“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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- I learn more and more what kind of parent I don’t want to be.

- With that being . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Lessons Learned, 2011]]> So, I thought that summing my 2011 blogging year wasn’t really what I wanted to do, but as Chris and I sat talking I thought I would share things I’ve learned this year.

- I learn more and more what kind of parent I don’t want to be.

- With that being said, I learned that I lose my patience a lot with Pea. I need to work on that.

- Some people will never change, no matter how bad you want them to.

- Sometimes good enough will just have to do.

- I learned how strong friendships can truly be.

- Standing up for what you believe in is hard, but will have great benefits (though they aren’t always apparent).

- I really, really want to write a book. I know that for sure now.

- Sometimes, you’ve gotta take the long road… But it’s always worth it.

Happy New Year, friends. Thanks for reading this little ol’ blog of mine. I appreciate you all. Peace and Many Blessings to you in 2012.

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It was Tuesday and I was watching Good Morning America like I always do, getting ready to take my shower and go to my 9 a.m. class.

I remember suddenly the news changing from the everyday to BREAKING NEWS and there was my city, on tv- with . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Ten Years Ago Today]]> It was just another day.

It was Tuesday and I was watching Good Morning America like I always do, getting ready to take my shower and go to my 9 a.m. class.

I remember suddenly the news changing from the everyday to BREAKING NEWS and there was my city, on tv- with a hole in one of the towers.

What?

What is happening?

A plane hit?

Who? What?

This isn’t right, this can’t be right.

I watched and listened… super confused and saw the second plane in the distance behind the anchor come along and strike the other tower. And like that, I knew something was very, very wrong.

I called my friends that lived in the other dorm, who came from Brooklyn to Vermont with me and I’m like “y’all need to turn on the news, this is madness.”

I remember trying desperately to call my mother, my father, my sister- somebody in New York who could assure me that they were okay.

My sister was working near Times Square and my mother’s office wasn’t that far from the United Nations and I was certain they were both in the City that day.

At first, the phones would ring and not go through.

Then? That lady “all circuits are busy”…. over and over and over

What the fuck does that mean all circuits are busy?!?!

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?!

I had never heard that before and I remember being so angry.

I tried to shower and I couldn’t. I was crying in the shower.

I remember my roommate at the time coming in to tell me that someone in my family was on the phone.

Thank God.

What is going on?

Are you okay?

Questions, lots of questions.

Most of the day is a blur.

I spent it with my friends hovering around a box of Kleenex and the television as we watched our city go up in smoke and flames.

Helpless.

Away from the people, and the city, that we loved.

I remember Father Bryan, one of our priests at the school who was originally from New Jersey coming to my dorm to pray and offer support.

I remember wanting to go home so bad and knowing that I couldn’t.

Knowing that my city would never be the same.

My friends and I remembered how much time we used to spend in The City.

We were all in Upward Bound together which was housed at Pace University, which was not even a mile from the Twin Towers.

We used to walk down by the towers all of the time. There was a Century 21 right around the corner from The Towers and we’d go and window shop… hoping that something was on sale enough for us to buy it.

There was an over-priced McDonald’s that would serve food on a platter to people that were eating in we’d go to.

Our City.

On TV.

Under attack.

Crazy shit.

My family was safe. And that was a blessing.

But still. How can you not hurt for the city that you grew up in?

The city that made you who you were?

My. City.

Everyone all across the country has pride for where they are from.

We see that on bumper stickers, t-shirts…whatever.

Here, there are bumper stickers that say “NATIVE” over a backdrop of the rockies- meaning Colorado Native.

People have stickers of the outline of the state of Texas on their back windows and

Nebraska Cornhusker license plates.

But oh to be a New Yorker…

“Concrete Jungle where dreams are made of…there’s nothin’ you can’t do…”

There are so many things that I’m proud of

I’m proud to be a 100% bred Jamaican-American child.

I’m proud to be a teacher.

I’m proud to be Pea’s Mommy.

