“You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone”

Our recent trip to Florida was amazingly bittersweet. I was reminded of the things I may have taken for granted.

Driving down Gandy Blvd.

Being stuck in Tampa traffic

Publix Supermarket

Mo’s

Having . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Things Taken For Granted]]> An overly used, but always on point quote:

“You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone”

Our recent trip to Florida was amazingly bittersweet. I was reminded of the things I may have taken for granted.

Driving down Gandy Blvd.

Being stuck in Tampa traffic

Publix Supermarket

Mo’s

Having children close in age for Pea to play with

Friends

Palm trees

Going to Evos

Driving in December with my windows down

The humidity

Tyrone Mall

Outback on 4th Street

The beach…

I have never liked the beach. I hate sand, I don’t like getting my hair wet and seriously? I’m dark enough I don’t like sitting in the sun for extended periods of time.

But this time? There was something so different about it. I willing went to the beach 2 days in a row, watching my Pea have the best time. It was only her 2nd time at the beach (the first time was in California in the very cold and dirty Pacific Ocean when she was 1- she was not a fan of that). The Gulf of Mexico, though, is warm and just beautiful.

It was then that I realized how much I took for granted in Florida and how much I love that place and it will always be my home. Of course, we would love to be back there. We also know, though, how blessed we are for the both of us to have well-paying jobs… the jobs that allowed us to save and take our trip in the first place. And so if we don’t get back at the end of this year or the end of next year? It’s not the end of the world. My friends there will always be my family and I know that I’ll always have that place and those people to go back to- even if it’s just for a visit.

Again, I never liked the beach, but I think if we ever do move back I will take that beautiful scene, the peace and quiet with other locals and enjoy it more often.

This visit? Was much needed.

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When I was a stay-at-home mom, I used to make Mommy-Do lists. It’s so hard as a stay-at-home mom to remember all of the things you need to do in one day, so I’d make Mommy-Do lists to . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Mommy-Do]]> We’ve all heard of the honey-do list. (Things you want/need your “honey” to do)

When I was a stay-at-home mom, I used to make Mommy-Do lists. It’s so hard as a stay-at-home mom to remember all of the things you need to do in one day, so I’d make Mommy-Do lists to remind myself of things that I needed to do.

Well, folks.

My Mommy is coming on Saturday.

That’s right, Lecia is landing in Colorado.

I haven’t seen my Mommy in about two years? I think she came to California in November of ’09.

So, I’m making a Mommy-Do list for my Mommy.

She’ll be here for 3 weeks. That’s plenty of time. Right?

1. Fix the buttons on my Pea coat. (Yes, I can sew buttons, but you do it better.)
2. Make me some jerk chicken.
3. Make me some fried dumpling.
4. Teach your granddaughter how to sleep in her own room/bed.
5. Make dinner. Preferably every night so that I don’t have to do it.
6. Watch Pea so that I can go get my eyebrows done…. or anything- read a book, sit in silence.
7. Take Pea to get her flu shot.
8. Teach Pea how to poop on the potty too, not just pee.
9. Go to a seafood restaurant with me- Joe’s Crab Shack, Red Lobster- SOMEWHERE where we can eat fish, shrimp and any other kind of seafood (my husband doesn’t really do seafood).

I can’t think of anything else. So I guess after number 8 she’s off the hook.

What does your Mommy do when she comes?

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I try not to, but I do feel like it’s a part of human nature to complain.

As easy as it is to say “There are children in Africa dying” or “There are people who don’t have a home” I think you need to vent your . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Count Your Blessings]]> I complain a lot. I do.

I try not to, but I do feel like it’s a part of human nature to complain.

As easy as it is to say “There are children in Africa dying” or “There are people who don’t have a home” I think you need to vent your frustrations too or you become one angry person. I think… I’m no expert.

I also think you may become one depressed person if you focus all of your energy on other people’s problems and don’t worry about your own. The troubles of the world are so great.

I think finding a good balance between bitching and complaining about my own problems and still being aware of what is going on in the world and how blessed I am is the right thing to do.

In light of that, yeah, I just had a miscarriage and that makes miscarriage number 2.

And yeah, I’m super annoyed/pissed/angry that we are having such a hard damn time having another baby.

