December Doldrums Strike Again

You know how sometimes you hear a quote or see something it feels like someone is seeing into your brain and capturing your thoughts? I saw a meme the other day that resonated with me. If you wondering what profound, deep, meaningful meme I may be referencing, it’s this:

Yup, it’s true. I don’t know why the days between Christmas Day and New Year’s Day seem like a big, black void, but they do. Christmas, with all its magic and splendor is over, but the bright, shiny New Year has yet to arrive in all its glory. (Though to be fair, in the Northeast it’s more of a “gray, cold and wet glory” than “shiny”.)

Exactly why do we seem to eat our way through an entire week? Are we still in the “holiday spirit”? Are we buckling under the presence of all the treats and sweets that have made their way into our homes? Did we let the beast out of the cage and can’t manage to wrest that jerk back in to shut and lock that door with triple deadbolts? Are we depressed that our house looks sad and pathetic after removing our festive garlands and lights and decorations? (Seriously, why does my home seem so lackluster now? Does this lead to more people redecorating their homes? Is there an HGTV show called “Help! My Home is Ugly without Christmas?” Uh, wait, what was my point again….)

And as if the empty, decoration less house and post-holiday blahs aren’t sad enough, all stores are starting to advertise the exercise equipment. Nothing signals the end of a good time quite like dumbbells and treadmills. Retailers are quite literally telling us to stop feeding our fat faces and take a walk. “Hey lardo, time to drop that weight you gained shoving Christmas cookies in your mouth for the last 3 weeks before you completely clog your arteries.” It’s almost like they know that “Lose weight” is on 75% of all of our resolution lists and they’re taking advantage of our current self-loathing to make a quick buck. Those canny, evil geniuses.

Personally, it’s not just the end of Christmas that’s disappointing to me, but also the expectations of New Year’s Eve. Everyone makes big plans for celebrations on December 31 and I used to be right up there with them. It was a tradition to stuff ourselves silly, play board games, and stay up to midnight to watch the ball drop. As I get older though, my feelings are more like, “Meh. It’ll still be a new year the next day, right? I’m going to bed.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to stuff myself silly and play board games and have fun, I just may or may not make it til midnight. I know I know, I’m turning into Maxine before my very eyes. Or maybe that old lady from the Steel Magnolias movie. She was sassy AND grumpy. But she told it like it was.

Outside of eating everything not nailed down during the void week, it also seems like a strange time period. Many offices are empty because of people who are using their time off. Banks and grocery stores are operating on different hours. Schools are closed so your kids are probably making you pull your hair out with all the noisy and/or annoying Christmas gifts they received. (You know, now that I think about it, it’s amazing that every parent has not turned into Ouiser yet. All the ingredients are there man, I’m telling you. Also, if you are like me, you’re just realizing that’s how they spelled her name for the movie and it’s super weird, right?)

Perhaps New Year’s Eve is a celebration for surviving the void week. Maybe that’s why everyone is so happy to see January 1 pop up on the calendar. It’s like saying, “Phew. We made it through the darkest, saddest, and strangest week of the year. Let’s have cake and cocktails.” (That would be an amazing restaurant idea. Just dessert and alcoholic beverages. Fruity umbrella drinks and pretty, frosted petit fours. Can someone make this happen? And close enough to me so that I can enjoy it? Thank you in advance.)

So for all my fellow survivors, buck up kids. We got this. And if we don’t, at the very least we can procure some cake and cocktails and pretend that we do. Happy End of December and Viva La 2023!

Parenting is an Emotional Roller Coaster

If there is anything that can get you “up in your feelings” (Hey, I can talk like a cool cat too!), it’s parenting. Good feelings, bad feelings, tired feelings….and more tired feelings. Exhausted feelings. Sleep deprived coma feelings. But enough about how much sleep you’ll never have once becoming a parent, this post is about feelings.

From day one there’s a wide variety of emotions over your child. Love for this tiny new miracle, rapture at counting their itty-bitty toes and fingers, relief that they are finally here, and utter terror because no one prepared you for this. Why did I think I knew what I was doing? I can’t take care of this incredibly small and fragile human. Where is my handy, dandy book that has every answer to every parenting question that I may ever have? Where are the experts to shadow me and make sure that I don’t screw them up? For the love of all that is holy, WHERE IS THE BUBBLE WRAP?!?!?!

Fortunately, we are mostly too tired to function during the early weeks. This anesthetizes us to the parental worries that plague us in our (brief) conscious moments and makes us reflexively care for the precious bundle of joy. By the time we realize we have been on auto pilot, we also realize, “Hey, maybe I CAN do this after all.” (You’re fooling yourself of course. We all are. None of us know what we are doing. Some of us just fake it better than others. Some of us medicate with chocolate cake and coffee. Fine, It’s me. I’m some of us.)

As they grow, learning how to walk and talk, they’ll add a wider and more complex variety of emotions to your repertoire. You’ll experience new awesome feelings like frustration!  Immense pride! Gritting your teeth while practicing deep breathing as you try to teach yourself to be calm. Mentally counting to ten when your sweetest little angel tries your patience. Fortunately, it only happens once every…. hour or so. Every day. From ages two through…. well, I’ll let you know when it finally stops over here.

