Sunday, June 30, 2013

I hip-checked an old lady.

    We went to the splash pad again during the week, and I had to elbow an old lady in the chest for trying to pick up Bug. We parked in the lot and I had Bug standing in the trunk of the car while I got her dressed in her swim gear and put on her sunblock. This old lady comes over and starts talking to her, tried to tickle her shoulder and hold her hand...the usual bullshit old people think they have the right to do when they see babies. Fine. But when I said, "okay Bug, let's go play", the old woman reached out and put her hands under Bug's arms, ready to pick her up! I felt this sickly, adrenaline fueled anger rise up through my body, and threw a hip check at her (thank you, Derby) and an elbow at her chest before I smacked her hand away from my child and told her NOBODY picks up my baby. She said, "oh, well I was just trying to help..." and waved at us as we left. What in the bloody fuck is WRONG with people?! This isn't 1955, lady. You can't just walk around handling other people's children. But then I ended up feeling a bit sorry for her, because she seemed like maybe she was dealing with some dementia or something. She was sort of wandering around, going in and out of businesses and not really seeming to have much purpose in her movements through town. Still. I almost killed a bitch.

     I told you about how I wanted to shame the mommies with my amazing brunch creations, right? Well I'm not as psycho on that as I was, but I did go to crazy town with my potluck item for today's family pool party. Grandma asked me to bring some Bob Evans mashed potatoes and a dessert. It's Ramen week in our house, so I had to come up with something cheap, preferably something we already have around. So I bought the mashed potatoes, and then with the stuff I found in my fridge and pantry, I made ice cream sandwiches. Chocolate chip - banana split ice cream sandwiches rolled in almond slivers, and oatmeal - strawberry/blueberry ice cream sandwiches. Also a few plain vanilla ice cream and oatmeal or chocolate chip ones, too. I've been at it for about 48 hours, due to the baking and freeze times. Is that weird? What is WRONG with me?? Do other people do this? Why do I feel the need to go all fat-kid-crazy when all I really HAVE to do is bring a damn tray of ready-made cupcakes? *sigh* I just hope everyone likes them.

Chocolate chip - banana split

     How did I find enough alone time to get 48 hours of dessert making into my schedule? This is how. Sesame Street is the fuckin' shit at our house.
Notice the "DUH" look on her face. Delightful.

      This was my Mom of the year moment. I feel bad about the electronic babysitter, until I get through an hour of free time just for ME. And then I feel great! But later I feel bad again. Yet still, I keep doing it when I need to get shit done around the house. It's the same icky guilt like when you get done having filthy awesome sex with your significant other, and then afterwards you're like, UGH. Get these chains off me, I'm somebody's mother!

     At gymnastics there's a little girl in the tots class with us (1-3 year-olds), whose ...Mother and grandmother?...Mother and older sister...? Not sure which. They both have orange tans and acrylic nails and need to eat a sandwich. But anyway these two women are determined to mold this little girl into a star athlete and it just isn't happening. Half the time, she doesn't want to do the guided activities or whatever her Mom/sister is trying to force on her. She does not give two shits about swinging from the bars, or doing forward rolls, or walking on the beam. She wants to swing on the zip line and jump on the trampoline with the other kids. And that should be okay! But her grandmother/mom/sister bring her to tears on a regular basis by forcing her to perform these stunts, and making the other parents want to punt her out the door in the process. The other girl her age loves every minute of class and practices her rolls and pullovers the whole time. And the more the coach tells that girl she's ready for big girl class, the more bitch face mom/sister push their poor, miserable kid.
     And then my shit she needs a name. How about Friend? Okay so Friend was just telling me about a Mom at swimming lessons who forces her crying infant to practice the skills in their class. How you can physically force a hysterical baby to float is beyond my understanding since they are so wiggly, but anyway, this woman does it. I can understand that when your kids are older, you have to nudge them toward accomplishing tasks that are difficult for them so they can learn confidence and be brave. Skills for life. But babies aren't trying to learn that shit yet. Babies are learning who they can trust, and building confidence in their caregivers and the situations they put them in GIVES them the feeling of safety they need so that when it's time, they can start to be more independent. DUH. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on parents who don't know any better than to traumatize their kids, fuck that. It's mean and I don't get it. When I see it happen I want to kick them! Trust me, I know what happens when you force your very young children to swim when they are terrified, because I kept pushing Gage to swim after his near-drowning incident, and the poor kid is STILL nervous in the water. Don't be an asshole! Don't give your kids a phobia because you're frustrated!

