That's A Nice...Smile

So a couple of weekends ago hubby headed out for a weekend fishing trip.  Unfortunately, it was not a successful one - I had not one thing to fry upon his return!

Maybe unsuccessful is a tad bit harsh.

That's simply my perspective because my goal when fishing is to catch fish. You know, fishing - that's when you put a little worm on a hook, cast it into the water, stand around for a few minutes, get impatient, reel it back up, check the worm, cast it out again, stand around for a few minutes, reel it in, check the worm, cuss under your breath because your bait fell off, yell across the lake "I got a bite, dang fish got my bait!"

I'm pretty sure my husband's goals for this fishing trip mainly just involved beer and guy time. And in that case, it was successful.

So the fishing trip required him to get up at the crack of dawn Friday and be out the door before any of us woke up.

And I don't know about you, but our mornings can only be defined as batshit crazy.

I mean really, there's no other term to describe it. It's a marathon of me pulling small children from their beds, shuffling them into the bathroom, running around the house looking for (insert any item here), refereeing petty arguments about (insert any topic here) and barking out the same three commands Get dressed! Brush your teeth! Make your lunch! which grow more threatening as they are repeated.

And that's with my husband helping.

So you can imagine the state I was in Friday morning trying to get my squad out the door. Dear Jesus, is it too early for a drink?

In the midst of this chaos, I look up to find M2 dressed in a fancy lace shirt, sweatpants and her hot pink tipped cowboy boots. None of the pieces went together and she looked crazy.

For a nanosecond I thought of telling her to change but I didn't because my general rule is they can wear what they want as long as it is weather appropriate - with the exception of church and special occasions.

I want them to be able to express themselves in their own style and be confident in who they are. As young girls, I want them to understand you dress for you, nobody else.

M was telling me about a little bit of girl drama the other day and she mentioned some of the "fancy girls" acted snotty towards her because she wears t-shirts and jeans. Then she said "But I like wearing t-shirts and jeans. That's what I wear because that's what I like."  Yessss! Keep your sense of self, no matter what! And I will pray that you continue to make decisions based on your preferences and not the pressure to be accepted by others. 

And the whole t-shirt and jeans is all her.  I'm not a t-shirt and jeans girl - but that's what she likes and that's her. M2 on the other hand, is a blinged out, creative flair fashionista. Some of the outfits she comes up with get a little...wild.

So we scrambled around and I made it out the door with my crazy looking child.

Then yesterday what do I get in M2's folder?

A proof of her spring school picture. Her full-body spring school picture. Featuring M2 in a lace shirt, sweatpants and hot pink tipped cowboy boots...

In the chaos of that morning, Mommy of The Year forgot it was picture day.

I'm going to go ahead and order them...but I'm not so sure grandma will be getting one.

Big Mistakes

And bad mistakes, I've made a few...

And one of my mistakes was not worrying about the waxing pain.

Oh my Lord, that hurt like a son of a gun!

That's what I get for underestimating. I mean, ya, I knew it would hurt but I wasn't worried. Nope, big bad Amber wasn't worried at all. I was so unworried that when she told me it would be quick I replied "I'm okay with the pain, I just have to get over the awkwardness of laying here naked."

Until she ripped that first piece of wax off and I nearly jumped off the table it hurt so bad.

Remember this scene in 40 Year Old Virgin? 

It was exactly like that. 

Except I didn't scream. Instead I had this guttural grunt/moan that I tried to muffle.

And it just got worse. Because then I knew what kind of pain was coming. 

At one point she had to kinda pry my legs apart. Not that I was even conscience of closing them. It was pure instinct. The bodies instinct to protect itself is powerful.

She would put the wax on. I would breathe. She would pull. I would jump/moan/grunt/gasp. Then we would both laugh.

I mean, it was really hard not too. It was a ridiculous scene.

Okay with the pain, my butt... It took everything I had not to cry.

So yeah, waxing hurts like hell.

But don't get me wrong - I'm totally going back.

I have to - I bought a three pack.

Smooth Operator

Soooooo I'm getting waxed today.

A Brazilian wax.

It's my first and I'm equal parts excited and nervous.

No, that's a lie - I'm more excited.

I think.

I'm pretty sure I should be freaked out about the pain.  But I'm not even worried about that. I can do pain. You grit your teeth, hold your breath and then boom - it's over.  So pain is not my worry.

What I am worried about is the fact that someone will be working down there. It just seems so awkward to me.

And oh my god, I hope she doesn't try to talk to me while she's doing it. I'm sorry but I will not be able to carry on a conversation with you while you're down between my legs. I just can't.

