And a statue will be erected in your honor....

I was thinking this weekend about a conversation I had with my mother in law when The Boy was just born.  I was recounting a story that involved Juanito helping with some aspect and she made a comment about how his father never helped with any of that.  “That” being taking care of his children.  I wanted to say well that should have been your first indicator that he was not a spectacular father but I held my tongue.  I do that every now and then, but rarely.  Sadly I was told this by many women in my family.  I have never really been sure what to make of it. Was I supposed to feel bad for them and how bad they had it with their lame husbands?  Was I supposed to feel thankful for having a husband who gave a shit about being a father?  Was I less of a mother because I’m not doing it all on my own? 

So this conversation and the questions it brings always bubble to the surface when I feel conflict with Juanito.  It’s a struggle to balance the house and careers and children and pets and car maintenance and home maintenance and laundry and cleaning and social lives and personal time oh and sleep.  I know that just like there are times that I feel like I carry more weight than Juanito there are times that he feels that too.  But I found myself having this internal dialogue while I was unloading and reloading the dishwasher for the third time in a weekend (a weekend that we ate out more often than ate in it mind you) and I thought, am I just supposed to accept this role and be thankful that he will change poopy Pull-ups (or worse poopy underwear)?  Am I asking too much that he do both?  And this is no reflection on Juanito and his side of load. (So don’t read into this Juanito.)  I’m asking more for all the working moms.  Is it too much of us to ask that the workload of maintaining house, home and family be evenly split?  Are we spoiled when our husbands share the workload?  Am I less of a mother and wife because he does? 

Then seriously this is the thought that comes into my head.  What about gay and lesbian couples?  They must have to struggle with sharing workload but do they grapple with the traditional roles?  How can I assume that mowing the yard is “his thing” when lesbian couples I know fight over who has to do yard work.  And then what about those couples that have children?  Do they have to talk it out and say “this is what I want to do and you can do this?”  Do they reexamine their plan to make sure everything is covered before implementing?  Because we do. 

When we started this relationship so long ago I know that everything was split.  Rent, closet space, cleaning, everything.  I know that if it hadn’t been this way I would have bailed on the relationship a long time ago.  We both went into it with this even-stevens mentality.  So why should I be grateful for a husband who would get up in the middle of the night with a newborn because my MIL didn’t have that?  I shouldn’t feel guilty that I can chat with friends or family while Juanito corrals The Boy.  And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve a parade for washing poopy underwear. 

Sometimes this adult thing sucks and the figuring it out part is exhausting. 

**Side note:  not sure how I’ve made the gay and lesbian population my litmus test for all things, but I find myself doing more and more these days.

Frustrating but Unique

So remember when I said I felt poopie?  Well the shit hit the fan and I've been down for the count for the past day.  I was so bad that I actually went to the doctor.  Just so you know the gravity of that statement, I haven't been to my primary care physician (can I even call him that at this point?) since before The Boy was born.  Their chart is not documented with my PCOS or my child.  They do know I got married though so there's that.  I'm a little miffed because bascially he told me to ride it out.  I wanted drugs damn it.  That whole holistic "it will make your immune system stronger" crap was NOT what I wanted.  I wanted a Zpac!  I got drink orange juice and here's some Amoxicillin (not even the yummy liquid kind). 

Anyways......  I have a cold and an ear infection, this is my MO.  I always get ear infections.  One time in college I was sick and went to the student, I don't know what they called it, infirmary?  Anyways, the medical professional there made a comment that looking at some one's ears with chronic ear infections is like looking at the rings of a tree.  But I digress as usual.

It Halloween...yay! sniff sniff snniiiiiiffffff, blow.  We went to the pumpkin patch.  We made green caramel marshmallow popcorn and delivered our "Zombie Boogers" in our Boo Bags to our friends and family.  And by we I mean me at like 10 pm on Saturday night because I'm still a swinging gal!  We attended the Monster Bash sans costume for The Boy.  We carved pumpkins with our family and friends.  The Boy calls the pumpkins "pumps." 

Sidebar...my mother in law calls them punkins which totally reminds me of my Grandma making fun of people who can't say pumpkin correctly.  I was young at the time too and I'm sure she did to reinforce how to say it correctly but for the life of me I couldn't tell the difference in what she was saying.  I mean I do now.  I was thankful my Grandma wasn't around to correct my mother in law.  But Grandma's lesson only taught me that she always acted a bit better than those around her.  Again, I digress.....

So what I was getting at was that today is Halloween and The Boy has yet to put on a costume.  We had the cute cuddly dragon, the RWAR dinosaur that he could ride, the police man he picked out, the generic super hero, Yoda, and a doctor.  The dragon he wouldn't put on past his legs, which is what led to the dinosaur but that wasn't fun, except when Juanito put it "on" to show The Boy just how much fun it was.  So we took the dinosaur back and got the generic super hero because it looked simple to put on and The Boy picked out the police man.  Come time to put either on for the Monster Bash and oh, hell no.  He put the police hat on but then it ended.  The generic super hero never had a chance. 