Once they start school, you’ll learn to become good friends with guilt (Am I spending enough time with them? Am I feeding them enough vegetables? Should I be reading to them more? Are they ahead socially thus making their introvert parent have to mingle at boisterous gatherings? Shudder.), understand how frustration matures into fully formed exasperation, and find the value of alone time to recharge your batteries. Even if it’s just a two minute mental breakdown in the hall closet while you inhale half a package of chocolate chip cookies.

The teen years bring tons more of that exasperation along with fun new emotion combos. Like annoyance love. How is it possible to be SO ANNOYED by someone that you love SO MUCH? (Oh, it’s possible honey. And your teenager is up to the challenge of showing you how.) Disgusted pride. How can socks smell THAT BAD after you’re bursting with pride that your kid played an awesome game of (sports game inserted here). (Oh my god. The stench is truly abominable. Did something die in your shoes? Are you sure? No, no, don’t bring them in the house. Just leave them on the porch. The neighbor’s porch.) And of course, the classic and time honored “exhaustipation guilt”, when you’re too tired to give a crap but usually feel guilty that you’re too tired to give a crap, which usually results in an endless loop. Thankfully, it only lasts 21 to 60 years or so.

Yup, our kids can tug at our heartstrings and dance on our last nerve. Sometimes at the same time. (That’s a talented kid there. You should be so proud of their skills!) They test us by seeing how fast we can move when we see them put something in their mouth that we know they aren’t supposed to have. They push against our boundaries, testing our patience. They make our grinch hearts grow three sizes…and then shrink again when we find out they broke that vase and lied about it. In short, parenting isn’t for the faint of heart.

But, and I’m just spit balling here, has anyone thought that newborns should come with a parent size prescription of Xanax? Asking for a friend.

 

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I Fought My Inner Child and Lost

           Today is Halloween and you know what that means. Yup, my sister has already asked me for Christmas ideas. More importantly though,  it’s the day that we let our kids live action role play as costumed candy beggars, wandering darkened streets in search of that sweet, sweet sugar high.

If you can remember back to the good old days of your misspent youth when you used to participate in this most cherished childhood ritual, then you’re probably thinking of those awful plastic masks that we had to wear. You know, the ones with the two tiny eye holes and a slit for the mouth? It used to get all slimy from our hot breath and the eye holes would never line up properly, giving you a sight range of like 28% at any given moment. Man, those were the days, weren’t they?

Now that we’re old, we have to rely on our own kids (grandkids, nieces, nephews, strange orphan children that aimlessly wander our neighborhoods on only Halloween) to live vicariously through. Sure, we may be old enough to buy our own candy now, but it doesn’t taste as good as the free stuff. In order to get that awesome Halloween variety mixture that your kids come home with, it would take at least 15 different bags of candy. Have you seen how expensive that stuff is? I’m just looking for a sweet fix, not a mortgage payment! I really feel like I didn’t appreciate those handouts as much as I should have when I was younger.

I shouldn’t have to mention that this is the time where genetics could have helped me out. Short, uh I mean vertically challenged, statures would certainly help blend in with that school age crowd. Especially since masks could hide those fine lines and wrinkles that would surely out me as too geriatric to participate in this tradition. Sure, I’d most definitely have to go to a different town in order to successfully pull this off, one of the downsides of living in a small town where everyone knows your name, but unlike small children, I have a driver’s license. (So there twerps!)

If I’m planning on stealth mode, I’d probably have to go sans children. As much as I love that smallest jerk of mine, he’d definitely rat me out at the first house.

Person: “Oh, I love your scary mask!” My kid: “That’s my mom!”

Sadly, this leads me to admit that my height detriment is not the only hole in this plan. Unless I bribed him with all of my Reese’s…….

Realistically, I know that we are supposed to graduate from trick or treating to “adult Halloween parties” where we get to dress up and alcohol is the candy substitute. But honestly, I’d rather just have the candy. While the scale is sure to betray me the following morning, at least I won’t have a hangover from over indulging in my sweets habit. Not to mention, too much candy has never given me the false confidence that I can indeed karaoke. I have never felt that sharp sting of betrayal from candy. Alcohol is all pretty lies and consequences of my actions. Sugar is just straight forward fun and unapologetic weight gain. Was it worth it? I think you know how I’d answer that.

Halloweening at those grown up parties tend to have lots of guests as well. WAY more than the handful that I’m comfortable with. We introverts try not to people if we can absolutely get away with it. Especially at this point of the year when we know that we will have to prepare for the barrage of the family parties that the holidays will bring. We like people, there’s just a limit to how long we can be exposed before melting into a human shaped puddle. That social battery of mine needs constant re-charging, usually with periods of silence and blissful alone time. As a parent, I don’t get a lot of alone-ness, but I tend to revel in it when I do manage it.

So for all my fellow adults who will be trekking the streets with their costumed miscreant tonight, getting ALL of the steps and NONE of the Snickers, I feel your pain. Know that your cold comfort is the solidarity of all the other sad, reminiscent adults trudging out in this chilly fall weather. (Shout out to my fellow East Coast-ers.) On the bright side, I’m sure that there’s a reason a Milky Way bar won’t make it through quality control’s candy check later tonight, right? (Wink , wink)

 

 

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Random Thoughts That Keep Me Up at Night

             I’ve never been one of those people who can go to bed at night and be asleep in 4.6 seconds. My style is more like “contemplate every single thing you haven’t had time to think about during the day because you were too busy”. Here is some of the stupid stuff that runs around my brain when I can’t fall asleep right away.

