Q-isms Christmas Style

Getting Q to read every night before bed is always a struggle. 

"But I already know how to read," is his argument.  So do I, but I still read all the time.  I'm trying to pass on my love of reading - the beginning of an exciting, new world - but he'll have none of it.  He doesn't understand my passion, especially when I can do the reading for him.  One particular night last week, he was really putting up a fight.  He would read a word perfectly in one sentence and then suffer from instantaneous amnesia and totally forget the word in the next.  Finally, I had enough.  We put the book away and turned out the lights. 

I could hear him whimpering, so I asked what was wrong.

Q:  I'm gonna be on the naughty list for sure!! *sob*

Me:  Well, what do you think you can do to change that?

Q:  Nothing.

Q:  It's too late.  *BAWL*

Me:  I don't think it's ever too late to start behaving well.  Why do you want to be good?  So you can be on the nice list?  Or so you can be a good person? 

Q:  So I can be on the nice list.

*Silence*

*Sniff*

Q:  ....aaaaaaaaand so I can be a nice person...

He gets two points for being smart. 

And "Santa" already bought all the presents, so he's spared for this year.  This year, which will probably be the last year, he believes in Santa.

The Cost of Dating

I went on a date a few weeks back.  It was so memorable and fascinating and life changing that it took me three weeks to write about it.  In other words, it was dull.  It was almost painful...

Me: So, did you grow up here?

Him:  Ummmmmmm, ya.  I guess so.

Me:  Do you like to travel?

Him: Ummmmmmmm, no.  Not really.

Me: Oh, have you traveled anywhere before?

Him:  Ummmmm, no.  

I wasn't exactly asking hard hitting questions that required a whole lot of thought.  I wasn't asking about his thoughts on life after death.  If someone asks me where I was born I can answer in like 5 seconds and don't even need to buy time by humming and hawing about the answer. I know where I was born.  

My other peeves:  He didn't ask anything about me.  He got there early, and ordered a drink only for himself.  He made no attempt to pay for my drink.  He was really eager to talk about his ex-wife and her new boyfriend.  He only sees his kids every other weekend and they live like 10 minutes from him.  He buys old cars and rebuilds them.  He has four cars in his mother's driveway.  Two major red flags as far as I'm concerned.  He didn't look a thing like his profile pictures.  And he was boooooooooring.  

The whole 'date' lasted just about an hour.  I talked the whole time.  Now, I love to talk and I can talk up a storm, but I need an eager audience. I want them to hang on my every word, not stare out the window dreaming of their car's engine.  I enjoyed the Pumpkin Spice Latte though, even if I did have to pay for it myself.

I assumed that I would never hear from him again and I was totally okay with that, but the next morning I received a text asking if I wanted to meet for dinner later that week. Unfortunately my schedule was a little hectic and I couldn't fit Mr. Boring in...

This was a step up from the guy I met at the pub the weekend before.  I think that alcohol should be banned while looking for Mr. Right, because every guy is Mr. Oh-All-Right after a few drinks.  This guy was Irish, so he had a really neat accent.  I couldn't understand a word he was saying, but the words just rolled off his tongue.  It was fascinating.  

I think I may have agreed to a thing or two without really understanding what, seeing as how he got really quite angry with me when I told him I wasn't going home with him.  He was borderline abusive, pinching me and kicking me in the ass.  We shared a cab to his place where he got out, tried to talk me into staying by telling me he'd "kill me if he didn't fancy me so..." and stormed off with the money I had given to the taxi driver in addition to leaving me with a $90 cab ride.  Yes, all in all my cab ride cost a hundred dollars.  Even the taxi driver felt bad for me when we had to stop at the bank so I could get more money to pay him. 

Yes, dating has been an expensive experience for me.  I can't afford another date until next payday.  And I'm not sure that there is any guy that I'm interested in who is interested in me...does that make sense?  The men who are attracted to me are middle eastern and old.  They're probably not even really attracted to me as much as they're seeing a desperate woman who will be swayed by their bank accounts.  For the record, I will not be swayed by bank accounts...

'Q'-isms

Q:  I'm going to be in a play at school

Me:  Really?  Wow that's exciting!  When?

Q:  I don't know yet.

Me:  Oh, what's it about?  Is it a Christmas play?

Q:  I don't know yet.

Me:  Oh....

Q:  It's going to be me, Noah, and Joshua.

Me:  Did Mrs. J pick you three to be in a play?

Q:  No, we picked ourselves.

(this is starting to sound a little odd...)

Me:  Oh, so you volunteered to be in a play at school?

Q: Ya

(really odd...Q is quite the introvert...)

Me:  Can parents come to see the play?

Q:  No it's during recess and lunch.

Me:  Oh so it's for the other kids?

huh?

Q:  I don't really know yet.  Noah came up to me and Joshua today at school and asked us if we wanted to make some extra money.

Me:  Ohhhhhh......

Q:  It seemed like a really good idea at first, but now it sounds really dumb.

Me:  Nooooo, it's not dumb (exactly....)  How much were you thinking of charging kids?  Like a quarter?

Q:  No, more.

Me:  Fifity cents?

Q:  No, we were thinking like five dollars....

Me:  Wow, honey, I gotta say that's kinda steep.  Remember cheap movies are only two dollars more than that and you get special effects and action and popcorn!!  You'll need a plot, and action, ohhhhh, and a love story.

Q:  Ewwww, no love story.  That's gross. 

Yes, I agree...love stories are gross. 

Oh my goodness, can you imagine the call from the principal on that one? 

Single Momma Woes

Single parenting is not easy. 

There is the  social stigma attached to being a failure in your marriage, for one.  All the stay-at-home moms stand there in the middle of the walk way at school chatting about recipes and cleaning secrets, while their husbands go to work and pay for the big houses and the big lips.  You know....from the lip injections, just in case you couldn't figure out the reference.  It was kind of random...and bitter.  And that's mostly just my own insecurity, I think...

There are  the my-child-is-driving-me-nuts-and-I-need-to-lock-myself-in-the-bathroom-so-I-don't-cause-him-physical-harm times when you just wish you could pawn him off on the husband for half an hour while you get your sanity back.  And then you look around and remember you're the only adult around and you have to suck it all up and deal with the situation like a...well, like an adult. 

There are times when your kids are sick and you're up with them all night long.  And then you go to work.  After being up all night. 

There is the constant struggle to do homework and read and learn valuable tools that are required for them to be contributing members of society.  They just don't get it when they're 7. 

There are bed times and schedules and 'where's your back pack?' and 'put your toys away' and then there is this....

"I'm not rude at daddy's house.  Cuz he's nice to me.  Cuz he plays hockey with me."

He saw the look of absolute horror on my face and quickly changed his tune..."uh, I mean...I don't know...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

In that split second, I had to bite my tongue so I didn't give him the chance to live there permanently.  How does he know the most hurtful thing he could say at such a young age.  I'm the mean mom. 

Gasp.

Comparing me to that man in such a way just killed me.  Q brought home a journal from school that he writes in every day: Today we went to Daddy's friend L's house for American Thanksgiving dinner.  Today we went skating with Daddy and his friend E.  Yesterday, me and Daddy went to his friend S's house.  Are you fricking kidding me?  He's comparing me to the guy who is using him as a dating tool.  What kind of person uses his child to meet women?  What kind of person???  What is he teaching my child about relationships? 

