Shake-N-Bake

                           
My marriage right now is boring. Bo-to-the-ring. It's like a Shake-N-Bake chicken dinner

    It's okay. It's not bad, it's actually quite tasty. But it's boring. It COULD be a chicken cordon bleu
                         
but I forgot to thaw out the chicken and there wasn't enough prep time. Is this metaphor making any sense at all?

We've been together for almost 16 years, we've been married 14 and a half years. It's expected. Sometimes things get boring. There were years of our marriage where we barely looked at each other. We waved from across the dinner table because work/kids/life was so hectic. That's okay. EVERY marriage is like that. It goes up and down, up and down. If you have never looked over at your spouse and thought, My God! We're stuck together for the rest of our LIVES?!?! then you haven't been married long enough. But you're not allowed to say that. We've bought into this silly lie that marriage is supposed to be this fairy-tale where everything is great all the time and it's exciting, and there are flowers showing up at your door every week, and you're ripping each other's clothes off all the time. Marriage is cleaning socks, and waking each other up at 2 am because one of your kids have vomited, it's going through bills at the dining room table, and sitting together on the couch wearing sweatpants. Mostly, it's not glamorous. Sometimes, it's a lot of work. Sometimes it's amazing and beautiful. Sometimes, it's just boring.

My husband has been traveling a lot the past few months, so he'll be gone for 2 weeks, home for 10 days, gone for 2 weeks, home for 10 days....

I miss him when he's gone and we try to connect on the phone as much as possible. It was really hard this last go-round because he was in California and working long hours. By the time he was done work, I was asleep. So we existed on random text messages and phone calls on the weekend. He came back 5 days before Christmas. It was the best gift. The kids were so happy to see him.

That evening, he took the kids to StarWars and I unpacked his bags and did laundry. Don't feel bad for me, I preferred it. I am not a StarWars fan. As a matter of fact, I hate StarWars and I'd rather pull out my eyelashes than waste 2 hours of my life watching StarWars. It's just who I am.

That night when he got home, we laid in bed and had a chat. We discussed one of our biggest issues-the fact that our children are always around and that we never have time alone. It's bullshit and I'm tired of it. When there are kids always around and awake you can't ever play the piano when you want to play the piano and when you do it's not Beethoven's 5th. It's like playing chopsticks frantically and quietly-in the dark. It's truly a sad state of affairs. It makes for Shake-N-Bake marriages.
"From now on - everyday, we are going to go into our room and lock the door for a whole hour. No kids allowed. One full hour," I said.
He looked at me suspiciously.
                        
"Yes, yes we can. We're doing it. The kids can fend for themselves for an hour in the evening." It's true. They can fix themselves food, perform every task they need to perform, they both have cell phones to call 911 if the house catches on fire. We are basically gloried chauffeurs at this point. We financially support them and remind them to do their homework. That's about it.
"But what if they suspect something?" he asked.
"I don't care. I'm tired of going to insane lengths to pretend that we never play the piano. Besides, we don't even have to play the piano. We can just watch a show, or hang out or whatever without the kids being around. We need to train them that sometimes we need time alone and if the door is locked, they need to leave us alone."
"It's not going to work," he said.
"It will."

The next night, after dinner and showers we kissed the kids and told them that we were locking the door to our bedroom and not to bother us. They looked at us suspiciously.
                           
"We are starting something new. It's called mom-and-dad alone time and from now on, that is how it's going to be everyday."
My 10 year old shrugged and gave us a look that said, I don't care about you bitches. My 12 year old was super upset about it.
                
"You better not do anything GROSS!" she declared. Excuse me? Who does she think she is?

We went into our room and locked the door. Then we waited. We heard screaming in the hallway. The girls were fighting with each other. My husband gave me the look.
No. "Screw it. Let them fight until the death. We are not going to open that door. It's their scheme," I assured him.
We didn't intervene and before long, the screaming stopped. A few minutes later - I saw the shadow of feet underneath the crack of our door. Then, my 12 year old yelled, "What are you guys doing in there?"
Oh, what the f**k.
"Nothing. Go away!!!"
"I need a towel."
"There are towels in your bathroom."
"They aren't clean."
"There are clean ones in the dryer."
"But I want the striped one. It's in your room."
"NO. GO AWAY! IT'S MOM-AND-DAD-ALONE TIME!!!! We are NOT going to open that door for 42 more minutes."
"I HATE you guys," she said before stomping off.

I would say it's working out pretty well. It's been over a week and the kids have stopped bothering us, but my 12 year old is still not happy. Every time we have mom-and-dad alone time she's like
             

But mom-and-dad alone time is not just for piano playing. It's for legitimately having alone time together to re-connect. The other night we were having mom-and-dad alone time and I was telling my husband that for the New Year I wanted us to do the Marriage Challenge.
"What's that? It sounds like a lot of work. Isn't marriage the challenge?"
"No. It's like you do a different thing together everyday. One day you send a flirty text, the next day you do a date night, the next day you write down things you like about each other...."
He laughed. "I guess, whatever."
Then he started telling me about wing chun, which is this martial arts thing. "How do you know so much about wing chun?" I asked.
"I study it. I watch videos about wing chun, I read about it."
"Whoa! I didn't know that. That can be part of the marriage challenge. Tell each other something that the other person doesn't know about them."
"What is something I don't know about you?" he asked, interested.

I thought and thought and thought. "I really like lemons. I use lemon juice in my rice, I prefer desserts with lemon. I just am obsessed with lemon."
"I already knew that."
Damnit! I thought and thought and thought. "Okay. Once, when I was 8 years old, I was playing outside and I had to go to the bathroom. I was playing a game so I was holding it in. When I finally went, it was an emergency. I ran inside and when I sat down, I peed like a gallon. Except that the toilet seat was down and so I peed all over the toilet seat and onto the floor. That actually happened."
"Dude! You've told me that story like, a million times."
Damnit! I thought and thought and thought. I had a good one. "Sometimes, I pick my nose."

