The Day I Wasn't

Some days I’m a great Mom...some days I am not.

We rushed home – we are always rushing somewhere, I honestly don’t think I can remember what it's like to go somewhere without rushing – in a hurry to get to practice.  If we moved really fast, we would get there right on time. As we approached the house I told M “We’ve got to run in, get changed and GO!” 

When we pull up to the house there’s the neighborhood girl waiting in our driveway. Great, I thought.  M excitedly asked to talk to her. “Two seconds!” I barked. And then as I shut the car door I said again “Two seconds and then you get inside and get dressed!” I said the last two words very sharply, so she would know I meant business.

I ran in, ran to the bathroom and then ran upstairs to change clothes. I ran back downstairs calling ‘LET'S GO!” No response. I call for M. Nothing.  My house is empty.  I flew to the door, ready to let her have it because I knew she was still outside talking. I didn’t even wait to get the door all the way open before I began “M J (this is full name seriousness), I - ”

I stopped mid-sentence when I saw M standing by our neighbor. Not the kid neighbor, but the grown-up neighbor who lives right next door. He had his cell phone in his hand. As soon as I opened the door she ran to me with this excited, amused look on her face (the neighbor didn’t look so amused) shouting “Mom, you locked me out!”

I look over at the neighbor - the childless neighbor who I am sure will tell his wife over dinner what a horrible mother I am -  and smile apologetically. M continues “I kept banging on the door, but you wouldn’t answer…” I rushed her into the house before he could hear her say something else embarrassing. 

I had locked the door instinctively, not even realizing I had done it. We haven’t had a doorbell in years.  We bought a new, fancy doorbell when we moved in – it’s wireless and works on sensors. When M2 was an infant, someone else in our neighborhood got the same type of doorbell and our sensor picked it up. So every time they had a visitor, our doorbell would go off. The cute little “Please DO NOT Ring Doorbell, Baby Sleeping” sign I would put on our front door was useless. I yanked the batteries and we haven't used the doorbell since.

Then she says “I made a sign so someone could help me. I was holding it up to the cars as they drove by but no one stopped.  The neighbor saw it when he pulled up. He was getting ready to call you.  Good thing I know your phone number, huh?” 

I stifled my feeling of pride at her resourcefulness to concentrate on my feeling of mortification at my ineptitude.

The Tale Of Two Inches

Yes, everything is okay.

No, there isn’t a good reason why I’ve been neglecting this thing.

Unless you count life getting in the way as a good reason and then yes, I have a reason.

Will you forgive me for being a bad blogger  if I tell you a story? Good, because I was going to tell you anyway.

The Tale Of Two Inches

Once upon a time a bright young couple bought a dumpy old house.  It needed a lot of work but that didn't deter them.They had big plans to fix that dumpy old house.  Because, you know, they were young. And bright.

To the surprise of the bright young couple, life got in the way and the 'fixing' never got done. Years passed and that dumpy old house remained old and dumpy.

On a bright and shining Saturday, when they should have been floating around in the pool with a cool beverage in their hands, the slightly older jaded couple decided to tackle the bathroom of that dumpy old house. They spent all morning ripping out the old bathtub only to discover this:

The bathroom floor of that dumpy old house had rotted away. While they were grateful the tub hadn't fallen through the floor, the slightly older jaded couple was not surprised by this discovery. Because, you know, the house was old. And dumpy.

The slightly older jaded couple spent some time putting in a new floor and then they were ready to buy a shiny new tub. As they were leaving to buy the shiny new tub, the hilarious smokin hot wife asked the smart experienced husband if he had measured the area. 

The smart experienced husband informed the hilarious smokin hot wife that all tubs were a standard size so off they went to the big name home improvement store. The hilarious and smokin hot wife had not reason to doubt him.  Because, you know, he was smart. And experienced. 

After unloading and carrying in the heavy awkward tub, the slightly older and jaded couple realized the smart and experienced husband had been wrong. Very wrong. Shiny new tubs do, in fact, come in different sizes. And it just so happens that this particular heavy awkward tub was too big. Two inches too big.

But the resourceful determined husband assured the worried uncertain wife they could make it fit. Then the impulsive fearless husband cut out a big chunk of wall. When that did not work, the stunned horrified wife watched the crazed stubborn husband also cut the framing and plumbing pipe.

