The Truth Hurts

The last few weeks I have just totally let everything go. I've been shoveling food into my mouth like I was a garbage disposal. And Dr. Pepper...I went there. More than once. Not even the diet stuff.

And I'm fully aware that it's all related to the fact that I'm just a little...depressed.

I'm just having a hard time dealing with the sudden and sobering realization that I'm not good at my job.  I've kinda suspected it and wondered but I think I was able to offer explanations or excuses. I kinda thought a lot of what I encountered was growing pains and would dissipate once our program got rolling. But that is clearly not the case.

I would vent to my husband and relate events and he would offer up all his "solutions" - the you shoulda, I woulda, you need to - and I would always think to myself that he didn't really understand, it didn't apply, that it didn't work that way in a program like mine. 

But I have a philosophy that I seem to apply to everyone, except myself, and that's if problems keep occurring, sometimes you gotta look at the common denominator and realize the real problem may be with yourself.

So the other night we got into a particularly nasty fight. Oh, don't judge.  Every couple fights, whether it's admitted or not. And if they don't, well...they haven't been together long enough. 

Soooo, there was a fight and it was completely unrelated and irrelevant but he was losing so in a desperate attempt to gain some momentum he threw one below the belt and essentially told me that I couldn't run my program because I was a piss poor manager.

Now, before you start to think that he's a giant ass, let me just point out that we've all spewed some not so nice and hurtful things during a fight. That's kinda what makes it a fight and not a discussion. Most of us, however,  aren't unfortunate enough to have those things repeated and blasted in a blog.

But here's the thing. Usually, I'm the mean one in a fight. I don't know if it's the fact that I'm the middle child and spent most my life learning to be diplomatic (which makes me ferocious in a fight because I can always see the other argument and break it down and destroy it) or the fact that I'm pretty good at empathising with people (which allows me to understand what others are feeling and identify weaknesses) or if it's the fact that I'm just down-right mean...but when I fight, really fight, I go for the jugular.  No holding back, I'm in it for the kill.

I'm not proud of that. At all. It's horrible. But it is true.  So when the husband hurls the occasional insult my way they seem so far-fetched and remote that I know he doesn't believe what he's saying, it's all in the heat of the moment. And it has little impact.

But this, this has got in my head. And I realize that the reason why is that deep-down, I know it's true.

It's like all the qualities that made me good in my previous job are what prevent me from being good at this one.  Yes, I've stepped up and taken care of difficult things but that's always outside my comfort zone and is so unnatural for me. I make too many allowances, am too easy, and simply care about relationships a little too  much. 

And the thing about it is, I know how I should be, I know how I have to be in order to be effective. But it's like I can't really squeeze out how I am as a person.  I can't change who I am at my very core.  It's like this battle that I'm never going to win.

I will never be the person I need to be in order to run this program the way it needs to be run.

And that's disturbing, disappointing, and depressing.  And I'm not sure what to do.

So I've been stuffing my face. Because that seems like a perfectly good and reasonable way to resolve any issue, don't you think?

Get Me Out Of Here

I don't think I can take one more day of stupid, immature behavior. Seriously, I am on the edge of just losing it with someone. I just DON'T UNDERSTAND what's SO hard about acting like an adult and doing what you say you're going to do?  REALLY PEOPLE?  Is it THAT hard?

I just want to get away.  Cue Tainted Love lyrics (off key, of course) "sometimes I feel I've got to run away, I've got to get away" NO, I will not let that little tune break me out of my mood. Even if it is catchy.

It seriously makes me want to go live in a cage. That way I don't ever have to encounter another stupid person in my  life.  No dealing with messes, no trying to fix problems, no scrambling to cover for someone that dropped the ball, no politics. Just me, some bananas and my cave.

And I wouldn't ever have to shave my legs again.

Sounds like heaven...

My Week In Pictures

I had a super busy but fun week. Of course, that meant that I neglected my blog but it's not like I ever talk about anything really interesting so somehow I imagine everyone has survived my absence.