     Oh, yesterday Friend and Princess L came over to play at our Edward Scissorhands house. I think that's what this place looks like, anyway. You drive down a street of perfect little cookie cutter tract homes, to a wrought iron gate with overgrown vines, then down a long driveway to a big grey house with peeling paint. It's a little scary. I like it though.
     Bug was thoroughly confused by the whole thing, however. She and Princess L are always happy to see each other, but after the initial greeting, I had a shy, nervous Bug on my hip most of the time. Weird! I think she was just shocked that her friend was at her house, since usually we go to other places to see her. I wish I had taken some pictures of them, it was so cute! At one point they both got into the cabinet together and had a conversation. I love baby conversations. They totally know what they're talking about, but we have no idea. Later Princess L got in my lap and gave me cuddles! Man, when a baby likes you, it's the best feeling in the world. It's just validation that you're a decent human, I think. Or that's what I tell myself, anyway.

     Last night Husband and I were hanging out on the porch, and all of a sudden I feel a bug land on me and crawl down my shirt. Of course, I flipped the fuck out and started doing the bug-in-my-shirt strip tease. But I couldn't find it! That is, until I went inside to get ready for bed and felt the goddamn thing in my bellybutton. I don't even know what kind of bug it was, but it sure is dead now! :)

     Wanna know how to make those bomb ass ice cream sandwiches??? Too bad, I'm not telling! Nah just kidding, here ya go!

Vanilla ice cream- the good kind, don't be a douche.
Maraschino cherries- 1/3 cup chopped
Bananas- 1/3 cup chopped
Almond slices
FRESH baked chocolate chip cookies- again, don't be a douche and get the packaged kind.

Let the ice cream soften a little, then mix in the cherries and bananas. Put it back in the freezer to harden up.

Cut enough wax paper sheets in smallish squares for how many sandwiches you plan to make. You can count, right?

Tear off the same number of tape strips to secure the wax paper around your sandwiches, and put then on the edge of your counter so they're handy.

Pour some almond slices into a bowl so you can roll the sides of your sandwich in them.

When your ice cream hardens (in a few hours) you can put a couple spoonfuls onto a cookie, smash it down with another cookie, roll it in your nuts (Har-Har), wrap that shit in wax paper and tape it down. Put each wrapped one back in the freezer as you finish wrapping it, because, duh, it'll melt if you don't.

Then eat them! YUM!!!




Tuesday, June 25, 2013

The princess and the pea.

     It's only 12:30 pm. I have that sickly anxious feeling. Every nerve I have is shot. I feel guilty for not being in a good mood. I want to get out of this fucking house and do something ALONE. Everything I have tried to do so far today has failed or been a struggle. Bug is plotting my demise, I'm fairly certain. I guess it's just one of those days.

     The plan was to do some sewing, make a few business calls, maybe hit a thrift store before our trip to the park, and then make dinner and clean frantically before Husband got home. Typical day. Except that the two shirts I planned to upcycle are too small for me now, and too big for Bug as dresses so I can't use them until next summer when she grows. She wouldn't take her morning nap, probably because another fucking thunderstorm suddenly showed up and kept startling her, which also caused me to cancel our park outing, she didn't want what I made her for lunch, she screamed through the one phone call I tried to make so I just hung up, she's hanging off me and blocking me from walking even a few feet so cleaning is impossible, she's only letting me get through 2 pages of each book....AAAHHHH!!!!! She's in her crib right now, and I'm hoping she'll finally sleep because I seriously feel like a crazy person.

     I feel so bad for being frustrated that I have a lump in my throat. I know she's cranky because she couldn't sleep, and that isn't her fault. She's so cute and she just loves me and wants to be with me, and here I am ready to jump off something tall. I finally just let her yell at me and ignored her while I altered a T-shirt Husband gave me (He refuses to wear blue, so I get the blue shirts out of the package).

This is the back view.
     I just felt like I had to do SOMETHING from start to finish today or I'd be a super bitch all night long, too. I feel like I should be cleaning this pigsty of a house right now, but I'm afraid to make any noise because....ohmygodyes. She's asleep! Shit, what do I do?? I don't wanna do anything!

