Always Dance Like No One Is Looking

I have recently become obsessed with Adele and have had her music playing on a loop for several days now.  A day or so ago, I posted to facebook how I was currently wearing “Rolling in the Deep” out.  I moved onto to everything else by her later that day and it has continued on into today.  My new girl crush is in full swing.  This morning I began my daily, morning ritual;  Get up, get Drew up, let dogs out, make coffee, check if I still have two other little ones still safe in their beds, etc.  After Drew is sent off to school, my other two are awake and I’m good and caffeinated, I start the cleaning routine.  It’s necessary in order to keep this circus under control, the clutter to a minimum and the sooner I find the unidentifiable, gelatinous blobs my children leave on any given surface at any time, the better.  It lessens my chances of having to break out the chisel later on.  Motherhood is gross; deal with it.  If you can’t hang with that, you’ll never survive my blog.  It’s only going to get worse as we go along.  I live in a world where the question, “Is it chocolate or is it poop!?!?” is a completely legitimate question and asked often.  For which, we are generally answered with big eyes, shrugs, finger pointing and “I’unno??”

So this morning I decide I’m still into Adele and I’m going to rock out and mop the kitchen.  My kids adore music and will dance around for hours while letting me get some work done as long as I keep those tunes coming.  Lily was pleased as punch to hear the line-up for today was still Adele.  I hear her singing along when she thinks I’m not listening.  She’s got the right stuff and that’s not just her mother’s bias talking.  Once their boogie is fully underway, I’m off to get some serious mopping done because I broke my mop a few days ago and Jason just got me a new one.  Nothing says true love like, “Hey baby, I got you a new mop”.  I’m not even close to kidding, either. 

At some point I realize I’m mopping while still in my pjs, wearing my fuzzy, mop slippers and glasses and all but singing into the mop handle while my kids dance around me.  I don’t want to brag, but it was the performance of a lifetime.  I think it’s fair to say there are certain housewife/stay-at-home mom clichés that are going to slap you in the face at some point if you stay home for any period of time.  All I needed was a green facial mask and pink spongy curlers, a velvet curtain to rise behind me and I had myself a musical.  It’s one of those moments you freeze-frame and go, “Whoa…”  Oh well…  The kids think I’m fantastic and they clap and dance around for me.   It’s just another day in Mommyville.  Today in our fantasy land, I am Adel accompanied by two munchkin back-up dancers.  Fortunately they’re still too young to have “ego” about being the “back-up”.  We’re rock stars.  It’s a shame more people don’t know it and miss our shows.  We’re something to see!  I suggest you listen to Adele’s “Chasing Pavements” today.  It did wonders for our morning!  Our next show is scheduled to coincide with laundry folding.

Three Hour Rolls

Yesterday I decided to make a southern fried spread and have some friends over to enjoy good food, good drinks, and good times.  I got my heart set on making my Granny’s Faye’s yeast rolls.  I love the recipes from Granny’s I have tucked away in my family cook book.  They are always hand written and some measurements are literally written as, “a little pinch a’this and little pinch a’that.  (Just to your likin’.)”  I got started on the shopping a little late and realized after I got all the ingredients to make the rolls that they take several hours to prepare and it was already 5:00.  I was determined to make these rolls so I figured I’d dazzle my guests with booze and my sparkling personality and hope they don’t notice we’re eating at 9:00.  Those rolls became one of those projects where I got 1/3 of the way into, my kitchen is covered in flour, I’m covered in flour, I can’t remember if I added the baking powder and I’m relieved I bought a back-up package of frozen rolls if things go to pot.  Well relieved, but also somewhat saddened that I plan for my failures.  Maybe that just makes me a realist and a survivor.  Who knows?  This is also the time I start debating if having a drink could only help or worsen the situation.  I guarantee you, I'd care a lot less.