TUESDAY:

My sisters and I signed up to run a holiday series of 5K virtual runs. The idea is to keep motivated and active during the holidays - this is especially good for me because I'm the worst at getting in exercise and eating poorly. I do that most the time, not just around holidays.
My husband kept calling it my "fake run" because it's a virtual race. There isn't a run location, you pick your own and you have 3 days to run and enter your time on-line. Yes, people can cheat. I'm sure some probably do. But I didn't and there wasn't anything fake about my running. Trust me; my body was fully aware that there was no faking.

Before the run...

After the run...now I'm red.



This is what happens when you run too fast. Or when your BIL is a cop.


WEDNESDAY:
Halloween – my second favorite holiday. I don’t usually dress up at work but our student organization put on a Halloween party and I couldn’t not participate. Plus, every good Halloween party needs a witch and I am the perfect person to fill the role.

THURSDAY:
Dance night. Love watching my little ballerinas. Even if it does get hectic trying to fit dinner and homework in before bedtime.

FRIDAY:
School field trip for M. It was so much fun getting to spend the day with her. We spent some time on a farm. Not a real functioning farm - although they did have a few live animals - but a commercialized one for kids. It was neat though and I even had a chance to experience what milking a cow would be like...not a real cow but it's as close as I'll probably ever get.

Milking the "cow". Fun times!



M snapped this picture while we were on a train ride.
She loves taking pictures almost as much as I do.

SATURDAY:

Then it was off to work on a new rental. You probably couldn’t tell it but this one is actually not too bad. There isn’t a whole lot of work that needs to be done and I think, just maybe, we may be able to get it finished and rented by December. That’s the hope, anyway. And yes, the houses we usually get need much more work than this. Seriously.

This is where the toilet used to be. Oh, there was a floor there too.

The rest of the weekend was spent hanging out with some good friends for a little football and then celebrating my grandmother's birthday. Perfect way to end the week and start a new one!

Miracle Ring

My wedding ring is my nicest, most expensive piece of jewelry. My husband is very frugal so it was especially meaningful that he would make that kind of investment on something as “frivolous” as jewelry. We never, ever looked at rings and he selected it on his own. When he whipped out that little box I wasn’t sure what to expect…

It was the first diamond ring I ever owned and I was determined to take good care of it…so I read the little manual and followed the instructions. Part of those instructions were to remove the ring before washing your hands – soap dulls the diamond. So I did, fanatically. Every time I washed my hands I would stick the ring in my mouth and slip it back on. Let’s not talk about how unsanitary that was…I would rather not think about it. I was taking care of my ring and that’s all I cared about.

We had been married probably about a month when I looked down one afternoon and noticed my ring was gone. Gone. Immediately, I was filled with panic. What had happened? Then a rush of anxiety – I had gone to the bathroom that morning. Five hours ago. Could I have put it down? I ran to the bathroom. It wasn’t anywhere in site. I searched my whole office and checked everywhere on campus. It wasn’t anywhere. It was gone. Just gone.

I made a report with campus police. The officer was nice but gently told me that if it hadn’t been turned it by now, I would most likely never see my ring again.

I was devastated.

I left work to tell my husband. I had to look him in the eyes when I broke the news and I was too distraught to wait until that evening. On my way to my car I called my Mom and both sisters, asked them to form a prayer chain asking that whoever had my ring it would be laid on their heart to do the right thing and turn it in. At that point, prayer was all I had.

I made it to my husband’s office and I burst through the door sobbing. He was on the phone with a client but that didn’t stop me from nearly collapsing into his arms. All I could think about is how he had told me to take care of it and had actually said that if anything ever happened, I would be out of luck and wouldn’t get another one. I had been incredulous at the suggestion – I wasn’t a child, I wasn’t going to lose it. And then, to have to tell him otherwise, to have to admit my irresponsibility and see his disappointment…it was almost too much to bear. And definitely worse than actually losing the ring.

But I had made such a dramatic entrance that when I finally spit it out he was actually relieved. He told me that it was just a ring, it didn’t mean anything and didn’t matter that I had lost it. There was no disappointment or admonishment – just love and comfort. Which only made me feel worse.

I went through the phone book calling pawnshops – no one had the ring. And then, right when I should have been giving up I had the most comforting sense of reassurance that I would get my ring back. It was the strangest thing – I just knew. Logically, it made no sense. My husband was pretty unconvinced but I had peace in my heart and was confident.

