Faith No More. Not the band.

I've got about a ton of blog topics floating around in my head right now. Well maybe not a ton...but they all weigh a ton. Heavy issues, I guess. And I can only do one at a time. Sure, I could write about going to the mall today -- the one in the nicer part of town -- and all that I saw take place there. I could over analyze and dissect the diorama of mommydom that I observed; the annoying behaviors I noticed some kids seem intent on displaying. That would all be quite trite indeed. It would make for great fodder, but there's something else weighing more heavily on my mind presently.

This past Sunday in class, we talked about trusting in the Lord. A lot of the class discussion we had focused on the daily pressures we all face and how much easier our lives become when we give it all over to Him. Part of that too is how stressful life is when we forget that we can find comfort in prayer and faith.

That's exactly what I've been stressing out about lately. I know that I am not always number one at remembering how to hand my problems over to the Lord, but I know Him just the same. I know He's there for me constantly, watching over. I didn't always have that comfort. There was a time in my life that I refused the Lord. I knew of Him, I just didn't listen to Him. So many things had happened in my life at such a young age that I think I blamed God for my problems, instead of asking him for help with them. I was very angry with Him, and for that I turned away. But I came back. And whether I would have always admitted it or not, I knew God was always there. I was just having a spat with Him. But a profound question has been nagging at me lately: what would it be like to have no faith at all? To be completely devoid of all spirituality? That would have to be an empty existence.

I didn't necessarily grow up going to church until later on in my youth. My Mom was very confused about religion for a very long time. She was raised Mormon, and resented the way in which organized religion had ostracized her as a child. She left home when she was 15, and needless to say, she left church then as well. When I was 10 or so, she worked at a volunteer ambulance company and became friends with the administrative assistant there. Rita was the associate pastor at a small Presbyterian church in the town we lived in. She invited us to her church and we felt at home. We were back in the Lord's House. But even before we attended a Christian church my mom instilled some level of spirituality in me. I was aware of God. I was aware of faith.

Now here I am, a member of a Presbyterian church in the new town in which my family resides. We go to church as a family. Multiple times a week. We participate in events at the church constantly. It's important to us that we stay involved in church life. After all, it's important to the church that we stay involved. My pastor likes to tell a parable in sermons about coals. It's about how when you have a group of coals burning in a fire, they stay red hot as long as you keep them together. When you move one to the side, alone, it cools and fizzles out. He uses this to show how important it is to stay involved in a church. I don't think it's a hard parable to read. So I'll save you the details of explaining everything. But what if the coal were never part of the group to begin with? What if it never had any fire to hold on to?

It worries me. It makes me sad to think there are people in this world that have nothing to hold on to. They have no fire to keep them warm. They have no one to turn to and no one to take their troubles to. What a lonely existence they must lead. Imagine going through life depending solely on the good of people. You've all heard that one person say they don't believe in God, only in people. Well in my short life I've met many people -- and to only believe in them would leave me very needy and jaded. I mean -- people. Really. How could someone be in a position to see the things that happen in the world every day and not cling to some belief system?

What troubles me even more than fearing for adults who have no spirituality, is the feeling I get when I imagine a child being raised with none. Can you imagine -- a faithless child? All children are born with an innate sense of faith...but what happens when the parents tear down that wall? I pray for every child in a situation like that. I cannot imagine why someone would want to bring up a child with no faith in anything. Surely that child will not be doomed. I don't believe that at all. The light finds everyone eventually. It's just the dark loneliness that will follow them until that happens...that makes me sad beyond all means. And I'm not saying faith necessarily needs to come in the form of Christianity. Just faith...in something.

Size 9 Aluminum Needles are THE DEVIL

Okay, so starting last weekend (when I had some child-free peace at Mom's), I started trying out a new stitch with my knitting needles. Instead of the plain -- yet tried and true -- garter stitch I was finally going to move on to something more exciting. Yes, the double seed stitch. This is accomplished by casting on any multiple of two -- preferably in a large enough number to actually see the pattern appear -- and followed by knitting two, purling two to the end. It looks quite pretty, actually. See here. It's important to note that the picture I've linked to is not my work, but someone else's.

No, unfortunately my double seed stitch will not be seen any time in the near future. Why? I blame it all on size 9 aluminum needles. They are, in fact, the Devil. They're too slick, too long, and I just hate them. Need I really explain? I much prefer bamboo. I'd even settle for plastic at this point. But alas, my bamboo needles are tied up in a mid-project garter stitch scarf, and any of my other needles are too large. If I was astute enough to have invested in a stitch holder (or five), I wouldn't be in this predicament.

I am determined to accomplish my double seed stitch. Determined.