There is a total of 10 minutes worth of kneading to be done to this dough, in 5 minute intervals after falling and rising.  At first getting out a little healthy rage while punching and pummeling that dough was fun but then it just got exhausting and everyone around me started looking less and less deserving of my Granny Faye’s homemade yeast rolls.  I toughed it out and the rolls turned out just as I’d hoped and they were as yummy as I remember.   I realize some people might ask, "Why not just use the store bought?"  I have a perfectly reasonable answer to that and it is this: there are some pretty decent heat n' eat dinner rolls out there but there's a certain level of pride that southern woman have when it comes to their pie crusts, biscuits, rolls and cobblers.  We want the glory, plain and simple.  Love us or starve.

I only had 5 adults for dinner so now I’m still left with mounds of yeast rolls.  My oldest and middle child are incredibly finicky and don’t really eat much of what I make unless it comes out of a box and has “Kraft” written on the front.  I learned to stop letting it bruise my ego a long time ago and only really “cook cooked” for Jason and I.  Over time though, my youngest has proved to be the eater of the family.  That little tank can put away serious amounts of food and always loves what I cook.  I don’t care if it has peppers and onions or some of the many other foods that kids usually turn their noses up at.  He will eat it up and say, “Mmm…  Good!!!”  All mothers secretly hope their sons will grow up to be strapping, capable men who can fend for themselves but will always need us desperately and call us and ask us to make those special things no one can or will ever make like us.  All other women must pale in comparison forever, grovel at our feet and ask for our recipes but never make them as well.  I speak truth, I assure you.

This morning Reid came downstairs and the first thing he set eyes on was the saran wrapped bowl of all those yeast rolls.  “Oh!  Oh!  Oh!”  He was pointing and dancing a little jig, so excited to see those rolls.  I immediately opened it up for him and realized I don’t have to worry about them going to waste.  He’ll have a few bites, say “Mmmm”, throw it across the room, watch some more cartoons and come back for it later.  So were the hours of work I put in to make Granny Faye’s yeast rolls worth it?  Oh yeah…  Someday he might call and say, “Hey Mom, will you make those rolls?"  If that's the case, I'll always make those rolls.

Thirty Something

So…  Here I am, about to be 31 --  18 days and counting.  It almost hurts me to write that down.   I guess the question at this moment in time would be, “In my 31 years, what have I learned?”  I’ve learned a butt-load and I guess I feel like putting some of it in black and white for all to see.  I guess it’s no secret by now that I’m an open book and what you see is what you get.  So here it is…

I’ve learned that marrying Jason was the best decision I ever made.  He’s a God.  I met a young, college-bound guy and have watched him mature into a full-fledged man, a very attentive husband and a truly amazing father.  I honestly feel that he was given to me to make up for all the male love and acceptance I lacked growing up.  He’s made up for that in immeasurable ways.  I can’t imagine it being easy to be married to a girl with severe daddy and abandonment issues but he’s stayed with it.  I don’t think many men would have jumped through the hoops he’s jumped through and maintained the patience he’s had with me.  I should say I don’t deserve him but the truth is; I think I do.  I deserve him for the greater good he’s created in me.  I deserve to see a man be loving and affectionate with his children.  I deserve to see a man work his tail off and come home every single night to his family.  I DESERVE IT.  I DESERVE HIM.  I had a lot to learn about what being a good wife meant in the beginning.  I’ve learned it and I’m all the better for it.  I’ve learned that a good marriage doesn’t just happen.  It needs constant maintenance and attention.  I’ve learned you’re going to fight.  I firmly believe couples who claim they don’t fight are full of crap and those who think a good husband and wife blow-out every now then isn’t completely normal are delusional.  Jason and I live hundreds of miles from family or any kind of support system.  When trouble arises, it’s just us.  It’s not always easy being on our own and there are some things that will inevitably be taken out on each other during tough times.  The good part is, we usually throw all our demons out on the table right off the bat and knock it out.  No silent and hidden, yet building animosity, in a sense.  We’re good that way.  We’ve always said, “it’s just you n’ me, kid”.  I vow to do everything in my power to make sure it always will be.  Men like him don’t come along twice.  So to my husband; thank you for everything and for choosing me.  It’s been a wonderful 15 years and I look forward to growing old with you.  I’m nothing without you.