When my supervisor asked the next day I told her that I hadn’t found the ring but that I was sure I was going to get it back. She looked at me very sympathetically. I’m sure she thought I was in denial. And I probably would have too – it sounds crazy unless it’s happening to you, how can you explain it? Telling someone you just have a “feeling” doesn’t do it justice – it really wasn’t a feeling. I just had absolute comfort and knowledge. Almost like someone had said to me, with supreme authority, “You will get your ring back.” Only I didn’t hear a voice. Really, I didn’t! I’m not crazy. I promise.

Around noon I was on the phone when my supervisor burst through my door, she could hardly contain her excitement as she said “We found your ring!”

We had a work study student that had been a previous student of my supervisors. In recovery, she hadn’t been working in our office long and her unreliable and sporadic behavior had actually made me wonder if she was using again. I had seen her in the office very briefly the morning before but she was gone by the time I had discovered my ring was missing.

She had called my supervisor, told her she found a ring on the bathroom counter the morning before, had put it in her pocket and “forgot” about it until right then. Where should she turn it in?

When my supervisor asked, the ring she described was mine. The student had no idea the ring belonged to me.

There is no doubt in my mind that the discovery was not forgotten. It seems logical that the very first thing you would do is come back from the restroom and start asking about lost and found. If you plan to turn it in. If not, you quietly slip it in your pocket, don’t say anything, and go about your day. And that is exactly what I think the original intentions were.

But God heard my prayers and the prayers of those that were said on my behalf. He laid it on her heart to do the right thing. And His command was too strong to ignore.

I picked up the ring and gave her some reward money and as I was leaving she said almost wistfully, “I was thinking, man, someone could really make some money off that at a pawn shop.”

Most of us live our lives without ever seeing a miracle. Or what we think a miracle should look like. Because to be a miracle, it has to be grand and ostentatious, right? Isn’t that what miracles are about?

And when we do encounter something that might qualify as a miracle, we find a reason or an explanation for what has happened so it’s dismissed and we fail to recognize it as anything divine.

But miracles occur every day – in the simplest of forms. I believe that’s the way God speaks to us – we have to listen, really listen, in order to hear Him. It isn’t neon lights and flashy signs…it’s much too delicate to advertise in that way.

So that was my first miracle. It may seem trite to liken the recovery of a wedding ring to a miracle but getting the ring back wasn’t the miracle. It was the opportunity to actually feel God at work. I’m sure the situation can be rationalized and explained away. And that there are those that feel like I’m just some fanatic trying to make more of this than there was…but I know what it was, and I’m not discounting it.

That Stinks

So I run into the house to grab M's dance bag and immediately when I open the door I notice an odor. Something is definitely not right. Is that? No, it can't be...surely not...but then again, it smells just like it...

Poop.

It smelled like poop. 

I walk to the bathroom, really, really slowly. Because I'm not sue what I'll find and I'm imagining some pretty gross stuff spewed everywhere. That happened to some neighbors of mine from a long time ago, a lovely family that I used to babysit for. One day their downstairs bathroom exploded. Exploded. Like a volcano, except with poop. It was everywhere and leaked into their entire downstairs. It was horrible. Made worse by the fact it was something to do with the city system and it was actually city sewage, stuff from everyone's toilet.  I don't know why, that just makes it worse. I mean, poop is gross but not as gross when it's yours.  Like when you're going and you know it stinks but it doesn't really stink.  But then if you walk into a bathroom right after someone's done it you start gagging and your eyes water up and you try really hard not to breathe because you don't want any of that entering your body...it's not that it's worse, it's just we're kinda immune to our own grossness.

So I'm really just bracing myself for a fountain of poo.  I look down the hall and nothing, the bathroom looks normal. But that smell was definitely coming from something so I creep into the bathroom and lift the lid. I was really thinking maybe someone just left a little gift in the toilet from this morning. Nope, all clear.

And the odor was the worse in the kitchen/dining room area. So I kinda quickly look around. I don't see anything but I know our house shouldn't smell like this...I thought maybe a small animal got inside a left a surprise.  Something, something must have happened for our house to smell like a toilet bowl.  And whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it's not good.