Super pissed.

But this week, we got an email at work that one of our secretaries/Registrar had lost her grandson who was less than 1 year old. Then today I read Kim’s blog about this woman, Hope who went into early labor with twins at 21 weeks and after a battle to save the living baby (the first baby was born stillborn), the baby- named Zaria- passed away.

Yes, it sucks to have a miscarriage.

I bet, though, with all of my heart that it sucks even more to lose a child that you birthed, held in your arms, and prayed to God that s/he would survive.

Yup, that sucks even more.

In fact, it’s not fair.

Here is what Hope had to say about baby Zaria (I’ve picked out a few pieces for you):

“From the early ‘honeymoon’ week Zaria introduced us to what a strong little fighter she was. She faced chronic lung disease, grade 3 brain bleeds, and heart surgery within the first few weeks of her stay. Every time she met these obstacles we were all surprised because she didn’t want to show us any signs of her distress.

As she healed from each trauma we breathed a collective sigh of relief. We spent hours and hours at her bedside peering into a plastic womb and getting to know our littlest daughter. When possible we held her head and feet as she spread out her toes and caressed our fingertips as we sought to soothe her and her us….

After holding such strong hope for our girl through all the ‘you must give up care’-s for her from the doctors, we could not allow our minds to fathom that she had more of the disease. The surgeon finally realized that it was futile to convince us as we saw the glimmer of hope in her words of “most likely will not live”. ‘Most likely’ can’t convince two loving parents who want with all their hearts for their daughter to survive the NICU and come home with them. The doctor realized she would have to show us proof.

After an exploratory bedside surgery and a photograph of the perforated gut and decaying tissue, we finally began to swallow our hope for saving our daughter….

On Sunday morning, August 28, we realized we should let go (I couldn’t use the term ‘withdraw care’ because what mother can really withdraw care of their child?)…

I held her warm body to my bare chest and soothed her fears. She lay in Luke’s lap at sunrise by the window; and as her heart faintly beat she lightened our loads as she flew away home. We studied her beautiful face (looking much like her brother’s), stroked her reddish brown hair and held her little fingers.“

A mother’s love for her child is one that cannot be quantified, but the anguish that a mother feels when that child is lost?

Inconceivable.

The family was out of town when Hope when into pre-term labor and took a huge financial hit back home in North Carolina as they had to board their animals and break their lease to stay with their baby girl, away from home, in another hospital. There is a fund for her and really, if you can give, please do- whatever is within your means.

For some reason I can’t link directly to the Paypal donation link, but you can send donations via PayPal to: love2zaria@gmail.com OR follow the link below (that says “click here”) and click through her site to donate.

There’s a giveaway too of a variety of items. If you’re interested, click here to see what’s up for grabs.

Anyway, kiss your babies (that you have with you) and for sure always remember to take the time and count your blessings.

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When we left Florida it was for our family.

First California. And sorry, that places sucks donkey balls.

Now here. Here being Colorado.

It’s a beautiful place, stunning views, but I have met some of the most ignorant ass-backwards people . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: There’s No Place Like Home]]>

When we left Florida it was for our family.

First California. And sorry, that places sucks donkey balls.

Now here. Here being Colorado.

It’s a beautiful place, stunning views, but I have met some of the most ignorant ass-backwards people I’ve ever met in my entire life.

And one of my biggest regrets is ever leaving Florida. I should have told my husband to sit tight, collect unemployment and let the chips fall where they may knowing that he probably would have found a job.

I should have never left the security of Shorecrest, which now, working at a public school I know is the most amazing, mystical almost unreal places I’ve ever worked in my whole entire life.

I miss my friends- Val, Jill and Marion. Oh shit I miss you guys. I have yet to find anyone who has been as accepting of me for who I am and so amazing and down to earth and people that I don’t mind being around.

I think people in Florida are just a little more laid back. There’s a lot of stuffy uptight people here. Which I find amazing because my last school? With parents pullin’ up in Porsche’s and other cars that I can’t pronounce and living in these ginormously large homes… they were not half as stuffy as some of the people here.  It must’ve been the heat, and the palm trees- it’s too hot to be stuck up.