     What is wrong with me?! I'm not on my period. Life is good. Everyone is healthy. I'm still homesick, I know, and having Gage away is making it worse. But today I that's it. I'm homesick. The 4th of July is coming. I keep talking to my family and friend about it trying to figure out what we're gonna do, and nothing has come up. It's our favorite holiday and mine and Husband's 3 year dating anniversary, and we won't be at Jamboree days (our hometown's weekend festival for the 4th) with our family and friends. Our whole town is in epic party mode for a whole weekend, and we're going to miss it. Missing Christmas was a breeze. But missing Jam days is heartbreaking. And then I think about how our kids were all "supposed" to grow up together, how we'd always have a huge backyard party on the 4th that everyone we knew could drop by at any given hour, and I wonder what in the fuck we're doing here in Florida. Fuck. This sucks. And now I feel guilty again.

     I have NOTHING to complain about. We are so well taken care of, we are making friends, Husband is getting his business started, and the only way to go right now is UP. We are succeeding. Ugh. I hate this feeling, trying to be grateful for all we have, but instead being depressed and feeling selfish. I've got to snap out of it. I think I've always been a little brat like this, though. My mom used to tell me the story of the Princess and the Pea a lot, and then ask me what I thought the moral of the story was. I never got it. But now, I totally feel like that bitch princess, and I almost want to call my mom and apologize.
     I found a bunch of printable stencils that are asking me to bleach-paint them into some T-shirts. First this one:
     Cutting it out might be a bitch, but hopefully Husband will do it for me. He loves that shit. :) And now that I have pissed away an hour and a half on this computer machine, I will go find something useful to do and try not to be a bitch for the rest of the day. Moving on, folks.....

Monday, June 24, 2013

Pee on my jeans, or catch the herp?

     I never gave an update of what happened with the playgroup because I didn't have much to say at first. The first few I went to I barely spoke to anyone. Finally though, I met a Mommy who I really dig, and her daughter is just a couple months younger than Bug! And get this...they just moved here from California! We've hung out a couple times, and our girls get along beautifully. Princess L (Bug's new friend) might just be a good influence for my little maniac, too. She is so mild and sweet, I swear she holds up her pinky when she drinks from her sippy cup. Not that Bug is wild or anything, she's just She hasn't even been alive for two years and she's already racked up more emergency room visits than Gage has in his entire life.

     I'm sure when we're in public, at the park or whatever, that people think we're odd because our conversation volume suddenly goes from a 10 to a 2 when anyone comes near us. Neither of us wants to offend anyone with our talk of organic baby crackers or burlesque shows or not allowing our girls to play with Barbie's, or whatever other hedonistic things Californians do that make Southerners feel uncomfortable. It has brought me to an understanding of why new immigrants speak in their native language in public.
Us English-only Americans think it's rude, and maybe it is, but I can understand now why they might do it - just out of the comfort of being able to speak to someone in your first language about things relevant to your own culture... be able to say "like" and "dude" and "rad" and "totally", in my native "Valley"'s refreshing. Am I over-reacting? NO.

     Oh wait, is this another post about how much Florida sucks and California rules? Maybe a little.

     In our discussions of home and the weird little differences we find between there and here, we pretty much miss the same things. Trader Joe's. A social life. Toilet seat covers. Yep, you heard. I can count on 3 fingers how many times I've been in a public restroom in Pensacola and there were toilet seat covers available. Not like, they ran out, but there isn't even a seat cover dispenser in the stall. Yeah I know, "don't all women squat anyway?" Well...mostly. Sometimes you just can't. Everybody poops. And then there are the times when you're just too drunk to have that much balance, and the possibility that you might piss on your jeans is far more terrifying than the risk of catching cooties from the toilet seat. So you just channel Oprah when she and Dr. Oz told us that the sink has more germs in the public restroom than the toilet does, and the least used stall is the one closest to the door, and you hope for the best. But still, it's gross. And really weird.

     I have tried to get Bug out of the house every day lately, because wearing her out is so satisfying for me. We're trying different things, but so far my favorite was gymnastics. She ran and climbed and rolled and jumped for a full hour, and then took the most epic nap for 3 hours! I'm also pretty sure she'll be in the 2028 Olympics. She's gifted on the beam.