After half the bathroom had been butchered away, the tired frustrated couple moved the heavy awkward tub in place. As they were putting it in, the cheap flimsy tub brushed up against the wall and this happened:

The edge of that cheap flimsy tub chipped. In multiple places. Which obviously concerned the tired frustrated couple but especially since this was an all-in-one and they were not real sure how if the enclosure would fit if the cheap flimsy tub was chipped.  After the desperate distressed wife picked up all the tools the irate fuming husband had thrown out of frustration, she calmed him down and convinced him the the cheap flimsy tub would still work.

After more pushing and shoving, the tired determined couple finally got the cheap flimsy tub in place. Victory -  the job had been done! 

Until they noticed this:

The overpriced crap tub had cracked. And no matter how good you are, you can’t fix a cracked tub. So the angry bitter couple headed back to the stupid cursed home improvement store to buy another shiny new tub. Because, you know, the first one was crap. And overpriced. 

The shiny new tub went in without any problem, partly because half the bathroom had been cut away but mostly because the shiny new tub was actually the correct size.

While the happy and relieved couple were excited to have the shiny new tub, there wasn’t too much celebration. 

Because, you know, it was still a dumpy old house.

Deep Cut

Well, it was just a matter of time.

After a life of mostly fortunate experiences, my luck ran out and it happened.

I got a bad haircut.

Goodbye long hair!

Now, don't get me wrong. I've had some ridiculous looking hair before. Usually because I picked a style based on trend and not because it would actually look good on me. Or the stylist would give me something completely different than what I wanted.  So did it look good? No.  But it also didn't look like my hair got caught in a weed wacker.

It all started when I decided it was time to cut my hair. I haven't had a haircut in almost 4 years because I grow my hair and donate it.* I was completely happy with the stylist that cut it the last time. In fact, several months later I went back to her to get it cut even shorter. Both times she did a fantastic job.

So the reasonable thing to do would be to go back to the person I was happy with, right?

But no.

I was about to call (seriously had the number written on a post-it note) when I happened upon a salon I've heard about before and I decide to try that place. Because why go to a place that you know you'll like when you can take a gamble?

I called, made the appointment and then realized I didn't ask how much they charge. I called back and I promise you, the woman sounded almost embarrassed to tell me. And she should have been - it was outrageously expensive.

So I called my top fashionista friend, the guru of all things beauty, just to make sure I wasn't out of touch or just being cheap. She confirmed it was a little high and suggested I go to her girl.

For a fleeting minute I thought about keeping the appointment, just to see what a haircut that expensive would be like...but I couldn't do it.

So I call her girl.

One cut. That's all it took for me to know something was wrong.

She chopped my ponytail off and I remember thinking it felt really short - like too close to my head.  It immediately made me nervous. But I thought maybe I was just being paranoid and it was probably just the immediate shock of going from hair down my back to WHAM, now it's gone.

The more she cut, the less it looked like what I wanted. And I was worried. But I pushed my concerns right out of my head. After all, I had done everything I was suppose to - I brought a picture.  I told her exactly why I liked the cut in the picture.  I told her exactly what I wanted. And my friend's hair always looks so cute - this lady knows exactly what she's doing. She's the expert.

She's chopping and chopping. And that's exactly what it was - chopping, not cutting. She held my hair upside down between her fingers and just kind of jabbed at it with the shears - like a sword fight. All the while telling me about her time working on New York's Fashion Week. See, she is an expert.

When she was done I didn't like it. At all. I was trying hard to stay positive and give it a minute. I thought I just needed to go home and restyle it - a trick that has worked for me countless other times. In fact, I was in such a rush to get out and mess with it that I forgot to give them my coupon when I checked out. So not only did I pay and tip for something I didn't like - I cheated myself out of saving $25!

I got home, stuck my head under the faucet and tried to do something with it. And it wasn't happening. There was nothing I could do. No matter what it literally looked like my hair had gotten caught in a blender. At high speed. Choppy, chunky and just...weird.

Then I looked at the back. HOLY COW! My hair is stacked! In case you don't know - stacked in a style where the hair is essentially layered up and it requires short, short, short hair.  In fact, my neck hair (gorilla girl!) was showing. I'm convinced she didn't shave my neck because she didn't want me to know how short it was in the back.

