Reflections...

Have you ever caught a glimpse of yourself in a mirror or your reflection in a window and you think "Dang, I'm not looking so great today." Only then the next day, you see yourself again and it's like "I'm sensing a pattern here..."

By the third or fourth time that happens, you start to realize that no, it wasn't a bad day. That's what you ACTUALLY LOOK LIKE.

I am cute on a good day. At my best, I may even be kind of pretty. I have never been, and will never be, "beautiful," at least not in my own eyes or, I think, in the opinion of the general public.

But even when you feel like an ugly duckling for the most part, there are times in your life when you feel halfway decent about your outward appearance. Like "Yeah, I've got it..."

Maybe because I came out of my pregnancy 20 pounds thinner than I went into it. Maybe because I gave birth to what I consider to be one of the most beautiful, perfect creatures that ever was. Maybe just the glow of being a new mama again. I don't know, but I've spent the last few weeks feeling pretty dang good.

Until I caught my reflection. I am not looking good. I am struggling. Even with my sassy new hair. Something must be done. I will let you know when I figure out what.

Sundays...

Sundays are nice when you have absolutely nothing to do. My house could be cleaner, but everyone needs to mosey every now and then. I have a sassy new haircut and it's a shade of red that Hubs doesn't appreciate, but life is pretty good.

I love my two little sugars. Sundays remind me of that. Even when they're sniffly and grumpy or throwing up on you after riding the Sky Trooper at the county fair (so sorry about that, Boy. It was a bad, bad idea.), they make the world go round.



And this face? This girl is going places. I can just see it.

All I want for Christmas...

I need to post this before I forget.

The Boy started a Christmas list this week. Wanna know what's on it?

1. A remote controlled dump truck that we saw at the "fancy" toy store today, which Santa will try to produce for half the ridiculously inflated price, but fail miserably.

2. One of those poles with the extending claw on the end for picking up cans on his litter walks with Pap.

3. An alarm system with loudspeakers that will allow him to conduct fire drills at home. Complete with the little fire handle you pull to set off the alarm and flashing lights.

4. Life Alert. Yes, of the "I've fallen and I can't get up!" variety.

I...I just...well...

He's mine. Aaaaaalllll mine.

Boo, hiss on la...

In releasing some long pent-up anger, I managed yesterday to play my part in hurting a person I consider one of my very best friends. I should definitely have put more thought into the impact of my words.

I've apologized and I think (*hope*) we're okay, but it's been eating at me all night. I'm not a villain, but I sure as hell acted like one. So I owe the universe something good today. Taco retribution, if you will.

Two months?

Happy two months, little girl. Mama is more proud of you every day!

C'mon lady, have a heart....

Today, I got a postcard in the mail "asking" for a donation to the local volunteer fire department.

Now, I'm all for supporting my local VFD. Those guys are awesome.

But the donation "request" tells you to send the card back in with your payment. So now I've got this visual of me dialing 911 and the guys down at the fire hall flipping through a rolodex of returned "donation" cards, and being all, "Oh THAT house? They didn't send a check. Let's make some dinner before we head over there."

Like the time I donated to the Troopers' association. The next year, I just didn't have the spare cash laying around. They called back like seventeen times, getting meaner and meaner every time. And I am now convinced that they are out there somewhere, looking for my license plate, so they can pull me over and call me names and make me cry.

I'm nervous enough in my car, so I guess I'll send the VFD a check tomorrow so I can at least stay home in peace, without my conscience screaming "Shoulda supported the VFD!"

Random crap day...

Overheard at Rite Aid:

"Oh, sir, are those your nuts?"
"Ah yes, almost left them here!"

*giggle*
I am twelve.
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Seriously, work? No better. All they'd have to do is confiscate my Swingline and I might turn into Milton.
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Everyone seems to agree that my husband is quite the douche for busting out my back glass. He , of course, thinks it was a nice "honest" mistake.

To quote my cherry blossom friend, "Shouldn't surveyors have better spacial skills?"

He's not amused.

You can't put Willy where Willy won't go...