     Another thing we really like is the Children's Museum. They have a play area that's set up like what the first settlers to Pensacola would have. A fort, a trading post, a boat, a home, etc. She mostly just runs around with plastic fruit and fish and watches the other kids play.  But she'll do it for hours. And it's indoors, so I'm not sweating like a whore in church. That reminds me of another thing that happens here but never would in California. The Children's Museum has pretend wooden shotguns in the play room. So little boys are running around, pointing and swinging these long wooden clubbing devices at each other and even at the babies! Of course nobody is watching their kids....Boys will be boys or some shit, right? Yeah, no. You'd never see that in California. The more I see how careless some parents can be in watching their kids, the more I'm convinced Bug will never go to another kid's house without me. People here have guns. They loooove their guns, and they let their kids run free.  How would I know how well they lock them up?? They even let people have a conceal and carry license here, with very little oversight. There is a fucking commercial for a store that makes custom leather purses with a gun pocket inside. Seriously. It's like the old west or some shit. Fucking nuts. So, I don't look at anyone funny and I don't flip people off on the highway.
I never forget to put my hand on my heart if the pledge is being said, and I tap my foot when I hear country music. Safe.

     Oh, so today Princess L's Mom invited us to help with the playdate she's hosting at her house next month. I have never been to an in-home playdate, and have only met one of these women, but I hear they take it to Martha Stewart level with the brunch snacks. You know I love that shit, so I totally signed myself up to bring something. The problem is, I have only known about this shin-dig for 4 hours, and already I've gone into beast mode. I've been browsing Pinterest for 2 hours. I want to bring shame to these women's snack foods. I want them to leave feeling defeated. I want to blow their fucking MINDS and leave them in awe over my delicious and creative take on playdate brunch cuisine!.....Or maybe I just need a drink.



Sunday, June 16, 2013

Night of the douchebags.

     I'm feeling frustrated this morning. There is so much going on lately, so many things in the works, and it feels like we are finally figuring out what life will be like here. There are some things about that which are not going to work out for us. Changes must be made. That is where the frustration comes. Such is life, though, right? Meh.

     Our once a month date night was yesterday. We always go get sushi at the same joint, and sit at the bar and watch the chefs make art out of food. We talk and laugh and shit, and soak up the awesomeness of being alone together and out of the house. Well, last night the douchiest douche sat down next to us at the bar with his poor, unfortunate first date, and we had to hear him strike out with this girl because he WAS THE LOUDEST PERSON THERE. This dude talked about himself non-stop. He bragged about not needing his tax return because "It's only $1000, so whatever", about the shows he's been to, a car he used to have, where he's lived, etc. They both work at Friday's and so-and-so doesn't give him any shit because he  doesn't take shit from nobody. He gave great detail about all the movies and bands he likes and why, and all the movies coming out he won't go see and why, and which bands are stupid and why. He told her about a professor that gave him an A just for showing up, even though he never did the work. He spoke to the chef as if he knew him, but the chef just smiled and nodded with a confused look on his face. It just got worse and worse, and his date went from excited and hopeful when they sat down, to silent and looking at her phone when we left, and that was after they had THREE sake bombs. If you can bore a girl into her phone after three sake bombs, you are clearly the biggest douchebag on earth and should just give up and go home to your Call of Duty, Mountain Dew and free internet porn. You know, the really crappy kind where it's just like, a .gif or a 5 second clip. Flippin' loser.

     We also went to a Burlesque show- which was pretty cool. It was kind of a strange experience though. First of all, I was wearing jeans, Chuck's and a shirt from Old Navy, and was pretty sure I'd be under dressed. I expected there to be a gaggle of rockabilly chicks and wanna-be pin-up girls all over the place because back home, that's the scene for this kind of thing. But that was not the case here. I did not see a single rockabilly, pin-up, greaser, punk, etc there. These chicks were either dressed like hookers from the 90's, or like they were going to a tea party with their mothers. No tattoos, no bandana wraps, no red lipstick, no plugs, no cherry prints, no piercings. HUH? I was thoroughly confused. The drunk idiots behind us kept saying, "I'm swaying man, I'm so drunk. What's burlesque? What are we doing here?" Uh...I don't know dude, but please don't puke on my back.