But in Q's mind, I'm the irrational one for teaching him and reprimanding him when he's rude to an adult.  I'm the mean mom.  I'm the one to blame for all his issues.  Not his Dad.  No, his Dad is the fun one.  Give me a break.  But I have to bite my tongue about all of the lady friends because I don't want Q to feel like he can't share things with me.  I might be the "mean zone" but I want to be the "safe zone" too.  I don't want him to start hiding things or keeping secrets from me because he thinks it might upset me. 

Sometimes, I just pray for a big bus.  I'm so totally amazed that I found myself so attracted to this man that I was willing to procreate with him.  Don't get me wrong, I love my son.  Love him to pieces, but it's so important to me that I raise him to be a kind person.  It's so important to me that he grows up to be a strong man.  My biggest fear is that he'll grow up to be just like his father.    Then he goes and makes a comment like this and it's like my fear is coming to life. 

When you invest everything you have solely in your child (instead of equally in your marriage, your family, your child, your career) things like this get you down.  You realize that your biggest failure will be raising a child who doesn't become a mind healthy adult.  It's a scary thing, raising a child on your own. 

It's one little comment, that he's completely forgotten I'm sure.  Yet here I am dwelling on it, questioning my ability as a parent. 

Go Get 'Em, Tiger!!

Grade two has been a hard time for my little Q.  As an only child who is surrounded by adults who love and adore him and dote on him continuously, my son has developed somewhat of a 'fabulous' complex.  Now, I don't think this to be a bad thing, at all.  I think that soon enough, he'll doubt every move and decision he makes...well, if he's anything like me, he will...so if all these loving adults have the chance to build up his confidence now, I'm all for it.  He draws a picture, and we "oohhhh" and "awwwww" at some part of it...it's creativity, its colour scheme, something to make him feel proud of the work he's done.  He cleans his room and I comment on how fast or how thorough or how neat it looks when it's clean, something to teach him how good it feels to work at something and accomplish it well. 

In Kindergarten and Grade one, Q had teachers that were super nice and super encouraging.  They smiled all the time and interacted with the children on a one on one basis.  They were supportive and nurturing and the children learned at tables in a circle instead of at desks.  They were encouraged to play with the other children and structure, while it was there, was kept to a minimum and probably was there just to prevent utter chaos.

Mrs. J is Q's grade two teacher and she is scary.  She's old school.  She's just plain old, really.  I don't know much about her, because our teachers are on strike here in BC and they're working to rule, which doesn't affect anyone but the children as far as I'm concerned.  As part of their work to rule, there have been no parent/teacher interviews and in fact, I've heard from other mothers that teachers refuse to meet with parents at all, because it's considered to be extracurricular.  All I know of Mrs. J is what I see on Fridays when I drop Q off and pick him up, and of course from the mouth of my lil babe himself. 

The walls in the classroom are bare, she opens the door in the morning barely greeting the children and at the end of the day, the children see themselves out.  I don't think I've seen her smile once since September.  Q is terrified of her.  Every morning, he feigns some sort of illness, hoping against hope that I'll believe him finally and he'll get a day off.  And let me tell ya, every morning I just want to say he doesn't have to go to that big mean school with the big mean teacher.  Every morning, I hear, "I HATE school" every morning without fail. 

My heart aches for my poor little boy.  It's my job to protect him.  It's my job to make sure he's happy and well rounded and content.  He's just like his momma, with his nervous tummy and his knack for worrying about absolutely every single little detail about every single day.  That, combined with the fact that he's an introvert and keeps most of his thoughts to himself, I'm an emotional wreck.  He's going to need therapy for sure. 

But guess what....my kid is reading.  And we're not talking words like, 'it', 'and', or 'the'.  No, no, no we're talking big words.  Like real words and real sentences.  It's incredible!!!!!  It's amazing!!!!  It is like something in his brain just clicked and it all makes sense.  Sometimes, words come out of nowhere and I'm all like, "Huh?"  But for the most part, he's sounding words out and he's rocking it.  As far as I'm concerned, he could have very well skipped grade one.  The math skills that he has now (are awesome!!) were already there in Kindergarten and reading, well....that was non-existent. 

I want to be able to explain to Q that yes, he's going through a very difficult time.  Yes, his teacher is a little scary.  Yes, she demands a lot.  And she expects a lot from him.  But holy moly kiddo, you're rising to the challenge.  You're meeting her expectations, you're exceeding them I'm sure on some days.  Look at what you're learning, look at what you've learned.  You're reading!!!!!  Like books and shit!!  It is amazing, this  whole new world has opened up for you. 

But of course, I try to explain this all to Q and he looks at me like I've got three heads.  It doesn't sink in yet.  He just replies with a 'but I HATE school."  So, if I can't tell him so that he understands, I'm gonna tell you instead...

What you're going through right now, it might be hard.  It might be really, really difficult.  You might think that no one understands, and no one cares and that there is no end in sight.  But holy moly kiddo.  Look at you!!!  You're rocking it.  You're getting through it every single day and you're learning more and more about yourself and the world around you with every trial you face, every single day.  And I'm so proud of you.  I'm proud of you for throwing those blankets off every morning and facing the day, because ya...sometimes it's super hard.  But you are amazing.  You might not understand the "why" right now, but if you allow yourself to learn from this hardship, your life will never be the same.  I promise you that.

Now, go get 'em tiger!  Sometimes, it takes a lesson from a 7 year old to remind us what we're made of. 

I'm Proud to BE!!

Yo, yo, yo!!  Here I am just being me, just minding my own...and I didn't even know that these fabulous people at www.saavymom.ca think that I'm fabulous!  Fabulous enough to write an article about me and 34 other mom bloggers, and then they go and make a button that I can share on my wall. 

Look at me, guys!!  I'm famous!! Almost!! I just hope it's not my 15 minutes, because I'd like my 15 minutes to be a little bit more exciting...hahaha. 

Anyways, tell your friends, tell your family, tell your coworkers!!!  I'm amazing!!!

Connections

Ever since we moved to the new house, and in retrospect - a whole lot longer than that, I have been having issues with our wireless Internet.  Dreading a call to my Internet provider, I just dealt with a random connection.  I dealt with only having Internet in my bedroom and not being able to watch t.v. and surf the Internet at the same time.  I dealt with it until one day I just could not stand it anymore and finally broke down.  I set aside a hour or so, found a nice quiet spot and settled in for a long, frustrating call.  Fortunately (?) I wasn't disappointed. 

Over the course of an hour, I was passed on to 5 different people.  I'm pretty sure I was transferred to someone in Texas..."Awww honey, dontcha know the difference 'tween a modem and a router?"  and she laughed at me.  And no, I don't know the difference.  At this very moment, I'm still trying to think what the difference is.  The thing is, it didn't really matter, because that was her job to figure out.  But she transferred me to a very polite woman in India, who although very apologetic also had no idea what the eff I was referring to.  So she passed me on to some guy who's connection was so horrible, I'm sure he was in Antarctica in the middle of a blizzard.  He passed me on to David.  David gave two shits about his job and cared even less about my Internet connection.   So after an hour on my cell phone, coincidentally with the same provider, during prime time someone was telling me it wasn't my modem, it wasn't my router, it wasn't my connection, it was my computer. 