What is the point of FaceBook hacking? Can someone explain this to me? I could understand if it was only rich and famous people getting hacked but Norma Smith from Idaho, a 67 year old pinochle playing grandmother? What does she have to offer? Are you just dying to get her family recipe for tuna noddle casserole?

FaceBook hacking became so common that they now offer 2 factor authentication. (For those of you not in the technology know, that means there are 2 different methods of verifying it’s really you, usually a cell phone number or another email address.) I have to assume that the 2 factor authentication is successful since I’ve gotten a few text messages from someone trying to hack my FaceBook. The good thing about this is that now I can be aware of when someone is trying to hack me instead of being blissfully unaware like I was previously. It’s a real boost to the self-esteem to know that someone thinks that I’m important enough to hack.

The bigger question is, why FaceBook? I mean, I’m not trying to encourage hacking in any way but is FaceBook the best use of those skills? Think Matthew Broderick in “War Games” level hacking. Make it something super epic and insist that someone cool portray you in the movie they’ll make about it. Like Ryan Reynolds. (I mean, is there anything that man can’t do?)

You know another thing that chaps my ass? These idiot men who cheat on their smoking hot wives. The latest scandal involves Adam Levine. If you don’t know who that is, you have been living under a rock, or maybe you just have a rare form of amnesia that affects forgetting pop music icons. So this lead singer of Maroon 5 is married to a Super model. They have 2 kids and she’s currently incubating the third. (Yeah, awesome time for this type of scandal to surface, right?) Who the hell cheats on their SUPER MODEL wife? And if he would cheat on a woman who looks like that, I’m sure the rest of us average Janes should probably just pack it in right now.

And for those that would argue that sending a bunch of flirty texts or “just a kiss” isn’t cheating, I call bullshit. The intention is there. Are you telling me that if any one of these flirty women didn’t give the green light to jump her bones that he would draw a hard moral line there? Yeah, I don’t see it. What kills me is that I don’t even think he’s that good looking. Granted, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that but seriously, all I can see is an ex-high school nerd who found success and let it go to his head. (A super model for God’s sake.) I don’t know, I just don’t get it.

Here’s another brain blaster. Do you know those stupid “One gotta go” posts that you see on social media? Usually it’s a series of photos of things and you have to choose for one thing to go. Like out of 4 desserts: apple pie, chocolate cake, cheesecake, and chocolate chip cookies. Why do I have to get rid of one? Who is making me do this? What if I want all 4 desserts? What happens then? What happens if I want to have my cake and eat it too? (har de har har)

I’ve come to the conclusion that the only purpose of these posts is to sow dissension. Because you know that most people have really strong feelings about everything and they feel the need to ram their opinions down your throat, you know, because that will change your mind to match theirs. So what will start as a debate on which season is the worst has the potential to devolve into an ugly fight with name calling and slinging insults. (And yes, I will be grabbing the popcorn to watch things get real. I’m only human you know. Plus I enjoy free entertainment.)

I just realized that there are so many things that I think of at night and that this blog could turn into a novel. So I will wrap it up with this one last thought: Why can’t women’s sizing be the same as men’s sizing? Why can they walk into a store and buy a pair of jeans that are tailored specifically to their leg length and waist width and women have to choose a pair using a single number? And that number is not going to fit the same depending on what store you go to either. A size 10 is different at JC Penney as it is in Old Navy. What kind of creepy psychological torturer came up with women’s sizing? Do we not have length and width the same as men? You’d think, considering that women have multiple curvy areas, that they would have been more interested in making sure that women’s clothing was more accurate. Of course, these are probably the same people who design bras and those are a never ending delight to wear as well. (She said with heavy sarcasm.)

For those of you who share my talent for thinking of inane thoughts while you are trying to fall asleep, feel free to share some of the best, funniest, or most absurd ones. (I’d really be interested in knowing that I’m not the only one having Jack Handey’s deep thoughts in the twilight hours.) Until I invent a cure for sleeping blissfully like a baby (or a man), I guess I’ll just keep these midnight ponderings.

 

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September's Split Personality

            Once upon a time, I eagerly looked forward to September, if only because it meant that my kids went back to school. Now, however, I have a mixture of dread and excitement. This leaves me unsure of how I really feel about the impending month change.

On one hand, who isn’t ready for crunchy leaves and pumpkin muffins? Or apple pies and football? First day of school photos and shiny new sneakers? Ever since I was a child myself, September has carried that excitement of new classes, new teachers, and, most importantly, notebooks that haven’t been written in yet. (Yup, once a nerd, always a nerd.) Now that I am a parent, I get to experience that same excitement through my children, though admittedly they aren’t always as enthusiastic as I am about it. (Apparently not everyone feels like I do about clean notebooks. I just don’t get it.)

But on the other hand, I am fairly confident that the school year is what has been speeding time up. Tomorrow it’s September 1 but then you blink and it’s June again. So am I really excited for this time thief month to arrive? Hmm, not so much.