But for now, Andi's returned with fried chicken. Oh, crispy chickeny goodness, How I Love Thee.

Let's hear it for feelin' better!

I think I'm feeling better today. Adrien seems to possibly be recovering too. He slept all night last night with no crying or asking for "TV" and it's almost 4pm and he's been sleep since 11:45am. WOW! I mean, nothing says recovery like making up for lost sleep. He's eating slightly more today. He didn't turn his nose up at Goldfish. He ate a whole piece of toast for breakfast which he affectionately calls Jewwy (Jelly). We then watched two "Bob's" (Veggie Tale's), and he fell asleep.

In lieu of an actual post that takes thought, I've stolen this little quizzy from my bloggy friend Mimi. What do you guys think? Does it fit?

You Are a Cappuccino

You're fun, outgoing, and you love to try anything new. However, you tend to have strong opinions on what you like. You are a total girly girly at heart - and prefer your coffee with good conversation. You're the type that seems complex to outsiders, but in reality, you are easy to please

What Kind of Coffee Girl Are You?

Barf on Barfing

Okay, so starting after breakfast this morning, I've been barfing all day. Not so much fun. I don't think it's a virus -- as I know these symptoms inside and out. I'm more than sure it's my gallbladder acting up...again. Hasn't happened in months, so I guess I'm over due. It just worries me a tiny bit because generally when this happens, I'm sick for a week or so at a time...not eating anything. And we all know that will not do with the baby. So I'm going to call the OB first thing in the morning. I did, however, manage to hold down about one saltine cracker and a teeny bite of green apple earlier. And just so you know: if you are barfing up a storm, drink apple juice with everything. It makes it all taste so much better in reverse.

In other news, Adrien's been feeling down a bit too. Not sure what bit him in the butt. The night before last he had a small fever, and it continued to the morning. He had no other symptoms, so I called the doctor right away. The only thing I could think of was an ear infection: and boy has he had his share of those buggers. They worked us in first thing, and the doctor seemed to come to the same conclusion I did. Nothing wrong but some fluid build up in one ear. And that ear wasn't even infected...which can change at any moment. Last night he woke up at 3am screaming...and asking for "TV". So I took him and he watched TV for about 10 minutes until he fell asleep. Any attempt at moving him back to his crib was thwarted by a crying and waking spell. In the end, it was him, me and Daddy camped out in the living room sleeping. He slept just fine out there...just didn't want to be moved. I think he slept on the living room floor until around 9am this morning. That's a six hour ordeal I hope does not repeat itself tonight.

He absolutely refused to eat much of anything today. Last night he wouldn't even eat french fries from McDonald's...which is his favorite. He had a fitful nap today and ended up napping in the living room as well. I finally got him to eat some crackers and a few slices of green apple this evening. No idea what's going on with him.

It's supposed to sleet and rain tonight...an all out freeze. But who knows just how much. Andi was really hoping for a good swift coat of ice that would inhibit a trip to the office. His boss sent out an email today about taking time on the commute. I guess she's implying everyone should still come regardless. They should, I know. And he left at 11am or so today to come take care of me and Adrien...but it would be nice to be froze in with him tomorrow as well.

I've not been much for posting this week although I had a ton to talk about. Just no time.

Maybe I'll be better next week. Yes, I think I will be.

I'd taken a trip down to my mom's house this past weekend to see my Grandpa. It was hard to see him like that. Somehow it didn't register in my brain that he'd be in such a state. Sad, really. The worst part is that his brain is completely functioning...he just isn't able to make his mouth or body play the roll of himself fully. He's on antidepressants. Who wouldn't be at that point. They say 12-18 months for recovery...but he's in his 70s and not able to do the things he loves. I'm sure he never meant to be reduced to what he's been scaled down to. I look at him and I hope I'm not staring into my own future...or my mother's.

They drop like flies, man.

I've had the biggest headache for two days. I hate that when you're pregnant you can't take Ibuprofen. I take that crap for everything. Why? Because Tylenol never does anything for me. Ever. I swear, if I was just allowed one or two Ibuprofen, my headache would be long gone. But alas, it's not allowed. Caffeine hasn't helped either. Whenever I get a headache, it's always the first thing I turn to.

Today seems to be going about like yesterday. Adrien has already layed down for his nap today. Strange, actually. Generally he holds out until 2ish. Not today -- out at 11:45am. Happy day for me. You know what that means? Time to do the accumulations of dishes. Blah. That's exactly what I'd like to do. Gag.