So I called the girl I should have called originally and got it fixed the next day.  She tried to save as much length as she could but she had to cut even more to get it to look decent. Still not great but she could only do so much...

This is what I ended up with. You would appreciate it so much more
if you could see the before picture!

She was super sweet though because she cut me a deal on her price, since I had "already been through so much". And I don't want this to sound ungrateful, because it's absolutely awesome that she discounted it but I've been through some stuff, some real stuff and haircuts, no matter how bad, will never be included on that list.

Anyone besides me find it ironic (and kind of sickening) that I ended up paying more than the really expensive haircut that I cancelled?

Oh well, guess I can't expect to be lucky all the time...

M decided to donate with me. So proud of her heart!

*I don't donate to Locks of Love. I have nothing against that organization, they have an admirable mission statement but there is a huge misconception that they provide wigs to cancer patients. I'm not saying they don't, because they do. But that isn't their primary focus so it's more difficult for a cancer patient to get a wig from them than it is from other organization that focus specifically on cancer patients. That happens to be a cause that is near and dear to my heart so I donate to Pantene Beautiful Lengths.  Click here to find out more about the program.

Confidence Whisperer

A good and bad thing happened to me the other day.

I was shopping and as I was checking out, I looked over and made eye contact with a guy walking past. He smiled and said hello, I smiled and said hello. Nothing extraordinary. Just two people being friendly.  

I walk out to my car, throw my bags in and begin to make my way out of the parking lot. I see a truck approach from the other side and then slow down. I assumed they were turning into a parking spot until I notice the driver is motioning for me to roll down my window. That's when I realize it's the guy from the store. I immediately thought he was going to tell me I had a headlight out or something.

So I roll down my window and he says "Hey! Can I give you a compliment?" 

Um. Just for point of reference, YES, you can always give a girl a compliment.  Like, who doesn't like those?

But it was so off point from what I thought he was going to say that I was startled and the best that I could come up with was a confused sounding "Sure."

"You're really pretty, you dress great and you seem successful. Are you married?" 

By the time I could process what he said, I realized he was waiting on me for an answer. When I confirmed I was, he shook his head and said "Man." Then he paused for a second and finished with "Tell your husband he should treat you better." Then he was off. 

SCORE!

Who in a billion years would have imagined something like that happening to me? It felt great! I was on cloud nine. It totally made my day. 

Then I called my husband to gloat – because what’s the point of being hit on if you can’t brag about it, right? As I’m telling him it becomes painfully obvious that I’m much too excited, much too flattered. Much too desperate.

Do normal nearly-40 year old woman feel their egos soar when some random stranger gives them some vague and superficial compliment?

And it changed.

I’ve recognized that I’ve been feeling undesirable lately but didn’t realize to what extent. I’ve gotten out of my gym flow, have gained some (more) weight, and generally feel unattractive. And hubby’s been working a lot lately and has been really preoccupied and not into me. At all. So I feel a little ignored.

That’s a lie. I feel a lot ignored.

I know he’s busy and he’s tired and I appreciate that he works so hard for his family. I really do. But it’s hard when all I’ve been asking for is a date. Nothing extravagant, just a little bit of his time and attention. And when he tells me that he’ll be working for our anniversary…it’s hard not to take that personally. I’m here and I’m yours – does that not excite you at all?

Logically, I know that isn’t it. Logically, I know that he’s under a lot of stress and pressure and he’s doing whatever he can to make deadlines and keep us moving forward. It’s all for us, I understand that. But that doesn’t make feeling disregarded any easier.

I didn’t realize what that combination had done to my self-esteem. It’s kinda a shocking thing to realize you don’t feel good about yourself.

So what started out as a good thing quickly turned into something bad when it became apparent I’m in a slump.

But kudos to that guy for having the guts to do something like that. If I was single, I totally would have given him my number for his confidence alone.  There’s nothing more attractive than a man that goes after what he wants.

Of course, after thinking about it I’m not convinced it wasn’t just some guy doing charity work. For all I know, he could seek out frumpy old hags and give them that line just to make them feel better. And who could blame him?

After all, it totally worked on me.

Chaos Squared

So things have been...chaotic.

Largely because we're insane.