So I grab the bag, head outside for the kid exchange and tell the hubby that house smells like crap. Literally. When I call to check he tells me the toilet is backed up but of course, he can't find anyone to come out tonight.  And of course, he's got an employee disciplinary hearing tomorrow and I'm conducting some training so neither one of us are available tomorrow.  Really, the Friday I absolutely can't miss is when this happens? Good grief!

And M2's birthday party is Saturday. So this should be interesting...

Almost Three

I am insane. 

Seriously.

I decided to paint the window trim in our living room. It needed to be painted.  Then I decided that I would go ahead and just paint all the trim downstairs. So it's day two and it's safe to say that was a huge mistake. Should have just focused on the windows.

But it will be nice to have everything freshened up....white trim and little kid hands do not mix. And we've got family and some close friends visiting this weekend. We're gathering to celebrate the cutest three year old in the world!

Yes, when she wakes up tomorrow my baby girls will be three! As cliche as it sounds, I cannot believe how quickly it has gone or how fast she has grown.  It's all gone fast but it was much faster with her. As unfortunate as it is, I think it's the plight of the second child. I had two little beings to take care of so I didn't have as much time or energy to note every little thing.

But I remember our first day at home together. It was dead silent and I just stared at her tiny little face. I sat and tried to blaze that imagine into my mind, trying to memorize every little detail. I didn't want that moment to end.  I had been so overwhelmed and worried with M that I never just sat to soak it all up. At least not in the very beginning. That's the advantage of the second child - you have a chance to redo. 

And now that fussy little baby has grown up into a sweet, funny, mischevious little girl. I love to hear her tell me every single day that the best part of daycare was "playing with the shobel" which means playing in the sandbox with the shovel.  Or if I accidently call her baby she corrects me with  "I'm not a baby, I'm baby girl!" And how when I tell her to stop doing something she will simply walk to the curtain, right in front of me, and continue to do it while she "hides" and is totally surprised when I rip back the curtain and catch her. And I love that she asks for yogurt first thing in the morning, immediately when I pick her up from daycare and the second I open the front door. The girls loves her some yogurt.

But my absolue favorite thing I love is when she is in my arms and I look down at the chubby little face because I'm trying to blaze that imagine into my mind, trying to memorize every little detail of who she is and what she's like at this phase and she gives me that big crinkley nose smile and says "I love you!"

Happy birthday sweet baby girl!

Fish Tales

"Stoops has gone on vacation."

That was the text I sent to my husband to let him know our family pet, a beta fish named Stoops, had passed away.  This was actually Stoops 2.0. He's gone on "vacation" once before.

We hadn't had the first fish very long when he made his departure.  He was gone for quite a while and when he returned, M who wasn't even 3, asked why he was a different color.  It was close, but apparently not close enough.  But everybody tans on vacation, right? So problem solved.

So Stoops 2.0 has been with us for over three years. I'm not sure about the life-span of a beta but it seems like a pretty long life for a fish.  And he's about to make a real quick return from vacation because in the absence of any kind of pet they may being to ask for a cat or a dog.

And I'm sure that will happen one day, but this point in our lives, a fish is about all we can handle.  Seriously, sometimes I think it's more responsibility to own a dog than it is to have a kid.  It's pretty easy to travel with a kid or to find a sitter...with a pet, not so much. So for now, a fish it is.

So I had one of those nights last night where being a parent was just really hard. Nothing that the girls were doing - it was completely me. But not 5 seconds passed that they didn't need something or ask me to do something. And I love my girls with all my heart, but I just wanted 10 minutes not hearing the word "Mommy". I just wanted to sit in peace. 10 minutes, that's all I wanted.  They were just absolutely exhausting. So I rushed them off to bed. And of course, they kept calling down or getting up.

It made me think of a really funny bedtime story I heard. It's TOTALLY inappropriate and SO wrong. It's pretty tacky but it's also very, very funny. Just because I think we've all those moments where we can relate...

So if you don't take it too seriously and aren't totally offended by the f-bomb, check it out the  funniest bedtime story ever. Just make sure your kids are nowhere around when you do...