     Something pissed me off there. The first two dancers were older than me I think, and super skinny. They didn't do a thing for me, mostly because they weren't believable. They they were doing us a favor, kind of. I mean, they put on a decent show, but it wasn't at all sexy to me, just going through the motions. The third dancer was rad. She was dressed like a nurse, was funny and raunchy, and totally looked like she was having a good time. She also happened to be like, maybe a size 18 or 16. A bigger girl. Husband and I only golf clapped for the first two dancers, but the third actually got some noise out of us, she was awesome!
     What pissed me off is that while her show was on, people kept walking out. Smug looking men and women with no manners and NO TASTE. WTF. Seriously, you just knew those people were no fun to be around if they could hate on this woman's show. I wanted to trip all of them as they filed past me with those stinky looks on their faces. Like, who do they think they are? You're at a Burlesque show for God's sake, RELAX! Ugh, people are so stupid. Must be a miserable life when you can't appreciate a beautiful woman doing a sexy dance for you. Have fun at the douche bar down the street with your stuck-up girlfriends, assholes....

     When we were on our way home we decided to stop into a liquor store and get something a little more fun than beer, and take advantage of our baby-free evening. What we discovered on our quest, was one more reason to hate Florida. Why in the name of fuck, are the liquor stores closed at 11pm on a Saturday night?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PLACE? Sometimes I feel like Charlton Heston in Soylent Green, where he's all fucked up and disgusted and tells the guy, "Soylent Green is people!" How did I make that connection? Because the utter shock and disgust Charlton Heston is feeling from the knowledge that Soylent Green was made of people and everyone has been eating it without knowing what it was, is the same way I feel when religious fundamentalists make laws governing the general population - including people who don't even belong to their religion, and everyone here thinks that is OKAY! It is total nonsense and I am constantly shocked by what people are willing to swallow in the name of someone else's morals, and that anyone can think it's perfectly acceptable to force their beliefs on everyone else. Why are these people allowing others to make decisions for them?? Do they even understand that it isn't alright for one person to force their religious practices on you? BLUE LAWS ARE OPPRESSIVE! WAKE UP!
UGH. All I wanted was a pint, and now they made me go all crazy town....sheesh.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

When two people love each other very much....


     I took Bug to the splash pad, which we both love because 1. It's a water park for little kids, and 2. It's free. She plays in the little fountains that spray up from the concrete, runs around with the other toddlers, it's great. We've been there a few times, and I noticed something. All these kids, at one point or another, either stand over the fountains or sit on the fountains, so that their little kid crotch is in a constant stream of water. They stand there with blank looks on their faces, and I don't know if they're peeing or REALLY enjoying the water stream....I don't really wanna know, because both ideas gross me out. I remember really liking the jets in the pool, so I'm no stranger to such an idea. It's totally natural and all that, I know but EW. Then if they're peeing, it's predictable, but then it means that all the kids are walking through pee every few minutes. EW!

     Nobody says anything about it. At one point every single kid was doing it, and I'm looking around to see what the other parents are doing, and they all see it too. But we all sit silently and pretend to think about what we're making for dinner or whatever. So then I'm thinking, "what would I say to Bug if it was her?" I have no idea! Ask what she's doing? But what if she answers me?? Hopefully she'd just be urinating, but then reprimanding her publicly sounds mortifying. If she gave me any other answer than "I'm peeing" I'd be creeped out. Is that the wrong way to feel? It must not be a big deal because all the other parents ignore it, right? I guess I'll just think about laundry when she does it...

     I'm really pretty open with my children. Gage has had many an uncomfortable conversation with me about sex and growing up, poor guy. Due to our strict confidentiality agreement, I can't share any of those convos with you, but trust me when I say they were thorough. Gage also had health classes in school, and those turned out to be a great springboard for discussions as well. I just always answered his questions when he asked them. It's pretty simple, and you get to avoid "the talk", which I had to endure at age 9 from my mother when she discovered my affinity for Kirk Cameron. Hearing a long drawn out lecture about icky stuff that grownups do was almost traumatizing. I did NOT want to think about my parents doing it. It was just a huge amount of useless, disgusting information to me.
     Starting in 4th grade our school did four week health classes every year where they'd separate the boys from the girls and we'd learn about puberty and baby making from a school nurse. It was cool because we could ask anonymous questions for the teacher or nurse to answer, and we didn't ever have to be embarrassed. I learned way more from that class than from my Mom, because when Mom started talking I was so grossed out thinking about her and Dad doing it that I shut down and stopped listening altogether.

     There were always a few kids each year whose parents wouldn't sign the permission slip for them to attend health class due to religious or cultural beliefs. Of course we all made fun of them, and at recess we'd corner them on the playground and tell them everything we just learned. Because kids are assholes and have no respect for anything. So FYI, sign the damn permission slip when your kid brings it home, or else a 10 year old shithead will be the one to tell junior where babies come from, and not in the loving, "when two people love each other very much..." way that you plan to on your daughter's wedding day.