On one hand, I really need the clothing layers that cooler weather brings. I’m tired of sucking my stomach in. I need the blubber camouflage that only a sweater or a flannel can bring. And I’m pretty sure that I’m REALLY going to need that camouflage once the fall comfort foods kick in. Soups, stews, casseroles, holiday delectables, pastas, breads, and more holiday treats. I want all of them. But it means I need to break out my casual pants and cardigans for this endeavor to be successful.

On the other hand, if I eat all the bad foods, I need to do all the bad exercise. Is there anything more torturous than exercise? Ugh. Why couldn’t I have born one of those weirdos who have the metabolism of a 5 year old their entire lives? Is that so much to ask for? If I can’t have that metabolism, then I need someone to put Sweating to the Oldies in a 90’s hip hop version. (Hey, my oldies aren’t Richard Simmons’ oldies. What are you going to do?)

And on another hand, where am I getting all these hands from?

Seriously, though, points in favor of September…. Apple picking. Pumpkin flavored everything. Beautiful fall foliage. <SINGING> Are you ready for some football?

Counter points that show September’s darker more evil side… Shorter days. Less sunshine. The death of summer. <SINGING> All the leaves are brown, and the skies are gray.

I guess I’m just going to have to clone myself so that one of me can hate September and one of me can love it. (Though I promise the clone me will have a better name than Dolly. #clonehumor) Until then, I guess I can only hope that one day my kids know the joy of buying college ruled notebooks for twenty nine cents and frothing with imagination over all the things that they can one day write in them.

 

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Why is My To-do List Never To-done?

I think that we can all agree that adulting isn’t all that we imagined it would be when we were kids. Do you remember how excited we were to grow up and do anything we wanted? Boy, that didn’t turn out that well for us, did it?

First of all, we were all eager to grow up so we could stay up as late as we want. Turns out that if we do that as an adult, we are tired for the next 3.5 years. If you add up all the nights we went to bed “too late”, you’ll understand that this cumulation is the sole reason we are perpetually exhausted. Our current tally of nights that we would need to go to bed early to get back on track is around 37,297. At this point, we might as well just watch one more episode anyway.

Another thing that was going to be so cool about being an adult was having money. What we failed to factor into our nine year old dreams was that there are vile things called “BILLS” that also like our money. Now that we are grown and have to pay for our food and electricity and cars, it’s not as exciting to have our own money. And don’t even get me started on the taxes! What kind of adult bullshittery is this? I lose 1/4 of my check before I even get to see it.

Then there was the fact that we couldn’t wait to grow up and have our own kids and not only would we be 100 times cooler than our own parents, our kids would be awesome and perfect in every way. It turns out when we actually did have kids, we found out that we turned into our parents. And that the kids were only awesome like 43% of the time but we live with them 100% of the time. (Thus proving that math has failed me yet again.)

We also thought that we were going to have tons of friends and fun things to do when we got older. Now we are older and we’re like, “Ugh, do we HAVE to leave the house?” And “Ugh, people.” Now that we are fully formed adults, can we all just agree that socializing is overrated? Let’s just Netflix and Ben & Jerry’s. Nothing says socializing like sitting with your spouse binge watching Forensic Files marathons in your sweats.

Now, don’t get me wrong, there is nothing quite like the innocence of childhood. But man, we were so stupid! Why we ever thought that growing up was FUN is beyond me. We get to go to work 5 days a week and during the 2 days “off” we get to catch up on all the stuff that we can’t get done during the work week. My To-do list now has it’s own To-do list. I turned my back and they had little To-do list babies. They’re spawning at an alarming rate, which is frustrating because I was under the impression that lists were something that had the capability of being finished. This law doesn’t seem to be applicable to the mighty to-do list. It’s never “Ta-da, I’m Ta-Done with the To-Do’s!” Instead I seem to add 2 things for ever one crossed off. This list is like one of those bad dreams where you’re running for your life from a monster with “TO-DO” written on its sweatshirt and then it turns out that you’re running on a never ending list that ends up having a creepy paper face that starts laughing like an evil villain…. ok, yeah, I might have too vivid of an imagination.

 Where was I again?

Oh right, kids rule and adults drool. Do our kids even realize how good they have it? Of course not. They are too busy being impatient to grow up so that they can stay up late and spend all their money on video games and party like it’s 1999.

 Little do they know that old is hiding around the corner, waiting to kick their ass. Run kids! Before it’s too late!

 I guess what I am trying to say is that I give adulting a bad Yelp review. 10/10 don’t recommend. If at all possible, don’t grow up. Stay a Toy’R’Us kid forever and don’t forget to drink your ovaltine.

 

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The Fantastic Fuqery Expedition

           Sometimes, when something just doesn’t seem to go your way, your first thought usually isn’t "This will make a funny story someday.” (Although maybe if it was, we might have better coping skills. Right?)

 Anyway, one of my goals has been to take a trip with each one of my children separately. That way, when I’m old and feeble, they’ll have those pleasant memories of "that time mom and I went on vacation”.

This year it was my 15 year old’s turn.