And today? I got yelled at. Like screaming at the top of her lungs by my 6,000 year old neighbor intent on telling me that my dog is over the weight limit for this townhouse complex. Really you old hag?

Really?

I didn’t say that. I used my kindest manners and biggest words to explain to her that I was not aware that there was a weight limit, no one told me (and who the fuck are you anyway? The townhouse police?). And seriously? Is the weight limit in this complex 40 pounds? Your neighbor has a huge golden retriever which I know is not 40 pounds I’ve seen labs and other breeds that I know could never be 40 pounds. Go kick rocks lady. (I didn’t say that either) When she was done ranting and raving (cause I think she needed someone to listen to her) not only did she blow me a kiss, but tell me to knock on her door if I need anything. Uhh no granny. I simply said “Well ma’am, it was nice to meet you” **insert eye roll here**.

I miss Florida.

I miss my people.

Sue, Melissa, Devora, Sarah. The list goes on.

I miss driving to Gainseville to go to FL Gators football games.

I miss driving down 4th street and going to Publix to see my girl at the deli who makes chicken philly subs for me even though they aren’t on the menu.

I miss going to that same Outback and sitting at the bar and having them know exactly what my husband wants and that I like my cheese fries without the bacon.

And I had just found this great Chinese restaurant right down the street from my house across from the KMart. Damn it!

I miss going to Magianno’s in Tampa at Westshore Mall.

I even miss my doctor- cause he listened. There was none of that in and out like a fast food restaurant bullshit.

There’s a lot I miss, but we’ll get back.

Cause seriously, there’s no place like home.

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“1, 2, 3, 4, 5 people are in my family

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 people are in my family

we are best friends that love each other

that’s my family (that’s right!)

that’s my family (that’s right!)”

and this is my daughter’s current . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Highway Patrol]]> There’s this Yo Gabba Gabba song that goes:

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5 people are in my family

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 people are in my family

we are best friends that love each other

that’s my family (that’s right!)

that’s my family (that’s right!)”

and this is my daughter’s current favorite song of the moment. Although against my will, it has become one of my favorite songs of the moment as well.

I’ve never thought my family was any different from any other family (and still don’t think so). There are, however, many asshats who feel the need to make my family feel as though we are outcasts, aliens- if you will and we don’t belong here.

My husband is not too keen on having his face all “out there” on the web…

My husband was born and raised in the “big city” of Omaha, Nebraska. Since we now live in Colorado (not necessarily the most diverse place on earth) and Nebraska is only a 7-8 hour drive away, we try to visit as often as possible.

We thought going up for Memorial Day would be fun and on our way back, we were pulled over outside of some dumb ass town in Nebraska that no one cares about by the Nebraska Highway Patrol.

When my husband asked what we were being pulled over for, the gentleman told him that he was going 6 miles above the speed limit.** Really? I thought you had a 5-10 mile kind of “blanket” in regards to the highway. Whatever. What do I know? ** My husband nicely told the officer that he was merely going along with the speed of traffic and that he didn’t realize that going 6 over warranted being pulled over. To which the police officer responded “Sir, we’re pulling people over for going 3 miles over the limit now” (Pff yeah fuckin right. Like you don’t have better shit to do)

Anywho, the officer asked for the rental agreement, wanted to know whose name was on it (mine) and then asked my husband to “step out of the car” and come with him to the cruiser where they could “discuss the matter further.” What? Since when do you need to get out of the car for going 6 miles over- give me a ticket or not sir, fuckin pick one.

I am in the car, heart racing, thinking what the fuck is happening right now. I was just hoping that my husband could keep his anger in check long enough to get back to the car safely. Also, in the back of my mind, I was thinking “I bet this guy is leery because my husband has two black people in the car, one of whom is 6 feet tall, 200 pounds.” I watched my husband get into the passenger seat of the police car and slowly close the door. All I could do, was pray…

I know, I know- pulling the race card is not cool, but it’s a reality folks. It’s my family’s reality. I cannot tell you how many times my husband has absolutely blown his top on some fucktard for being super, duper rude to me somewhere- whether it be California Pizza Kitchen in Hollywood or podunk town Nebraska because of what color my skin is. Racism is not dead. It just isn’t. Why did people pressure President Obama to get his birth certificate? Wouldn’t that have been something to have been clarified BEFORE the dude became president? Whatever. That’s another blog post on ignorant people.