Please, please just let me lay here in silence and melt in my humiliation.

I know I've had people down there before. Okay, so "people" doesn't sound right. Just to clarify, not like "people" as in multiple at the same time. Is that even possible? I mean, how would that even work? 

What I'm trying to say is that all my other "between the legs" experiences have been different. The gynecologist is quick and clinical and I don't ever really feel like she's really looking at me. Same with adult time - I think we're so busy getting down to business there isn't really time to look, look.

But this person's entire job is to thoroughly examine my whohaa. With like a microscope. Aggggghhhh!

I don't think my vagina has ever undergone such scrutiny.

I am, however, excited enough about the end results to suffer the embarrassment.

It may also help my case for laser hair removal, which I've been bugging my husband about for at least two years. So this has the real potential to be a win/win.

And since every major event must have a theme song, I'll be silently singing "smooth operator, smooth operator" in my head for the next few hours before my appointment.

Wish me luck!

Super Tuesday Super Flop

So today was Super Tuesday and we all got to go to the polls and cast our vote.  Not much of a vote to me because honestly, none of the candidates really excite me.

It is interesting though because this is the first election year that my husband and I haven't agreed on a political candidate.  It's really weird. And kinda sucks. I don't know, I guess I'm just used to being on the same team. I miss having spirited conversations about the "other" guy. I miss looking at each other and thinking the same thing during a campaign speech. I miss hearing my husband share his opinion and thinking "Man, that's a really good point" with admiration.

So this is definitely not a campaign year that I'm excited about.

But I did have something that I was excited about.  Something playful and fun planned for our "adult time".  I can hear the collective ewwwww right now. Sorry people, we're married and sex is part of the package.

Now I should have known, from past experiences, that my plan wouldn't go over as well as I expected. I always just think he's going to get super excited and be into it. And then he isn't.

I don't know why but I'm always surprised when that happens. And I shouldn't be because it happens a lot. He either laughs (yes, LAUGHS) or focuses on the completely wrong thing. Who could forget the dry clean only shirt incident during my striptease (Stay with me and focus on the important things, babe - the shirt is irrelevant.).

You would think that would be bad for a girl's self-esteem. Because laughing isn't really the planned reaction when you're doing all you can to be sexy.  It's kinda the last reaction you want, really.

But I get him, so I understand it. It's not that he doesn't find me sexy, because he does.  He just really doesn't do well with anything unexpected.  He absolutely hates when I say this but...it's because he's kinda a control freak. And I totally don't mean that in a bad way - but it's true, he likes things planned, mapped out and likes to be in control. So anything unexpected throws him off and he doesn't know how to react.  Even if it's in the bedroom. That's just him.

But I like to spice it up. Keep it interesting. Have fun. That's just me.

And despite initial reactions, we both end up appreciating it in the end. Things truly are much better when you're on the same team.

A Life Of Privilege

I’ve been with my husband for 16 years. After 16 years, you know somebody. I know how he likes his underwear folded and how annoyed he gets that I don’t match socks.  I know he gets moody if he doesn’t get enough sleep and he absolutely can’t stand any kind of road noise. I know he’s a traditionalist that values family. He drinks his coffee black, likes his tea sweet and has mayo on his hamburger.

After sixteen years, I know him is at his very core.  Right?

I always thought so.

Until recently.

Until we had some disturbing conversations about white privilege.

White privilege that he doesn’t believe exists.

And I can’t, for the life of me, wrap my head around that.

He fully acknowledges racism exists, that racism is unfair. But he refuses to recognize the advantages being born a white male have afforded him.

And I kinda get where he’s coming from. He doesn’t feel like he’s had any advantages in life. Growing up the way he did, struggling to survive and literally clawing his way out of poverty with absolutely no support. There is a little part of me that can understand the thought process.  But even when I asked him to step outside of himself and to think in broader terms – not his specific life but in general – he couldn’t see it.

And it’s alarming.

What does that mean?

How can you believe racism exists but then not see how fortunate you are that you don’t encounter it on a regular basis? Or hardly at all? How can you look around at our world and discount the reassurance that is provided by seeing faces that look just like yours on the vast majority of tv shows, commercials, magazines and even toys. How can you discount the fact that you are inherently provided the benefit of the doubt, unchained by demoralizing stereotypes?

I just don’t get it.

And I care too much about social injustices to let it go. It’s something I’ve always been passionate about. When I was in Kindergarten we had a black boy in our class. It was the first time I recall hearing the term black used to describe someone’s race. I don’t remember what the kid said, I don’t even remember if it was a boy or a girl, one kid or more…but I know when I heard him being called black, it was in a mean, degrading, demeaning way that was meant to imply he was not equal. And I was immediately struck with concern. I couldn’t comprehend why that made him “bad”.