I’ve learned that my children are my little mirrors.  They reflect back everything you do whether I like it or not.  Monkey see-monkey do and that’s one of the hardest parts of parenthood to overcome.  It doesn’t take but one good slip in front of your kids to see it come back tenfold.  Not long ago, Jason was watching a game on TV with Pootie-Man snuggled up right next to him eating Cheetos.  A bad play came about and Jason yelled out, “OH, What the hell?!?!”  For weeks afterward, Reid would respond with, “What the hell?!?!” to just about everything.   Jason spent half of that game trying to teach him to say ‘defense’.  The kid couldn’t say anything that even closely resembled ‘defense’ but, ‘what the hell’ comes out clear as a bell…  Go figure.  Of course you’re going to laugh but then begin immediate damage control.  The required growing up to be an effective parent is no joke!  Times like that you get a clear message it’s time to drink a tall glass of “act right” and get with the program.  I’ve learned that my children can make me laugh so hard I cry.  I’ve learned they can also make me so mad I cry.  I have also learned that there certain undeniable things children can just sense and will put a stop to immediately:  a peaceful slumber, you’ve just sat down to eat, you’ve reached the crescendo of a movie you’ve been dying to see, sex or a very important phone call.  But no matter how loud or rotten or what they’ve interrupted, they will always be my heart living outside my body.  Before I was a mother I would hear women talk about how you have no idea how much you can love until you become a mother.  I didn’t know what it meant to love someone so much it hurts.   I do now.  Their smiles and little faces heal wounds so deep within me I don’t think I could ever put it into words.  They love me just for me and I love them just for them.  It’s poetry.  Their hugs and kisses right every wrong in my life.  I love to watch them grow and I can’t wait to see who they’ll turn into and hope they’ll someday think we did a good job as parents.  They’re the light of my life and have made me grow up in the best sense possible.  I never knew I wanted three little boogers but as fate would have it, they’re just what I never knew I always wanted.  I need them as much as they need me.  They are my soul.

I’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff.  What I’ve come to discover is “small stuff” are things that don’t really having any bearing on my life.  As long as my husband still loves me, my kids are healthy and happy, the people who really mean anything to me are still there and I have a roof over my head then the rest is small stuff.  People’s opinions aren’t worth a rip.  Everyone’s a critic.  Everyone has something to say and we all know the old adage about opinions and a-holes.  I have learned that my time and focus would be better spent on those who love and cherish me.  Curling up with worry of someone’s opinion will only deepen the furrow in my brow and I really can’t afford the botox right now.  So why be wrinkled for someone else’s stupidity.  Opinions are small potatoes; wrinkles are real, far more disturbing and around for an eternity.

I’ve learned I will stand up for what I believe in and defend the ones I love but have learned to pick my battles.  If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything but not everything requires my involvement.  If I think it’s really wrong though, there’s just no shutting me up and that’s just never going to change.  Love me or leave me on that bit.  I’ve learned how to forgive but more importantly how to apologize.  I’m no saint but I’m working on being a better person and making the right choices.  At the end of the day, I can honestly say I like me just fine because I’m willing to grow, evolve and learn through everything that’s thrown my way.  I make mistakes and I stumble but it’s what I take away from these life lessons that really matters.  In 31 years I can say I have attained a wonderful husband, amazing children and a lot of wisdom I will take with me into the next 31.  I’m not perfect but I’m better than I was.