So I'm not sure what we were thinking or if we were thinking at all...but M2 will begin Kindergarten in August and we are nowhere near getting our house built. In fact, we haven't even begun with step 1!  And I am freaking out. We are running out of time and have to get this stuff started!

Hubby had a colleague that was supposed to draw our house plans. He had some life things come up and kept putting us off and we got tired of waiting. Then one of hubby's friends offered to draw them for way cheap. You know he wasn't going to pass that up so we went that route.

More waiting and then a few weeks ago he brings in kinda-sorta-but-not-really set of plans and explains he has no idea how to do a roof line.  Really? Because that's kinda an important part. Did you not know you couldn't do roof lines when you took the job? And of course, we paid him for the work he had done but it's essentially useless. Which just adds to my frustration.

And it's May. MAY!

So I start calling around. To professionals. None of this "I know a guy" stuff anymore. We need this done and we need it done right. By someone who can draw roof lines.

The first guy I called quoted me $6,400. Yes, you read that right - six thousand, four hundred. So does that include you pouring the concrete too or we talking just for the drawing? I mean, I knew a custom home would be more but...seriously?

It was good that I called him first though because he was the most expensive. It helped the other quotes not seem quite so shocking.

We went last week, interviewed two and picked our guy. Ironically, he happens to be the father of a girl my husband dated for a short bit almost 20 years ago. It doesn't bother me a bit but he was kinda freaking out about it. As we were driving to meet the guy he was all "Don't say anything about me and (insert ex's name here)." Yeah, because that was my plan. "Hi. Nice to meet you. This is my husband, who used to do your daughter."

So now we've got the plans going. Which is good but we are still so far away. We've known for a long time that we weren't going to have anything built before August but I really wanted M2 to begin school in that district so we've decided to go ahead and sale our current home and move. Originally hubby suggested renting a place but I think long-term it would be better just to buy something small that we can rent out or flip later. I mean, we're looking at least a year in order to build, it's not a quick process.

So that's where we're at.

The plan is to pack up all the clutter and crap (and there is WAY too much of it) and put it in storage so we can put our house on the market while we live in it. Of course, we aren't ready to put it on the market yet and don't want to get a storage building until we're ready...so it's all just getting stacked in our office.

I used to have a pretty entryway table here,
now you open the door to a pile of boxes.

So we're in the process of moving...but not moving. Just not able to get to anything because it's packed and having to work around too many boxes.

Down to essentials...

Honestly, I think I prefer the old method - grab a box and throw it in a few nights before you have to move. It may not be the most organized way to do it but I'm learning it's definitely the least stressful...

And happy late Mother's Day for all you Moms out there! I enjoyed my day with this fabulous lady...

Eye Of The Tiger

So you may remember this fun little medical emergency? 

Apparently I’m prone to random and weird eye stuff.

I was in a meeting Tuesday morning when I noticed a little bit of cloudiness in my left eye. Almost like my contact lens was foggy. I did the whole blink a million times thing and I couldn’t get it to go away.  After the meeting I came back to my office and realized I had no contact solution or eye drops. Way to be prepared.

I got caught up doing a few things so it took me a while to run to get solution. By that time it was really cloudy and I’m thinking I really need to get this contact out.  But when I did, the cloudiness was still there. I looked in the mirror and noticed my pupil was clouded over. Hummm, that’s not good.

So I make an appointment with an Ophthalmologist. By this time, the eye is beginning to water. Which is more than mildly annoying.  And a little alarming – why am I leaking?

My husband was in meetings so I couldn’t reach him – I just drove myself.  I’ve taken out my contacts, don’t have my glasses and am down to one eye. One pretty blind eye at that.  Did I mention that I only had one hand on the steering wheel because the other hand was busy holding a tissue to my now constantly watering eye? But no worries, I only drove like 20 miles per hour. 

As I check in my eye begins to burn. Are you kidding me? What is this?? Of course, they squeezed me in so it took forever to even get me back. I’m sitting in the waiting area hunched over in pain, with a tissue to my eye and tears pouring down my face. No wonder everyone sat on the opposite side of the room.

The first thing the nurse did was put numbing drops in my eye. Oh. My. God. That was the best feeling in the world. Like instant relief. Talk about liquid gold.