Did I mention that I was pmsing?

After all that time and all those continents, I got so angry I cancelled my Internet.  David was nice enough to let me know that once I cancelled it, I wouldn't be able to get it back...to which I replied, "Isn't that the point?"

I called a new Internet provider, and they sent a technician in to set everything up.  He knew the difference between a modem and a router.  He also knew what the problem was with our previous Internet connection....my computer...

Oh.......

So, now I have a new computer.  It's not an Apple.  It's not a pretty pink one.  I just couldn't justify the extra cost for pink.  But I do have a new computer that I can use in my bedroom, in the living room...in the bathroom if I so choose.  All this to say, I better be blogging more often...I have no excuse. 

Pants Don't Lie

In two weeks I have split the butt out of two pairs of pants and popped a button of another pair.  Pants don't lie honey.  I'm officially over weight.  Even my Wii Fit groans when I step on it.  It doesn't lie either.  My mother, who loves me to death, can't even stretch (pardon the pun) the truth by saying I'm "big boned" or "the camera adds 10 lbs".

Yesterday I was on my way to work after dropping Q off at the babysitters and I realized that one half of my bottom was feeling much cooler than the other.  Part of me thought I should just ignore it.  What's the worst it could be?  I sat in something wet?  My circulation to my right butt cheek isn't as good as to my left perhaps?  Thank the good Lord that I listened to the little voice in my head that said, "Check your pants, stupid" because I had split a hole from seam to seam right by my right ass cheek. 

See, this wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't the week before sat down on the couch and split a pair of my favourite jeans from H&M in the exact same spot.  And just this weekend I was minding my own business when a button on my jeans just popped right off. 

I think my pants are trying to telling me something.

I just can't help it.  I mean, I don't smoke anymore, I'm not a huge drinker, I don't have a boyfriend.  Food is all I have *SOB*  The thought of going without Nutella breaks my heart and fills me with sadness.  Halloween just passed and we have Tootsie Rolls (Tootsie Rolls!!!) coming out of our ears.  I love Tootsie Rolls.  My employees bring me food.  How can I refuse their gifts?  That would just be rude, wouldn't it?  Plus, my employees say they love me just the way I am.  Granted, I don't want to marry any of my employees so whether they find me attractive or not is really inconsequential isn't it? Sigh.  The main problem I have with losing weight is that I've had so much self control and restraint in soooooo many other areas of my life right now, that food just seems to be the one thing I let myself slide on.

Marilyn Monroe was a size 12.  And J. K. Rowling says "Is ‘fat’ really the worst thing a human being can be? Is ‘fat’ worse than ‘vindictive’, ‘jealous’, ‘shallow’, ‘vain’, ‘boring’ or ‘cruel’? Not to me.” Big can be beautiful, right?  Miss Piggy is beautiful in her own way. And she's rich, too.  So....

But the wedding is 3 months away.  It used to be 6 months away but now, it's only 3.  I have 30lbs to lose (still) in 3 bloody months.  That's like 10lbs a month.  That's like 3lbs a week.  That's like near impossible unless I get my butt in gear.  I do not want to steel the scene in all the pictures.  (Well, maybe I do...but not for being the fattest one in the picture.  Maybe for the one with the rockin' hot body...)

I've been joking about dipping cotton balls in water and then eating them.  They absorb more water in your tummy and then you feel full.  Maybe it's not so much funny anymore and more of a valid option... Any ideas for fast weight loss that don't include weird pills, hormones or starving myself?  I'd prefer ones that don't include working out, either...but that might just be asking too much...

Oh Yes...Now I Remember

Less than a week on Plenty of Fish (or POF) and I am reminded why I loathe Plenty of Fish.  It's a horrible way to meet men.  Horrible.  I've had a handful of emails from men without pics and when I ask, they say they're *new* to POF and haven't had a chance to upload any.  This is a bunch of bullshit, just in case you're wondering.  It doesn't take that long to upload a few pictures.  It is NOT superficial, wanting to know what someone looks like.  That's what separates friends from lovers, isn't it?  A physical attraction to someone.  And don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for drop dead gorgeous, because as far as I'm concerned super hot guys have a whole other set of issues I don't even want to get into.  Not to mention, different people find different qualities attractive...but that's the whole point, at least let's get a look at what you've got to offer and let ME make the decision.  I think blind people even (can you believe I just wrote "look for"...gasp!!!) seek some sort of physical attraction to their mate...whether it be the softness of their skin, or the texture of their hair.  Gah!!  Physical attraction is important, people and don't try to make me feel guilty for admitting to it.

Then there are are the men with the pictures.  You've got the picture with the truck and the really big tires.  You've got the picture with the friend's child (cuz they know women are suckers for that kind of shit).  You've got the picture with the fish...seriously does every guy fish???  You've got the picture with the dog.  You've got the party picture where they're either drunk or hanging off some booby woman.  I like it when they've blacked out the woman's face...dude, you don't have one friend who can take one pic of you without your ex-girlfriend/fling/whatever?  And then you've got the picture they've taken of themselves in the bathroom mirror where they're flexing.  Every man has this picture.  Every single one.  

And does every single guy in the lower mainland like running and rock climbing and skiing?  I'm sure you are wondering.  Well, I will tell you.  Yes.  Every single effing man in the lower mainland likes to climb mountains and ski (or snowboard) down them.  I am not kidding.  Where's the guy who watches movies on the couch in his jammies?  Cuz he's the one I'm looking for.  Where's the one who likes to read and do crossword puzzles? He's not on Plenty of Fish.  Seriously, who knew men were so *active*?

The biggest problem is that the guys I'm interested in are not interested in me ("good luck in your search" they say) and the ones interested in me are just plain creepy.  Like really creepy.  Like shaved head, tattoos everywhere and overweight...and mustaches, now I come to think of it.  What is with the mustaches??  I've actually had one marriage proposal from a really creepy guy.  It was really nasty.  

What's proper etiquette?  If you're super grossed out by some guy should you still send him a reply when he e-mails you?  What if you read his profile and you have nothing in common?  I think it just opens the door for more conversing, but it does feel a little mean just ignoring them.  Especially when they keep on emailing...

I, for one, like the process of writing back and forth.  The written word can just be so powerful and to find someone who can write and be witty and funny and meaningful at the same time is just so rare and exciting to find.  I love the banter.  I love the getting to know someone.  I love "You've Got Mail".  I think it's my favourite chick flick. The anticipation of finding an email filled with words for your eyes only.  It's got to be the sexiest thing ever.  

But I really must go..."Electrician4U" just sent me a message...and he looks...well....normal....

Wish me luck...fingers crossed!!

Single White Female Seeks...

After yet another mildly depressing episode whereby I developed a crush on someone who, of course, was not interested back, I have decided that something has to change.  First, I'd just like to say that this guy really did check most of the boxes on my list.  Tall, funny, single (I know, right?), super nice guy, a manly man.  He didn't have a British accent, though...it might be asking a lot...especially seeing as how I live in Canada, but I'd really like a man with a British accent.  Anyways, for whatever reason (uh...he's crazy?) he's not into me.  He was putting all the signs out there, too, guys...I was so sure he was into me too.  It's probably for the best.  I was upset for an evening, but then I stopped being sad and decided to be happy instead.  I told myself this is not how this has to end.