Pop quiz:

There a large freezer in a box prohibiting you from closing your back hatch. Do you:

1) Ask the store to hold it until you can come back with the truck that is sitting in your driveway at home.
2) Go back in to the store, buy some bungee cords or rope and tie the hatch down, thus securing the freezer in your way-back and keeping the hatch from flying open.
3) Test the fit two or three times, notice that the hatch isn't coming CLOSE to closing, and then slam the hatch door down as hard as you possibly can, ramming the corner of said freezer through the glass, causing an extremely loud explosion. Your wife will then scream, because your baby, who was sitting in her seat RIGHT NEXT TO YOU when you decided to bust out the car window, starts wailing and your wife is concerned that she just got showered in broken glass.

If you answered (3), then you are my husband, and thus a raging fucktard. A regular fucktard would have tried to convince you that you could lay down the whole back seat and then wedge the baby in between the freezer and the side of the car.

I'm creating a new social class--the yuppie redneck:


Yes, that is a dollar store shower curtain taped to my Highlander. Classy!

What about on weekends?

LA: So buddy, how is school?
Boy: Good, mama. Hey mama, guess what?
LA: ?
Boy: I made a new best friend. He's in my class, his name is C.
LA: That's good. What's he like?
Boy: Oh, he likes fun stuff. And he likes to play and stuff.
LA: Well good, buddy.
Boy: And the best part is, he still likes me after lunch.


Apparently B, his "best friend" last year did not still like him after lunch. While it makes me giggle a little bit to think that the description of a "best friend" is: someone who likes fun and is still talking to you in the afternoon, it makes me sad to think that at seven years old the Boy has already had someone treat him in a way that he has to make that distinction.

Someone on my Mommy board said that high school sucks, and while I agree 400% with that, my worst memories are elementary school. Learning how to make and keep friends? So freaking hard. I just hope that the Boy can find a couple of nice kids who appreciate him for the person he is. He's got such a big heart, and I hate to think of someone trampling all over it.

Her first day of work...

The power company was working by the day care this morning, so there was no power for a few hours. It was supposed to get to be near 100 degrees today, so I decided not to chance it and took Ladybug in to work with me.

Apparently, she is perfect. Everyone says so. So I'm not just biased, I guess.

And apparently, her father and I are both quite fugly. Because every time someone says "Oh my, she's so beautiful!", they look at me quizzically and follow it up with "But who does she look like?"

Jerks.

Too fast...

Ladybug giggled. We had a nice hour of pure happy baby, all smiles and coos and tree frog climbing. And she looked me dead in the eye and gave a little "heh, heh, heh" with that big ol' beautiful toothless grin. My heart soars and sinks at the same time.

I swear, she's grown since yesterday. And it terrifies me that in the next blink she'll be walking, then off to preschool, and then before you know it she's bringing home science homework and spelling words with two syllables. I hate to think what comes next. As much as I look forward to watching her grow into the wonderful little girl I know she'll be, I want her to be my delicate little baby forever.

The crankiness continues...

All I'll say is I hate my job. I've hated it for quite some time, but today was a pretty solid reminder of why I am so unhappy in my current situation.

Anyhow, nothing really ever got better. The Boy got attacked by some kind of kamikaze caterpillar and here's what happened:

Ouch.

Hubs got shot by a nail gun. It grazed his chest and went completely through his left thumb. I thought he was kidding, because he and his brother were laughing so hard when he came in to clean it up and get it bandaged, but then he quit putting pressure on it and oh. my. god. I am not a squeamish person, but that was just gross. Now it's big and purple and looks awful. It wasn't his fault, so I can't make fun of him, unfortunately.

I burned my lip on a pizza roll. I don't like leaving Ladybug at day care, but I don't know anyone in our little podunk town who might babysit. The job has me grumpy. And my dad isn't talking to me. Why?

A couple of weeks ago, he told me I was "unreliable" and went further to say he couldn't count on me. It absolutely broke my heart. I was having a bad "miss my mom" kind of day anyway, as I always do on birthdays and stuff. And I have worried about him every second for the last 3, almost 4, years. I would walk to the ends of the earth for him, because my daddy hung the moon. But I forgot to mail out a paper for him sometime last year, and I can't be counted on now.

So I got upset when he said this, and I had to leave the room. I sat on his back porch and cried for a long time. The next day I got "I'm sorry but..." and I hate that kind of (non)apology. So I guess now he's mad that my feelings got hurt. He used to call me every day just to tell me he loved me and to check on the kids. He hasn't called me in 10 days now. And so my heart stays broken.