While at the Monster Bash one friend's son had on a Yoda costume which was really just a jacket so I was hey that might work.  Luckily Schmacey's son was Yoda when he was younger and she had one laying around.  Sweet! Maybe.  Every time The Boy sees the costume just in the bag he says that it belongs to Baby Richard.  So apparently not his costume.  Last year The Boy was a Mad Science and his grandma made him a lab coat that we were hoping would still fit him and in the off chance we bought a cheap "stethoscope" from Walmart.  Juanito was like, he could be McDreamy or Steamy. Please don't dock his man card in this time of emergency.  So the stethoscope was a huge hit this morning but screw you lab coat, you can stay in the bag.  So when I delivered The Boy to daycare this morning he wore his scuba man tee shirt (another back up costume) his crocs, plaid shorts, his sweatshirt and his stethoscope.  I think he's an anesthesiologist. 

So who knows what he'll actually end up being tonight.  I have a few more tricks up my sleeve but I've accepted that this is just part of him growing up.  Maybe its not like everyone else but he definitely isn't like everyone else so why start now?

Does anyone have family on the East Coast?  Are they ok?  All of my family back there is present and accounted for.  A little shaken and a little soggy but ok!  Hope you can say the same!

Fickle Bitch

There is a lot of talk about the fall; much hub-bub, about Mother Nature these days. There are people here in Phoenix nostalgic for the crispy autumn air and golden hues of fall. There are also people in Phoenix celebrating that the AC can be turned off (for now because this ain’t my first rodeo).

There are people in the Ohio flabbergasted by the 80 degrees in October. There are people in Oklahoma frustrated that they can’t bust out their cute sweaters and scarves. There are people in Colorado shoveling snow off their cars. There are people in California doing a little happy dance for the rain and dropped temperatures.

It seems that everyone is critical of Mother Nature and in their defense she is one fickle bitch. This morning in my neck of the desert it was actually chilly. I finally warranted the cardigan that is a staple in my wardrobe. The last two mornings The Boy has worn a sweatshirt to daycare. But on this afternoon I’m stuffy and hot in the office and my weather icon on my monitor says its bright and sunny at 82 degrees. .

I know that this isn’t the autumn that gets conjured up when you think October. I know that we could very easily rock the flip flops year round (and some do, Juanito). But this isn’t new information people! This is how the weather always has been and always will be, unless you subscribe to that silly little notation of “global warming.” Why do people every year complain that its still 80 and they can’t wear their boots. Or “Its October and I got a sunburn.” And to make matters worse, I’m now complaining about the complaining.

Anyways… The weather, she’s a fickle bitch. What she does today will change tomorrow. Before you know it Ohio is gonna be buried in snow, Oklahoma is gonna blow off the map; Colorado well they are used to snow before Halloween; and Phoenix, well you know Phoenix it might explode into a ball of fiery flames. Environmental apocalypse..yay! So what I’m saying is be nice to Mother Nature (bike, ride or carpool) and maybe you’re weather dreams will come true.

An entire post about nose hair

Many years ago I had a twitch in my noise which had me fiddling with it. Notice that I did not say that I was digging in my nose because if that were the case Juanito would immediately find me unattractive. He thinks nose picking is one of the top vilest things a person can do. When I pick at or in the general vicinity of my nose I merely think that I am fiddling with it.


Anyways, many years ago, or just a few as to not feel old, I was fiddling with my nose and complaining that there was something tickling it. Juanito suggested a nose hair that was too long. I was appalled at this idea. I was under the assumption that only men with their constantly growing facial hair had nose hairs, not delicate petite little flowers like me.

I immediately inspected my nose and saw one little white hair and every time I moved my mouth or face and I saw with my own two eyes as it brushed the other side of my nostril and it tickled. I’ll be damned. I was astounded that I had nose hairs that grew (I have no idea what I thought was going on up there but must not have given it too much thought). I whined that I didn’t know what to do with this and Juanito said, “I usually pluck mine.”

Oi.

I grabbed my tweezers and delicately jammed them up my nose and grabbed that little hair and pulled as quick as lightening. My eyes immediately watered and I dropped the tweezers and grabbed my face squealing in pain. Juanito laughed.

Years later whenever I find myself fiddling with my nose too much I grab my tweezers and mirror and quickly eradicate an annoying little hair.

Currently, this is my favorite lunch! 

It is less than $2 for a lunch, travels nicely to the office and does not require refrigeration.  Its super easy to make and tastes exactly how it should. 

I am, however, gravely concerned about the white powder that is in the cup with the little noodles that is "necessary for proper cooking."  Does any one know what this is???

Eternally a 12 year old boy

I may be a lot of things, wife, mother, friend, woman, but above all I am eternally 12 years old and deeply inappropriate.  As I have aged I have just learned to keep my inappropriateness under wraps.  As much as possible. 

There is a local radio station that has a morning show which is purely for adults.  I pray that The Boy stays blissfully unaware while in the car in the morning and continues to love the work trucks and cement trucks and garbage trucks and barrage of school buses of our morning commute and doesn't catch on to the radio conversation.  The DJs will frequently talk about anal sex but they refer to its as BFing.  You can figure that out, right? 