I've basically resigned myself to the idea that I'm meant to be single for the rest of my life.  The completely irrational side of my brain says that I'm being punished and my punishment is never ever finding a man who will love me.  I'm comfortable too, in my single-ness and it's really very scary to me, the idea of meeting someone and embarking on something new.  It's so outside my comfort zone.  I would really be so happy if it could just be someone who I've known forever and suddenly I love them and they love me.  It just hasn't happened that way.

Meeting someone in the grocery store hasn't happened for me, either.  Nor has the doctor's office or the soccer field or waiting for my son to get out of school on a Friday afternoon.  Starbucks is great for coffee, but I've not met my soul mate while sipping a nonfat pumpkin spice latte.  The man of my dreams has not come up to me while I'm pumping my gas, and I'm beginning to think he most likely won't, either.  My hobbies are solitary hobbies...I like doing sudoku and crossword puzzles, I like reading.  Can you imagine how creepy it would be if some guy starts doing my sudoku puzzle over my shoulder?  Not to mention how annoying it is when you're reading a book and someone keeps interrupting you to "talk".  

Let's face it, if I'm not with Q I'm at work and if I'm not at work, I'm with Q.  This is how my life goes.  I'm not going to all of the sudden take up sky diving or rock climbing just to meet someone.  I don't like to ski, and doing so just to find a mate seems even less appealing.  I'll sit by the fire and drink coffee and read a book in the lodge...but please don't interrupt me while I'm reading....

Ugh

So, I've joined Plenty of Fish again.  I know, I know...I said I never would.  But I don't know how else to meet someone.  It's like on line shopping, you can check out everything you need before you order it.  I can pick all the qualities I want, and if they have just even one thing I don't like, I can completely veto them without a second thought and without feeling guilty for hurting their feelings.  And men can do the same to me, for that matter.  My brother and his *fiancee* met through a dating site.  Why can't I?  And I'm not paying for it this time, so that's uh....different from last time...

Whether it works or whether it doesn't, at least I'm doing something to change the way the story ends.  I don't have to be single for the rest of my life.  Being single, really, is a choice I've made as a result of my actions.  It's a punishment I've given myself for whatever reason.  Guilt, maybe?  Fear possibly.  If you continue to do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always got.  

So I'm super picky, so I'm freaked out of my mind, so it's completely out of my comfort zone, maybe it's a step in the right direction.  And if not, then hopefully it'll be good for the blogging, especially since I've been totally lacking in subject matter lately.  So, I'm not even doing this for me people...I'm doing it for you.  

You're welcome.

Geez...the things I do for your guys...

Libia vs. Labia vs. Libya.

I had this really embarrassing social network situation the other day.  We all know I try to avoid the "News" in all its forms because it's just so depressing.  Usually I get as much as I need to know to keep me going through life from Yahoo News one liners.   With Yahoo, I can be selective with my news.  I can, for instance, bypass the story of the some pissed off guy who takes a machine gun to college and instead read the one about the woman who gave birth on an airplane so they upgraded her to first class.  See, so much less depressing, right?

Okay so back to Facebook, I write as my status:  'Just found out Gadahfi is dead.  Yay Libia!!'

So one friend writes:

Libya.

And then I think...Did I spell Gadahfi wrong too?  I bet I put the 'H' in the wrong place....sure enough, I'm corrected on that too.

In my defense, I was super conscious of not spelling LABIA, so I think I over compensated by forgetting the 'Y' completely.  Of course, spelling *Libia* isn't half as embarrassing as writing Labia...but I looked super ignorant, and I dislike looking anything other than perfect and smart.  Gadhafi isn't exactly Smith or Jones and I'm pretty sure the 'H' is silent, so I could have put it anywhere and it would still be silent, right?  

So, I decided to make a conscious effort to listen/watch/read more news and this is what I have filled my pure, innocent *ahem* mind with....

1.  In Ohio, a man who owns an exotic animal zoo opens all the cages then kills himself.  The animals, lions and tigers and a monkey with herpes - 40 animals in total - were shot dead by police because they're "not equipped  to deal with animals..."

2.  A 10 month old baby girl goes missing from her bed in the middle of the night and her mother is the prime suspect.  They're currently looking in abandoned wells in the area.

3.  There was a horrific earthquake in Turkey where at least 1000 people lost their lives.  One man lost his mother, wife and four children.  Can you imagine anguish like that?

And there were other ones, but I've evidently blanked them all out of my mind due to their graphic, sad nature because I cannot remember anymore.  They were really gruesome though, I remember being thoroughly shocked.  I remember thinking, "this is why I don't read the news!"

I don't want to read about murders and missing babies and suicides and natural disasters.  I mean it's great that we're all pulling out of Iraq and I'm super stoked that Afghanistan might be next (or already happened, or....something....).  It's great that they're finding survivors in the rubble in Turkey.  

I think I'll continue to be selective with the stories I read...

Um...So...I'm Still Single......Still...

I can talk myself out of a relationship in less than 30 seconds.  Ergo I can talk myself out of dating in less than 20.  What can I say?  It's a gift.  I can look at a man and in less than a minute I know it won't work out and why.  We start out being all happy and in love and then something happens.  He's emotionally unattainable, he hasn't grown up, he's a player, a womanizer.  Oh, he has too much money, I would feel inferior.  Or not enough, and I am not gonna be any one's sugar momma.  He's got no work ethic, or he's a workaholic.  He's too *into* himself or he just doesn't care enough.  I create for myself a whole elaborate story about why it won't work, and then here's the problem...I believe it.  I can dissect a man's character, beliefs, morals and values in less time than it takes to pee based on an impression that I make up in my head.

Do you think this is a problem?

More importantly, do you think I have a problem?

Because we all know it's not these men.  Logically, I get that.  It's not their problem.  It's my problem.  I mean, I'm sure they have problems...I just don't think that I can determine what they are in such a short period of time.  There is no possible way that I can know the deep intricacies of a man by taking one look at them.  There is no possible way that so many men can be as horrible as I think they all are.  

Can they?

They're either too needy, or don't (uh, won't) need me enough.  They're either too religious or not spiritual enough.  They're too short, too tall, too skinny, too something.  They're too serious or not serious enough.  They're too aloof.  They're too young, they're too old.  They won't love Quinn, or maybe they won't be a good role model for him.  I bet their toes are ugly and their feet smell.  And is that a hangnail?  Don't they know men can get manicures now too?  What about that eyebrow?  It needs to become two.  

In reality, we all know that just because he hasn't had a pedicure in 35 years does not mean he's a horrible person. In reality, I cannot be making rash decisions about any one person's character based on absolutely nothing.  

I need to shut my brain down for a while.  Stop over analyzing the shit out of things and just put myself out there.  Give people a chance and hope they can do the same for me.  My stomach has been in knots all week, dating crappy men in my head that don't even exist.  Talking myself out of something that might be really, really wonderful.

I don't want to be the crazy cat lady 10 years down the line.  I mean, I would be now if it weren't for the fact that I have a child and should probably keep it all together until he becomes old enough to take care of himself.  Well, that and I live with my mom.  And she's allergic to cats.  

It would be really, really nice to be in a relationship.  It would be really nice to even just date someone.  It would be super cool to feel attractive again and have a reason to get out of my sweat pants.  It would be nice to get out of my head and into the real world. 