Yeah, I said it. Sometimes, I do. I'm not ashamed. Of course, it's not my preferred method but sometimes you just have to do it. Not compulsively, not a lot. But once in a while, it happens. Everyone picks their nose. If you are reading this right now, you've picked your nose at some point this month. If God didn't want you to pick your nose, he would have made your nostrils smaller than your fingers. Even Queen Elizabeth picks her nose.
                                                
If it's good enough for the Queen, it's good enough for me. Everyone picks their nose at some point, it's what you choose to do next that defines you as a person.

I was confident that I had finally told my husband something he didn't know about me. He looked at me like I was insane. "Not ONLY do I know that you do it, you like to describe your boogers to me. You say shit like, That was a really crusty one or You should have seen how green it was."

NO! That just can't be. I am a disgusting animal. "How can you love me?"
             

I still was yet to figure out something he doesn't know about me. Then, I got it! "When the Powerball goes over $100 million, I buy one ticket. Probably, once a month."
"Are you telling me you're a compulsive gambler?"
"No! It's only $2 a month. I pay with change I collect in my ashtray. Sometimes I will also treat myself to a gas station fountain drink. It's my dirty secret. I'm embarrassed about it."
"Well, have you ever won?"
"Like, $7 one time."
"I didn't know that about you!"

SCORE! I did it! I embarrassed myself a lot in the process, but that's the story of my life.

"See, that's a marriage challenge thing. We can do trust falls, we can put that in the challenge...."
"What's a trust fall?" he asked.
"You don't know what a trust fall is?"

I stood up. "Okay, now get behind me. I'm going to fall backwards and you're going to catch me."
I lifted my arms up and let myself fall. He caught me. "For a second, I considered just stepping aside and letting you fall," he said with a smile.

"But you didn't, and that's why it's a trust fall. Now it's your turn."
He stood in front of me. Then he turned around and looked me up and down. "This is not a good idea. I'm going to kill you. You might die."
My husband is a big man, and I am a tiny, petite woman. I scoffed. "No way! I'll catch you."
He laughed, "This is going to end badly."
"Come on! It'll be fun."
He could't do it. He tried but he could't. We were hysterically laughing. "Come on!"
"No! I'm scared."
"If I fall, the bed is behind me. It'll be fine. That's why it's called a trust fall."
"You are going to be crushed!!!"
"No! I'm going to catch you."
"You cannot catch me!"
"My love is going to catch you."

He lifted his arms up and fell back into me. I tried to catch him. It didn't work. We fell onto the bed, he crushed me. We laughed so hard that tears came down our cheeks. "I would say that went well," I said between giggles.

That's what we do during mom-and-dad alone time- talk about nose picking and practice trust falls. That's how we take things to the next level. We're spicing up this Shake-N-Bake marriage...

Christmas is Over

                                 
Another Christmas has come and gone. I'm not that sad about it. I'll basically blink and it will be Christmastime 2017.

We had a nice holiday. I host Christmas dinner for my family so it's a pretty busy time. I cook and clean for 3 days straight. I mean, that's what I always do everyday - I just was doing more of it than usual. We had a quiet Christmas Eve. I made shrimp scampi, which is our tradition. I've had shrimp scampi for Christmas Eve dinner the past 25 years, without fail. Then we watched A Christmas Story and ate fresh baked cookies and milk. The kids roasted marshmallows and wienies in the fireplace. It was damn near 70 degrees that day so I turned down the air conditioning so that we could enjoy a fire. That's Christmas in the South.

We set out cookies and milk for Santa. The kids weren't that into it. They know. My youngest still won't admit it- but she knows. We sent them up to bed and my husband and I watched vintage Christmas cartoons while we waited for the kids to go to sleep. Oh my goodness! Cartoons were so f*cked up in the 30s and 40s. This Jack Frost cartoon was out of control. "I think I'm going to have nightmares tonight," I told my husband.

Once we confirmed the children were asleep, we got to work playing Santa. My first job was to pack the damn Elf on the Shelf away. It brought me so much joy. I stuffed that little MFer back into his box and was like
                                    
Next year, I'm making the kids move him for ME. It's their turn!

Then we got out the gifts and arranged them under the tree. We have our 4 gift rule for the kids, so it didn't seem like very much but I was confident that they would be happy in the morning. We ate Santa's cookies, chewed the carrots, and drank the milk and then headed to bed.

My 10 year old woke us up at...4:10 am. "It's Christmas!" she exclaimed. No, just no. "You can lay with us but you HAVE to go back to sleep. It's much too early." She crawled into bed with us and fell back asleep until 7 am on.the.dot. "Wake up! Can we open presents?!?!"

Of course! We dragged ourselves out of bed and the kids went through their stockings while I put the french toast in the oven, built a fire and put on some music. Then we opened gifts. My kids are so funny about the Christmas gift-opening process. There is no free-for-all and paper flying everywhere. They take turns opening gifts and watch each other. They opened their gifts and were appreciative. I had them open their last gift together. I got them Twenty One Pilots concert tickets and they FREAKED out. They LOVE Twenty One Pilots.

The show isn't until February but they started advertising the concert in June of this year. I knew right away that I would take them but my husband thought it was a little too extravagant to just buy them concert tickets, especially because I had just taken them to go see Panic at the Disco. So we decided that we would buy the tickets and give them as their big Christmas gift. I purchased them the day they went on sale in July.

Well, these asshole kids have been BEGGING me to go to this concert. Not just begging - pleading and crying. "Please mom! Please! They might not ever come again. We love them SOOOOOO much!!! Please!"
I'd have to come up with excuses, "It's too expensive. It's on a Sunday night. I heard they say the F word...."
It's been exhausting to keep up this charade. One day my 12 year old came home from school so bummed. She flopped down on the couch and pouted. "What's wrong?"
"The Twenty One Pilots concert is sold out," she said. She had been holding onto hope that I would change my mind. Then, she wept for 10 minutes. I felt terrible about it.

