Category Archives: sucks to be me

truthfully

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Truthfully…

I know the expectation in polite society is that when someone asks, “How are you?” the reply should always be “I’m fine, thank you.” even if that isn’t the truth. You might be feeling sick to your stomach or like your sinuses are ready to explode. Perhaps you have a pounding headache that is jack-hammering your brain or you might have a a blister on the heel of your foot thanks to those cruel shoes you insist on wearing because they make your legs look hot. Or maybe you are so overwhelmed with the worries of your life that you feel there will be no relief…ever. Still when someone asks how you are doing you are expected to smile and tell them that you are fine. Oh, and don’t forget to ask them how they are doing too. Don’t worry, they won’t dump even more burdens, pains and woes upon you. They will smile back and tell you that, yes, they are fine as well.

It is all so pleasant.

Except when it isn’t really.

Don’t worry. I am doing okay…mostly. I don’t believe in wearing shoes that hurt so my feet are just fine. I’m just not okay. Thank goodness for my circus act who adores me…even when I am a naggy, raging, tearful bitch. And thank you that I can easily run 3-5 miles because some days that is truly what keeps me going. Still the reality is I am overwhelmed more than usual with the burdens and worries that is this life of mine. It comes and goes; but lately it has been coming more than going. So right now if you were to ask me I would have to say that actually I am not okay or fine because it is lately so hard to pretend that I am.

No, you can’t fix any of it. I don’t expect you to. Just sit with me, hug me and please, dear god don’t tell me that you know exactly how I feel because truthfully you don’t.

Thank you for letting me be truthful right now.

with the week I had…

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I really don’t have much of anything that is nice to say at all. Honestly, it seems like events from the last few days taking place here under the Big Top resemble the lyrics from some bad country song. I really don’t care much for those kind of songs. Not at all.

And I can’t really write about any of it without sounding like a whiny, bitchy, old lady. I know…

I think I’ll just try to get my zen on with Hazel and do a little yoga.

Namaste!

yearning for the good old days

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Raising teenagers is not for the faint of heart. This I know is true. I’ve raised and are raising a few. I survived raising that first one and much to my relief she turned out to be a pretty damn amazing adult and I am very proud of her. The second child of mine in mere months will be twenty years old…how can that be???…and she is the hardest working, sensible, compassionate young adult I know. So having survived the teen years times two one might think that I would at least have a sense of knowing what I am doing while raising more teens. One might imagine I have the strength to do it.

One would be wrong.

The goings on lately under the Big Top with the teenagers honestly makes me long for the good ol’ days…the days when I had two in diapers and one working on that potty training thing. The days where I would often find myself covered in snot and baby puke. The days where I regarded a late night trip to Safeway as a spa day. I know my darling husband wonders why I would be gone so long. I was meandering up and down every single aisle enjoying the peace and quiet and the dry clothes that I was wearing.

True story.

Right now I am missing those days…big time! I would take them all over the snark, the eye rolls and all the really over-the-top crazy shit that has been going on lately. It was so much easier then because there were hugs and kisses…albeit really slimy, snotty kisses. There was the sweet, almost angelic looks on their faces in their slumber when I would stand over their beds staring at them. Those were the times that I reminded myself how blessed I was that they were mine…even if they were driving me to an early grave.

Oh my beautiful angels! How fortunate you are that the good Lord made you so damn cute! I’m going to now stare at your picture for a very long time and try to tune out the slammed doors, the comments on Facebook that you are in a prison and the deafening silence that is the Big Top right now.

And I just might pour myself a glass (or two) of wine!

the laundry gods’ punishment

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You know how somewhere between the washing machine and the dryer a single sock or two or three or more becomes lost…lost forever? Sure you do! If you do laundry with any regularity you know of this phenomenon very well.

This is why people have a basket full of single socks in the hopes that someday, some how, some way, the lost socks shall be found and paired up once again with their mate…together at last!

But the reality is that the single lost socks are sacrificed to the angry laundry gods kind of like a sacrificial virgin is offered to the angry volcano. Sure we can cleverly clip socks to their mates or toss them all into zippered laundry bags in an effort to prevent the loss of a single sock but that only means that there must be another sacrifice. It could be a rogue red t-shirt ending up in a load of white clothes or it could be something worse…the laundry gods demand it.

Don’t believe me?

I ask you, who loses a pair of Misses size 12 skinny white jeans in the wash?

I do!

It sucks. It really does. I have only worn these twice…and they looked a-ma-zing the two times that I have worn them. But somewhere along the way they have been lost somewhere between the washer and the dryer.

What the WTF?!

Yes, I have considered the possibilities like perhaps somehow my big-assed skinny jeans ended up in my little Juniors size 3 daughters’ laundry and they haven’t noticed. I have even gone through Daniel’s and Bill’s closets and drawers and the linen closet.

But no.

My skinny white jeans are gone.

Apparently I haven’t sacrificed enough single socks lately and thus the laundry gods have exacted their punishments upon me. It couldn’t be a pair of my daughter’s rattiest sweats or perhaps my husband’s nastiest, worn-out Harley Davidson t-shirt?

No, it could not.

Tonight I am leaving a pile of random socks on top pf the washing machine. Perhaps the laundry gods will accept my humble offering.

Yeah, I’m desperate.