The real issue here is probably my ridiculous fear of failure.  Everything in my life is going so well.  I'm happy.  Why push the envelope?  Why risk failure when everything in my life is so great right now?

Because something is missing.  

Someone is missing.  

I don't want a fairy tale.  A prince would be nice.  But really, I just want want to find my other half.  

Cry Fat Cry

I've been handling PMS this month pretty well, I'd like to say.  I only cried once at work, when my employee showed me a picture of her dog on her phone.  I know, totally random, right?  What can I say, those eyes just sucked me right in.  And then there was today when I was regaling my colleagues with stories of how I'd get over a break up.  To be fair, we were all *sharing* and I thought it was funny that I fantasized about spray painting some one's house in the middle of the night and unhitching the hood of the car so that when he drove it would *accidentally* open on the highway.  They were all looking at me a little weird, and evidently they all missed the point, which was.....I didn't actually do any of those things.  I just thought about doing them.  But note to self (and everyone else out there...):  It's not very funny.  It's "crazy", according to my co-workers.

I've not been handling the *Working Out* very well this month.  I just can't seem to figure out how to fit it into a schedule when I'm so completely exhausted.  Do I wake up extra early in the morning? Do I do it after work when I'm beat?  I just don't know where/when it fits.

I am doing a few things differently, though.  I'm taking an ACAI (I like to pronounce it properly...A-sigh-EEE) supplement in the hope it will help me burn fat faster, plus it is a really good anti-oxidant, so they say.  I'm also taking a multi vitamin, because I heard on this morning show that I listen to every morning on my way into work that it helps fill in the spots that your diet misses and if you fill all those spots, you're not as tired and you don't crave crappy food that you crave when you have spots missing in your diet.  

(Please note that at this point my computer froze and I lost the rest of my post.  I have recreated as much as I could remember, but I was much wittier the first time round...)

But I don't notice a difference.  Yet.  I don't want to be supermodel thin.  I want to just be healthy.  I want to be comfortable.  I want to be happy with my body.  I don't want to run the Boston Marathon, but I do want to be able to plank for like two minutes (my record right now is somewhere around 8 seconds), do sit ups and push ups, and go on the elliptical for an hour feeling good, not cursing it every single minute.  I want my body to show me all the awesome things it can do.  I wouldn't mind eating an ice cream cone without feeling guilty either.  That would be fabulous.

A year ago I was a smoker.  So I figure if I can quit that, I can do anything.  I look to motivational sayings for inspiration.  Like this one...

And this one...I really like.  Especially for a perfectionist like me.  It doesn't really matter how I do it, or how well I do, or what I look like while I do it...all that matters is that I do it.  

What's your inspiration for working out???  My real true super inspiration is not being the fat sister at the wedding in January.  

There IS A Gem At The End

Oh hello there, friend!  

Uh, I don't know...it's just been like super crazy around here.  In the summer, I was so looking forward to back to school.  You know, the whole organization thing and the schedule and the structure.  It was just so appealing to me.  Any free moment during the summer I would relish in because I knew *this* was just around the corner.  And here we are, with the school and the making lunches and the earlier mornings and the soccer practices and the soccer games and the homework and the school forms and the work and well, here we are...

I love the schedule, and the organization that it requires.  I am totally on top of it, honey.  We moms have to be, don't we?  For it to work right, for us not to go insane, for our kids to be happy.  We have to pick the clothes out and make the lunches the night before so we're not running around like a banshee in the morning looking for a damn pair of socks.  Or house keys.  I mean, those things have legs sometimes, I swear it's true.  And it's any one's guess where Q decides to take off his running shoes on any given day.  

Mornings here are fun.  And by fun, I mean totally not fun.  My alarm clock goes off somewhere around 5:30 and then I usually hit snooze 3 times, sometimes more.  I start to eliminate non-essential parts of my morning routine...you know...like showering.  Who needs to shower like every single day?  I don't know, but not me if it means that I get to sleep for nine more minutes.  Then I get ready in the dark (so as to not wake anyone up).  At 6:30, I become Q's alarm clock, and just like his momma...he does not like mornings.  So, I wake him up 3 or 4 times.  I start all nice, "Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey!!!" and "Rise and Shine".  Then I beg, then I bargain, then I pull the sheets off the bed, turn on all the lights and threaten to leave him at home.  Of course we all know that they're idle threats, so the bargaining works way better.  

I won't bore you with the rest of my day, but it includes a lot of sitting in traffic, cursing the bridge I must travel to get to work, it includes a lot of yawning and it includes a whole lot of mail.  I get two nights a week where my little love is at his dad's and Wednesdays just happens to be one of them (hence the blogging!!  Side note:  my computer has been decidedly difficult lately.  It decides to not connect to the Internet, which is vital to blogging, really.  Sometimes, it decides to connect and then I get all excited and then it disconnects for no apparent reason.  Simply put...it's driving me crazy...)  And I went three days (!!) without nail polish on, just because I didn't have time to let it dry.  I know.  It was tragic.

We've had a tough go of grade two.  Poor Q.  He was so happy in a grade 2/3 split class and then one week into school he was moved into a 1/2 split and his little ego took a bit of a beating.  His teacher is...well, mean.  She scares me, for crying out loud.  She doesn't really interact with her kids, there is nothing on the walls.  She might as well be a high school teacher.  Or a warden.  Not a grade 2 teacher, that's for sure.  Q has been begging me to home school him.  So we've decided to give the teacher a chance.  A month long chance.  Maybe she's really scared of all the new kids, wondering if they'll like her.  Maybe she's sad about something else that's going on in her life.  Maybe she's misunderstood.  We're giving her a try.  Both of us...me and Q.  

He's terrified he's going to get into trouble.  He worries about things that most likely will never, ever happen. He's looking for an easy out.  He's got an awesome opportunity to learn this year...not just reading and writing, but there's an opportunity to grow as a person.  I'm really so excited for him, to be truthful.  How many people get this chance so early in life to become a better person?  Of course, I realize it's my job to help him grow and not just hide under a blanket.  Some adults I know still want to just hide under the blankets when something bad happens.  I'm using this as best I can - how happiness is a choice, worrying changes nothing, looking for the best in people, our actions affect those around us.  I don't know if he really understands all that right now, but I really hope that if I say it enough one day he'll just be like, "ohhhhh, I get it...."  If it's my mantra, I want to make sure it becomes his too.  It's the gem I give him, and I pray he recognizes its value when he's a grown man making his own choices.

And now, as promised...the Gem...

So beautiful.  So pure.  So Innocent.  I'm totally embarrassing him with this when he gets married!!

the deets - 3 weeks in...

Weight: 169 (-2)  ...uh...wha?

Boobies: 40 in (-3 in)  Why is it always the boobies that are the first to go??  *Sob*

Waist: 37 1/2 in (-1/2)

Hips: 45 (-1)

Thigh: 23 (-2 1/2)

Arm: 13 (-1)

I'm up to 30 minutes on the elliptical, 9.1 km.  The gym is just not practical for my life style.  Leaving your 7 year old in the car for an hour is frowned upon in these parts, as is leaving him home alone.  It's easier to work out at home, than it is to be arrested.

If I could only stay away from the ice cream and the hamburgers...

A Great Imagination, Slightly Delusional or Crazy?

You decide.  

Because I'm a little too close to the subject matter to be an impartial judge.  You see, I am the subject matter.  