When my husband returned to the car, with a “warning” in his hand. He told me what unfolded on his trip to the police cruiser.

While walking to the police car the officer asked him questions like “who are those people in the car” and “who’s the guy in the back seat” and “do you have any drugs or weapons in the car.” Yes, officer. While traveling with my wife, two year old and dog in the vehicle, I also have an AK-47 and a fuckin bag of coke. Arrest me now, please.

My husband being the smart cookie he is recorded the conversation and when the officer asked why he was taping it, my husband simply replied “Sir, I’ve seen too many tv shows.”

Good boy hubby.

The officer called in my husband’s license and asked if he had any outstanding tickets or warrants out for his arrest. My husband said “Sir, I wouldn’t be able to work for the Government if I did” (The officer chuckled uncomfortably cause he knew that was a dumb ass question- my husband is a Government employee and is currently employed on an Air Force Base here. Your record needs to be so clean to work for the government- you can’t even have a fuckin 6^th toe! Kidding… sort of)

He proceeded to say “Did you know that I could have the car towed because your name is not on the rental agreement?” Really fuck face? I guess you don’t need to know how to read well to be a Nebraska state officer my husband’s name was CLEARLY on the rental agreement as an additional driver!!!! Once the officer saw that, he had nothing to say but “oh.” And seriously?! Why are you threatening to tow our car? For going 6 over or for having “that guy” in the back seat and “those people” in the car?

He asked my husband where we were coming from (visiting family in Nebraska) and where we were going (back home to Colorado) and if we always rent cars when we take road trips (well sir when you have your wife, brother-in-law a 2 year old a 70 pound dog and luggage, you can’t really drive a 4-door sedan, so this was more reasonable for us).

He continued to ask other dumb ass questions that had nothing to do with anything before letting my husband go with a “warning.” If we were an all-white family, would this have happened? Is it not okay for my husband to have a black wife and brother-in-law. When I say we looked like a family driving in a mothafuckin’ station wagon. We rented a Chevy Traverse, which is like a damn bus. The car was filled with baby toys, diapers, wipes, food splattered everywhere. No loud music. 6 miles over (give me a fuckin’ break). A car seat. Baby and dog in the backseat.

Who the fuck was this asshole to ask my husband who are “those people” in the car? Who the FUCK do you think we are OFFICER. Protect and serve asshole. Protect and serve. That’s your job.

Anyway. It’s beyond frustrating. And the stories that I could tell about my family being violated would fill a book. Maybe I’ll write one. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll let “sleeping dogs lie” and ignorant people stay ignorant. What do they say? Ignorance is bliss?

Whatever.

I pay my taxes like everyone else I will not stop blowing the horn on people who make us feel like we are anything but U.S. Citizens and a family unit. This is my family.

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I guess I should preface this post by introducing you to “Throwback Thursday,” huh?

Now I know I blog a lot about “sad” or taboo issues and that’s fine. And yes, I’ve had a lot of ups and downs (who hasn’t), but I’d be lying if I . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Throwback Thursday: Life’s A Party]]>

I guess I should preface this post by introducing you to “Throwback Thursday,” huh?

Now I know I blog a lot about “sad” or taboo issues and that’s fine. And yes, I’ve had a lot of ups and downs (who hasn’t), but I’d be lying if I say my life up until (and including) now hasn’t had fantastical moments. I mean, seriously? I have lived my life and done things that most people my age have never done (like circumnavigate the globe, holla Semester At Sea Fall 2003!!)

I have an amazingly photographic memory. It’s like an event happens and it is forever recorded on the DVR that is my brain. I can go back to a place, time and space with a scent, taste, song, movie, tv show and replay that time in my mind and see every detail. And so “Throwback Thursday” is me, replaying some of those awesome moments in my mind and sharing them, with you.