     So, my Etsy shop has sold just one thing, and that was to a friend. I think I'll close it down and just chalk it up as one of my many interesting endeavors that haven't worked out. I secretly knew I wouldn't sell anything. It's disappointing for sure, but I'm not losing any sleep over it. Husband thinks if I start offering the baby bags I make for shower gifts, they'll sell out quick. But I don't agree. Sure I make great bags, but they are simple. The amount of time I spend on each one (3-4 hours), plus the material costs, and the lack of fanciness do not equal what I would have to ask for them. Nobody is trying to buy a $50 baby bag unless it has "Eddie Bauer" on it. Meh, whatever.

     Here is the part where I'm going to give my asshole opinion. It's about breastfeeding. I recently got into a discussion about what to do if you're breastfeeding at 18 months old, and your husband suddenly expresses to you that it makes him uncomfortable. He thinks that if the kid can ask you verbally for milk and pull up your shirt, the kid is too old to be BF. Now all the BF mamas would say the husband has nothing to say about it, and he's just immature and stupid, and kind of a dick. I do not agree. The husband DOES have a say in it, because that's his wife and child. When you get married, your life isn't just YOURS anymore. And our males in this society are not accustomed to toddlers hanging off their wives' boobs. Should they be? Maybe, I don't know, but my point is that breasts ARE sexualized in American society, and I like it that way. So do men. They think about sex and boobs ALL THE TIME. Yes they do, even the mature, evolved ones, so stop deluding yourself. And they probably feel super disgusted and conflicted and confused when their wife's breasts are being occupied constantly by their child who is no longer a baby, and can eat chicken with a fork. It's gotta be a horrible mind fuck for some of them. Why doesn't your husband's feelings and mental health count?? I do not understand. Breastfeed all you want, but how long and where and whether or not they cover in public or any other issue should be a family decision just like everything else. They ARE your husband's boobs too. At least take into account each person's feelings and discuss it, don't just declare your husband a neanderthal and dismiss him. That's fucked up. K I'm done.


Friday, June 7, 2013

Your fucking blue horse is so fucking awesome!

     Bug loves books. She barely ever plays with her toys anymore, she just wants to look at her books.

     Okay but here's the thing. It's non-stop. From the second she wakes up, we read, and it goes on all day until I lose my mind and start hiding them from her. No, I don't want to read "Brown bear, Brown bear" 40 times. Yes, it's really cute when she slides the window open to see what Brown bear sees looking at him, and she squeals with delight. It's great. She's learning and shit. But we do this ALL FUCKING DAY. Up until a week ago, it was the only book she wanted to hear most of the time. Now she's got a few more favorites, but she won't even let me finish them! She hands me a book, listens to me read 4 pages of it, then hands me another book and insists I start reading that one. Pretty soon I have read half of 12 different books! My OCD is kicking in, and now I feel anxious when she does it too often - trying to deal with the madness of not knowing where the "Goodnight Train" ended up at.

     You know what I did yesterday? I started reading all the way through to the end, every book she gave me. Even when she started whining and hitting the book I was reading, and throwing shit all over the place. I did not give a fuck. I found out how all those books ended, and I slept great last night because of it.

     Today she started the whole thing again, and I tried to be more patient with her and read just what she wanted to hear, and be okay with moving on quickly to the next one. It ain't about me, after all. But eventually I cracked. Again. I stopped reading the actual words and just opened pages and sipped my coffee like nothing had changed. She caught on fast though, and started swearing at me in baby language. Next I tried just pointing at the pictures and saying what they were. "Bear!...Horse!... Frog!" but she kept looking at me like, "AND WHAT, BITCH?" So that didn't work out either.

     How is it that she won't speak the English, but she knows damn well that I'm shorting her on the board books? Conspiracy. One of these days I'll get an oral dissertation on the effects of pretending to read to your baby and adding the word "fucking" to half the animals in the book. Look, if I have to read these things 200 times a day, I'm going to make it interesting while I still can. And "a fucking blue horse" is a lot more provocative than just a plain old regular blue horse. I need some excitement in my life.


The fear.

