Party Pooper

Last week I made it to the daycare a little early. We have such a long commute, by the time we get there our kids are usually the only ones left. On this day I made it right in the middle of pick-up rush. That was a different experience. Noise and chaos and the confirmation that I should never work at a daycare.

We happened to walk out at the same time as another mom.  M2 yelled goodbye to her kids by name and because I have to talk to everyone, I made the off-handed comment "Oh, so that's the X I've heard so much about..." which prompted the mom to whip around and invite us to her birthday party.

In front of my kids.

If you're a parent, you know what that means - that the party becomes blazed into their brains and they won't forget about it. Ever.

She actually took it a step further and suggested they spend the night and she would take them to daycare on Monday. Now, just for context, let me point out that I've never spent any time with this woman, never had a conversation with her and didn't even know her name. Yeah, here are the two most valuable people in my life - sure I trust you with them...uh, what was your name again?

The minute the words were out of her mouth I regretted ever opening my mouth. Why, why was I so friendly? Why didn't I keep my head down, look angry and avoid eye contact like any reasonable mother would do?

The good thing, however, was that we were loading up kids. Yes, I strategically ushered my kids into the car as fast as I could. One,  it was an effort to prevent them from hearing the word "party" - I was hoping if I could get them in fast enough I could convince them she said something else. And two, I was trying to pretend to be so occupied that I couldn't really engage in conversation. It kinda worked because she just trailed off and said she would leave her contact number at the daycare.

So I was hopeful. Maybe she had realized she was overzealous in her invitation and wasn't really going to leave her number. Maybe she simply felt obligated to invite us. Maybe she would forget.

I am a slightly horrible person. Normally, I dread kid's birthday parties just because the standard selfishness of not wanting to spend my weekend time around a bunch of screaming kids, cooing over a child I don't know, and pretending stale cake and cheap ice cream is good. But I'm not a completely horrible mom so we always try to go. We make a very serious effort because I understand the importance of showing up on that special day.

But this one in particular was tough... I know this sounds so super judgemental but these are the dirtiest, rattiest kids at the daycare and their parents don't give a much better impression.

I really, really did not want to go to this party.

So the week goes by and no contact information. Not that I was asking for it - if someone forgets to give it to me then I'm safe.  So I didn't ask and I didn't get anything. I think I've dodged the bullet.

Then Friday, right as I'm stepping out the door, a teacher catches me and hands me a little slip of paper. Please be some homework. A newsletter. An incident report. Something, anything besides this woman's phone number.

I very slowly look down and...no. It's her number. And of course, now I've got to take the girls. Beyond the fact that they want to go, I can't disappoint some little girl just because I'm a judgemental snob.

So I got details and directions and we show up to everyone sitting in the front yard around a kiddie pool. Immediately it was evident that I was out of place as it appeared I was the only one that did not have a cigarette hanging out of my mouth or multiple children by different men.

I had been there about 2 whole minutes when the Dad, who was blowing up water balloons, pointed the hose at me and the cellphone in my hand. I shouldn't have been surprised though, he was clearly not used to following protocol or common courtesy as indicated by the huge "Rebel" tattoo scrawled down his forearm. Good news though, the mom was lucky enough to finally "snag" this guy - they're getting married "sometime soon". But hey, after four kids - why rush into things?

So guess who's going to be keeping her big, fat mouth shut from now on? Head down, unapproachable face on, eyes on the ground...

Don't Look

So not sure if it was just natural curiosity or good old fashioned narcissism but...I watched my video.

Oh. My. God.

First, sorry that stinkin video is SO long! Who the hell posts an 18 minute video blog? I had nooooo clue! I was just running my mouth. That's something I do well - talking has never been a problem for me. But how could I talk for that long about nothing? Bor-ing! So if you sat through it, I owe you big time. And I heart you.

And oh my gosh, can I not sit still? I'm hoping that was just nerves. Surely I don't figet that much in real life. Right? Because if I do, I may need to see a doctor about getting on some Adderall or whatever wonder drug they're pushing for hyper activity.

I won't even get started on that voice. Or those facial expressions.

But I can't say I'll never video blog again...in fact, I'm thinking of creating an entire series of videos. That way I can be come an internet sensation when people discover the perfect party game. It's easy, just take a shot every time I say "um".

I'm A Star

Big Mouth *ss

I have a big mouth!

I just can't help it - I have the hardest time not speaking my mind. And I try, I really try, to be diplomatic but sometimes that need to say what I'm thinking overrides my sensibility.