So - the tickets were the highlight of their Christmas morning. It was a big deal and it made me so happy.  After presents, we had breakfast together and then I cooked all day. We had family and friends for dinner and enjoyed each other's company. It was an all-around awesome day. That night I packed up all the leftovers. I went a little overboard. We had so much food leftover - seriously, 10 pounds of ham, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, rolls, mac and cheese, crab dip, glazed carrots....

The next morning we came downstairs and surveyed the damage. My husband said, "It looks like we had a frat party here." I got straight to work, cleaning up and taking down Christmas decorations.

I am so funny. On December 26th, I'm like, "Christmas is over!" I'm done with it, over it. Jesus has been born. I'm tired of red and green. It all comes down. My Christmas tree was on the curb by 1 pm on December 26th. I cleaned and scrubbed and put up my New Years stuff. All was right with the world.

That evening, my kids asked me what was for dinner. "Ham," I replied. "But we had ham for dinner yesterday," they protested. "Yes, and we are having ham for dinner tonight, and tomorrow for lunch, and tomorrow for dinner, and lunch after that....until we eat all the ham." I am refusing to go grocery shopping. They WILL suck it up and eat left overs.

Today, my husband had to go back to work. I woke up early and made him breakfast and when he left for work, I took down the lights out front and cleaned my garage. I was feeling so accomplished. My kids were still sleeping and I was unencumbered. I had my headphones in, and I was listening to Busta Rhymes and breaking down boxes like a champion.

My phone began to ring. I pulled it out and saw an incoming call from my 10 year old. She'd finally woken up.
"Mom, where are you?"
"I'm cleaning out the garage."
"Oh. I'm going to need you to come make me breakfast."

               
"No. I am cleaning the garage. You can fix yourself breakfast," I replied. The child is capable. I don't know who she thinks she is.
"But we don't have anything to eat!" she protested.
"We have ham," I replied.
*CLICK*

Now that Christmas is over, my decorations are packed up and my lights are taken down, I can focus on not becoming a better person in the New Year. Yay for 2017!

Going to See Santa

Last year, I waited until Christmas Eve to take the kids to see Santa. It was a 2 hour wait and we decided that it wasn't worth it to wait in line. I failed. This year, I was going to do better and take the kids the week before Christmas. I wanted to buy them Christmas sweaters or cute shirts, so early this week we went to Target to find something.

My youngest child was not cooperating. She was rolling her eyes and generally being miserable. She didn't like anything except for a pajama shirt that said, All I Want for Christmas is Sleep.
"I'm not buying you a pajama shirt to wear for our Santa picture and also, they only have one shirt and it's a women's medium. That's not going to fit you."
"Well, I like big shirts."
          
My oldest picked out a beautiful dress. I asked my youngest if she would like a matching dress. "No. I like this one better," she said, pointing to a black and red plaid dress. So I got it. Then on the ride home she told me, "I'm not going to wear that dress. I just said I like it better than the other dress."
"Oh - you're going to wear that dress."
"No, I'm NOT."

The past 3 days we've been having an argument about going to see Santa - that she's not going to wear the dress and that going to see Santa is stupid, ect. This is my youngest child. My oldest has been completely fine about the whole thing. What the hell?

So yesterday was the day we were supposed to go see Santa. I woke up in a good mood. I made grilled cheese sandwiches and sliced pears for lunch. I was listening to Christmas music. My 10 year old had to burst my bubble. "I'm not wearing the dress."
"Come on. Just for half an hour. I do a lot for you. Just do this one thing for me. I just want a picture of you."
"No. I'm not going to do it. I'm not wearing the dress and I'm not going."
"You are going and you are wearing the dress."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
It became a screaming match. Finally, I thought. Why am I doing this? So what if she does agree to go? She's going to be miserable and ruin our time.
"Just stay here."
She looked at me suspiciously.
"Give me your phone. I'm disconnecting the Wifi, too."
"WHAT?!!? That's not fair!!!!"
"Life isn't fair."
I left her ass. Bye Felicia. My 12 year old said, "I'm getting my own picture?"
"Yes. I'm pretending that I have an only child this year. One day we are going to look through our pictures and I will have to explain to your sister's children why she's not in the picture." I hope her kids are terrible. I'm going to laugh and laugh.

We walked into the mall at 1:03 pm and walked up to the Santa station. There was a big sign that said Santa feeds his reindeer from 1-2 pm everyday.                            
               
We walked around for a while. I watched my daughter smell every lotion in Bath and Body Works. Every single one. We went to Annie Anns and I stuffed my disgusting face with carbs.

Then we headed back to see Santa. There was already a line forming. My daughter was strangely excited for this event considering she knows Santa isn't real. "Can we go see Santa every year until I go to college?"
"Sure."
She continued, "Next year I'll be in 8th grade, then the year after that I'll be in high school and then 4 years after that, I'm moving out of your house."
"Good," I replied, "I'm tired of supporting you financially."
The woman standing next to us whipped her head around and gave me the dirtiest look.
              
                   
I wanted to give her the finger. She was standing there with her only child, an 18 month old. I know what she was thinking: You are a horrible mother! How can you say that to your child? How could you want your precious offspring to grow up and LEAVE YOU? How can you complain about financially supporting your children? That is your responsibility. You should do it with love. I will never say something so cold and callous like that to my children.

Guess what lady? You don't know what the fuck you are talking about. First of all, I was just kidding. Take a joke. Second of all, you don't even know what's in store for you. Your kid isn't old enough to be an asshole yet. Don't get me wrong, 18 month olds can definitely act like assholes but they don't do it on purpose. I didn't know either. I was a clueless asshole, too. Now pick up your kid's sippy cup, turn around and mind your own damn business.