Chris’ wife.

And so, so proud to be a New Yorker.

So proud.

So often when I say I’m from New York City people say “Oh, you’re from Manhattan, how cool.”

Yeah, no. Many people don’t realize that New York City has five boroughs: Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island. New York City is not just Manhattan (which we New Yorkers refer to as “The City”).

I’ve been all over the world- 16 countries to be exact- and there is nowhere NO. WHERE. like New York City. There just isn’t.

This day was spent remembering of those who died.

Remembering those who lived.

Praying for the families that survived the ones we lost.

Praying for a city.

Praying for a nation.

How fitting to place these reflecting pools in the “footprints” of the now fallen Twin Towers with the names of every person lost engraved for all to see and remember.

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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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She won’t be 3 until January.

She is in daycare.

Her daycare providers want to put her in the 3-year old Pre-school room part-time. She has met and exceeded all 2-year old goals (except potty training!!!!! Argh!!) and at recess prefers to play and interact with the older children. . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Sh*t My Kid Says]]> Pea is 2.

She won’t be 3 until January.

She is in daycare.

Her daycare providers want to put her in the 3-year old Pre-school room part-time. She has met and exceeded all 2-year old goals (except potty training!!!!! Argh!!) and at recess prefers to play and interact with the older children. Her speech is more developed (say her teachers) and I guess she doesn’t respond well to jibber-jabber. She can count to fifteen (trying to count to twenty), she knows her ABCs, she can read the words “elephant,” “cat,” “dog” and a few others (thanks Your Baby Can Read), she knows more than basic body parts including neck, knees, elbow, belly, belly button, butt and her “gina,” she can tell you what color a grasshopper is and a cricket and knows that they are not the same (why does she know that?!), she knows all of her colors…

And since I have no material to write about, I thought I’d fill this post with Pea-isms.

“I wah hear blankie wih Daee” (I want to lay under my heart blanket with Daddy)

“I wah go dim to pway” (I want to go to the gym to play)

“Mommee, Mommee wah you doin?”

“I wahtin teebee” (I’m watching tv)

“Dahee, I wah pway hiyatee, you do hi Daee go hea” (Daddy, I want to play hide and seek, you go hide Daddy- go ahead)

“Geh op Momee” (Get off Mommy)

“I wah witen to woll ober” (I want to listen to roll over- a.k.a. “Ten in a bed”)

“Dahee ti on the pwoor” (Daddy, sit on the floor)

“I wah way down wit Mommee” (I want to lay down with Mommy)

“I no tee ih, wheyidit?” (I don’t see it, where is it?)

“Mommee happee, teeeze” (Mommy is happy, cheese)

“I wah wear my Dora pahees” (I want to wear my Dora panties)

“I go Mommee cah, not Daee cah” (I want to go in Mommy’s car, not Daddy’s car)

“Here Mommee, I o done” (Here Mommy, I’m all done)

“My naiw bwoken Mommee, di a naiw qwip pweed” (My nail is broken, get a nail clip please)

Her daddy told her at 7 o’clock he would be changing the channel so Momy and Daddy could watch tv, her reply?

“No 7 o’clock”

In response to the sight of lightning: “Mommee, dah dangewous”

I ask the child to stop saying my name over and over and she says: “Dahs yo name Mommee” (That’s your name Mommy)

And as I type this, she is putting her slinky on her Dad’s head and telling him to wear a hat because it’s his birthday.

What?!

This kid. **sigh**

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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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Please, hold your applause.

Six years together, four years married.

I thought to lighten the mood around here, it’d be fun to share my engagement story. Cause if you’re married at some point you, too said yes to that age-old . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Yes]]> Yesterday my husband and I celebrated our 4 year wedding anniversary.

Please, hold your applause.

Six years together, four years married.

I thought to lighten the mood around here, it’d be fun to share my engagement story. Cause if you’re married at some point you, too said yes to that age-old question: Will You Marry Me?

Oh, but ours friends, is not as fun and romantic and classic as others.