I don't know if you remember, but a few months back I mentioned a story about a family that goes to Q's school that just broke my heart.  The family had been on a road trip, had a terrible accident where horribly, the mother passed away, leaving two small daughters and a husband behind.  I almost cried when I saw the father in crutches *walk* the two children to school, each in their own wheelchair, after a month or so in the hospital. It was such a stark reminder of how horrible things could happen in the blink of an eye.

As the months passed, I thought often of the girls and how they were faring in the aftermath of probably the most horrid thing ever to happen to anyone.  I cannot even imagine losing my mom at all, let alone at such an early age in such an awful way.  How were they healing without their mother?  Was someone there to take care of them?  How was their father?  How was he dealing with raising two little girls without the love of his life?  The mother of his children?

And then I got to thinking what would it be like to date a widower?  How would it be different from dating a divorcee or someone who's never been married?  How would it be to become the step mother of two little girls who had lost their mother?  I wonder...

I know, so many questions!!

Here's the thing...I thought about him and them so much that when I saw him at the school yesterday, I expected him to recognize me.  I would daydream about him.  I saw him, I smiled and he looked straight through me to his daughter.  Well, of course he did.  He doesn't know me from a hole in the ground.  In his world, I don't even exist.  It was embarrassing.  Thankfully no one saw.  Thankfully, I didn't wave and call him darling.  I mean, seriously, what am I?  How so very *ambulance-chaser* of me.  I feel so guilty for even considering it.

My heart has been broken (numerous times over) by men who don't even really know who I am, or know me only to say hello and then carry on with their day.  My imagination sees a man, and creates a story - a love story - around them and me.  It's epic.  It's fabulous.  It's a fairy tale.  It's my imagination.  I've begun to think that no real story will ever be good enough for me because I've created so many ridiculous ones in my head.  

A few angry uterus days ago, I ran into three male colleagues who were trying to figure out why I was in such a bad mood (duh...) and one said, "Oh, I think she's worried about finding a date for her brother's wedding!"  They all started laughing and I just couldn't deal with the smug boy's club any longer, so I said, "Gentlemen, until I find a man who can offer me more than I can give myself, I am quite content to be single, thank you very much."  I know, right?  One of those things that just comes out of your mouth and after you're all like, "Wow.  That totally rocked!!!"  Anyways, one of them replied, "Sweetheart, you'll never find one like that."  And they ALL laughed!!!

**Gasp**

Are you kidding me?

I've heard it said that the worst thing that the Women's Liberation movement did for society was allow men to remain boys.  Why must a man provide for his family when his wife is perfectly capable of doing so?  Why must he get off his ass to pay the bills, cut the grass, take out the garbage when he has a woman who does it?  There is no incentive for men to step up.  Women, we've essentially won nothing.  Men are sitting on the couch, playing video games completely oblivious to the war and we're still fighting.   So, while I might be crazy, I'd prefer to live in my imagination, where men save women, boys grow up to be gentlemen, and women get to be ladies.

Her Name Is Lola

and she's my show girl

Less than 24 hours ago, I had no idea that I would be the new owner of a car.  Less than 24 hours ago, I was living my little life with my little Rosie, pondering how I'd pay for the new timing belt and berating myself for letting it go so long since my last oil change.  The brakes were squealing, the tires were bald, but hey, she was my Rosie.  She once drove from Calgary to Merritt - that's 800km - on one tank of gas.  I've had her for 5 years!  That's longer than I've stuck with anything (not including my child, of course).  She has taken care of me, even though I've not always been the best at taking care of her.

I knew the financing schedule that I had set up was coming to an end, but I didn't really know what to do with that information, so true to form, I stuck my head in the sand and hoped for the best.  While I'm not condoning this behavior at all, nor does it ever actually work for me...this time, I must have had luck on my side.  

I got a phone call from a gal named Zora, and this is what she said..

Z: Hello C.  Your financing is almost up.  What are you going to do?

Me:  That's a very good question!  I have NO idea.  What are my options?

Z: Well.  Your best option is to bring the car in, we'll buy it back and give you a new one.  We've got some really great deals on right now.

Me:  Like what?

Z: 0% financing.  No payments for 90 days. $300 gas card.  Great deals.  Big sale. 

Me:  Okay, I'll come in next week!!

Z: No!!!  You must come in today.  The deals end today.  I cannot give you the deal tomorrow.  It must be today

(She has a very strong eastern European accent.  Am I conveying that effectively?)

Four hours later, I was driving home with a brand new Kia Soul in Titanium Grey.  I know, right?  Shut the front door!  I never do anything with much research (True story:  I once bought a car because I liked the sound it made when I opened the door.  It wasn't a DING. DING. DING.  It was more of a bing, bing, bing), but I have also never, ever bought a car on a whim.  A bing maybe, but never a whim.  My payments are a little bit more than before, but that's okay, cuz guess what...I'm gonna BUDGET for it. 

Holla!!

Now here's where I get all sappy and emotional and excuse me if I break down completely...

Five years ago I was in the midst of a break up.  I was facing a reality of a failed *marriage*, a future as a single mother.  I was working part time.  I had $300 to my name.  I sat in the dealership wondering how I'd be able to manage the payments on a car and pay rent and support a toddler all on my own.  While excited for the future, I was terrified of what it held.  Terrified I wasn't strong enough to face it.  Horribly disappointed in myself that *this* was what I had become.  Ashamed I couldn't offer my child or any one else anything more.  I was a broken down version of myself.  

I had a little, itty bitty teeny bit of hope deep, deep down that maybe I'd get through.

Five years later, I wish I could have traveled back in time and told my former self that we were going to be okay.  We were going to be more than okay.  We were strong enough, and every moment from that first singleton moment on was a second chance to become more than I was then.  I wasn't a failure.  I was starting again, and the person I was about to become was amazing and strong and kind and wonderful and it was going to be okay.  I wish I could have told that woman that. 

I sat in the dealership yesterday and giggled.  I just kept giggling.  It was so ridiculous that I was buying a brand new car with no foresight or research or reasoning or anything *logical*.  I giggled because I was the woman who made it through and became better for all the trials in front of me.  I allowed them to make me stronger.  I giggled because I had the ability to make a completely insane decision on a whim.  I giggled because I didn't have to ask anyone or compromise or "just wait until tomorrow".  I giggled because I drove away with a brand new car.

This morning...

I woke up feeling like I was going to puke.  WTH did I just do?  Was I friggen insane?  Who does shit like that?  A little bit of buyers remorse, I'd say.  I'm talking myself out of the panic, because let's face it...5 years of panic does not sit well with me.  What's done is done, and so I might as well enjoy it. 

And I figure...with a name like Lola...who doesn't have at least one regret after one night with a gal named Lola?

Am I right?

C'mon Show Girl...Let's get this show on the road!!  (How cheesy is that!!)  Some times I just love the cheese!!

Wish I Had Thought Of That

 See that pretty lil red button there that says "Pin it"?  Well, I found it here....

This is probably the most amazing website I've seen.  People from all walks of life can create these virtual photo albums of things that make them happy.  It's like when you were a kid and you used to cut pages out of magazines and put them in a binder...cuz I know I wasn't the only one who ever did that, right?  And then the whole world can see them.  It's like virtual people watching.  It's like looking deep inside some one's brain and seeing what makes them tick.  I could spend hours and hours here. 