First of all, let me say that I’m not quite prepared for him to be 15. I’m not sure what happened, but I’m pretty sure I blinked and he went from 5 to 15. Secretly, I think he’s been cheating at this whole “growing up” thing and has been sneaking in extra years at bedtime. That is just the only logical explanation that I can come up with for why he’s a giant man child now with a fuzzy caterpillar above his lip.

But I digress.

The trip started off with not one, but TWO delayed flights. I tried not to think that it might be an indicator of how the rest of the trip was going to go, but to be honest, it wasn’t off to a great start. The flight was already kind of a crap show because it was overshooting our actual destination, then making us wait around an airport for 3 hours before backtracking to our final stopping point. Then we tacked on a delay out of both airports and it turned out that we didn’t get to our B’n’B until 11 pm. Do you know how exhausting hanging around an airport and sitting on an airplane can be? Who would have thought that a whole day of doing nothing could be so draining. You might as well have stuck a fork in us because we were done.

We retrieve the rental car and that was a pretty cool process because they literally turned us loose in this giant parking garage and said, “Choose any from row 3.” I then found out that I choose rental cars like I choose my scratch off lottery tickets: not well and with bad luck. If you’re wondering how that can even happen, let me start off by saying that the mileage was in kilometers. KILOMETERS. My son is performing conversions on his phone for me while I’m trying to keep up with the insane psychopaths intent on mowing us down with their vehicles. At the end of the trip he says, “It’s not that hard you just have to count x miles for every x kilometers.” Uh, no, sorry. I can’t math AND drive at the same time. It’s literally why they gave me that handy little gauge that says mph. Talk about distracted driving. “Here, solve for x while driving 55 mph with 3 lanes of cars all pissed off that you’re not driving at breakneck speed like they want you to.” Uh, no thanks, I’ll pass.

On top of not making it to our rental place until that late, but we weren’t able to get to Walmart to grab staples like coffee, food, coffee, water, did I mention COFFEE?!?!?!? Walmart closed at 11. We were there at 10:51. They lied.

My husband was extremely thankful to be multiple states away from me the next morning, I’m sure.

We make a trek first thing to get that life giving magic bean juice for mama and were immediately accosted by a homeless woman asking for pennies. So that she could stop sleeping at the bus stop. Now, while I sympathize with her plight, it’s early o’clock and I have zero caffeine in me. I’m impressed that I have functioning brain cells. I can’t handle this kind of ambush at this hour. Sadly, I informed her that I didn’t carry cash, which is a completely true story that you can validate with my husband. (Although if you DO confirm it, you’ll probably have to hear about how it’s a conspiracy that I don’t carry cash and that he does. Don’t listen to it. Lies. All of it.)

Luckily, the fuqery seemed to have calmed down after that. Other than the insane psychopaths trying to mow us down every time we traveled on the highways. Fortunately, Siri has a handy little “avoid highways” option that we utilized so that we could travel at a much more sedate, lower blood pressure pace. The flight Gods smiled down on us for our return flight…if you don’t count that the airline switched us from 9am to 7am. This meant that I had to be awake at NOPE o’clock and peel my eyeballs open long enough to shove contacts in while hooking up that IV of coffee directly to my vein. If you ever have the opportunity to get up at 4:00 in the morning, I highly DO NOT suggest it. 10 out of 10 would not recommend.

At the end of the day though, we had a lovely time. We visited some fun places and got to spend some quality time together. Plus now, we get to have that great story. 

"Hey, remember the time our rental car was in kilometers?” (And we’ll laugh and laugh and laugh.)

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Guilt: The Gift That Keeps on Giving

Have you ever wondered why the phrase is “Mom Guilt” and not “Dad Guilt”? No? Just me then, huh? Well let’s all pretend that you answered yes to that. Otherwise, the whole start to the blog is kind of killed and I have to start over and who has the time for that right now? I can tell you that it’s definitely not me. I don’t even have time to divide myself into the 3 people I need to be in order to take care of the work work and the home work and the kid work. Hence the old guilt trip.

As yes, the one trip that I take daily that requires no airfare at all.

Back in the “good old days”, Mom’s job was at home all day. Dad went to work and brought home the bacon. (I’m actually a little jealous of all the bacon they used to have in the old days. Back then, bacon wasn’t bad for you at all! Can you believe it?) Somewhere along the line, women decided that we also needed to bring home the bacon. I’m guessing that this was probably because of one bad bacon bringer and now we are all being punished for it. Dangit! You had one job bacon bringer. ONE JOB!

If you’re keeping track, that’s one full time job (motherhood) plus another full-time job (work/career) and one part time job (trying to parent your spouse without being obvious about it). I might not be the best at Math, but even I know that one person doing 2.5 jobs all day, every day just doesn’t add up. Well, I mean, it adds up, but not in a good way. Doing 2.5 jobs in 1.0 days leaves not enough time to get everything you need to in one day. So, you split it up over the course of a week, never having quite enough time for anything really. Then you repeat this every week until one day, they finally let you retire and you’re able to enjoy the children of the children that you never got to enjoy because of those 2.5 jobs. (Wow, that got dark quick! Sorry about that. Moving on…)

And if the Math part wasn’t bad enough, society seems to be putting a little too much pressure on us parents. We are supposed to work a full-time job but still manage the house, kids, scheduling, and whatever else seems to fall under our dominion. Our boss will look down on us for taking time off to care for our kids, but society will also make us feel bad if we don’t make our kids a priority above all else. We need to be there all the time for our kids yet teach them autonomy. We need to show them that you can be a productive member of society yet spend every other waking minute doting on them. Basically, society expects all the things, all the time and it’s just freaking exhausting.