We had another member leave our playgroup. They're really startin' to drop like flies. This is the whole situation I've been talking about lately. You know, the one that's cloudin' up my aura. That one girl was removed from our group a few months ago for starting drama and so she started her own play group. (I ran through this little history the other day) The other day the member that resigned was a friend of mine. That made me feel bad. The latest one wasn't really even an acquaintence. I'd met her a few times, but nothing too let-me-get-to-know-ya-like. And so this one leaving just annoys me. So yesterday she sent an email to our organizer saying that she was tired of the two-facedness, back stabbing, gossiping, etc. that apparently takes place in our group. She mentioned something like someone said "I hate her child" talking about another member. In all likelihood, it was probably me she heard say that. I don't think I'd use the word "hate" though. There are plenty of kids in our play group (mostly older ones) that I don't like. I generally just refer to them as "brats" though. So who knows what she's talking about. So anyway, this most recent girl has left our group to join the other group because she feels we're so derned two-faced. She's got another thing coming if she thinks the other group isn't just the same. The pot calling the kettle black sort of thing. Actually, the other group is the one starting all this "he-said, she-said" crap. It's all a load of bologna, and I ain't got time for it. Unfortunately, I think, it seems to have time to find me.

So ANYWAY...onward.

I've decided to compile a list of all the funny things Adrien does. He's so stinkin' quirky. I just want to have some of his little traits to read about in years to come when I look back over this blog to rehash the good ol' days before Kindergarten and PTA's. So I'm going to do that in a later post. For now, I think I'll go try to wade through the ocean of dishes I've let fester in my kitchen.

Confessions of a Slacker Mom

It's almost 3pm and I'm still not dressed.

It's almost 3pm and my son is still in pajamas (although he's napping).

I haven't really done much today.

My son spent a lot of today in front of the T.V. and ya know what? I think it's great. That means I got to spend most of my time there as well. I think that's great too.

I have dishes from two days ago still waiting to be washed.

I'm currently doing anything but the dishes.

My floor is riddled with Apple Jacks, Goldfish and a general array of any sort of smashed up crumb you could think of.

My son is currently wearing the last diaper in the house. Let's pray for no poop.

I'm out of milk, and although I went to the store last night -- I still didn't pick any up. $5 a gallon? Are you freakin' kiddin' me?!?

I haven't made my son sit in his high chair to eat anything today. Breakfast was a banana with cartoons. Everything since has been some sort of carb or cheese filled snack -- also served with cartoons.

I'm eating a pizza pocket for lunch...at 3pm.

I ate potato salad straight from the serving bowl earlier. Why dirty another dish?

The first laundry I've done in months was this morning when I washed Adrien's pee soaked pillow. (Yes, someone else does the laundry around here.)

I don't remember the last time I showered.

Love your enemy's jibberish

Ever woke up one day with a feeling of you've lost yourself? Or just that you feel far away from the place in life you should be? Here comes the hippie dippy jibber jabber again, but really. I'm a hippie dippy kinda' gal [sometimes].

I mentioned in my last post something about:

It almost feels like I woke up one day and decided that everything in my life presently is wrong.

And so I do (feel that way). I don't know if it's morals or karma pulling on me. Could be just hormones...but I can't help but feel like Jesus and Buddha are in the back of my head simultaneously reminding me of the "do unto others" clause in my spiritual contract. Sunday School this past week focused on loving others, and loving your enemies. You know, the whole "If someone slaps your cheek, offer the other" type thing. I've been thinking about my current situation lately -- even before Sunday School this past week. How associations with people could change you indefinitely -- and not necessarily for the better. How every action has an equal and opposite reaction. All that crap -- ya know. And I ain't talkin' physics. It has a lot to do with the subject matter of my post yesterday.

A question that arose in my mind during Sunday School was this: when do you say enough is enough? I get the whole parable of the cheek slapping. I understand the "if someone takes your cloak, offer up your tunic as well." Jesus taught at the Sermon on the Mount that you should love your enemies and have them do what they will. Our class on Sunday surmised that what he most likely meant was for the offender to come to terms with their own misgivings through your submission to their tortures. Like someone will abuse you long enough and one day say "Gee, why are you letting me do this? I am wrong." But that doesn't always happen. So therein lies the persistence part, and somewhere along the way I'm sure there's a moral to the story about just that: hanging on when the times get tough. As a person, you should love your enemies enough and respect their point of view to allow the actions to occur. I get all that. I do. But when is it alright to stand up for yourself, or to do something to change the situation. I certainly don't think Jesus meant that you should stand and beaten down over and over without turning the tides.

However, nowhere in His sermon did Jesus decree that one could not just avoid the situation all together. Maybe that's a cop out. Possibly. But, it does seem one way of dealing with a persistent problem. Case in point, a problematic person. If one is having problems with a person, doesn't it make sense to avoid them altogether, therefore avoiding said problem? I think so.