It's great for blogging because as long as you give credit where credit is due, you can use any image you see there.  And the images are beautiful.  And inspiring.  It's great for my organizational side, because you place the pics in their categories, whether they be Quotes or Fashion or Beauty.  It's great because if you're planning on renovating a room, instead of having physical samples, you can use virtual ones.  It's great because if you're planning a wedding, you use a 'board' to 'pin' pictures of ideas you'd like to copy for your own special day.  It's great because you can invite friends to look at your different boards, give their opinions, post their own pics.  It's great because you find a pic on line and want to save it, you 'pin' it and you're done.  The image is imortalized on your page, instantly categorized.  It's brilliant, I tell you!!  Brilliant!!

I think I've found my new...*shopping*

If I can't buy pretty things, at least I can look at them, dream of them, organize them....*pin* them!!

The Constant Gardener

Wasn't that the name of a movie?  The Constant Gardener?  I think it was.  I'd like to be able to name a post, "The Importance of Being Earnest" just one time and just because I like the sound of it.  One day I'll find a way to fit it in.  Anyways, here is my little constant gardener.  It's been so beautiful here in the mornings, he gardened in his housecoat while I enjoyed my morning coffee.

isn't he just the cutest lil thing ever?!?!!

a fluffy white caterpillar. what butterfly will it become?

with super human strength.  it jumped onto this leaf!

In Which I Learn A Painful Lesson

I'm feeling a little discouraged today.

Have you ever had to admit that you were in over your head and you needed help?  Then help arrived and you felt relieved at first, but then you started feeling really, really discouraged because you couldn't do it on your own?

So, I like pretty things.  I like sparkly things.  I like colourful things.  I like things that are soft and fluffy.  I like things that are expensive.  Things you can read.  Things you can wear.  Basically, I like things.  Any amount of things, things of different shapes and sizes, colours and textures.  Things make me happy.

Spending money makes me happy. 

Money for me has always been a means to an ends.  I want this and I need money to get it.  Seems pretty simple, right?  It is.  Until big bad credit card companies start promising you a world full of things and then when you're not looking they 'up' your limit.  All of the sudden, things are everywhere and money is nowhere to be found. 

When you're spending money just as fast as you're earning it, you never have anything left over for a rainy day.  Whether that rainy day involves new brakes for Rosie (yes, I named my car.  You haven't?) or a root canal, you can always be sure that unexpected rainy day is super expensive and puts you so far behind you forget what ahead looks like. 

This has been my whole adult life.  Never getting ahead financially.  Always, always behind.  I had a visit with the credit counselors a few months back, and they had some pretty helpful tips (which you can find here). Unfortunately, for me, I was far more attracted to the lure of the almighty *thing* than I was the almighty savings account.  

To be clear, I'm not poor.  I'm not exactly rich, but I'm by no means poor.  I make a comfortable income bossing people around all day (as nicely as possible, of course).  I don't live lavishly either.  I own one Coach purse and almost choked when I bought it.  I never pay over $50 for a pair of jeans.  I only ever dream of Loubotins or Jimmy Choo's.  I prefer silver over gold.  The thing is, you don't have to be rich to live in debt.  You also don't have to buy expensive things to be in debt.  It kind of sneaks up on you while you're buying nail polish and groceries and clothes for a growing boy and paying bills and getting your hair all done and eating out here and there and here and there and a Starbucks latte here and a Timmies double double there and body lotion and that cute summery top that was on sale and the gorgeous silver converse that were on sale and the trip to Costco....and before you know it you're $10,000 behind.

$10,000.  To some it's pocket change.

To me...it's a sentence.  A life sentence.

So, this credit counselling company is going to take all my credit cards away, take away the interest payments, and consolidate all this into one low, low monthly payment that I will be paying for the next four years.  The only hitch is that for the next four years I will not be *allowed* to have a credit card.  Or credit of any kind for that matter. 

At first I felt overwhelming relief.  This was a fabulous freeing feeling.  I was free from the interest that was eating up my paychecks every single pay day.  I was free from the taunting from the credit cards, 'use me, use me, use me'.  I was given useful tools for how to budget and how to save my money.  I was admitting defeat and learning from my mistakes.  I was growing.  This was going to be a fabulous thing I was doing.

That feeling didn't last very long.

Because then I remembered that I couldn't do this.....

 Or wear these.....

Or get a manicure like this...

Or buy a ring like this....

And then I realized this was going to be no walk in the park.  This was going to be hard work.  What on earth am I going to do with my free time if I cannot spend money?  I mean, all kidding aside...my hobby is shopping.  Not window shopping...actual, let's spend some money, let's buy something shopping.  My clothing budget for the year is $360.00.  I've budgeted to spend $10 a week on coffee.  Yes, you read that right, not $10 a day, but $10 a week.  I have a $10/month budget for books.  Uh....hello?  Do you know what this means?  This means I'm going to have to *gasp* get books from the library.  I can't buy anything on Ebay for 4 years.  I can't book a flight online for 4 years.  I cannot buy anything on Etsy for 4 years.  Technically (eye roll) I can't do that now, either because my cards are all maxed out.  But 'technically' never really sat that well with me anyways. 

Realistically, these are skills I'm supposed to be learning for a life time....not just the years until my debt is paid off.  But my vision goes all blurry (eek!  No laser eye surgery for 4 years), I get ringing in my ears and I feel a little faint when I think of just how drastically my life is going to have to change, and how little say I now have on the topic.  That might be the worst of it...I have no control over it.  Some gal named Linda does.  I don't even know what Linda looks like, and she's got all my credit cards.  Sigh

Some lessons in life are a little more painful than others.  I guess this is one of them.

The Hormones Made Me Do It....

Disclaimer:  This will be TMI.  For everyone, but guys especially.  There's this ad for a new TV show this fall, and she's all like, "You girls think that ignoring your boyfriend when you're angry at him is a punishment...but it's not...it's a reward.  If you really want to punish him, just. keep. talking.  About everything...how fat you feel, your period...."  So ya.  Hilarious side note: (wow!! disclaimer and a side note - and brackets??? I haven't even started the post yet...I'm on a roll) Q keeps walking around the house going, "Talk about your period..."  I'm gonna have lots of 'splainin' to do...

I have been PMS-ing for 9 days.  Yup.  You read that correctly.  9 freaking days.  And I was 5 days late.

Usually, I'm Ms. Regular (no, I'm not even going to start with BM's, don't worry...)  Aunt Flo visits every 28 days, except for March when she arrives a week early and October when she arrives a week late.  Kinda like the whole daylight savings thing, only with my period.  I could plan events by the absolute regularity of my period.  I know that's a little weird to say, I was going to say you could set your clock to my period, but it's not that regular or fabulous.  We'll keep Big Ben for that, I think.

Because I'm so regular, I'm also always the Alpha Female.  Yes, I said Alpha Female.  And yes, I capitalized it.  It's something I'm really very proud of, how totally *Woman* I am.  Like, women I work with (or live with) will casually say, "Geez, I'm like a week early (or late)...what's up with that??"  And I'll be all, "uh....ya, that's totally weird.  I have no idea why that might be..."  when really I totally know that it's because of me and my super hero strength hormones. 