My husband and I dated for…(let me count) 4 months before we got engaged.

Before you gasp. I spoke with a family friend (who also happened to be my physician) and she knew her husband for TWO WEEKS before they got engaged and they’ve been married for over 30 years. Her advice for me?

Sometimes, ya just know.

So I went with it.

Anyway. I hate surprises. HATE, HATE. My husband knows this. So we spoke logically about loving each other and wanting to get married. So what did we do? We marched our happy butts to the jewelry store on New Year’s Day and bought an engagement ring. There, in the middle of the jewelry store at the mall my husband asked me to marry him.

Romantic, huh?

Have I mentioned I’m not into romance and stuff like that either? At least not an overflow of it, just a little bit.

Well, I’ve mentioned before that my husband and I love hard and fight hard. It’s been like that all six years we have been together. (Though I must admit we are slowly learning how to decrease the fighting hard part and taking time to cool off and talk to each other rationally.)

Sometime in the early summer of the same year we got engaged, we broke up. There was a big, explosive fight, the ring was returned and we were both pissed. He went off on a volunteer trip for about a week and I took that time to breathe. Clearly, we got back together, but I refused to take the ring back or hear a proposal until I knew he was serious about us.

On the 4th of July, he picked me up and took me down to this private beach at one of the local colleges down in Saint Pete (Florida). No one was around, the sun had gone down and there was a hammock just there- randomly- that we got in and watched the stars. We talked and talked and talked and boom!

Will you marry me?

Who? What? When?
(I told you I hate surprises)

And voila! Here we are.

How many women get 2 proposals?

Me.

So. Your turn. How were you proposed to? Spill the beans.

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I have been thinking a lot about The Relay a lot lately.

My good great fantastically amazing friend Val introduced me to Relay for Life back in 2007. She lost a very, very important person to her in such a shocking way to cancer and ever since then she has . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Throwback Thursday: Relay]]>

I have been thinking a lot about The Relay a lot lately.

My good great fantastically amazing friend Val introduced me to Relay for Life back in 2007. She lost a very, very important person to her in such a shocking way to cancer and ever since then she has been very dedicated to raising awareness and money for the American Cancer Society.

Relay for Life is an all-night party for Cancer. You camp out at a local high school track and at all times, someone from the team that you join (or create) should be on the track- signifying that cancer never sleeps. I’ve been honored to do the relay twice, with Val. There has not been one time when my eyes have been dry.

My mom had cancer.

My aunt had stage 3 breast cancer.

Worst of all, my grandfather died in 2008 of Prostate Cancer.

Cancer is a biatch that likes to eff with my family. So for me, helping to raise awareness and money for cancer research is the least I can do.

Last year, I shaved my hair and raised money for St. Baldrick’s foundation, the largest supporter of pediatric cancer research in the U.S.

There’s a relay happening this year.

I wanted to started a team with people at work, I did.

Things are so stressful, though. Work is busy, I’m still trying to adjust to being at a new school, in a new district. I think if I started a Relay team, I wouldn’t be able to give it the attention it deserves.

I’m sad I can’t relay this year. I didn’t relay last year either. I wish I could’ve gone to Florida to relay with my friends.

I miss Florida.

I miss my friends.

I miss relay…

I’m considering going to the Relay just to walk the track for a while. The best part, for me, is always the Luminaria Ceremony. You can buy a Luminaria bag in the name of someone you know that has or had cancer to remember them or celebrate their survival. I always buy a bag for my grandfather and I always pray knowing he is at peace.

They shut off all of the lights in the stadium and line up bags on the bleachers to say things like “Hope” and “Cure”… it is such a beautiful thing.

The relay is a huge part of my heart thanks to Val. I plan to make a team next year, or, I’ll just have to fly to Florida to reunite with my original relay team.

This post is a part of Throwback Thursday. “Throwback Thursday” is me, in my own nostalgic way, replaying some of the awesome moments in my mind and sharing them, with you.

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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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