And so I shared some opinions today in a meeting that I probably shouldn't have shared and I said some things that I probably shouldn't have said. And I'm not even really sure what I said exactly because I was having this internal dialogue and all I could hear was the voice in my head saying "Shut up! SHUT UP!  SHUT THE F#*& UP!" and yet...my mouth just kept on going.

*Sigh

So what can I do? Except stand behind the fact that I'm opinionated and vocal. No backing down, right?  Geez.

I need a Dr. Pepper...

TBT

I'm SO glad there was no facebook or twitter or instagram when I was young. Not that we didn't document some of the crazy things we did, but at least those things were only seen by a few close friends. And the photo guy at WalMart.

And years later they could be quietly tucked away and forgotten about, much like these photos I found last night.


Photos from the summer I spent in DC. Man, those pictures brought back some great memories. Have to say was one of the best summers I have ever had.  And not just because it fun, although it was fun.

So here's a TBT photo that I wouldn't share on facebook or twitter. Although, I'm not sure sharing them here is really any different. Except that there are only like two people who ever read this old blog...so I guess I'm pretty safe.

Aww, the good ol dancing days...me in my natural element. First one on the floor, last one off. When I was young and fun, anyway.

And that shirt really did cover my belly - I promise. But when you're fat and flailing around on a dance floor that kind of stuff happens. Attractive, I know.

But hey, I was having fun and could care less - this chubby chick has always enjoyed shakin it on the dance floor. And my shirt rolling up was just a by product of having a good time. So ignore the gut hanging out. Instead focus on the pervy old guy behind me. That's honestly the best part of the picture anyway. So funny!

So here's to the good times serving as a dancing queen...

Twist & Shout

That's exactly what I'm doing this morning - shouting in pain every time I twist.  I'll be fine and then I'll move just right (or wrong) and it feels like I'm being stabbed in multiple places along my back. It hurts sooo bad.

But only for a minute.

And I am old and out of shape, but I'm really blaming hubby for this one because I spent all weekend on my hands and knees. Oh my God, you pervert!  Not like that! I was scrubbing a kitchen floor.

Yeah, I put Cinderella to shame this weekend with all the cleaning and scrubbing I did. And I keep trying to figure out how that happens since I hate manual labor. Haaaate it. Love the sense of accomplishment afterwards, hate doing the actual work.

And yet I've spent an alarming large portion of the last few years on my hands and knees scrubbing floors, washing windows, and cleaning toilet bowels. How?  How did this happen? Totally not the glamor-filled life I had planned for myself. That life included breakfast in bed, drinks by the pool and a staff of about 12 half-naked men to take care of my every need. Wait...maybe I'm confusing that with the Cosmo article I just read...

Anyway, after all the cleaning I painted the tile grout.  Which, by the way, is a great solution if you ever have a tiled floor that starts to look dingy. But, you have to do it by hand with a toothbrush so it's really, really tedious. And you spend a lot of time hunched over on your knees.

Hence, the bum back. 

So I'm rockin the heat pad today. And flat (okay, it's a small heel, which is like flat for me) shoes. Nothing to make you feel more middle aged than that...I almost wore my glasses, just for good measure but I had to retain some dignity. If that's possible while wearing a heat pad...

Smile Bigger

So I ran in to the store for my daily dose of addiction (that's a completely different post) and as I was waiting for this older guy in front of me to fill up his cup, he glanced back at me. So I smiled. He completely stopped what he was doing, turns to me and says "Thank you. Thank you for smiling." Then he kind of shook his head and said "No one smiles anymore." 

It took me by surprise so I laughed and told him I smiled all the time and he told me I should, that I had a great smile. Obviously, he hadn't looked very close because he missed the fact that I have an enormous overbite now. 

But I could tell he meant it in a completely genuine way - not that my smile was great, but that he was just so grateful that someone extended a little courtesy smile to him. Like he was just so eager for a little polite small talk.

So I kept chatting with him. He told me his birthday is next week and  he was about to be a grandfather. He was so excited about the baby, I could tell he wanted everyone to know. Even some random girl in a convenience store. 

Then as he was about to leave he said "You take care, sunshine." That happens to be my favorite term of endearment.  Which is kind of ironic because no one I have ever dated has called me that. The closest I've ever gotten was the guy that referred to me as "sweetheart".  Which I loved.  Until I realized that he only called me that as a measure to ensure he wouldn't accidently say the wrong name.

The whole exchange put me in such a good mood because I honestly felt that I just made his day. By doing nothing more than smiling. And it totally wasn't creepy or weird - like he wasn't sleazy or anything. He just seemed like some guy that was maybe a little lonely. 

Good reminder how the little things can sometimes mean so much...