Then they put me out in the hall to wait for the doc.

For thirty minutes.

And those drops are good but they aren’t that good because my eye was on fire again by the time they finally called me back.

He spent a lot of time with me and said a lot of “hummm”s . At the end he said I had a lot of fluid on my cornea but he couldn’t identify a reason why. He said usually that’s caused by three things: injury to the eye (no evidence), infection (no evidence) or lack of oxygen from wearing contacts (no evidence). So he decided to treat me for all three.

This is what it looks like when they only dilate one eye.

After some expensive medications, I’m all fixed up and good to go. I’m also keenly aware that I’m getting older and starting to fall apart!

I'm A Healthy Bitch

The other night I walked upstairs and into the bathroom. I've been feeling run-down lately but this really hit me. I sat on the edge of the tub and said to my husband "Man. I'm exhausted. Like, pregnant exhausted." He shot me a look like 'Oh, poor you' because he has like zero sympathy for whining, of any kind. I was about to respond with a "What? I really am!" when  all the sudden, woosh, I felt a wave of nausea and realized I was about to pass out.

My husband was convinced I just came up the stairs too quickly. Now, I may be fat and out of shape but there was no way that was it. I walk up those stairs at least 4 times everyday and I have never, ever had that happen.

Not that it's that alarming - it happens. But it did get me wondering...a few weeks before that I had two episodes of chest pain. Which I completely blew off because I'm young and healthy. It was one of those things that happened and I thought "Oh. That's weird." and then went on. I think in the back of my mind I kinda thought maybe it was an anxiety attack of some sort.

I just happened to have a doctors appointment scheduled for something unrelated so I casually mentioned the chest pain and dizzy spell. I almost didn't but I'm glad I did. Turns out it was all something that I think I've known for a while and thought I was managing but wasn't.  Turns out severe anemia can cause chest pains and fainting. So besides being short on iron, I am totally and completely healthy.

And apparently I'm also a bitch.

It's not like I try to be. Because believe me, some woman really do. That's not the thing with me. Most the time with me it's based on principal and nothing else. I said 'most' the time!

Like today.

I took my kids to Sonic (because Happy Hour really does make me happy) and allowed them to get an "Add In" to their drink. Basically, you pay .20 for a squirt of flavoring. M wanted Blue Coconut. So I order and as the transaction flashes on the screen I notice her drink is .10 more than it should be so I call in and ask why. The guy on the speaker explained that Ocean Waters (sprite and blue coconut flavoring) were a premium drink and directed me (very condescendingly) to look at the menu.

And I was looking at the menu. I was looking right at it. So I very nicely explained that I ordered a sprite with an Add In and the menu said Add Ins were only 20 cents more, so I shouldn't be charged more than that. And there was silence. Nothing. No response. No acknowledgment. Nothing. I thought that was rude but a minute later I saw my order flash on the screen so I thought they were adjusting it (I had paid with debit card) and let it go.

When the carhop brought the drinks the ticket didn't show an adjustment.

It's 10 cents. I get it. It's nothing. Really, I could care less about 10 cents. What I do care about is customer service. So, you just don't respond and that's it? I don't think so.

To me it was completely illogical - you can add Blue Coconut to a Dr. Pepper and it's .20, add it to a Diet Coke and it's .20, add it to a Root Beer and it's .20 but add it to a Sprite and the drink magically becomes special? That's nonsense. And I'm calling you out on it.

So I call back in again.

Yes. I really did.

I told you I was a bitch! And apparently a very stubborn one because I was not going to let this go. And I asked if they were adjusting my ticket. The guy was annoyed and said no, that I ordered an Ocean Water. I'm sure in his head he was thinking "Oh my God, lady! It's 10 f'ng cents!"

But it wasn't just 10 f'ing cents - it was more than that. And it literally was - the way Happy Hour is calculated, it was 14 cents. But wasn't about the money - it was about the principle.

It was also a huge ordeal. Over 10 cents.

That was a fight that I didn't need to fight. But that's the problem - I wanna fight them all. If something is wrong, I want it fixed - no matter how small.  I do it nicely and respectfully (to begin with) but why do I feel like fighting it at all? What am I, the superhero of injustices? Here she comes to right the wrong! 

I have issues....and not just the low iron kind of issues...