We were almost to the front, where they had the picture packages posted. I thought I was blind. This cannot be. The cheapest package was $23 for two 4X6 pictures. What the actual hell? With tax it would be almost $25. That is a QUARTER OF A HUNDRED DOLLARS for a picture with Santa. Seriously, even if it was $15, they would be making a 400% profit. I am all for capitalism but that is jut disgraceful. Parents are out here trying to put food on the table, clothes on the back of their kids, put dinner on the table and the fucking mall is charging them a QUARTER OF A HUNDRED DOLLARS for a TINY picture with Santa. That is just unacceptable. Jesus is angry right now. Jesus is angry that you're taking your kid to see Santa too, maybe but he's definitely angry that these people are greedy.
                           

I didn't want to do it, just on principle - but my sweet daughter had dressed up and waited in line for 40 minutes. I had to do it.

We got up to the front and the lady asked what package we wanted.
"Is this $23 package the cheapest one?" I asked. I was holding onto hope that they had some secret $15 picture deal they weren't advertising.
The lady looked at me like I was some kind of cheap asshole. "Yes," she replied. BOO.

Then she looked my daughter up and down and said, "You don't sit on Santa's lap. You sit next to him."
My daughter nodded and walked over and sat down next to him. She smiled for the picture and while I paid, she chatted with him. He gave her a little paper elf hat and told her to have a Merry Christmas.

She kept the paper elf hat on her head as we walked out of the mall. She is at this weird age where she can't decide if she wants to be a grown up or a little kid. Like, she wants to kiss boys and wear makeup but she also wants to hug teddy bears and color. It's so funny to watch.

"What did Santa say to you?" I asked
"Well, he asked me what grade I was in and I said seventh. Then he asked me what my favorite subject was in school and I told him ELA and Literature. Then he asked me what I want to be when I grow up and I told him I want to be a band director. Then he asked what instrument I played and I told him the flute and then he said, 'Not many people can do that'. Then he patted me on the back to get up and said 'Merry Christmas'."
"Did he ask you what you wanted for Christmas?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No! He didn't even ask me if I was good this year! I think he thought I was too old for Santa." She was offended.
"You are too old for Santa," I laughed.
"But I'm still a small child." This kid is a hot mess.
"Oh well, your mom gets all your presents anyway, so you should just tell me what you want for Christmas."
"You already know."
"I'm not getting you a $55 sweatshirt, just so you know."
"Thanks, mom."

When I got home, I put the $23 picture in the Santa frame. Later that evening, when my 10 year old came downstairs, I pointed at it and said, "Look at how pretty your sister looks in her Santa picture. I'll be she's not getting coal." Worst Mom Ever. Bad Mom Award.

That Queef Story

 
As you can tell from the previous posts, it was a rough week. I've been ill, the kids were down in the dumps, my husband was 3,000 miles away, my dog had diarrhea in the living room.... You know, the usual.

On Thursday, I dropped off Thing 2 at gymnastics and went home to fix dinner. My 12 year old greeted me at the door with a big hug. "I was looking at your grades today and your pre-algebra grade is 5 points higher than last semester. That's awesome!"
"Can we go get ice cream cones from Sonic tonight?" she asked, with pleading eyes.
                                     
That sounded like a great idea. We needed an outing. "Tell you what - come with me to pick up your sister from practice and we can go get ice cream cones and then drive around the neighborhood and look at Christmas lights and listen to Christmas music."

She was so excited. I was glad. That evening, she got in the car with me and we went to retrieve my youngest. She was pleased with the plan. Traffic was backed up on our way to Sonic. We decided to play "A My Name Is" to pass the time. My kids LOVE that game. It's a word game where you go down the alphabet and name yourself, your spouse, where you live and what you sell.

For example, the first person would say, "A my name is Anita and my husband's name is Albert. We live in Alabama and we sell alligators." Then the next person might say, "B my name is Betty and my husbands name is Benjamin. We live in Bethesda and we sell bicycles." You take turns until you get through the alphabet. We were driving along, playing the game and laughing. We get to the letter "Q" and it's my 12 year old's turn. She begins, "Q my name is Queenie and my husband's name is Queef...." I was stunned.
            
She looked at me like nothing was wrong. "What?"
"Where did you hear that word?"
"Some kids at school. What's the big deal?"
Of course. They're all a bunch of perverts- the whole lot of them.
"That's not a word that you just use. Do you know what it means?"
She looked curious now. "No. What does it mean?"

I have the kind of relationship with my kids where nothing is off the table. We can talk about anything and I will always answer their questions honestly and age appropriately. I worked at the Health Department for 5 years, nothing shocks me or makes me uncomfortable. So, I did it. I told them the definition of queef.

They laughed and laughed and thought it was the most hilarious and absurd thing that they ever heard. Once they got control of themselves, I told her to try again. "Q my name is Queenie and my husband's name is Quentin. We live in Queensland and we sell..." She paused for a moment while she tried to think of something that begins with the letter Q. Then she said, "And we sell queef stoppers."

I know I shouldn't have laughed; I'm a mother for God's sake. But I did. They were uncontrollable. "That's not even a thing. Let's have some decency now." My 12 year old was wiping the tears from her eyes. "Just kidding, we sell quilts."

We ate our ice cream cones and then drove back to our neighborhood. The moon was HUGE that night and we admired it. My 10 year old said, "Oh! I have a song for this!" She put on "Nine in the Afternoon" and the three of us sang it at the top of our lungs, "It's 9 in the afternoon and your eyes are the size of the moon!!!!" Because of these kids, I know every shitty Panic at the Disco song (and Twenty One Pilots, Melanie Martinez, Halsey). I didn't mind it so much that night.

