying the house and doing laundry, I heard my boys in the shower screaming at each other. A bit later they were upstairs screaming at each other. Earlier, before the shower, they were fighting over the coloring book and paint brushes. Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks….

I’m raising these two boys, who were at one, long point in time both in diapers and I would love to see someone step into my shoes and do a better job than me. Maybe they could. Maybe they would display more patience, better referee skills and a better execution of discipline. Sure, I don’t doubt that one bit. But, in my heart of hearts I know that I am doing the best job that I possibly can. Parents make mistakes all the time and I am definitely one of them. I’m ok with making mistakes, as long I don’t repeat them…. often.

People have no idea what my boys put me through, day in and day out. They reserve all of their best stuff just for me and their daddy. So, when I’m beating myself up over ruining my kids or being a bad mother I just think about how I have two boys…. two boys who are crazy and outnumber me. The things that I would love to do with my boys are not always possible because of our specific dynamic. Believe me, I have tried. Simple things like spreading out a mat and letting them play with play-dough is a huge production. They fight over the colors, they throw the play dough at each other instead of using it the way it’s meant to be used, they find ways to scatter it all over the place, including my floors, etc, etc.

My boys make me work, hard. I do the best I can (most days) to be the mom they deserve. But, honestly, some days I’m lucky to make it through in one piece. They have a talent for reaching every single last nerve in my body and twisting it in a way that makes me want to climb out of my own skin. Then, there are days when they are really good and I forget about the day before. Regardless of what kind of day it is, I wrap my arms around those boys and never want to let go. I said in an earlier post that I feel like I’m holding the entire world in my arms when I hold them both… they are still little, and cuddly and still need me. Someday they might be taller than me and my hugs won’t mean the same things to them and they might push me away. I just hope that if or when that day comes they remember how much I love them and how hard I tried to be the best mom to them that I could. I hope they know that I poured my heart and soul into them and made many mistakes along the way.

This world is full of talented and beautiful mothers and I am happy to know those specials ones in my life. At first I thought I was inferior to them and while technically maybe I am, it doesn’t mean I’m not good enough. In fact, they make me strive to be a better mom, a better friend. Instead of being jealous of them I need to just try and learn from them and remember that I’m special too.

My self-worth isn’t based on the people I meet or the beautiful moms who surround me. They are all special and wonderful and despite what I might try to believe, they aren’t perfect…. and neither am I. This is something I have to remind myself of daily in order to really change my way of thinking. A good way to remind myself of that is by asking this question…

“When I’m on my deathbed, am I going to regret not having a perfectly clean house or not reading more books to my kids?”

I'm writing to tell you that I have nothing to say. What a novel idea, huh?

Well, I haven’t been kidnapped from the trail yet so that’s a good thing. I really haven’t had much to write about and I guess I spend most of my time on Facebook, when I’m not doing laundry, dishes, cleaning, being a parent, driving the kids to and from school, running errands and so on.

Unfortunately I have not been out on the trail in the last 2 weeks and I miss it. It’s mostly because of the weather and since the weather has been crappy on most of the days that I could have gone out on the trail, well, it has caused me to lose my motivation. The wind is a BIG hinderance to my walking, too. If you have even been to Chicago on a windy day you might understand. So even when the weather was semi-decent, I couldn’t go out walking because the wind would irritate my eyes and generally make me miserable on my walk. Remember, I hate the wind…. at least the wind here. I hope to get back out there soon. Very soon. But, the weather is yet again, crappy. Very very crappy.

In the meantime I have been doing a lot of Spring cleaning and organizing. It feels so great to accomplish everything I have wanted to do. I also consider that cleaning as a form of exercise so I’m not being sedentary or anything, despite not going on my power walks. I am even drinking… (gasp) WATER! Ok, not nearly enough still, but I am drinking it daily. That’s a huge step.

Spring is definitely here, even though the weather has been crappy. Everything is green and budding and my lilac tree is on the verge of blooming. That is my most favorite sight in the Spring. Along with the emergence of Spring comes a lot of yard work, of which we have yet to begin. That is last on my list of Spring duties and of course means the weather needs to be sunny… not rainy like it has been. So the yard work is on hold for now.