Plus, Moms don’t need any help smacking ourselves in the face with the guilt shovel. We excel at heaping piles of guilt upon ourselves, without any outside help at all. We worry about all the different and varied ways that we may be screwing up our children. (Which, somehow, we probably are. But in our defense, it’s not purposeful.) We worry about spending enough time with them. We feel bad if we aren’t giving them good childhood memories for them to look back fondly on. We stress about all the nutrition that we know they aren’t getting from their staunch peanut butter sandwich and chicken nugget diet. We think of ways to sneak in life lessons. We balance sports schedules and bathing routines and sit-down family meals. I think that most moms become so adept at juggling that they should be able to put it on their resume in case the circus ever comes to town. (Except those clowns can be a little creepy so maybe scratch that idea.)

As if all of this wasn’t bad enough, we now have to worry about sending our kids to school. Will they be safe? Should I home school? Am I a bad parent if I HAVE to work and send my child to public school? The world that we live in has become utter chaos and it’s scary enough to think that one day you will leave your child alone to fend for themselves (even if it’s not until they’re like 60) without adding the cosmic black hole that society seems to be hurtling toward. (Oops, slipped back into that dark humor again. Sorry about that.)

 I guess what I am trying to say is that it’s fine to ignore your kids. That’s what the grandkids are for. You can make up for it then. KIDDING. KIDDING.

What I mean to say is that all we can ever do is our best. Sure, it’s probably not enough some days, but it will be on others. All we can do is try to balance all the spinning plates without dropping them and having them all go crashing to the floor. And if you do happen to drop them, just make sure they’re the ugly ones and not the good china.

 

  

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Road Trip: The Ultimate Personality Test

I feel like you can tell a lot about a person based on their driving style on long road trips. For instance, I tend to be cautious when I drive. I drive above the speed limit, but only by a few miles. I “stay in the left lane except for passing”, merge well before the lane is closed ahead, and obey pretty much all the other traffic laws like the good little rule follower that I am.

 And it is precisely this reason that makes me crazy and stressed when I drive in other states where these maniacs, who CLEARLY got their license out of a cracker jack box, are driving 90 miles per hour, switching lanes willy nilly without so much as a thought of using their directional signal, and waiting until the eleventh hour to jump in that merge lane, even though they knew it was coming just like all the rest of us who saw the LED sign a mile ago. People who love structure and rules will NEVER be happy on a road trip, mostly because there are always going to be those psychopaths in those 4 wheeled tin cans who think that speed limits are merely just suggestions and that the 8 inches of space in front of you is perfectly fine for them to slide on in there. Not to mention that these same sociopaths seem to have the exact same travel schedule that we do. (Lucky for us!)

 My husband, on the other hand, does NOT like to let anyone get ahead of him. He takes it quite personally if someone even thinks about it. And while I really don’t like to let those idiots in front of me, the ones who drive 80 to get ahead of someone after the ‘left lane closed in one mile, merge right” sign, my husband will make it his personal life quest to hang those morons out to dry. Not that I don’t think they deserve it. (Hey, I said I was cautious, not a pushover!) But he will ride that bumper of the car in front of us, swearing fealty to some unbeknownst to me traffic god to uphold the good name of all the fellow non-idiot travelers and serve that cold dish of justice.

It was during one of these road trips that I found out that my passenger side brakes DO NOT work.

My blood pressure elevation DOES work. Really well.

And I am pretty sure that there is some unwritten law that you HAVE to argue with your spouse about something on a road trip. Probably after a day of driving when you’re cranky, tired, and holding in a fart that you’re almost certain would probably kill an ox. Road trips only promote a bonding experience because there’s nowhere to freaking go. You’re stuck together in this rolling metal rectangle. Mile after mile. State after state. Highway after highway.

This year I also found out that my family can annoy me by ignoring me. Yes, the thing that I pray for any other time in my life, irks the hell out of me on a road trip. Mostly because I get carsick and can’t do anything other than, well, drive, without getting nauseous. So when the kids both have their headphones on watching tv (lucky) and the husband is snoring in the passenger seat (luckier), and I’m over here trying to twiddle my thumbs and steer at the same time, it apparently pushes my buttons. (See, who says you can’t learn new things about yourself?) I’m pretty sure that this was a culmination of my intense hatred for the Carolinas (Why must you only have two damned lanes? WHY?), a numb ass cheek (Thanks a lot stupid sciatica.), and everyone else getting to ignore the rolling miles while I am over here trying to make them go away as fast as possible.

Back to my original statement though. I truly feel like your personality is manifested in your driving style. My husband has always been more of a risk taking, speak his mind kind of person. I’ve always tried to just keep my head down, follow rules, and avoid confrontation if at all possible. So when he drives, he’s more comfortable with risk taking (“Drive it like you stole it!”) and I’m more confident in my stay out of the line of fire of the imbeciles driving 90. (Quick sidebar: Wy does every state ignore their own speed limits? Then they’re pissed at you for only going 5 miles over the speed limit when you should be driving at least 20 mph over like they want to, if only you weren’t in their way. I mean the nerve of you, following posted speed limit laws. The nerve!)