Two Little Girls In Ponytails

This morning I was delighted to wake up and find I had a long and hilarious message from my sister from another mother.  Poor woman is now the mother of a teenage girl and I think it’s just hitting her exactly what that entails.  In turn, she’s scared the crap out of me with the details.  I’m the mother of a pre-teen boy, who comes with his own set of “perks” and up next for me will be a teen girl.  Her message made me laugh inside at how far we’ve come and how the conversations differ from when we were the same age as her daughter is now.  It still seems like yesterday.  Where did the time go?  We’ve gone through every step in our lives together and our bond and ability to always lean on each other is priceless and as strong as ever.  We’ve known each other since we were babies.  I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on her.  She lived next door and was standing in her yard.  She had on a thick coat, a stocking cap and her hair was completely out of control, (as per usual).  She smiled sweetly and asked, “Do you want to play with me?”  It was love at first sight, lol.  She has the most beautiful, brown skin tone and I once asked her if she tasted like chocolate.  She responded with, “I don’t know…  Do you taste like vanilla?”  We always had chores to be done before we could play and she always had to do dishes.  She took FOREVER so I would come help her complete them so we could play sooner.  She couldn’t and still can’t stomach anything so she always made me fish out the crud that was left at the bottom of the sink drain after the dishes were done.  She frequently asked/made me do things I didn’t want to do.  If I heard, “I’ll be your best friend!” once, I heard it a million times.  We would play for hours and then the time would come when her mom would open the back door and scream, “Ccccrrrryyyssstttaaaaaaaaaaa!!!  Get home now!!!!”  Her mom’s voice carried through every inch of Cedar Terrace.  And POOF!  My friend would hit the ground running.  Mama Cindy wasn’t playing around, either, which is why she would always take off so quickly.

No matter where we’ve gone in life, we have always found our way back to each other.  We’ve laughed together, cried together, snuck out together, GOT PUNISHED together, beat the living hell out of each other and stood next to the other as we became wives and later mothers.  We used to be the ones having the sleepovers and talking about boys into the wee hours of the morning.  Now we talk about our children and wonder when it’s a good time to just turn into our mothers and get it over with.  Not to mention, how do you tell them not to do everything you ever did with a straight face?  In her message she said her daughter is 13 but has the body of a 20 year old.  I find it comical how she forgets we did too at that age.   If I’d have had a more involved father I could have put him in an early grave.

Truth be told, we both admit we still feel like teenagers on an average day.  Some days I wonder if I’m just going through the motions and faking it till I make it.  I think all mothers have those doubts and wonder if you’re doing anything right and how do I go about setting them free into the world.  Am I guiding them correctly, am I giving them the right tools to be successful in life?  For my dear friend and me, we’re lucky to have our oldest kids be close to the same age and of the opposite sex.  This way she can prep me by telling me what to expect when my daughter is that age and I can tell her what’s going to blow her mind when her son is that age.  It’s fun to watch our lives unfold and watch each other conquer motherhood and life in general.  Today I miss being 14.  I’d have her over for a sleepover and we’d talk it all out and the best part is, there would be no children around to bug us. 

This story is far from over, however.  There will be much for us to discuss in the future.  First it was barbies, then boys, then children, someday grandchildren and someday our orthopedic shoes and arthritis.  Here’s to the future and mommyhood and everything that comes along with it, dear Bertha!  We’re in this together forever, Sister.  I love you.  You'll never know how much.