My yard work goals this Spring/Summer are to convert each of my little flower beds into wildflower beds and continue to use hostas as ground cover in other areas. I also want to get a compost pile started. This will take a bit more work and cooperation from the husband… which he is not really willing to cooperate yet. So I must turn on the “wear him down” technique and see if that convinces him to help me.

Aside from all of that, in case you haven’t noticed the date yet, it is April 28th. This day may not be important to any of you but it should be, because it is my awesome sister-in-law’s birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY OLIVIA!

ehem….

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday deeeaaarrrrr Oliiiiiviiiiia!

Happy birthday to YOU!

Hennyway, I realize the boring nature of this post and hope you aren’t asleep yet. If you are even there, of course. Hopefully more exciting posts will follow but given my recent track record, don’t count on it.

So, let me leave you with the question for the day…

If you only had three things to teach your children before you left this earth, what would you want them to know?

The Trail and Me

You may have thought that I was crazy before reading this post. You may have even entertained the thought that committing me in an institution might be the best thing for human nature. And, after reading this post you may wind up feeling completely validated in those feelings and end up sending messages to my husband who is now on Facebook (thanks to me) that he should run for his life and take the children with him.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, hubs and I are really trying to make healthier choices and I have added walking/running into my weekly activities. I have not succeeded all that well in the food department as I have eaten a lot of milk duds and Easter candy along with the broccoli and yogurt with granola. I justify this by truly believing that as long as I’m walking/running each week that I can have all the candy I want. Delusional, yes.

I am succeeding in my exercise program, however. I manage to complete my walk/run a few times a week now and my stamina is increasing rapidly. I have a great running mix of music that I made as a playlist on my iPod and it really motivates me and helps me keep at a quick pace. We are fortunate to live in an area that has a bike trail which goes for miles and miles. I jump on it a block or so behind my house and take it for about a one mile or so before I turn around and head back. The trail is straight and cuts through the heart of my neighborhood and then right behind our mall area and on through a wooded and uninhabited area and so on and so on.

It is in this “mall” part of the trail where it gets a bit more lonely, seedy and honestly unsettling. The entire trail is lined with trees and in the area behind the mall there are large swampy ponds, creeks and backwaters as well. People will pass on bikes or on foot and a courtesy wave will be given. Occasionally one will pass a single person who isn’t exercising but rather simply wandering aimlessly aside from the fact that they are on a straight trail.

I tend to take my walks in the evening hours because that is when hubs is home to watch the boys while I’m gone. Spring is coming and it stays lighter a lot later than it did in the winter so evening walks are not a problem. However, this does not mean that macabre, morbid and gruesome thoughts don’t permeate my head as I pounce through the trail while listening to “Pump It” by the Black Eyed Peas and “1999″ by Prince.

My ghoulish mind tricks might be the result of watching too much CSI, Law and Order and Without A Trace episodes. In fact, they must be. Regardless, they cloud my exercise euphoria and cause me not to fully enjoy my temporary freedom. As I pass the swampy ponds I imagine bodies floating to the surface. Each person that passes me who doesn’t seem to be walking with a purpose causes me to stiffen up and clench my fists somewhat.

There are parts of this trail that just seem destined to have a dead body found and may even already contain a few missing persons; in my mind anyway. I imagine a man jumping out from the trees to snag an unsuspecting woman who is just out for a run. The next thing we know she is on the 10 O’clock news as a missing person or just another body found in a wooded, swampy area.

I try to shake these thoughts from my head, I really do. I try to to enjoy the fresh, crisp air and lose myself in my music but I just can’t fully let go. And, to be honest, I believe that is a good thing. I need to be aware of my surroundings. I need to know when there are people behind me or if there are any freaks lurking behind some trees ahead of me. I need to be ready. The way I see it is that I’m new to this whole “exercise” thing and the way my luck works I would be the one trying to better myself, lose weight and get healthy only to end up dead and floating face-down in the beaver damn behind the Target. Sigh.

Tonight, just when I thought I should let my guard down and lose myself in the high I came upon a very cagey man. Prince’s “1999″ had just finished and I was on the last two songs of my playlist, the slow down pace. “Homecoming” by Kanye with Chris Martin was playing and as I got closer to this man I got more nervous. He was one of those people on the trail who wasn’t there to exercise and probably wasn’t soul searching to find a higher state of existence.