     I woke up this morning and sat with Bug on the couch, and within minutes, she and I were covered in fucking fleas. I just vacuumed yesterday. We're broke until next payday so I couldn't get any diabolical Earth or whatever it's called, to treat the carpet and couches with so I've just been vacuuming and praying to the flea gods to get rid of them. Husband woke up to me vacuuming at 6:30am, saw the distress on my face and said we can get rid of the rug and couches. WHEW! He says I have to help, which I will, but how much help moving this enormous furniture will I be? I'm 130lbs of wet noodle. Then the leather couch downsairs will have to come upstairs....I think we need help. And now I've blogged so much about fleas, I might as well call this my blog about fleas. *sigh*

     Gage left on Monday, and I was fine until I had to hug him goodbye. I fell apart. Then I came home and cried off and on for 2 days, especially when Bug would try to throw her rubber blocks at his bedroom door to get his attention so he'll come out and play with her. I got a little insight into why Mom spoiled me so much after my brother left for the Army when I was 5, because when Bug started asking for her brother, I gave her a popsicle. For lunch.
"Mom's gonna change her mind any minute...I better eat fast!"

    I know that he'll be fine, I think my fear that he'll want to stay there is what's upsetting me the most. I remember being 14 1/2, and had the beginnings of "knowing" what was best for me. I had my parents figured out. I wanted them to be more involved with my life, but they couldn't be. They worked too much and were going through financial and personal problems that tended to cover up whatever I was going through. So I thought, if they were going to ignore me, I just wanted to be free. So I stopped listening to the few rules I had and from then on was always in trouble for something or another. I know the prospect of freedom is very enticing to a 14 year old, understandably. And with his bio-dad, he'd have too much of it, so that is my worry.
     I have to give the kid credit however, for being smart. And although he is not observant enough to notice the dirty socks he left on the dining room floor that he has walked past 18 times, or the trash piling up in the kitchen, or the laundry I put in front of his door...he IS observant of people. He knows his father and I, he has seen our lives unfold, and he knows who is legit and who's good at what. So far, he has taken the best he was offered from both of us, and now also from Husband. I have to remember that. It does make me feel better.

     Yesterday I took Bug to preschoolers story-time at the library. I laughed the whole time! The room was packed with little ones, all sitting nicely on the carpet in little lines, listening intently to the book about what would happen if dinosaurs lived today. Except for MY little one. Oh, she sat in my lap for about 5 minutes, and then got down and started walking up and down the aisles of sitting children, pointing at them and telling them in baby language about something she clearly felt very strongly about. If she was talking to a kid that was ignoring her, she'd get in their face and talk louder! She even booped a couple of kids noses! This chick is no shrinking violet. And she is DEFINITELY mine and Husband's daughter.
After story-time

       Oh, we took a family picture! Mom2 has another pic of all of us that's my favorite, but she hasn't emailed it to me yet.
     Last night I had some thoughts about open-mindedness, and realized that I'm not open minded. That was a hard reality. I want to be open minded! I need to think about it more, but basically, I have a hard time accepting other people when I feel they are doing something that I think is wrong. Is it just me? It really bothers me when other people refuse to see my point of view, but yet I do that to them too. It seems like an asshole way to be. I don't wanna be an asshole. As far as everyone being entitled to their opinion, that's true, but do I have to like it? I talked it over with Husband, and he reminded me that when the person who disagrees with me is a friend, I am totally open minded because what we have in common supersedes whatever piece of political/spiritual/ethical subject we differ on. Hmm...So that backs up the idea I've always had that if you are exposed to lots of different kinds of people, you find your commonalities and are able to be more open-minded. And peaceful. Then I thought about who my best friends are, and the funny thing is, most of them are my opposite in belief systems! Haha!
     I think lately I have felt kind of....on guard. That seems like a strange way to feel when I haven't been confronted or attacked in any way, but suddenly I am in an environment that is culturally my opposite. I thought that growing up in California had introduced me to enough different cultures that I'd be fine anywhere in America. I was never familiarized with rednecks though. Or racism. Or large groups of right wing Christians. Or people, black or white, whose accents are so thick I can't understand them. In California I am well versed in lots of accents. Spanish, Korean, Jewish, Ethiopian, Vietnamese, California ghetto, Valley, Philipino, Chinese, Indian, etc. etc. etc....but the southern accent mixed in with the other dialects here I can't identify, is beyond my understanding. I feel like an idiot every time I run into someone who talks to me and I have no idea what they said. It makes me nervous.