Then, we drove through the neighborhood and admired the lights and listened to Christmas carols. Everyone was in a good mood, the kids kept teasing me for not knowing where I was going, we laughed and the atmosphere was light. It was seriously the best night ever. It was like exhaling after holding your breath underwater. All the crap from the week started to melt away. It was just me and my girls and all was right with the world.

Falling Down

               
I don't brag on my children often enough. Mostly because it's obnoxious and no one cares. But today, in the midst of of horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad week; I'm going to brag on my kids.

My youngest daughter is a gymnast. Gymnastics is her life. Four days a week, I pick her up from school and I drive her straight to the gym. She puts up her hair and eats a snack on the way there. She practices for 3-3.5 hours depending on the day. She comes home, eats dinner, does homework and goes to bed.

It is so physically demanding. There are some days that she takes a hot shower and I message the knots out of her back and shoulders. I rub her down with Bengay. Some days she comes home with rips on the palms of her hands. She has 5 right now. Sometimes, when gymnasts work on bars, the skin on their palms literally just rips open and bleeds.
                                                 
We wash them, put antibiotics on them and do hot tea compresses. Still, she practices bars.

When she broke her finger in July, the doctor told her that she had to stay off her hand for 10 weeks and she was devastated. She could not train on vault, bars or do any tumbling. She went to practice anyway- conditioned to keep her muscles strong and did what she could. Once she was cleared, she has worked hard to play catch up. She just moved up levels and had new skills to master. Bars have been a challenge for her. She fell from the high bar quite a few times. She's doing private lessons now just for bars. She does gymnastics 13 hours a week.

You NEVER hear her complain. NEVER. She loves it, would do 7 days a week if she could. In addition to her grueling training schedule she somehow manages to pull straight A's. I don't understand how she does it. I tease her when she brings home her grades. "Really? You only got a 102 on this test? You should have gotten a 105! How are you ever going to get in college with grades like these?"

This past weekend, she had a competition. She is not competing in bars right now, which means she is taking a 0 in that event. There are 4 events - it is a quarter of the score. So, she knows by default her overall ranking is going to low or last. You have to get a near perfect scores in all other events.

She went out there and tried her very best. I thought she did great. She's really improved and I was crazy proud of her. Her scores were good, but not fantastic. When they did awards, she didn't place in any events (which she is not used to). When they ranked over all, she was in last place. The very last slot.

We watched her standing there up there, which her chest out and her chin up but with a look of humiliation and defeat. I could feel my heart sink into my stomach.

We met up with her afterward, and she was silent. She is not a crier when she gets upset. She gets angry. We sat down in the car and no one said anything for a while. At last, I said, "I thought you did really good. I'm proud of you."
She put her head down and talked quietly, "You have to say that because you're my mom. I let my team down. I'm not any good."
                                  
"That's not true! You just moved up, you're playing catch up from your injury. You're a good gymnast. You have a lot more competitions."
"Just don't talk, mom," she yelled. Then, she proceeded to stare out the window listlessly. I was emotionally disturbed.

We picked up Jimmy Johns for dinner (she LOVES Jimmy Johns) and went home. I let her be. She ate, took a shower and got into her pajamas. Later, she came into my room. She was hurting. She climbed into bed with me.
"How are you doing, baby?"
"I'm okay."
"Wanna watch your videos from the competition?"
She shrugged. "Sure."
We watched them and was so hard on herself. "I bent my leg here, didn't land that good, that dismount is terrible!"
I closed my computer and she sighed, "I'm going to have to work on this, this, this, and this...."
My heart ached. "There are many gymnasts who will never know what it's like to stand at the top podium. You have been very lucky. You've had a lot of challenges this season. Keep going. You can do it!"
I don't know if she was convinced but she gave me a half hug and went to bed. Then when practice rolled around the following week, she walked into the gym confidently. To push herself harder, to do better, to try again.

I am so impressed by her. By her ability to get physically, mentally and emotionally beat up regularly and just keep moving. She is strong as hell. She is fierce. I love her so much. I know before long she will be swinging from that top bar like it's nothing. I'm going to be cheering her on from the stands!

It's not been a better week for my 12 year old. She is all about music and band. In between gymnastics runs, I am shuttling her home from band practice. She is always playing her flute. She has been preparing for all-county auditions. I found myself last week humming the audition solo. That's how much I hear it. I've had to institute a no-flute playing policy in the car. It sounds good but it so LOUD. "Can I just finger the keys then?" she asked.

When she is not playing the flute, I have to hear about the flute. About how much she wants a new piccolo, about the new classical music piece she's discovered. She has grown very fond of classical music and orchestras. I'll go into her bedroom in the evening and she'll be on the floor with paper's all around her and headphones shoved in her ears. "Whatcha doing?"
She'll look up at me and say, "Just finishing homework and listening to some Bach."
Not something you would expect to come out of a seventh grader.

The audition day came around and she cried afterward and told me she bombed it. She over exaggerates, so I wasn't sure. "Let's just wait and see," I told her. That pacified her.

I found out before she did and I locked myself in my bathroom and had a good cry for 1/2 an hour. I knew she would be devastated. The results were to be posted at school right before lunch so I brought a pizza and took it to school to have lunch with her that day. I sat at the back of the cafeteria with a knot in my stomach, waiting. She walked through the door with tears streaming down her face. I pulled her out into the hallway and she collapsed into me. I had to hold her up as she sobbed. She is my crier. I think to say she was devastated is an understatement. We stayed out there for what seemed like a long time. I didn't say anything. I just let her cry. Then I told her to go into the bathroom and wash off her face. We went in to eat our pizza.

She didn't say much, she pouted and took small bites. She told me how disappointed she was and that she was embarrassed. What can you say? I don't tell my kids that it's okay. Because it wasn't okay. It was painful. "You'll get through this. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or next week but eventually you will. You just had a bad audition - that doesn't mean that you're a bad musician. Heck! Micheal Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team."
"Can you please take me home?" she asked.
"Yes." I did, I signed her out. She would have been worthless at school the rest of the day, anyway.