I'm beating around the bush a bit. I know -- but in my defense, I mentioned hippie dippy jibber jabber in the first paragraph of this post. Jibber jabber meaning just that. So you knew what you were getting yourself in for. Hang with me here.

What I'm really trying to say (under all the parables and prophetic screaming in my head), is that I'm starting to feel like there are people and situations in my life that are making my karma feel a bit clogged. They're cloudin' up my aura...turning it to black I'm sure (the bit about being unbalanced, not protected). All of this is making me feel so uneasy about everything. Last night I could hardly get to sleep. The weight of current situations is pressing in hard on me, and I just don't like it one bit. I don't think I had much to do with bringing these situations into my life, either. I mean, I didn't personally -- rather I brought them into my life through other people who I associate with. Get it? I'm letting everyone else's drama become my own, and in the end no one wins that way.

So, back to the solution. Removing myself from the situation. That'd be great if it were only that easy. How are you supposed to remove yourself from your own life? The problems involve so many people I associate with that I'd literally be turning my life upside down if I just removed myself completely. But if I go on with the associations, I think I'll only become more and more clouded and uncomfortable.

I just need to get up the balls to let everyone know how the cow ate the cabbage. (You've seriously never heard that saying?) I don't even know if that would be the right thing to do. You're supposed to love your enemies...but these aren't even enemies. They're people I call friend.

I just can't tell where they fit into my life anymore. I don't think they do. But without them, I'd really have no one.

I don't know what to do and I've just about parabled myself into a corner here. Too bad I can't have a good stiff drink right now. Seriously.

Rum and coke, anyone?

Who's the adult here?

So I've seen it plastered across the mommy blogosphere for ages -- well maybe not ages, exactly. So not ages, but definitely as long as there have been mommy blogs, there's been a definitive warning floating about the internet:

Stay far far away from mommy groups. Far. Away.

Yes, but what's a bored mother to do? A socially deprived one? Suck it up.

Well not me. I joined one. A few even. Along time ago. Hell, I even assist in organizing one at present. But where does the madness end?

My first ever experience with play group ended in heart ache, and a less than nice break-up letter. There were tears on my end; gloating on the other, I'm sure. It almost feels like I woke up one day and decided that everything in my life presently is wrong. Really -- I am feeling that way. But how do you sort out what really is wrong, and what just feels wrong -- for the fleeting moment? How do you do that?

I got an email from a member (now ex-member) of our group today. She was explaining how she was leaving our group (and going to another), but didn't want that to effect our friendship. Over the course of her membership in my little groupie-group we've become good acquaintances. She and her son even came over to a Nascar party my husband and I were having. She's coming over in February for another. We'd email occasionally; message back and forth on MySpace. All of that, and now she was leaving. Why? She said she was starting to feel uncomfortable in our group.

What started as a feud between a few members of our group is now starting to spill over into the group's day-to-day business. It's apparently effecting people and making them feel uncomfortable. I won't get into the details of the feud, other than to say it ended with a new-ish member being removed, whereby she started her own group and dragged some of her friends from our group along with her. Now there's some sort of battle of the mommy group thing going between the two groups. There is nastiness on both sides, and with many of the issues it's hard to see where one indignity ends and the other begins. All in all, most of the problems are a load of bullocks. Chock it up to women acting more like their unruly toddlers than adults.

It's enough to make anyone feel uncomfortable...no matter the degree of separation. With friends now on both sides of the field, it's become more than impossible to voice my true opinions surrounding the whole jumble. Even in my own blog. The lines between what I think and know are right and wrong are becoming blurred -- if only because my allegiances lie on both sides of ally and enemy lines. I just think it's a bit sad that I'm having to see a friend off and out of my group because she's come to feel more comfortable with what she views as a rosier situation.

But what am I even talking about? It's a freakin' mommy group. It should be all about the kids...not moms acting like kids.

My feelings ARE important

My husband really pisses me off sometimes. Even more over -- hurts my feelings.

I know that every single married woman reading this is saying "Well if I had a dime for every time..." But really. It's my blog, so don't belittle the writing. I can rant if I want.

It seems like every month or two I have a huge breakdown in which I inform my husband that I just don't feel loved enough. Not that I don't think he loves me. I know he does. It's just more like I feel as though he doesn't show it anymore. I start feeling a bit like I'm being taken for granted and that's just not fair. So after a few months of feeling neglected, we had this conversation yet again (the other night). Of course, I cry and he ends up apologizing. But first thing out of his mouth was something about me not showing any affection either. I realize that's a normal response. I really do. And maybe he feels the same way I do, but I don't see him giving any valiant efforts at a conversation to work things out. So to me, it feels like it doesn't really bother him -- or simply that he doesn't notice. Not sure which is worse.