 Now that we have spent all that quality time together, we need a break. Let’s go back to our real life where we are too busy to talk to each other because we are working, educating, and running to kids sporting events. Talk to you at the next vacation.

 

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Fatigue: Now in New Designer Packaging!

        I read something that said the average adult ends up making  35,000 decisions every day. Apparently this leads to "decision fatigue" where you can end up making poor decisions  at the end of the day. Like eating 12 tacos, standing over the sink, with crazy eyes and a bottle of tequila. Or investing in life jackets for ducks.

        Decision fatigue? You think?!?!?!

        I'm still flabbergasted that humans have that many things available to decide on on every day. I mean, yeah,  we decide what to wear, how to style our hair, what to eat for breakfast, which route to drive to work....okay, I think I'm starting to see it now. Still...35,000 decisions in one day is a lot. I mean A LOT. And you're telling me that we do this every day? And our heads haven't exploded like a Looney Tunes character yet? Amazing.

        Just thinking about making that many decisions is making me tired. (Oh wait, actually, I think that's yesterday's tired. My bad.)

My brain every day. (Image credit: Dreamstime)

        Do you guys remember, back in the good old day, when it was just regular tired? Now we have exotic types of tired....decision fatigue, mental exhaustion, emotionally worn out, burnt out, over-worked, energy sapped, bone weary, and overwhelmed. We are stressed, depressed, pressed, over accessed, and a hot mess. We bitch about being tired every day but have too many things to get done to be able to catch up on our sleep. Not to mention the whole "busy brain" syndrome going on with the 35,000 daily decisions. 

        Not only do I need a vacation, it seems like my brain needs one too. Where is "Bachelor in Paradise" when you need it? Just give me some brainless television to plant myself in front of on so that I can unwind and give my brain time to recuperate from being the CEO of DecisionCorp. It's a super thankless job that gives zero time off and has shitty benefits, yet my brain shows up every day to get the job done. I guess I should be thankful that she was willing to step up since I have an already overflowing plate myself.

        To think, I was sitting here feeling pretty sorry for myself for having a little bit of a writer's block tonight when in reality it was probably my brain going on strike for the night. She's wearing her comfiest pj's, has a glass of wine in hand and started to binge Netflix's trashiest soap opera-esque reality tv. She's off the clock and you can't make her work any more unpaid overtime this week. Not only has she made 35,000 decisions per day, she' been doing it for multiple days in a row. She'd do some math and figure out that staggering number for you if it didn't count as work and take her attention off the boob tube. Since it does, I guess you're on your own.

So try not to hurt yourself if you have to make a decision without your brain's guidance. Maybe ask for the heart's help if you can. Or at the very least, check with your spleen. He seems like a logical dude.

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I Was Woefully Unprepared for Children

            I always thought that I had a pretty good handle on this whole parenting gig. It’s only been recently that I realized how much I was actually just winging it. Yup, just making this shit up as I went along. Basically I was just giving it my all and hoping for the best.

           Honestly, I think that all parenting is probably 50% parent-like behavior and 50% pretending like you have an actual clue as to what you are doing. The whole phrase “Fake it til you make it” was most likely started by a parent who was trying to sound authoritative while scolding their toddler for something that they aren’t even sure is a scoldable offense.

<Checks playbook>

Right, right….justified penalty for throwing dirty underwear in sibling’s face. Ten-minute time out.

            Even when we finally get one kid’s worth of experience under our belt, the next one comes along and has completely different issues. Yeah, this one isn’t a picky eater but they have attention problems. The first two slept like champs but that third one acts like sleep is completely offensive to their person. Parenting is like a board game made up by a 6 year old who’s just throwing random rules and regulations out willy nilly. Just when you think you have a handle on the game, it changes. Lose a turn. Roll 6 to start. Do not pass go. (But definitely pay $200 to buy one of those insanely expensive lifesaving butt rocking baby holding chair things. Because even we can smell how much we need a shower here.)

           This is why veteran parents with multiple children always look like they’ve been put through the wringer. They’re fighting multiple battles with multiple children on multiple different fronts. You can read all the parenting books that you want and it’s never going to prepare you for the uniquely specific way that your children are going to torture you. And yes, they WILL torture you. Lost sleep, stress, worrying, contests of wills, tears, and tantrums (mostly theirs but occasionally yours) will be enough to keep you second guessing yourself at every turn. This is why moms lie in bed at night wondering if they’ve done the right thing (probably), if they’re causing their child to need therapy later in life (yes), if they’re really teaching them life lessons (also yes), and if it’s possible to ever have a worry-free night of sleep ever again (unequivocally no).

            It’s a marvel though, just  amazing the personalities that these little beings carry inside them from such a small age. Each one unique. Each one special. Each one with one mom hot button they can push to get her from 0 to 60 in 3 seconds flat. I’m pretty sure that this is a mini course they take in the womb. There they are, just floating around in all their amniotic glory, bored out of their skull. What a perfect time to brush up on some newborn skills. Let’s see: Using the same cry to mean multiple things to confuse parents 101, how to sleep in one hour increments for beginners, finding the quickest route to piss your parents off for dummies…sign me up! So they sleep deprive us, make us their slaves for the first few years, and basically wrap us around their finger from that first milky eyed newborn glance.

