Well Honestly Now

I didn’t redecorate my kitchen in light blue geese decor.  I didn’t join the local cross-stitching gang.  I haven’t decided to opt for Nurse Mates over well…just about anything else.  My vocabulary still doesn’t involve such words as “newfangled” and “whippersnapper” unless I’m making fun of someone of course.  And sweet Jesus I haven’t bought a minivan.  In other words, I haven’t lost my mind.  This is my blog default template - just temporary and not my vision of snazzy.  You will probably witness many psychadelic things here over the next couple of days weeks months but fear not…its part of the process that is my insanity website.

Just like Bubba trusted me…see where that got him?

The Obsceni

Went to the beach.  As we approached the gate to pay for parking (should be illegal) it turned black.  Rain.  Turn around and drove home.  Went to Hellmart to buy special 50 gallon storage tubs I need.  Out of stock.  Found pudding though.  And that makes me happy.  Got milk, bread and jewelry cleaner too.  Came home.  No pudding in bag.  This day sucks.

Aspie stepped on the scale today; frustrated to see no change in the number.  Lamenting about his inability to gain weight, he turned to me and said “Mom…how did you do it?  What were your tricks for getting heavier?”  Well I started by eating fresh children while their bones were still soft…

Isn’t the real crime that he was eating at a Subway?

Sub par sauce story

Why is it that the mothers sacrifice so much?  Please, to my male readers, don’t email me with your list of things you’ve given up since being a parent.  Yeah, you’re great, you do so much blah blah blah.  Pushed an avocado through your urethra lately?  Ok, ok- children absolutely take a toll on both parents.  Everything changes- finances (don’t have any), sex(don’t have any), general freedom (don’t have any).  But mothers-ok this mother- has given up her very self.  I don’t even know who I am anymore.  Dear lord I bought a Cover Girl lipstick the other day…I’m that far gone.  The career is gone but really the task and the paycheck have just changed.  I used to stare down a construction manager as I named my price.  Fearless.  Unflinching and unblinking.  Now the construction manager is 3 feet tall with corkscrew hair and a bad attitude but equally if not moreso scary.  I used to help build buildings and now I build people.  The difference is that I’m not on a 36 month production schedule that will wrap up with a big dinner party and a grand opening.  I don’t know when (if) this punch list of parenting will ever come to an end.  When will I see that they are well put together with strong foundations and sophisticated accoutrements?  Where is the reward?  I’m sure when Aspie builds the first functional time machine I’ll have my Oprah So This Is What It Is All About Moment.  But what do I do while the first functional time machine is in development?  Gah…really not a sentence I thought I would ever hear myself say.

When I was doing the job for money I had self worth.  Importance.  I was someone.  My compensation now is a peanut butter hand in my hair or a doggy kiss up my bicep (incidentally, GROSS).  And it feels meaningless to me.  I know they are happy customers and maybe that is my kudos (read:salary).  Why did I have a sense of identity when I got a W-2 and I was helping to crowd the skyline but forming a freaking human being somehow feels unimportant?  My family seems satisfied.  But why didn’t anyone warn me that all their satisfaction would come at the cost of me?  I guess if I am fair, back when I was someone, my career cost me all of me too.  I lived on caffeine, drove a minimum of 3 hours a day and couldn’t sleep because I was busy playing conversations I had during the day over and over in my mind and had to count all the syllables of everything that was said and had to keep counting until saying everything frontwards and backwards ended in an even number.  Wow- you never realize how fucked up you are until you type that shit out.

So blah, blah, whine, whine.  I know it can be done.  The goal is to find me without losing them.  Moderation.  Not taking from one bank to give to another.  Oy-how very self helpish of me.  I should write a book.  koob a etirw dluohs I.  13 syllables.  And I’m lettin it go…

 I am sitting here trying to write and Verushka is at my side.  Truly only because there is no one else to victimize.  She is wearing fairy wings, a halter sweater, underwear, two play purses, one Coach wristlet, and a big attitude.  Since when does she not realize that I am the Supreme Goddess of All Being?  Her net wings are in my face and threatening to knock my laptop over but far be it for me to allow a little distraction to keep me from my faithful readers.  And in the fine art of the perfect segue, can we talk about distractions?

This is how my brain works.  Log onto Ebay.  See pretty item.  Press Buy It Now button.  Buttons.  I love buttons.  Remember Windsor Button?  All they sold were buttons.  Oops…off track.  Back to Ebay.  Click on sellers “Store” tab to view all listings.  Store…I have to go grocery shopping today.  Groceries.  I want cookies.  Cookies.  Cookie Monster.  Sesame Street.  Oscar.  Trash can.  I need to take the trash out.  Trash out.  Take out.  If I order take out I don’t have to cook.  Cook.  Cookies.  I want cookies.  Do you get the point here?  I am not focused.  Focus.  Hocus Pocus.  Verushka would make a cute witch for Halloween.  Halloween costume.  I wonder if they are on Ebay yet?

I have spent the past ninety minutes cursing my way through Rosie O’Donnell’s stupid mosaic project as outlined in her new craft book.  I feel very intimidated by crafty people and can only feel whole again by insulting the creative.  So I am frustrated, annoyed and can’t wait for this project to be over when Aspie leaned over and said quietly in a tone of voice that can only be defined as restrained disgust “It isn’t about getting it right.  It’s about expression mother”.

I had it all wrong.  I keep trying to put them (aforementioned heathens) in timeouts.  Turns out putting myself on the timeout mat works much better.  They leave me the hell alone and I get to be alone to “think about what I did”.  Now if I could just convince them that the Mommy timeout mat is located at Elizabeth Grady…and I need to be there for a whole day.