One week before, my hormones decide to surge bitchiness.  I don't know what it is or why it wants me to be so mean, but I have absolutely no control over it.  I can hear myself saying things and think, "oh.....that's so mean...." but I cannot stop the words from coming.  I can't stop my middle finger from popping up when the car in front of me decides to stop at a green light because they're *lost* and don't know if they should go straight, or left, or right.  You know what buddy?  I get lost, like all the time, and I pull into a parking lot or something.  Why should everyone suffer because I'm directionally challenged?  Green means go dude.  I can't stop telling the kids off in the kiddie pool for splashing.  I know, right?  Total party pooper.  It's a kiddie pool, for crying out loud.

I purposely avoid conversations with my ex that may lead to conflict during this time, because I have been known to be very, very mean and I am not exaggerating at all when I say I have made him cry at least once while I was PMS-ing. 

I crave chocolate and ice cream and potato chips (mmmmm, ketchup and salt and vinegar) and chocolate and fudge and sugar and sugar and sugar.  And have no self control over any of them.  It's like they call my name and I just cannot resist.  I have a mug that says, "Forget Men.  I fall for Chocolate".  It was a gift from a girlfriend who knows me very, very well.  Try losing 36 pounds when all you can think of is a Chocolate Fudge Brownie with Vanilla Bean Ice Cream and Caramel Syrup.  Yes.  I broke down.  Last night.  And it was sooooooo worth it.....

I have troubles sleeping for at least 2-3 days before.  This is just cruel times 10 because I'm already grumpy, and now you're going to take sleep away from me as well???  Do you want me to get arrested?  Have you no shame?    Obviously not, because on top of it all is a sore back and really, super sore boobies.  I should call in sick for two weeks out of each month - one for PMS-ing and the other for MS-ing.  That'll go over well, right?  I'm sure. "Ya hi.  Uh...me again.  Yup.  Yup, I'm calling in...uh, woman...this week...again..."

My family and friends notice it.  They're all like, "Why are you being so mea....oh.  Really?  Didn't we just do this last month?"  And I'm all like, "Um, ya.  You think I'm enjoying this?"  To be clear...I'm not.  At all.  One colleague (male) actually had my cycle pegged by the moon.  Interestingly enough, my PMS begins around the time of the full moon, when the gravitational pull of the earth....oh, whatever. 

This time, because I'm 5 days late, I have been uber-bitch for 9 days.  It is exhausting being mean.  It really, truly is.  I'm the happy, bubbly, fun, nice one.  It's way better being that way.  I don't want to be the mean one.  Mean is ugly.  I want to be the pretty one.

Almost nothing is so beautiful, serene, calming, and wonderful as when my body finally decides it is ready to shed the lining of my uterine wall.  It is like my body immediately sighs a huge sigh of relief and suddenly I am ME again. 

Until the cramps start. 

And the headaches.

And then I want to lie in bed for another 4-7 days.

It really makes me mad, like irate-mad,  that men complain about getting their prostate checked every year.  Like seriously, that is the worst thing you got?  Why don't I get a vacuum and suck the lining of your stomach out for 4 to 7 days?  Let's see how much you like getting your prostate checked after that little experiment. 

Lose Yourself in this Harem...I mean, Book

Ladies, I found a really good read.  "Some Girls - My Life in a Harem" by Jillian Lauren because let's face it...we all really want to know.  I know it's not just me.  And seeing as how being in a harem is all *taboo* and how do you even bring up a subject like that to begin with?  How does someone get to that point in their life, when their decision is whether to accept the job in retail or get on a plane to be in a Prince's harem?  She has an incredible writing style - she's funny, she's vulnerable, she's nice (on my "severely under appreciated qualities" list).  It reads like a novel, not a documentary.  It's sexy without being porno.  It's how we battle that which is inside us, to become a better person in the end.  I highly recommend it.

http://www.jillianlauren.com/publications/

Swim, Little...uh...Fish, Swim

You know that as mothers we (I) always freak out when our (my) children don't hit certain milestones as early as we (I'd) like.  Who's really kidding who here?  We all want over acheivers.  We all want  that child that doesn't really have to *try* at anything but is really, really *good* at everything they do.  For me, there is the added worry that something is actually *wrong* with my child and a delay in this or that is just the early signs.  That's what research has done to me.  It's made me wiser than I need to be and paranoid at everything. 

I always wanted Q to be in the highest percentile of the growth chart.  Not because it meant (or means) anything to me.  I still don't even get the whole growth chart/percentile thing.  I just wanted him to succeed.  If he was in the 99th percentile...that's gotta be awesome, right?  Like way better than the 50th percentile for sure.

I really wanted him to walk, just like every single mother out there.  And when he walked at 9 months, I was ecstatic!!!  9 months!!!  I mean, that's a pretty big deal, wouldn't you say?  About a month after he started walking, and then running everywhere...I would remember the days before he moved at all, quite fondly.  I was exhausted running after him all day long.  How could someone so little be so fast?

When he wasn't potty trained by the time he was 2 1/2, my mother looked at me and said, "How many 20 year olds do you know of who still wear diapers?  It'll happen when it happens.  Some things just do."  So while I couldn't brag about my 18 month old using his *big boy potty* I could brag about the fact that his potty training was probably one of the easiest experiences ever.  One day he said, "I want to use the big potty!" and we were done.  My mom was right, he wasn't 20...he was 3!

Some milestones we hit right on target, some we hit a little behind the curve, others still we were light years ahead.  I freaked out no matter what. 

Q was just a baby I took him to mommy and me swimming classes.  I wanted to be one of *those* moms.  The first time was oodles of fun, the second time he screamed bloody murder the whole time.  Not the whole time we were in the pool, but the whole time we were there - from the moment we entered the Y to the moment we left.  The third time he also screamed the. whole. time. The fourth time, he fell asleep in the car on the way to the Y and I decided it was a sign, and we never went back. 

Thus began the seven year fear of water for my lil Q.  I'm talking like terrified of water...any body of water, really.  In a tiny pool, "NOOOOOO, I'm going to drown.  You're going to DROWN me...." (side note: have you ever noticed how echo-y pools are?)  In a lake, "NOOOOOOOOOO, I'm going to DIE.  Don't let GOOOOOOOO!!!!"  Lakes carry sound pretty far too, interestingly enough.  Not one to push things, after learning they usually come on their own...I mean, how many adults don't know how to swim?  Okay, bad example...or at least not as good as the whole *potty training* one...but, still, I've just patiently waited for him to be ready.  My only thing was I'd say, "Q, I just don't get it.  When mommy was your age, she was swimming like a little fishy."

Last week, Q decided he wanted to go swimming.  Within an hour, he had taught himself how to swim.  Literally.  It was one hour.  Now, I'm not saying his technique is all that great.  In actual fact, he looks a little (a lot, really) like he's drowning.  His arms flail all over the place, his legs move this way and that.  He likes to twirl his body around and around, like an aligator that's just caught its prey.  Then, his body goes completely limp (from exhaustion? Experimenting? I don't know).  Next, he does this little 'bum in the air' thing, and he's out of the water.  I freak out the *whole* time, because until he actually comes up for air, there is this little voice inside me that says, "If he looks like he's drowning, he probably is..." but then up pops his head, a huge, proud grin on his face, and I'm reassured that he is alright. 

I think swimming lessons are in our future this fall...