We drove home in silence. She stared out the window, despondent and wiped tears from her cheeks. I was dying inside.

She went up to her room for a while and then came out in her pajamas. She came in and sat on the edge of my bed. She was puffy and looked completely empty. "I just want to go to sleep."
"You can, baby. Lay down."

She slept for a while. I woke her up to tell her I was leaving to pick up her sister and take her to gymnastics. "Don't leave me. Can I come with you?"

We dropped off her sister and then she asked if we could got to Starbucks. "I need chocolate and caffeine."
"Me too! This week has been horrible. It's been like shitty McShitShit."
"Yea! Today sucks. It's the worst EVER!"
We chuckled. It really has been terrible.

She had dance that evening and even though she REALLY didn't want to go, she put on her tights and leotard and went. She was in better spirits when I picked her up. She chatted excitedly about a new dance she learned and her friends.

I went into her room before bed that night and I laid down next to her and played with her hair.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm okay."
"You ready for school tomorrow?"
"I guess."
"You will get through this. You just had a bad audition, not a bad life. You walk into school tomorrow with your head held high and if anyone tells you that they feel bad for you-you smile back and them and you tell them "Don't." You turn your disappointment into hunger-to do better and to work harder. Be strong, and be fierce!"
She smiled, "I'm going to do it."
"And I know it's super hard but be happy for the people who did get in. It's good juju."
"Like juju on that beat?"
Then she said something that I did not expect. "I'm going to go to the concert and cheer them on."
I was like, Whoa! You don't need to do that. That's going a little overboard.
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Yes. I just had a bad audition but a lot of my friends did get in and I want to watch them perform and support them."
THAT- ladies and gentleman- is what you call a class act. She may be my crier but she is STRONG and above everything else, she is kind. I love this child so much.
Then, she added, "Can we bring cute high school band boy with us? He might want to go too."
Cute high school band boys make everything better.

The next day, when I pulled in front of the school, I gave her a big smile. "Hold your head high and BE FIERCE!" She gave me a smirk and a nod.

It is so hard to see your kids struggle. To see them deal with defeat, disappointment, heart-break, self-doubt; to know that there is nothing you can do to take it away. When they were babies I thought it was HARD. The sleepless nights, the monotony of life. But this is what is REALLY hard - the helplessness of being a parent of older children. To not be able to fix and take away their pain... and it is only going to get harder from here.

This is life. Life is full of loss and disappointment. I mean, get used to the taste of shit because life will serve you one shit sandwich after the other -guaranteed! They have to go through these times to grow as people, to learn to cope, to develop a sense of humor and mild depression like everyone else. You can't appreciate the good times without the bad.

It is easy to be proud of your children when they are doing well. When they bring home awards, and accolades and straight A's. It's easy to be proud when they are winning. I am proud of them always. Even when they are losing, even when they are last last place. To see them fall down but pick themselves up and keep marching forward, to watch them walk through their losses and disappointments with the commitment to do better and not give up, to smile even when things seem bleak - THAT is a reason to brag and be proud. Damnit! I am.

I love these girls and can't wait to see what they'll do next.

What is Happening?

             
We are on day 10 of my husband being in California. I thought I was handling things pretty well. I've been holding in down. We had an exceptionally busy weekend. I woke up on Sunday morning feeling a little under the weather. I was congested and my throat was a little sore. I took some medicine, had a cup of tea and went about my day. I went to bed that night feeling okay.

I woke up in the middle of the night terribly congested and with a pounding headache. I was too tired to get out of bed and actually do something about it so I just laid there and fell back asleep. I was up again at 5 am and couldn't fall asleep, so I decided to get up and take some medicine. I boiled a pot of water and took my temperature. I had a low grade fever and my body ached. The bones in my face were so sore and I had a pounding headache. It seems that I'd developed a full blown sinus infection. In addition, this small pimple that I had above my lip had become a large monster-zit and it was hurting. I touched it and had pain on the inside of my mouth that ran down to my chin. Uggh.

I retrieved some towels for my steam treatment and realized I was out of tissues.
     
I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and set it down beside me. I stuck my face under the towel and breathed in the steam. It felt so good-my face hurt so bad. I tried to blow my nose but was getting no relief from my congestion. I felt awful.

BUT, I'm single mom status right now and there was no time to be ill. I had to get kids up and animals fed. I woke up the children, fed the animals and made breakfasts and lunch. I went to retrieve something from the car and I realized that the Jeep had a flat tire. Like- all the way flat. The Jeep is an SUV, it's my husband car. When he's not traveling, he takes the kids to school since it's on his way to work. When he's gone, I drive the kids in his car because I drive a Kia Rio. It's a tiny little car and gets great gas mileage but we take 2 other kids to school and it's just not big enough for that many children.

I look at the tire and I see there is a nail in it. Not a problem. I'm thinking that I'll put air in the tire and it will probably have a slow leak but should get us to school and then I'll go straight to the tire store to have it plugged.

My husband has this nifty air machine that plugs into the car lighter - so I get it out and I set it up. The tire had .01 PSI. I go to turn it on and it sputtered. Then it just completely shit the bed. It won't work at all. I'm plugging and unplugging it, trying to finagle it. Nothing. It had been acting up the past few times I used it and it is 10 years old but I needed it to work SO bad. I can change the hell out of a tire but I was not about to change the tire on the Jeep and put on a doughnut when we had to leave in 20 minutes. Then there was the fact that I had a fever and sinus infection. We were going to have to take the Kia.

New plan- take the Kia, go to the store and get a new air machine, go home and fill up the tire, then go to the tire store.

I went back in the house and the kids are not ready, don't have shoes on, I can't find the cat and I'm freaking out that he snuck out when I let the dog out. I finally got everything ready to go and I announce that we're taking the Kia. The kids immediately start bitching. Story of my life.