I also thought of my father who, as Lebanese, also had dark skin and coarse kinky hair. I thought he must be black too. And I loved my Dad. I was confused. And hurt. And angry. My Dad was not less than!

When I asked my Mom that night if Dad was black, she had a really good laugh and explained he was not. I’m sure we had a conversation about race, although I don’t remember it. What I do remember is feeling a sense of injustice for the boy in my class.

I really don’t remember anything about him except that he was small and always looked sad. He had such sad eyes.  I wanted to cheer him up so I did what any 6 year old girl would do – I ran up to him on the playground, gave him a big ol’ kiss on his forehead and ran off again. I have about five memories from Kindergarten and that’s one of them. Obviously it was significant because it was the very first time I "kissed" a boy. Also he didn’t react the way I expected him too as a vaguely remember him not being pleased about it. At all. 

As I’ve gotten older I’ve thought of that boy a lot. As an adult, I wonder if he was sad because he heard himself described in such a mean way.  If that sadness was born from learning that some thought he was not as good because the color of his skin. I don’t know anything about his life, what he encountered or if he was really even sad at all. But I wonder if, like me, he went home that day and had a conversation with his Mom.

That’s a conversation I won’t ever have to have with my children. I won’t ever have to explain that there are some in this world that will always see them as less than. I won’t ever have to look at my child’s sad eyes when they realize that someone could hate them just because the pigment of their skin.

And that, my friends, is a privilege I get because I’m white.

The Day I Didn't Wear Pants

So today is officially No Pants day.

At least for me.

For some reason when I was getting dressed this morning I just decided it would be a good idea to go to work without pants.

Instead, I opted for leggings.

Let me tell you, it's 100% true what they say - leggings are NOT pants.

Did I realize this when I was getting dressed? No.

It's Friday, I'll go casual. Let me toss on this denim shirt with some leggings and boots. Yep, that will be cute.

Yeah, so cute when every dent and dimple is showing. So cute when you can visibly see your thighs vibrating as you walk. So cute when your butt is sagging past your shirt. 

I've worn leggings before. But I've always stayed on the side of safety. Meaning shirt well past my fingertips.  And I don't know why but it wasn't until I caught of glimpse of myself in the daycare door after drop off that I realized this shirt may be too short.

I had a fleeting thought of running home and changing. But I pushed that thought out of my head and rolled on.

Then I kept looking down, debating. Is it too short? Naw, it's fine. Right? Yeah, totally fine.

This continued as I rolled through McDonalds and on to the office.

What? So I'm too fat to wear leggings. Does that mean I can't get a Bacon Egg and Cheese biscuit and a hashbrown?  I don't see the problem...

It wasn't until I saw my reflection in the office door. Way too short. And way too unattractive.

I had a meeting first thing so I had to wait but the minute I was free I snuck out and bought a tank top long enough to cover my rear end.

So I do believe my leggings to work days are over.

Love Bug

Speaking of love...

I was spoiled rotten this weekend. Spent my Valentines weekend at a B&B. Total surprise.

It was really, really great.

Who knew getting spoiled was so awesome?  Yeah, I could totally do the whole princess gig.

A princess that cleans the toilets and does laundry.

And that's why they call it "spoiled", because it ruins real life for you. You mean, I can't live like this forever? I gottta work and actually do things? Domestic things? Noooooo! Don't make me, please, don't make me. I don't wanna go back to real life...

Actually though, I kinda get spoiled on a regular basis.  I mean, I guess it's all relative, because some women would probably scoff at what I consider spoiling. But hey, hubby lets me sleep in almost every Saturday and does breakfast. I don't know where that measures on the list of spoiling but sleep and food are two of my favorite things so I'll take it.

AND I got to drive his new ride. I guess technically my new ride too, since my income will contribute to the payment. But let's get real - it's totally his. As evidenced by the fact that I said I was driving it and he freaked out.

It was a controlled freak out but still.

"Couldn't you take the old truck?" I could but the new truck is more flattering. Be careful." Nope, planning on being careless. "Are you sure you can drive it?" I'm really not. Since, you know,  I just got my drivers licence 23 years ago. "Don't let anything happen to it." I'll do my best to control the universe. "Don't park right next to any other cars, I don't want any door dings." Well that's no fun because I was kinda planning on parking two inches away from the first beater I saw.

But just in case something did happen, I made sure to practice my "You can't really be mad at me, look at how cute I am" face...

And judging by this photo, I'm glad nothing happened for both our sake!