The Ugliness Of Self-Righteousness

This blog was originally going to be filled with a lot of vengeance and rage in regards to a lot of hate that’s been swarming through facebook the past few days, regarding gay people.  After what I read last night, I feel if they can say such horrible things and sleep at night, I have the right to put my two cents in also but do it with some semblance of decorum.  I originally planned to launch into a tirade of quick-witted, clever insults, (and believe me, it was going to be a humdinger), but then the realization set in that this would make me no better than the people ticking me off.  So this is me, being better than that.  What I’ve come to except is that these people absolutely possess the freedom of speech.  Because we possess such freedoms, I also reserve the right to think they’re wrong.  The beauty is; I also have the freedom to decide how I will react to it.  I can stoop to their level and let all the nasty little things I had stocked up rip or I can be a grown up and not allow someone filled with such hate and venom to create the same feelings and reactions in me.  Instead, I will simply pity them, not be mad at or insult them.  I will give them the dignity they refuse others.  I would think it has to be so exhausting waking up every day and having to carry around that much animosity and hatred.  I choose to look past their front and come to the conclusion there’s something deeper going on there.  To be that consumed with one issue, like homosexuality, so much it eats you alive?  I can’t imagine that would be much of an existence so I figure that’s punishment enough.  To spat insults and spread hate in the name of God befuddles me.  Westboro Baptist Church, anyone?  If you are truly a Christian and you feel that being gay is such a perversion and so morally wrong, why not choose to pray about it instead of publically using language and terms I doubt you’ll find in any Bible verse to express how you feel about it?  If you feel this conviction so deeply; get on your knees, (as you tell certain others to do – and not in prayer), and pray.  Try to come to some kind of resolve in a dignified way. I’m not asking anyone to argue with their spiritual beliefs; that’s not my place.   I’m asking for the spreading of hatred and intolerance to stop.  This is why suicide rates of gay teens are skyrocketing. These kids would rather end their lives than spend it being publically judged and ostracized.  Why anyone thinks someone would choose to have this burden of judgment put upon them for a lifetime just for kicks and giggles is beyond me, but that will just take me to a whole different point and I promised myself I wouldn’t go there.  I doubt God would be smiling as someone uses words like ‘fag’ and several other misspelled racial slurs I’ve seen regarding the president to spread his word.  Do they believe Saint Peter opens the gates wider for those who quote scripture in the same breath as filth?  “You got this homosexual teen to blow his head off?  Here’s your shiny gold star!”  I thought the song went, “red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight.  Jesus loves the little children of the world.”  At least that’s the song my sweet, little church choir director taught us in my youth.  Maybe our hymnal was loaded with typos and I’ve had it wrong all along.   People who spout such nonsense need an audience and I refuse to be a part of that audience.  If I continue to stew, I’m giving them exactly what they want. After this blog, I will wrap this little nugget up and never look back.  I’ve “written it in my notebook”, so to speak.  This kind of ignorance will only merit so much of my attention and I’ve just given it enough.  I will only leave you with this; Matthew 7:1 Judge not lest ye be judged.  See… I can quote scripture, too.  I guess that means I’ve been divinely chosen to decide which of us are bound for heaven or hell.  I wish someone would have told me this sooner.  Things would have been a lot different for me.

They Shoot Fat Girls, Don't They?

Yesterday I sat down to fold a mound of clothes and got carried away in a documentary.  It was basically the story of 5 different couples who met online.  There was one particular storyline of a guy who was using chat rooms to meet random girls and hooking up, (for lack of a better way to put it.)  He eventually did find love and settled into a meaningful relationship but that’s not what got me all riled up.  He met the majority of them and went through his “harem”, woman by woman, describing each.  He did point out that he’d chosen to meet these women initially based on their personalities but quickly got into how disappointed he was by their appearances after meeting them in person.  It seemed the reoccurring theme of his problem was the girls were just too heavy.  I guess the thought that he’s unlikely to run across Adriana Lima cruising “Single & Lonely” at 11:00 on a Saturday night never crossed his mind, but I guess we can all suppress a little logic for the sake of what you hope to be true… and because HE'S EQUALLY PATHETIC.  I digress…  He said he just couldn’t get passed the weight issue and found himself embarrassed to be in public with these women.  What I’m failing to mention is the guy in question was short, portly, incredibly hairy and frankly, not that attractive.  I also feel the need to touch on the fact that he cruises for chicks in chat rooms.  I think this speaks volumes but if I’m being at all vague, I’ll be more specific:  If he had any confidence at all, he’d meet women in actual life or cruise the selection at his local meat market bar like the living.  But no, he's safe and confident behind the anonymity of his computer screen, allowing his personality to come through first.  Women seem to be more responsive to this than men, but that’s a whole different blog.  It’s like he knew this and used it to his advantage.  He does this, because in the cool, grey dawn of morning he knows he's no catch, either.

I guess this all got me thinking about how harshly women are scrutinized in our society.  Is this what it’s come to?  Men like this can be finicky?!?!  I think something more disturbing than that is that women seem to have turned on each other in response to this pressure.  If I find her flaws, I’m better and have the right to live.  I’ve noticed some women who would sooner take a beating than dole out a compliment to another woman.  It’s vicious out there, ladies.  Think about it, you sit down and watch the Style Network.  They literally have segments called, “Who Wore It Better?”.  They put women on a split screen and decide who has the right not to hate herself today because she paired the right shoes with the right bag or hid her cellulite better than the other girl.  Do you ever see men on the “Who Wore It Better?” split screen?  I recently discovered Natalie Portman graduated from Harvard.  Who knew?  It seems more relevant to shove the fact that she chose an inappropriate pastel down my throat.  I’m guilty of never wondering if the girl had a brain.  We’re fed that emaciated is beautiful, you shouldn't age and being fat should be punishable by death.  Who cares if she's dumb as a bucket of hammers as long as she looks like what we BELIEVE she should look like.  We’re buying into it and I’m over it.