**And yes, that is a Throwback New York Giants jersey. Deal with it**

According to Urban Dictionary (one of my favorite places), Throwback can mean any of the following:

• A sudden reminder of the past. This can be brought about by hearing a song from high school, seeing an ex, puffing on a j in your old puffin spot, etc. Similar to a flashback.
• 1. A Mitchell & Ness classic sports jersey, or any retro sports jersey
  2. Another word to describe old school music
• A reject. When someone is an overall waste of time/space.

—————————————————————————–

I’m on Spring Break this week and I have been BANKING on Craig’s List selling stuff that is taking up way too much space in my home. I found a CD binder (one of my many) with all of these old CD’s and The Pea and I had a dance party to some late 90′s, early 2000′s (is that how we reference that time?) music.

I’ve probably never mentioned this, but I grew up in a house of music, literally.

My Daddy was a DJ (yup, I still call him Daddy- and?), something that he lovingly passed on to my older brother and then to my younger brother. Music was always playing in my house, and rather loud I might add. (I think every one of my siblings and I are deaf- no joke- my husband repeats himself to me all. of. the. time…. orrrr maybe I just have selective hearing )

I spent a lot of my life at parties- whether my father was DJ’ing one, or my brother and his crew (The Red Twister Crew they were called) were DJ’ing one, I was there. Just because. Queens, Manhattan and Lord have mercy all over Brooklyn. And back in Daddy’s days, when he DJ’ed, they would make a cassette **gasp, yes, I said cassette** of the party. When my brother and his crew DJ’ed, they would make CDs at the party and tonight, I found like 4 CDs of parties they DJ’ed when I was in high school.

OMG Nostalgia

The guys that my brother rolled with were more than just his friends, they were like brothers to me. I had like 3 extra older brothers just because. It was always fun to tag along and go to the parties and sit behind the DJ area and just… be. I loved watching them do their thing, I loved watching them make people happy and dance. Loved it. We were a family. That’s what we did.

They played weddings. They played baby showers. They played block parties (oh how I miss block parties). They played proms.

Man they drove all the way up to Vermont to DJ my 21st birthday party because I asked and knew that there was no one else in the world that knew what I wanted to hear and could play they way they did.

Music and DJ’ing was a part of who I was am. Music has defined my life in so many ways because of my dad and my older brother. I appreciate those memories so much because it was so. much. fun. That’s the best way to describe it.

Listening to those CD’s takes me back to watching James make sure all of the wires were set up correct and Mike making sure that they were paid right and Zoo and Ali at the turntable and me, just sitting there. Everyone played their part- every time.

Dancing…or not.

Singing… or not.

I miss that.

I miss them.

That is definitely a part of me that will never leave. A part that I will never get tired of remembering, because it always makes me smile.

And no matter how long it’s been, when I see those guys, it’s like we just saw each other yesterday. There’s jokes, there’s dancing, there’s laughing (and now alcohol cause I’m a grown-up)… and of course, there’s music.

Always, always music.

For us, that will always be a factor. It always brings togetherness and it always brings me this overwhelming sense of…

Je ne sais quoi (have I mention that I speak French?). It’s like-

Ahhhh, yes. This is how it’s supposed to be.

It is so important to me to instill the love of music in The Pea. We sing, we dance (booooy do we dance), we play instruments.

Music is a part of who she is, because she is a part of me and I want her to love and appreciate it just the same as I do.

**Wanna get nostalgic with me? Grab a Throwback Thursday Button (in the sidebar) and link up in the comments**

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stripped (http://definr.com/stripped)

adj 1: having only essential or minimal features; “a stripped new car”; “a stripped-down budget” [syn: stripped-down] 2: having extraneous everything removed including contents; “the bare walls”; “the cupboard was bare” [syn: bare] 3: with clothing stripped off

Christina Aguilera . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Stripped]]>

stripped (http://definr.com/stripped)

adj 1: having only essential or minimal features; “a stripped new
car”; “a stripped-down budget” [syn: stripped-down]
2: having extraneous everything removed including contents;
“the bare walls”; “the cupboard was bare” [syn: bare]
3: with clothing stripped off

Christina Aguilera had an album called “Stripped,” possibly my favorite album of hers where she bares her soul, per se, revealing the most  intimate parts of herself.

They say that true artists can tap into the depths of their pain to make the most amazing pieces- turning that pain into creativity.