Now switch gears, I'm on the PCOS boards of the super supportive women who are all struggling with fertility and PCOS.  Now that I'm trying for our second child I have jumped threads to MOMS, which was just odd to me at first.  The other surprising thing was the number of acronyms that they use and how quickly I had forgotten this secret language.  TTC = Trying to Conceive AF = Aunt Flow DTD = Doing the deed (aka having sex because we're adults) CD = cycle days POS = peeing on a stick OPKs = ovulation predictor kits so on and so forth.  There is a thread that deciphers all of them for newcomers.   But the one that makes the 12 year old boy in me fall apart laughing and point (at pretty much nothing) is the one for breast feeding.  you can see where this is going right?

So often there will be a post from a distraught, sleep-deprived mom about how she's having the hardest time BFing.  Oh dear.  How sad that you're not able to have anal sex.  I am seriously sorry that you're having these problems despite my incessant giggling. 

This is Going Some Place....I swear

So yesterday at work I had a woman (who I speculated is drunk on a regular basis) came up to me, like within 4 inches of my face because she doesn't understand the socially acceptable distance between one person and another.  She comes up to me and slurs quite loudly, "Oooh my gawd you have grey!  I thought you were too young to have grey!"  Fact of the matter I started greying when I was like 18 years old and have been dying my hair ever since.  Further, this woman not only doesn't understand the necessary distance between people when talking, she also doesn't understand that you don't loudly call out some one's physical flaws.  To their face.  In front of people.  Its like point at the bag boy and saying "you have Down's!  You look so normal but then I got up close and realized you have Down's!"

Needless to say I busted out the box of root touch up when I got home and promptly fixed to the best of my ability the grey situation. Luckily, I had purchased a box on sale a few months back and it was hiding under my bathroom sink.   Attached to the box was a sample of Crest White Strips.  I was super excited because I've always wanted to try them but have been to chicken to spend the ungodly money and then have them not work.  Then the voice in my head that sounds like my Dad would say "I told you so.  Money is burning a hole in your pocket."  So I painted my roots, taped up my teeth and went out to finish watching Intervention.  

Side note....  I love A&E's Intervention.  I love to hear the stories of how the people fall into their additictions.  What drives people to these points and what it takes to actually make it out. Or not in one of these cases.  Oh and family dynamics....eesch!  All very interesting!

So anyways, I took a shower and washed out the grey (just like that commercial from the 80s) and then unstripped my teeth.  I thoroughly inspected them but didn't notice a difference.  I brushed my teeth and went to bed.  This morning when my alarm went off at 5:09 am, the first thing I noticed was that my teeth hurt.  Like crazy hurt.  Like I'm sitting here typing and I can feel my pulse in my teeth.  I just examined my teeth and the do appear slightly whiter and shiny.  I'm not winning any beauty pageants or anything but I'm kinda impressed.  In fact, depending on how long it takes for my pulse to recede from my canines I will probably do it again.  I might even break down and buy the box.  Pain is beauty right?

Spotted Dick in the Loo

I am currently listening to a book on tape during my work commute. The book takes place in London and surrounding areas and the reading is done by a woman with an English accent. I find myself reading everything, work and leisure, with her voice. I do believe I sound a bit more intelligent in my emails at work, asides from the random “bloody hell”, “wankers” and “rubbish.”

Sadly, if I read my emails with a Deep South access I sound uneducated and, well a little special. Perhaps it’s the word choice…….

Reading is a common denominator

Recently, a friend shared this website with me. She got it from The Everywhereist. It resonated with me mainly because I’m a closet voyeur. This web site is like a little voyeur snack bites. I can click on it as needed to get a little fix. Its like standing in the front of the frig eating chocolate sauce out of the bottle when no one is looking. And the pictures are like a little window into the stinky subways of New York.

Also, I love that these everyday people are reading books. I love books! I love the art of the covers. How the stories are broken up into sections or chapters or whatever. I love that in hard back even the most raunchy elicit romance (or as my Mom called them Prairie Patty Getting in the Pasture) books look like historical novels, without their jackets on. I love books. I have books shelves overflowing, stacks in my closet, stacks by my bed, stacks under my bed. I’ve started stacks for The Boy.

I love the diversity of the people and the books photographed on this site. The sheer number of people reading. Period. And the number of people reading in another language. Oh and don’t get me started on the caliber of what the average person is reading on the subway; Kafka, Steinbeck; Hemingway, Mary Poppins, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Malcolm X and the occasional Nora Roberts. If this sampling of people is real, we are a well-read society. But then that would be like the Gallup Poll and don't me started on the Gallup Poll!

I also love the looks of the people reading. Some are so engrossed in what they are reading you can’t see their faces. Others have these looks on their faces that make me want to know what they are reading. Why do you make such a face girl reading “Ender’s Game,” by Orson Scott Card????

So this begs the question: what are you reading?