Anyhow, so these conversations are generally followed by a few days (sometimes a week) of him "trying", and then things just fall back into a normal unaffectionate, indifferent swing. I'm sure I'm probably guilty of it too, but this isn't a blog written in third person, it's written by me. And so it's in my perspective.

And my perspective is this: So maybe I'm not the most affectionate person in the world any more. Maybe I don't throw myself all over you or shower you with kisses when you walk through the door at the end of the day. But neither do you. After a while, I've started to feel a little unimportant. This past Mother's Day I had to fight with you to even hear a "Happy Mother's Day"...and did I get a gift? No. Did I even get a "Thanks for running yourself ragged with our kid"? No. I didn't. In fact, this is what I got: I believe you said something to me to the effect of "I didn't realize it was such an important holiday." I think that about says it all, don't you? After all, I planned you an entire party for Father's Day. Well was that good enough? Did it give you an iota of guilt? No. Why? Well because you argued that I had planned that for the play group, and not you. So I guess it wasn't that special to you. Well let me tell you something -- It was my flippin' idea for the flippin' party in the first place. And why do you think I had that idea? Because I wanted to give you a flippin' party for you "not so important" day. That's why. And if I didn't want to give a party for you to begin with, I never would have had that idea for the play group Father's Day Party. And besides, do you really rationalize saying that I didn't give you anything for Father's Day either? Apparently you do. So apparently the party really didn't mean anything to you. So sorry. I thought it was a nice gesture.

Or how about all those times I woke up in the middle of the night to feed Adrien solo while I was still working full time? I had to go to work every single day too. And yet, I was still the one bearing the full load of responsibilities when it came to our son. I woke at night to feed him, multiple times a night. I was so exhausted, but I'm glad someone was getting some sleep. I hold so much against you for that. I know I shouldn't hold grudges, but come on. You tried to high-five me the other day when I announced I'd (hopefully) be breastfeeding the next baby, so you wouldn't have to worry about getting up at night. You wanted to high-five me for that? Are you serious? I know I get the luxury of staying at home now, so even if I wasn't breastfeeding, I'd still get up with the baby. After all, I don't have to go to work the next day and you do. I just wish I'd been shown the same courtesy. Courtesy. All courtesies take are a little bit of thought. Instead, I'd hear you joke about how I was the one who had to wake up all night long and you got to sleep. All of that and you'd think I'd get a little Mother's Day present or thank you along the way. But no. Apparently I'm a nag for even wanting a Mother's Day gift.

And then there are incidents like today: when I got scolded like a bad child for eating a few shreds of the mountain of cheese you had grated for our chili-cheese dogs. I thought you must have been kidding at first, when you told me to "Stop eating all the cheese!" But then you got really heated, and I actually kept eating just to piss you off. Then it ended with you throwing the cheese in the refrigerator and exclaiming something to the effect of "I HATE it when people do that!!!!" Well, Mr. High and Mighty -- you eat pieces of food while I'm cooking all the time. And really -- did you think I was going to eat all of the cheese? Apparently so, because you were a real jackass about it. In fact, my feelings are still hurt. I literally had three little bites of cheese out of what was probably a cup and a half you had grated. Were you just afraid big fat me would devour it all leaving none for yourself? It's bringing tears to my eyes right now. I mean, grow up -- it was just cheese. And honestly, if I want to fucking eat it, I will. Next time you act that way I think I'll pour it all down the disposal. How would that be for eating all the cheese?

So, I'm sorry, Dear Husband, if I'm not the most enthusiastic when it comes to your adoration. But after a few years of being made to feel like I'm not worth a "thanks" on the appropriated day, I just don't adore you much anymore. Rather, I adore you (very much), just not always the way you make me feel. Make me feel important and appreciated a little more and maybe I'll send something your way. I realize you have to give what you want to get in return. But do I really have to beg for a Mother's Day Gift or a shred of cheese every now and then? Why can't those things just be given to me?

I hate two things: Overpriced diapers and Bitches

Some days I'm a magnet for crap. Crap magnet. I know, I already posted once today, and generally that's more than plenty for me (hence when I didn't post all of December). BUT I've got a few things that really irked me today.

First of all, in my last post, I mentioned that taking Adrien for his first hair cut was high on my priority list. Very high, actually. His hair's getting kind of ratty on the ends, and honestly it's fast becoming a mullet with the back growing faster than the front. So as cute as he is with baby-ish hair, it's time for Momma to let go and allow him a coif that will lend him a big boy look.