     The natural reaction when you are falling is to extend your arms. When you are afraid, you do the same thing emotionally. I think that my being less tolerant and more opinionated these days is my natural reaction to being uncomfortable, and feeling...unsafe, in my new unfamiliar environment. I just need to figure out how to stop feeling that fear. Ohmygod. I have "the fear"! It's like in roller derby when you have the fear. Fear you'll get hurt or that you can't master a skill. It stops you from progressing in your sport. You absolutely cannot have the fear and play derby successfully. It is a constant exercise in confidence in yourself. That is totally what's happening with me. I'm not progressing because of the fear. This emotional extension of my arms is hurting me. It's a confidence issue. So now I have to try not to have the fear. I need to be more confident.

Wow. I'm glad I wrote that all down so I can know what I think! Is there a Rosetta Stone for southern accents?

Saturday, June 1, 2013

Check baby, check baby 1..2...3...4...

     I have been so busy! Our truck is finally going to be fixed this week, after a month long engine rebuild. It's a 1984 Dodge Ram pickup that the parents are letting Husband use for work. Why a month long venture? Because the whole thing took place in our backyard, not a shop. Things happen, people get pneumonia, bolts rust and break off, parts have to be ordered....and so on.
     For nearly two months I have been working on getting all the legal ducks in a row so that Husband can do business in Florida as a wood floor installer. The process has been ridiculous. Far too expensive, too many hoops to jump through, nobody can give you a straight answer to anything and even the people who do this type of work aren't entirely sure how to do it legally. We ended up with two business tax receipts (aka business licenses), one for the city and one for the county. Insurance, IRS code, fictitious business name registry and newspaper ad, and a couple other things I'm forgetting, and the grand total was in the neighborhood of $1000. Yet, it is not required to be certified as a floor installer. Huh? Dumb. In California, you have to take a state test to make sure you know what you're doing, and you are then licensed. Then you pay for a bond in case you get sued, put an ad in the paper and that's that. Know how to do the job, then go do it. Here, you can just SAY you can do it, and then go do it. Even if you've never done it before, or have any clue how to do it, it doesn't matter. So, these people are hiring Joe whatever the fuck to install their floors, and what they get could be horrible.
     For example, the parents (who own a flooring store) hired Joe whatever the fuck to do their tile downstairs, and he installed it all fucked up so you trip on it as you walk through the door. He also did the stairs wrong, and the wood in the hallway too. IN THE OWNER'S HOUSE. That's how stupid this guy was. Frustrating. I cannot wait until Husband gets out there and sets the bar where it should be for these people. So anyway, that's what I've been up to.

     The other fun shit going on has been the flea infestation. It's really bad. And the cat doesn't even come inside the house. I resorted to spraying chemicals in the house, and it didn't work. So now I'm going to try the salt and vacuum method. Basically, pour salt on the carpet and furniture, and vacuum. Twice a day. We'll see how long I can keep that up... I did tape a flea collar to the inside of the vacuum canister. That made me feel better.

     Oh and then Gage is leaving for the summer, on Monday. Husband and I have been depressed about it. And nervous, because we don't trust his bio-dad, we don't know what environment he'll be in, and there's always that fear that Gage could want to stay out there and live with that guy,. We doubt it, but still. All Gage's friends are out there, and he has zero here, just like us. It must be tempting. He says he plans to be with his friends most of the time while he's there, haha! who? Mostly, we will just miss him terribly. And Bug will too. Ugh. I've been trying not to think about it. I don't wanna cry right now!

     I finally got to a playgroup, but only the lady who runs it showed up, the other 2 Moms that RSVP'd flaked out. That's okay, the lady I met was really nice. I'm gonna try a couple more play days with them to see if I wanna join. I think with Gage being gone, I'll really need to occupy myself so I don't go crazy missing him. So Bug and I will try gymnastics, playgroups, splash pad at the park...whatever we can find.

     The coolest thing that happened is Mom2 (Mom in law) gave me the ipod she never got around to using. I have wanted one for so long, and I love it! It took forever for me to figure it out, but now I have 200 songs and I'm seriously addicted. Me and Bug dance through the house all day! I realized as I was downloading how awful some of my music taste is...but hey, I was an 80's kid in suburbia, I can't help it! Here, I'll leave you with a couple songs I got yesterday. Enjoy! Or don't, I don't give a shit!