He was carrying a brown paper bag and I could see he was wearing headphones. He was walking down the left side of the trail and there was no one else around except him and me. My pace quickened as I got closer to him. He was walking slowly and aimlessly and then he stopped. He took a beer out of the paper bag and took a long chug. Then, he lit a cigarette. At this point I pretty much imagined my own demise. Snatched, screams muffled, beaten and.. well… hello Heaven.

I got very, very nervous as I approached him. I watched his every move and just waited for the seconds it would take me to walk by him to pass so I could breathe again. I felt the tension in my chest and sensed the feeling of him grabbing me and pulling me into the trees. I felt validated in my crazy thoughts for once! As I passed him I kept turning my head to the left to use my peripheral vision so I knew where he was. Once I was several steps past him and his puffs of smoke I removed my headphones so I could listen for quick footsteps behind me. I walked faster.

Soon I was well beyond him and let my guard down a tad; just a tad. I kept my headphones off and walked the rest of the way home in silence, save for the sounds of teenagers, a pick-up baseball game and cars passing by. I began to think, maybe he is just a sad alcoholic and likes to take evening walks in peace. Maybe he just had a fight with his girlfriend and stepped out to clear his head. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. That trail is open to everyone; you certainly don’t need to be on a mission of health or anything to use it. But, he was the epitome and perfect profile of a serial killer so that benefit of the doubt didn’t get far with me.

If he was a normal, honest person, he had to realize just how sinister his actions might appear to a woman walking by. And, if he were truly a rapist, murderer or abductor, then he knew exactly what he was doing; he was the perfect cliche of a snatch-and-kill man.

Alas, I made it home safe and sound. Regardless of his intentions, I’m not taking the trail in the evenings anymore unless I’m on my bike. Or, if I do take the trail, I won’t take it as far as I did today. I simply want to enjoy my time out there in the fresh air and not worry about every person I pass. I figure that if I change up my routine, stick to the neighborhood streets a bit more and ride my bike on some evenings then maybe I can relax and enjoy myself.

I am fully aware that I’m a morbid thinker but I figure it keeps me alert and might actually help, in my twisted logical  fashion. I find it incredibly ironic how I can feel so completely distrusting in this type of setting yet be so naive and trusting with other, complete strangers in different scenarios.

As always, I am the perfect blend of consistent inconsistency.

How I'm dumber than an 8-year old

I am often dumbed down by my friend’s son. Today was no different. He spent the night with my boys last night and when he and my older son, DramaBoy, woke up, I guess C started telling him some old ghost stories and legends. Later on, after breakfast, C was telling me how he had told my son some cool old ghost stories like the one about the Flying Dutchman.

I was like, “Oh yeah, like that one on SpongeBob, right? They have a flying Dutchman on Spongebob!”

He paused and said, “Uuum, no. As in the Legend of Davy Jones… you know?”

Once again I looked like an idiot to an 8-year old.

Then, to make matters worse I had to Google “Davy Jones and the Flying Dutchman” just to figure out what it was. I had heard of it before but not in any way that would explain the legend or that it was even a legend.

That is when I found a small semblance of satisfaction and a return of my pride… care of Wikipedia.

In the Spongebob Squarepants episode “Born Again Krabs”, Davy Jones’s Locker is shown to be the underwater equivalent of Hell, being “the resting place of all bad undersea folk”, literally being a gym/school style Locker, and also containing smelly socks belonging to Davey Jones himself (“…he works out a lot”). The Flying Dutchman takes Mr. Krabs to Davy Jones’s Locker after he is fatally poisoned from eating a rotten old Krabby Patty, and Krabs begs him to give him one more chance, promising that he will no longer be cheap.

SEE! I was right! Sort of…

Everything I need to know I learned from SpongeBob. All hail SpongeBob.

Love is tangible.

When I hug both of my boys at the same time I get this overwhelming feeling that I am holding the entire world in my arms… like I’m holding pure, raw love as if it were a tangible, touchable thing…and I never want to let go. Even with simple moments like hugging them goodbye in their preschool classroom…. or if I’m stepping out to run a few errands, I never leave the house without hugging and kissing them and telling them I love them. Never…

…because they are my entire world. They are tangible, touchable love.

(This is what has been playing over and over in my head for days now… so I wrote it down )