So anyway, there's a kid's hair cut place by the Target I always shop at. Needless to say, it was the first place I thought of. As soon as they opened (10am) I phoned in to make an appointment. Adrien's date with coiffure destiny was set for 11:40am this morning.

Great -- I could pick up some diapers [at Target] beforehand. He had his last one on at that very moment. So we pack up and go and I park strategically between the Target and the hair cutting place so that I can go in, buy diapers, bring them back to the car, nab the camera, and swing into the ultra hip just-for-kiddos salon.

I should have had an epiphany of things to come when I hit the check out line at Target with the diapers. Not thinking, I'd grabbed one of the 88 count boxes of size 5 Huggies off of the shelf and continued on to check out. I never looked at the price. After all, they're such and such price at Wal-Mart and while I figured Target to be a bit pricier, I wondered how much more it would possibly be. I was soon to find out. The cashier says it's something like a $30 total and I'm amazed! Surely that's wrong, I asked. And she looked and said no. Well then I want my money back, dontcha know. Transaction completed, I headed straight for the customer service department where I asked the lady to double check the price. I mean, surely it was wrong. No, it was correct. I informed her that I could get the same box of diapers for much less at Kroger or Wal-Mart and that I'd just bought them but would like to return them.

I can't do a return without receipt, ma'am.

I just bought them, I have the receipt. Right. Here.

[I was holding my debit card out for her so that she could return the money to the card, when I see her pulling cash from the register]

Can you charge it back to my card?

Well I can if you want me to call so and so over here and void the transaction! [Miss Snippy pants]

Fine, cash is fine.

So then I left Target diaperless. Not a total waste though, because my little boy was about to get his hair snipped off. Exciting!

So we go over to the too cool kiddie salon, sign in, and wait. And wait. And wait. Adrien was so excited about the little cars they had in each booth for the kids to sit in. I assured him he had to wait his turn. When I'd first arrived to the salon, there were two stylists working -- both were busy. Neither acknowledged my presence. At all. Each had a little girl in their seat, and I noticed the mother hovering about -- one other little girl in tow. As I sat there and waited our turn, droves of people started to come in. Adrien was restless to say the least...I mean, there were cars to drive for goodness sake! After what seemed like an eternity, the same two little girls were still getting their hair cut. I looked at the clock and it was 12. We'd been there twenty minutes. The stylists were still working away on the little girls' hair. Still, neither stylist had acknowledged any one family that'd came in thus far.

This was taking a great deal of time. The little girls didn't even have that much hair. As one girl's hair was finally finished, I turned my attention to the other girl I'd noticed tagging along with the hovering mother. I mean, surely she had already had her hair cut. No. She had not already gotten her hair cut. The stylist had her jump into her chair. I was furious! I mean, I know they were there first, I wasn't arguing about that. But at this point it was 12:15 and I'd been waiting since our appointment time, which was 35 minutes prior! I was angry that the stylists hadn't been out to assure anyone of anything, nor to say -- We're behind, but it will be X amount of minutes. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. So when the other other little girl was finally done getting her hair cut, that stylist walked to the front to check the sign in sheet.

Adrien had been growing so restless and so had I. So I seized this opportunity to ask the stylist how much longer the wait would be. When she replied He's Next in a very snippy tone, I asked how long "next" meant. She ignored that questions, so I went on to explain that my appointment had been made for forty minutes before that. Forty minutes! What she said next just boiled my blood!

She says, very rudely, "Little girl's hair takes longer to cut than little boy's hair does!"

I'm aware of that. But it's been forty minutes. I had an appointment.

Again, she says, "He's next."

So I say, "Ya know what? That wasn't very nice. I think I'm going to leave."

So I did.

I was so excited about Adrien's first hair cut, and I realized that I didn't want this woman to give it to him. She was rude and inconsiderate. I mean, it's a place of business that services children...and for an adult to have to wait 40 minutes past appointment time without acknowledgment is bad enough...but for a 20 month to have to wait 40 minutes past appointment time? That's just ridiculous. I was so pissed off when I left that I thought I was going to cry. Here this was supposed to be such a milestone of a day, and miss bitchy pants ruined it.

I know I was short with her, but I had a right to be impatient at that point. Forty minutes.

Would you have left?

Domestic Flop

I went out with the other organizers of the playgroup last night. And once again, stayed out entirely too late. What starts as a monthly planning meeting, nearly always ends as a chat fest of a few hours -- generally lasting until 1:30 or 2am. So I'm pooped oh well.