OOoop!  She’s got a muffin top!  HANG HER!

I guess the whole point of my little harangue here is that I feel like women have lost their dignity and value.  Never devalue yourself or let yourself be judged by someone who doesn’t deserve you.  Be nice to other woman.  Celebrate each other and know you are worthy.  Otherwise, more and more women will end up with guys like the one I mentioned, who think they can do better.  They'll end up with guys like this due to a lack of self esteem from being beaten down from the opposite sex and even worse HER OWN.  There will always be bigger, better, richer women who can afford the plastic surgery.  So while you’re busting your hump doing pilates, she’s got an appointment tomorrow to get the fat sucked right outta those thighs.  There’s always a bigger dog in the fight and it will always tick you off so stop hating yourself.  Sometimes you just have to let go, let God and EAT THE CUPCAKE.  Never compromise and never get down on yourself.  I realize, as women, we’re always going to look down and hate that extra roll or find something about ourselves we can work on but what I’m saying is, we need to take back our dignity.  We live in a world where Perez Hilton can be a judge in the Miss America Pageant.  And honeys, let me tell you something…  I’ve been around gay men all my life.  You think women harshly judge each other’s appearance?  Gay men are 10 times worse and Perez ain’t even a ‘5’ on the gay attractive scale, OOOkay?  So in conclusion, you got a fat ass?  Rock that fat ass because I refuse to live in a world where fat, hairy, dill holes who still live with their parents can judge the beauty of a perfectly good woman. 

                                                                                                                                  

Signed,

Tawanda - The Amazing Amazon Woman

Write it in your notebook.

 I was never a quiet child or well behaved from what I gather.  I never thought I was that bad but I’ve been told differently from several of my elders.  I will give my mom props, though.  My mom was the world’s fastest and most accurate smacker.  If seek and smack were an Olympic sport, she’d win gold.  She could reach you from the driver’s seat, into the back seat at 60 mph, never miss a beat or be bothered to look back.  I don’t care how far you moved back or how quick you dodged.  Don’t be misled, though, a good smack didn’t always deter me.

After I got married, I’d returned home for a family function and ran into a lady who used to be our church’s youth choir director.  I was really happy to see her, as I’d known her and been directed by her my entire life.  I walked towards her and did my best to give her a warm greeting.  I said, “Hi Mrs. ‘so & so’, it’s so nice to see you again!”.  I expected a sweet response but instead this sweet, old lady said, “Well dear, it’s nice to see you too, but you certainly were a very mischievous child.”  She wasn’t kidding or even offering a fake smile and simply walked off.  I happened to be standing next to my brother who was doing his best not to gag on his muffled laughter.   I turned to my brother and asked, “Ryan, was I really THAT bad?”  He said, “Yeah, you were pretty bad...” 

Eating crow  --  it tastes kinda like chicken.

I guess the damage was done with Mrs. ‘so & so’ but my mom did develop a system to keep my mouth shut and her dignity in tact by keeping a notebook and pen in her purse at all times.  She had us in church often and worked 2, sometimes 3 extra jobs.  She often had no choice but to drag me along with her.  Church and her jobs were obviously places I was to be behaved.  She would hand me this notebook and say, “Misty, if you have something ugly to say, you write it in this notebook and we’ll talk about it in the car”.  I always did write it in my notebook and, as promised, we’d discuss it in the car.  I think she even started writing a few things in my notebook after a while and now keeps one of her own.  My notebook became a useful tool.  This inside joke and technique has been passed on to my husband as a means to deal with me and my need to sometimes say ugly things.  To this day, in certain situations, I will hear the words, “Misty, write it in your notebook and we’ll talk about it in the car”.  Only now, these words come from my husband and my notebook is now kept in Iphone notes, but why split hairs?