<Checks playbook>

“Nope, that sounds about right.”

            And it’s downhill from there. Because not only are we getting on the job parenting training, but everyone always wants to offer (usually unsolicited) advice at our obvious parental ineptitude. (Eye roll) Yet no one is immune to the unsolicited advice because us parents have been there in the trenches. We know. And we just want to tell you what worked for us in the hopes that maybe our kids aren’t the only weirdos who had to have a mam pacifier chilled in the fridge for 10 minutes before being rocked to bed while being sung ACDC’s “Back in Black”. We want you to know that the parent network is out there, ready to lend you all the useless tips that only probably only work on our specific blend of DNA, though we keep hoping some of these tips and tricks may be able to be passed onto other frustrated, bleary eyed parents.

                I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone. We’re all out here screwing our kids up too, even though we have the best of intentions. On the upside, at least we know that they’ll be able to find friends to commiserate about when they need to vent about their wacko parents who never understood them at all. You know, just like we did with our own parents.

 

             

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My Name is Bohnnd, Jaimz Bohnnd

     Parenting is hard. I mean sure, it is “super rewarding” (if you can survive the first 18 years) but it’s definitely not an easy feat raising kids. The first trial comes before they even arrive: picking a name.

    Now, there are several hurdles to successfully completing this process. The first is both parents being able to agree on one name. If you want to know how many people traumatized you over the course of your life, this is when you find out.

Him: Catherine?

Her: Ugh, I went to school with a Catherine and she was a real witch. I’m pretty sure they based that movie “Mean Girls” on her. What about Nathaniel?

Him: Remember the Uncle that I had that always used to get drunk and pass out in snowbanks at the Christmas party? His name was Nathaniel. What about Allison?

Her: No, I dated an Allison in college.

Him: Realllyyy??? Why haven’t I heard about this before now?

    The second is the commonality factor. This is how comfortable you are with naming your child something “common”. This wasn’t too big of a problem until the last few decades. Now parents seem determined to give their kids “unique” names, names that “stand out in the crowd”. The irony of this is that no kid has EVER wanted to stand out in a crowd. In fact, they pray for the obscurity to blend in and just be another faceless, ordinary kid. They would rather NOT have that spot light on them, thank you very much. (Has anyone done a study on the correlation of the rising anxiety in our children to parents naming their kids after random nouns? Hmmm…..) Parents who give their kids unique names usually end up with things like “Moon Goddess” or “Rocket Pilot” or “Apple”. (Yeah, I’m looking at you Gwyneth.)

    The third obstacle is the spelling factor. This is when parents want to give their kids a normal name, but then un-normal it by spelling it uniquely. This, too, falls into the same category for kids. Not only do they not want to be unique, you are now condemning them to a life full of correcting people on how to pronounce their name. So someone who likes the name Michael but thinks that’s too traditional may choose to spell it Mykel. Jason becomes Jayceson. Emily becomes Emmalee. And that’s if you don’t have someone trying to be clever about their naming. Like: SSSST which is pronounced Forrest. (Insert eye roll here) Or JKMNO, pronounced “Noelle”. (Eye roll so large my eyes almost fell out)

    There’s also only a 43% chance that people will spell their name correctly, resulting in a lifetime of frustration and correction. I speak from experience. I have spent my entire life telling people how to spell my name. It was even spelled wrong in one of my school yearbooks. Do you know how sad it is when your own school can’t even spell your name? And my name isn’t even that odd, it just has the lesser common of the 2 spellings for my name. TWO CHOICES and people still can’t get it right. And you expect them to pick from one of the 42 new combinations that 2022 offers? Good luck with that.

    The last hurdle is the bullying factor. It’s tragic that we even have to think about this, honestly. This is when you try to think of all the ways that your kids can be picked on or bullied by their name. Is it bully-proof? As much as you want to think that kids are innocent angels sent from the heavens above (and sometimes they are) the cold, hard reality is that kids can be evil assholes and torment you with enough force that the trauma of picking on your last name in middle school can linger well into your 40’s and cause flashbacks of a time when you were targeted for none other than your name. Something you didn’t even have a voice in so why it’s fodder for humiliation is beyond me. But the scars that those little jerks cause are no less painful because of how little control you had over choosing your moniker. (Not that that statement was specific enough to indicate that I have personal experience or anything.)

    While trying to bully proof your baby name, it may be difficult to put yourself in this juvenile mindset, you know, being a super mature adult and all. In order to properly prepare yourself for the cruelty only youth can perpetuate, I suggest watching films such as the aforementioned Mean Girls, Heathers, or Carrie. And lest you think that the female persuasion are the only ones with a dominant bullying gene, I present to you Back to the Future, the Karate Kid, and of course, the ever popular freckled face ginger from “A Christmas Story”. (These movies, when watched in succession, may also be a very good deterrent for having children at all, so please view in moderation.)

    If you are in the process of percolating new life (or married to the percolator), I hope you have found these tips helpful. But if not, just please, for the love of all that's Holy, don't name your kid after fruit.