As pooped as I am, sometimes I wake up with this agenda or invisible to-do list in my head. It's almost always more ambitious than I am, and generally never gets done. It's all the stuff I'd like to do, gee, I dunno, If I actually had time for more than knocking a toddler from the wall every time he climbs up. And I am not an ambitious person as far as domestic duties are concerned. It is not second nature to me to tidy and clean for my entire existence. My self is content to do things that please the here and now such as, gasp!, me time during Adrien's nap.

So anyway, this morning I woke with the impression that there is an awful lot of cleaning to be done -- and there is -- and that somehow I'm the perfect person for the job. What possesses me sometimes, I'll never know. So I'm thinking to myself in bed, make a list of everything that needs done -- every anal task -- and do it. Things like cleaning off the top of the fridge (I'm horrible about letting what-nots accumulate up there), or cleaning out from under the stove and refrigerator. How about actually cleaning my master bathroom for once? When company's coming I always clean the visible parts of the house, but my bedroom and master bath are in huge disarray. I need to vacuum, for one. I'd like to get the dust off the tops of my base boards. Dusting would be nice...oh, and how about maybe mopping the kitchen for once? Swiffer -- you're good, but not that good.

So it's things like that. All the little stupid stuff that nobody ever wants to do, but need to get done. Just about the only cleaning I do on (nearly) an every day basis is dishes. Yes, you heard it. Confessions of a lazy housewife. But I just don't like to clean in every spare moment that I have. Sue me? I know there are women out there who have such a set cleaning schedule that they actually have hours blocked off for certain tasks, all the while still taking care of multiple children. I know this. It must be true, I saw it on Oprah...or Dr. Phil...or something. But I'm just not that woman, nor will I ever be. But ya know what? Sometimes I feel a little guilty about it.

I feel like I'm lacking as a wife and mother because I'm not like that. I feel like I lack because during nap time I try to either nap, read, blog, or just watch adult television.

So my days aren't filled with hour long increments of daily cleaning rituals, but here is what my day is filled with: Adrien wakes up, we lounge around for a bit and then get breakfast. After breakfast, we get dressed -- but generally only if we have somewhere to go or if breakfast has dirtied pajamas. Then, we generally spend the morning going between Playhouse Disney cartoons and toys; or we have a play date that we attend around 10am-ish. If we stay home, it's generally play time and cartoons until he falls asleep for a nap. If it's a play date, I try to stay out until close to nap time and he falls asleep in the car on the way home. Then he takes his nap for a few hours (which sometimes lasts until after Daddy gets home), he gets up, we play more, he plays with Daddy, I cook dinner, more playing, more playing, endless wandering around with his Monkey and Poom (pillow), followed by him sleeping at some point. On a good day I squeeze in dishes during the nap time. But it doesn't happen a lot of days. I'll do them -- generally -- while dinner is cooking.

So basically, I have this routine: Keep toddler occupied until naptime, keep Mommy occupied during nap time, keep toddler occupied after nap time and until Daddy gets home, Daddy occupies toddler while Mommy cooks, toddler goes to sleep.

And about my to-do list? Well as ambitious as I am laying in the bed in morning, this what my day will most likely look like today: Adrien gets breakfast. Endless lounging and playing. At some point take Adrien for his first hair cut, stop by bank and any other errand. Get him home in time for lunch and his nap. Nap time. Mommy will probably nap today -- a product of being out until the wee hours. Get Adrien up. Play, play, play. Cook Dinner. Play more. Sleepy time. Wake, repeat.

So the fridge won't get cleaned. Big whoop. I'm still doing okay, right?

Scratch that last one

Okay, so scratch that last post.

I'm all packed up, ready to go this morning and my mom calls at 9:30 to tell me she's sick and doesn't want me to come. At 9:30. Had I left around the time I'd originally planned on, I'd have been an hour into my trip by that time. Good thing Adrien was sleeping extraordinarily late today.

Kind of peeves me though -- I wasn't just going to see her. I was going to see my grandpa and to hopefully see a few friends that I grew up with that I haven't seen in a while. Oh well.

Whatever.

I was all set for a road trip (not the three hours of driving with a 20 month old part though), and now I'm kind of stir crazy in my house.

Oh my goodness. Stir. Crazy. Maybe I'll go knit or something.

Three hours

I won't be posting for a couple of days. Nothing you guys aren't used to by now.

I'm going to my Mom's to see my Grandpa who had a stroke on New Year's Eve. So, I will be away from the computer, unable to post or moderate comments.

I'll be back soon!

Have a great weekend :)

Hog's Head Cheese, y'all

Thanks for everyone's concern...really. I'm not sure how founded it is, after all, I'm queen of wearin' the blue badge of frowny face land. I think it's just the holidays that get me down in a way.