I don’t know if that’s the case here. I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a writer- still do- but I also find being able to release my pain in writing makes it all better and then (really?) no one can see my tears (cause big girls don’t cry, right?).

This is me. Stripped.

My new doctor here had prescribed Lexapro for me (anti-depressant #3) and gave me so many samples I didn’t know what to do with myself. Then? They ran out and I had to get a scrip. Well for the love of everything holy, Lexapro is $99 after my insurance pays their cut.

Uhh yeah, no thanks.

And then? I really didn’t wanna spend $25 going back to see the doctor to start from square one. So, I am without anti-depressants and left to really deal with myself. And it has not been pretty…

Literally.

I wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror aaaaand then I’m done. I can’t look too long. I want to lose like 10, 15 pounds. Not for anyone else but myself, but I’m too lazy to motivate myself to workout. I hate my hair in this in-between stage. I’m glad I cut my dreads. I bet my grandpa would have been proud. I raised $1,000+ for cancer research, but now? I’m stuck with thick, unmanageable hair. I don’t feel like I have clothes that fit my body and this phase it’s going through…

Point is, there is no part of me that feels “beautiful” at this moment in my life, so having to stare at myself in the mirror means having to deal with my issues- it’s like staring at damaged goods.

Yeah I said it.

Damaged goods.

That’s how I feel.

Four years of therapy and that’s how I feel y’all.

My dad always told me how beautiful I was, but he’s my dad, that’s his job, right? Even when my husband makes a comment, I shudder at the thought. I often joke with him that he already married me, so the mask is off. Watcha see is watcha get friend, I’m not on the prowl anymore. That means dark circles under the eyes, saggy boobs, fat belly and sweatpants with holes in the crotch that I refuse to part ways with.

I don’t take compliments well. I never actually realized that til more recently when I sat in my AP’s office and she rattled off compliment after compliment and what did I do? I cried.

Yup.

Score. One point for the loser over here.

Why? I don’t know. But as I begged her to stop giving me compliments I had to leave the room.

It’s so much easier to hate yourself and doubt your abilities than to actually walk around with the confidence of a goddess.

Oh and this confidence? That I apparently exude?

It’s all a facade.

I decided that today.

I decided that I am super funny and social and likable (or at least I think I’m likable) and can work a room like nobody’s business because, well that’s so much better than walking around like Sad Sally all the time trying to tell your sap story and making people feel sorry for you.

And? If everyone thinks you’re confident, then they’ll think you’re not one to fuck with. That you’re a tough cookie. That you’re a force to be reckoned with…

oh, and that you’re lots of fun to be around.

It’s only when I leave work or I leave that party or I leave that get-together that I really have to face myself.

But you know what? I need that.

It’s like a high that I don’t like to come down from. I like feeling cool or that I’m lots of fun or that I’m the life of the party.

And my husband?

Oh Lord.

You know how they say opposites attract? Well what happens when two people who are so much alike attract?

Minus the depression thing- we are both argumentative, we are both stubborn, we are both always right, we both like to be in control, we both love hard and…

We. Fight. I mean we fight. We fight hard.

But he deals with my highs and my lows like no one else could ever. I really think about all of the mood swings he’s had to deal with…

He married damaged goods.

I hope he knows that.

I find myself perplexed about the root of this pain. I guess we didn’t get to that part in therapy.

We talked about my “I’m from a big, loud aggressive family and I’m not like everyone else” syndrome.

We talked about my daddy issues (cause really, every girl has them).

We talked about my mommy issues.

We talked about my “I feel like a horrible mom, I can’t stand the sound of my daughter’s crying and it is truly incessant and makes me wanna hang myself” issues

We even talked about that experience… the one that really defined my sexuality… yeah that stuff.

So what’s my problem?

I wonder if it’s because even though both my husband and I are working, we are still finding so much of our money going towards bills (oh and daycare, bloody $130 per week daycare- ARGH!)

I wonder if it’s because the reason we are in this shotty financial situation is because we took a leap and moved to California then it just so happened that I couldn’t find a job there and we found ourselves being buried in a hole of debt.