I usher them out the door and my dog decides to make a run for it. Bolts out the door and runs down the street. I am yelling at her and trying to chase her down. She looked right at me as she took a shit in the neighbor's yard. Then she proceeded to chase a group of children who were walking to the bus stop and run in front of the debris pick-up truck. I finally got her on the leash and took her back to the house. I was livid. I was ready to give her away.

I got a bag and went to pick up her shit. I could not find it anywhere. My neighbor's yard is full of brown leaves so it must have been camouflaged. I felt terrible. I look really hard. I felt immense guilt about it.

Now, I'm ready to take the kids to school. I pick up the other two and they looked confused that I was driving the clown car. "Get in- book bags on laps, instruments on heads, no one talk to me." I was mouth breathing like a Neanderthal.

As I'm driving down the road, I developed a horrible pain in my chest. It radiated up my throat and into my jaw. I sighed and then had the following conversation with myself in my own head:

Are you having a heart attack? You better not be having a heart attack, you don't have time to deal with a heart attack. It's probably just your GERD.  If you start breaking out out in sweats and vomiting, then you might be having a heart attack and you can go the hospital. Maybe it will be one of those silent heart attacks. People have them all the time and don't even realize it. You can power through. But it's probably just your GERD.....

I drop the kids off and go buy the air machine, I went to home to blow up the tire, and drove to the tire store. I sat and waited. My chest stopped hurting - it was my reflux, after all. My zit and my face were still pounding though, so that was good.

The tire guy looked at my tire and came back. "Yeah, you have a nail in the tire and we can plug it for $17 but you really need a new tire. It's completely bald on the inside. We can get you a new tire for $110 or we can do a used tire for $66 and then you can come back within 30 days and get a new tire and we can take the $66 off the price. So, do you want a new tire or a used tire?" I just stared at him in disbelief.
                          
   "This is not happening right now," I said. Which was not an answer to his question. He looked confused. "So you want the used tire?"

I thought for a minute. Screw it, let's go balls deep, I'll just get the new tire, rotate it, spin in, diddily do-da to it, take all of my money. ALL of it. Just take it ALL. "Just give me the new tire. I'll be in the lobby crying on the inside."

After I paid my $110 dollars, I ran some required errands. Then I ordered a pizza and went home and ate the entire thing by myself.
                        
                                The whole f*cking pizza. I've lost control of my life.

My ibprofen was wearing off and I was feeling achy again. I decided to take a hot bath. I have a sunken jacuzzi tub that I NEVER use. I wipe it down once a month, otherwise it sits empty behind the closed shower curtain.

I went upstairs to the run the bath and I pull back the curtain and my tub is full of dog hair and dirt. My husband must have washed the dog before he left and not informed me. I cleaned the tub and sanitized it. As I waited for it to fill up, I leaned over the vanity to pop my pimple. It needed to be popped. It was white and hurting. This thing was so big, it's going to visit it's cousins in Indiana for Christmas.

I'm trying to pop it and then I realize that I have a mustache. I experienced a moment of self loathing. I popped this pimple but it had like 3 heads in it and I had blood, pus and white disgusting smegma-looking stuff oozing out of everywhere. Then for some reason the whole layer of skin covering this zit, completely came off. It was raw, throbbing, puss-y and gross. I sank into the hot tub with a roll of toilet paper on the ledge and I would periodically blow lime-green snot out of my nose and dab the festering ooze on my face. I'm a disgusting animal. I hate everything.

I got out of the bath and wrapped myself in a towel and laid down in bed. I don't remember what happened next but I was awoken by my getting home from school and I was wondering why I had no clothes on and what day it was. My face still hurt.

My daughter had a concert that night and I had to speak in front of 200+ people. I got up to get ready. I put ice on my disgusting face and took a million different medications. Then, I did what I do best. I put a smile on my face and pretended like everything is fine. Like a boss. Also, I didn't proofread this blog post because f*uck it, I'm in the corner sucking my thumb right now.

Mall Madness

                        
On Saturday morning, I went to our city's parade to watch my oldest march. I was carrying my lounge chair and walking up the road when I ran into a friend of my youngest daughter. She ran over and hugged me and then said, "Your daughter said you were taking us to the mall today. Thank you so much!" I was like, "What?!?!?!" That was the first time I heard that. I like how my kids just make plans without consulting me.

We had a very busy day planned but I relented and told her that we could go in the evening. When my older daughter caught wind of this plan she asked if she could have 2 friends come to the mall with us. Why not? The more the merrier.

I followed them into the mall begrudgingly. I hate the mall. I probably only enter the mall a handful of times a year. Usually when my kids have money to spend. I just hate shopping in general. I don't enjoy it. It doesn't make me happy. I can name 300 other things I'd rather be doing then shopping. I mean, I DO shop. You kind of have to but I buy most things on Amazon Prime because I don't like to put pants on and leave the house. When I do go to a store it's for something specific. If I need black shoes I go straight to the shoe section, get what I need and leave. You will never find me perusing the aisles at Target. That's just not me.

My kids had their own money. My youngest has been hoarding the same $100 since her birthday. My oldest had like, $10 in loose change in a jelly jar like the hot mess that she is.

I let the 7th grade girls go on their own and told them to meet me in the Food Court at 6 pm. My 10 year old was like, "We want to go on our own too!" I knew she was going to be a little shit about it. "I didn't let your sister walk the mall at 10." We compromised. I would stay 8 feet behind. Close enough to see them and be with them, but not close enough that anyone would associate them with me.

The first store they wanted to go into was Hot Topic. Everytime I'm in Hot Topic with the kids I feel weird. Everyone in there is like:

              
And I'm just like:
                              
I think, I don't belong here. The irony is that most goth kids feel like they don't belong - so even though I am old and not a goth - we are kind of the same when I am in Hot Topic. It blows my mind a little. Everything comes full circle.