I've been missin' my Gran-Gran somethin' awful lately. She was my Dad's Mom. We were always so close. I grew up practically right next door to her, and when I didn't live right next door, my daddy nearly always did. I was heartbroken when she passed away and I was only 15. Somehow, I'd thought my Gran-Gran would around forever. But in the last year or so of her life, she was so fragile and beaten. I know it was her time. It hurt me to see her like that; I know it hurt her more for us to see her that way. I just don't think I've ever let go. I still cry over her loss.

For Christmas I made her potato salad and punch bowl cake (best stuff EVER, y'all). It was my way of remembering my holidays with her. Thanksgiving is always hard because her birthday was November 27th, and every now and then it would happen so that Thanksgiving day would fall on her birthday.

If you guys have learned anything from me, it's that food is near and dear to my heart. It's more than food for me; it's pure emotion. So often, I don't get to enjoy the food of my childhood. You see, I married a picky ass eater. He doesn't like anything that I grew up eatin'. He hates potato salad. Would rather eat dirt than greens. He hates anything in bean or pea form nearly (he can eat some pintos though) -- no black eyed peas, purple hulls, lima beans, butter beans. No beans. I'm sure he'd hate hog's head cheese (yes, y'all heard it right -- hog's head cheese. Look. It. Up.). He won't touch grits. It's a rare occasion that I get anything I really crave as comfort food. And food is my way of remembering. I swear I could recount my life fully using earmarks of what I ate and when. I'm sure of it. I could probably describe the way it was eaten too.

So it makes me sad that I don't get to enjoy all that food. He tells me to cook it anyway. But why in the world would I want to cook a big fat pot of greens for just little ol' me? No reason. So I don't. And it makes me incredibly sad.

I'm more than sure he gets fed up with me moaning and pissin' about what he will and won't eat...but it means more than just food. It's everything. And I know it sounds trivial: but it's just flat out not to me.

So, in defiance, I made me some potato salad for Christmas. I think it tasted darn near like my Gran-Gran's and it was great. One thing she always made was potato salad. For any and every occasion. For no occasion. And then there's the punch bowl cake. I know, you've probably never heard of it before. But oh my goodness, y'all...if you had a big bowl of it you'd be wishin' you'd been hearin' about it your whole life. My Gran-Gran made that for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I remember eating it the Christmas before she started getting her sickest. Had I known it would be the last punch bowl cake I'd ever eat of hers, I think I might have savored a little more and scarfed a little less. Little did I know that she would pass away the next August.

I got the Paula Deen book It ain't all about the cookin' for Christmas and I've been reading that. Maybe that's why I've been so dead set on my southern cravings lately. But all that started a few years ago when I realized Andi just didn't have a shine to like anything I do -- food wise, anyway. I think it's really just more than the book is reinforcing something that I already thought: Food is more than food -- It's a tradition. I'm losing those traditions. I thought I'd start crying when I got to eat that potato salad on Christmas. Nobody makes it like my Gran-Gran did. It'd been so long since I'd made it, that I was afraid I'd forgotten. Let me go another year and I may have. Even now, it pangs me to admit that the exact flavor, bite, and tang of Gran-Gran's potato salad is starting to escape me. Eating it on Christmas helped a little bit, though.

I just don't want to lose my food. If I lose my food, I'm losing my memory. And I hate that.

I really want some biscuits and gravy. With grits.

New Year

It's been a month since I last posted. November was so forced that I had nothing left to write.

Not sure that I do now. I thought more readers may miss me. I feel so abandoned. Not really. Come on. It's a blog, LOL!

Anyway, I think something's wrong with me. I've been depressed I think. Just started I guess. I have eaten nearly two boxes of Little Debbie Swiss rolls in the a little under two days...well like, one box total between other people eating them too. My grandfather had a stroke, and while we're not close, it makes me sad. He's the last grandparent I have left living. His wife was out of state and he layed on the floor in his bathroom for over 30 hours alone. He apparently fell off the toilet while trying to give himself an insulin shot. The doctors aren't sure whether he had the stroke before or after the fall, but think it had happened long before. It was a slow bleed in his brain, but it's stopped finally.

I've felt isolated lately. From Andi in particular. From my family a great deal. I don't think I have anyone who is close to me. I rarely hear from my Dad and it seems like me and my mom's relationship is more distant by the month. Not sure who's choice that is, or whether it's mutual. Either way, it's not such a great way to start the new year. Too much to talk about.

Oh, and I suspect something that I can not talk about. I am just typing about it so that I can acknowledge its presence. And that is the extent of it.