I wonder if it’s because I’m still struggling with the day-to-day of being a Mommy… or more importantly of being The Pea’s Mommy. That this child hardly sleeps some nights, is having bizarre night terrors and cries and cries and cries for no apparent reason or just when she doesn’t get what she wants. And this? This ridiculous, non-stop crying? Drives me FRIGGIN insane. When she does not stop crying and whining, I can feel my blood boiling. And so, of course, these negative feelings that I have towards my daughter’s behavior makes me feel like a horrible mom.

I wonder if it’s because I have this insane need to perform. And perform well. And anything less than friggin amazing is not acceptable. So if at work I get feedback, I only hear the negative parts and I internalize it and get sick.

Literally.

Physically.

Sick.

I had an observation today and so my internalization started Tuesday night when I couldn’t sleep and fell asleep at about 2 am. Then all day on Tuesday I was on the verge of tears, my stomach was in knots, I was disgustingly nervous and thought I could puke. I mean why? It’s painful.

Oh, I wonder if it’s because I miss having friends whose houses I could go over (hi Jill!) and drink beer on their couch. I miss having friends that my kiddo can play with so they can do kid stuff and we can do grown-up stuff.

I wonder if it’s because the source of my being (probably in this exact order) goes:

• Mommy
  (which includes chef, disciplinarian, teacher, doctor, boo-boo kisser, and other duties as defined)
• Wife
• Teacher
  (which also includes disciplinarian, doctor, therapist, sometimes even their Momma… and other duties as defined)
• Daughter
• Extended Family Crisis-Manager
  (Notice I said extended family)
• Blogger
• Product Review Website Owner
• Freelance Writer
• …
• …
• …
• …

and somewhere… way down the list. I think there may be room for me to pencil myself in. (Me time? What’s that?)

So, let’s re-cap: I am a basket case, disguised as a confident, strong woman.

I hide behind a mask (and my glasses- my glasses are my security blanket. I hate seeing myself without them. NO thank you to Lasik or contacts, I’ll pass).

I push myself too hard.

And I have expectations for myself that are probably unattainable.

That’s me. Stripped.

You’re welcome.

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NOTHING.

Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

I mean let’s be honest, people make New Year’s Resolutions and break ‘em- to eat well or lose weight or other stuff like that.

I don’t wanna lose weight, I’m 143 and I’m okay with that. I’ve earned my pregnancy pooch- 1 baby, 1 miscarriage. . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: New Year’s Resolutions, 2011 Style]]> This year, I resolve…

NOTHING.

Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

I mean let’s be honest, people make New Year’s Resolutions and break ‘em- to eat well or lose weight or other stuff like that.

I don’t wanna lose weight, I’m 143 and I’m okay with that. I’ve earned my pregnancy pooch- 1 baby, 1 miscarriage. I mean, I’d like to get rid of my pooch and have my six pack back, but that’s not a priority anymore.

And I don’t wanna eat right. I like eating whatever the hell I want. I just do.

Nope, for 2011 there’s stuff that I want to make happen, no resolutions that I’ll end up breaking.

2011 wants:

I want a damn washer and dryer- come on Craig’s List fairy- let a good set come up for a good price.

I want to put a significant dent on one of my credit cards and lower the balance.

I want to truly think about whether or not I am gonna get my Master’s. Really interested in Educational Technology, so I am either gonna go for it or not. Cause really? As an Elementary School teacher? Having my Master’s isn’t a priority unless I’m gonna look into a different field of teaching.

I want to feel more organized and settled in at work. But I know that just comes with time.

I want to be better about blogging more consistently, like my teacher friend/bloggess Katie. I haven’t been able to find a balance between work and blogging.

I want to see my family. I didn’t see them at all last year- and that’s ridiculous.

Speaking of seeing people, I want to see my friends, too.

I want to take Baby C to Sesame Place- I think she’d love it… she’s an Elmo fiend.

Speaking of baby girl, I want to get her out of diapers. And her teacher says she’s ready to be. So, let’s make it happen.

I want my child to not be sick every five seconds this year. That… would be awesome.

I want to start growing my dreads back. I miss them.

I want to get another tattoo… or two. Yeah, I said it.

And I know it’s up to me to make it happen. So, let’s do it 2011.

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Daddy drew this one!

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