Then we went to JC Penny. I stood around, bored, as they browsed through clothes. They tried to lose me and I had to chase their asses down. I wanted to beat them. At one point I heard my daughter's friend exclaim, "I need an emo boyfriend."
            
You don't need a boyfriend. You only need Jesus. This is my life. This is my existence now. I asked my daughter, "Do YOU want a boyfriend?"
She shook her head. "No. I don't like human beings in general."
Somehow, I was not surprised by her response.

Before long, it was time to meet up with the 7th graders at the food court. We sat at one of the tables and they showed me their purchases and filled me in on their mall adventures. At one point one of the girls put their arms around the other. Then she looked at me and said, "Mrs.B, never let a boy put his arm around your shoulder - he's going to try to touch your boob."
            
I digested that comment. I don't know why that needed to be shared with me. It's advice coming 20 years too late. "Don't worry. I'll never let a boy put his arms around my shoulder."

I was over being at the mall and the children making questionable statements to me but they wanted to make one last stop at Rue 21. The browsed forever. I wanted to stab my eyeballs out with a hanger. I couldn't take it. My oldest held up a sweatshirt. "What do you think, mom?"
"The truth?"
"Yeah."
"I think it's hideous and it looks like someone fished it out of a dumpster."
"That's why I love it. I'm getting it."

That trash-chic look must be "in" right now because her friend brought the same one. Then they all brought this turtleneck that had cut outs down the sleeves - which defeats the purpose of a turtleneck. Then my 12 year old and 10 year old were screaming at each other and almost had a fist fight in the check out line. I thought mall security was going to get called on us.

I need therapy after the mall trip.

Then, somehow ALL of the kids wound up sleeping over at my house. Five girls. Then neighbor boy showed up at some point in the evening. They wanted to watch this horribly tragic movie, If I Stay and they all cried because they are hormonal and out-of-control. My life is a circus.

Bad Morning

                               
Last week was seriously rough. I'm seeking counseling to help me recover from in. For real. Worse then usual. It all came to a head last Thursday morning.

It SEEMED like a normal day. I got up, let out the dog, fed the animals, and moved the asshole elf while my kids were getting dressed. Then I made breakfast and lunches. I had just popped some croissants in the oven and I was putting together a salad for lunch. Next thing I know, my 10 year old was stomping down the stairs. She stood in front of me and said, "What did you do with my learning menu? It's due today."

Before I continue, you are probably wanting to know what a learning menu is. In school, for every unit they have to do this menu. It's a sheet that has different projects on it and the projects are worth a certain amount of points. You have to get 100 points. So you might do an "entree" project worth 50 points and 2 "appetizer" projects worth 15 points and a "dessert" project worth 20 points. I feel like she has a new learning menu every week. It's the worst ever. It's not even Christmas and I'm like:

                                   
She always procrastinates and then stresses out about it. I tried to get her to work on it a little bit at a time. "You know, if you work on your learning menu for an hour or 2 on Sunday, then it won't be so stressful during the week." She replied, "Don't lecture me until you get your own life together." That's the kind of shit my 10 year old says. I don't even have the energy left in me to argue with her. I'm was just like
                                  

Back to Thursday morning - my daughter said, "What did you do with my learning menu? It's due today."
"I didn't do anything with it."
"It was on the desk upstairs and now it's not there."
"I cleaned up the desk upstairs and I didn't see it. Did you check your book bag?"
"It's not in there."
"Just check it."

She pulled out her folders and rummaged through them. When she didn't find it, she went into full-on meltdown mode and started SCREAMING at me. "YOU THREW AWAY MY LEARNING MENU! I NEED YOU TO HELP ME." Then epic sobbing ensued.

I knew that I didn't throw it away. It had to be in the house. We had 20 minutes until they needed to be out of the door, lunches weren't done yet and the timer was beeping for the croissants to come out of the oven. I didn't have time to deal with her. I yelled upstairs to my husband, "Please help this child find her menu!" I sent her upstairs so he could deal with her. I went back to assembling breakfast and making coffee. I could hear her muffled screams and sobs. Yikes.

While that was happening, my 12 year old came downstairs. I looked her up and down. "Didn't you wear that outfit on Monday?"
"So?"
"You have so many clothes. Why are you wearing the same outfit in one week?"
"Because I can. At least I'm not white trash!"

Did this B just accuse me of being white trash? Did that just happen? "What did you just say to me?" I asked, angrily. "NOTHING!" she yelled and then went upstairs to change. Is it a full moon? What is happening.

In the meantime, my 10 year old comes back downstairs. Her face is red and her eyes are puffy. She's been crying. "You always throw away everything that is important to me!" she said as I set out breakfast on the table.

How can she honestly think that? Like, I spend my days going through her room. "Look at this gymnastics medal - I'm throwing it away. She likes this shirt - I'm throwing it away. She worked hours on a project-I'm throwing it away." That's crap. I took a deep breath and didn't even respond. She was projecting her stress onto me and I was not about to add fuel to that fire. My husband and 7th grader joined her at the table. My older daughter had changed and gave me the meanest look ever.

Now that lunches were made, and breakfast was finished - there was 7 minutes until they had to leave. I sat down on the floor and pulled the folders out of my 10 year old's book bag. I calmly pulled out each piece of paper. Guess what I found? Her god forsaken learning menu in the folder WHERE IT BELONGS. Imagine that.

Do I get a thank you? A smile? NO. My 10 year old had a calm come over her and she said, "Well, you WOULD throw it away." Seriously.
                                    
Then, they left. I stood alone in my dirty kitchen. My heart was pounding and I was emotionally exhausted. It was only 7:10 am but it was already a long day. I went to the to-do list on my refrigerator and scribbled Get new prescription for Zoloft. Then, I poured a cup of coffee and sat on the couch and read the news. I'm really living the dream.