Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Grumpy, a list

People who don't return email piss me off. I can handle 48 - 72 hours passing without someone responding. Because, well, life happens. I know this. I understand this. But, a week? Come on. How busy can your life really be? I am a mom, I have a full time job, keep 3 blogs going, 3 personal email accounts + the one for work and yet, I still find time to respond to email.

My husband is a big one for “It’s just a stage” “You need to remember she is only 2” “Why do you have to over react all the time” and my personal favorite “You need to relax and let her be a kid”. These phrases piss me off.

My face is still a train wreck in terms of blemishes. I swear to God the zits on my face are trying to create their own subway map for Townsend. Note to reader: Townsend doesn't have a public transportation system. It's not even big enough for a stop light. Just sayin'.

The usage of the phrase 'WE'. WE this, and WE that, and WE should, and WE could - it too, irritates me. To the person using 'WE', do you have a freakin' mouse in your pocket? Because last time I checked, just because you spawned me or were married to me, didn't automatically make me the other half of 'WE'. {thank you E (you know who you are) for bringing this to my attention}

I can't do laundry. I can fold it, put it in a basket, but that is about it. I think I can fold it because it's something I can do while watching TV. The whole put it in the washer, then from the washer to the dryer, and putting it away - yeah, that eludes me. It's not that its hard to do, but, it just something for the last 32 years I have been unable to wrap my head around.

I got ID's at a gas station today. The cashier said that I didn't look like I was 18. 18? Are you kidding me? What have you been smoking lady because I want some. I may not look like I am 32 but I damn well know I look like I am at least 18.

The sky is supposed to open up and shit 8 - 12 inches of snow in my neck of the woods. I am not sure I have enough toilet paper to help wipes the asses of all those clouds. But, I will be damned if I am going to go to the grocery store today. All the white hair'd crazy ladies will be there stocking up on bread, milk, eggs and processed cheese foods. *belch*

This whole giving up soda for Lent is killing me. Its making me grumpy.

Monday, February 22, 2010

tick TOCK

I have a ticking clock in my abdomen. *tick TOCK* *TICK TOCK*

It seems to have migrated there from my heart. Before I got married, I had a tick tocking heart. A heart yearning for a wedding ceremony involving the love of my life. It took my husband 5 years of togetherness to propose. But, I got that wedding ceremony. The pretty dress, the flowers, the beautiful red shoes I had always dreamed of wearing. Yep. I got it all. Even got my dad telling me dirty jokes as we walked down the isle. I laughed my way down the isle to my to my future in the same church that my parents got married in 30 some odd years ago. It was magical and magnificent all at the same time. It was all I had ever wanted.

And, then, well, that ticking clock, it migrated south. Not migrated south in terms of a northern seeking warmer weather. Oh no. I migrated to my uterus. And, it took up residence there. I was the proud owner of my very own tick tocking squatter in my womb. Great. Just what I need. Some days it was almost as if that clock was one of those alarm clocks with a radio - and that it was hosting all night raves with my fallopian tubes. That's how loud my lady parts were about getting the attention they craved.

But, I did finally manage to find the snooze button. I got pregnant shortly after the hubby and I tied the knot. For those 8 months or so we affectionately referred to her as our alien ape baby - alien for not knowing if she was a boy or girl, and ape because she gave me heart burn. Heart burn so bad that it that rivaled the flames of hell. And, at just 36 weeks of incubation she came kicking and screaming into this world. It was as if she couldn't get out fast enough.

And, that clock, it went quiet. For a LONG time. Madaline is a difficult child, a spirited child if you will. Oh...and she screamed. Like a banshee. All. The. Time.Screaming so bad that if you would think we were trying to skin her alive with a rusty spoon. It was awful. I credit the screaming with drowning out the ticking of the clock. It was almost as if it was afraid to be heard. Or perhaps because we got so much more than we bargained for with Madaline, that it was broke.

Until recently. And, it's back. With a vengeance. And, suddenly it feels as if time is passing me by. That's it has all gone by so fast. Too fast sometimes. And, I find myself trying to slow down time. That maybe, just maybe, if I can slow down time, the ticking will stop. The batteries in the clock will die. Because, honestly, we can not afford to indulge this clock. As much as we would both love too, we just can not. And, so I try to do things to run down the clock. I put off potty training, even thought I think she was ready a LONG time ago. My 2 1/2 year old baby still sleeps in a crib. I keep her nuks hidden in our junk drawer as I just can't bear the thought of throwing them away. I ache for my baby. Just a little more time with my baby.

And, yet, the more I treasure each of these moments, the more I savor them and let my heart soak them in, that louder the clock gets. The ticking. And the tocking. That is the sounds that I hear the most. Not Madaline's sweet voice or her infectious giggle. All I hear is ....tick tock, Tick TOCK, TICK TOCK. And finally I realized - each day that passes, each day that my baby gets older, the louder that tick tock becomes. At least it seems that way.

And, sadly, right now, the sound of my clock is so deafening - its all I can hear.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

George - The 800 Pound Gorilla

I am the mom blogger from the middle of nowhere in NY and popular blogger stats make me feel like crap.

There. I said it. I acknowledged the 800 pound gorilla in the room. And, his name is George. George, the 800 pound gorilla.

I am the one that writes about my daughter and what she does and how she has impacted my life. Because, well, I don't have time for baby books or scrap books. But, I can take 30 minutes of my lunch hour and blog about her silliness. I also blog about my love of butter and my joys of being in the kitchen. And, on top of all of that, I vent my frustrations here, because I don't feel they fit into either on of those spaces. And, Yes, another confession - the traffic on ALL those damn blogs effects me. It affects how I write and what I write. And, yes, the traffic or should I say, the lack there of, effects me.


I am probably more curious that a cat. I lost a reader two weeks ago to my main blog. It crushed me. I wanted to know why. Was it something I wrote? Because, honestly, in that space I am more benign that vanilla pudding. And, then this week, out of no where, I gained 3 followers. I have 40 now. And, I treasure each and everyone of of those 40 followers. But where it gets confusing is when I look at my RSS feed. I have 56 RSS feed followers. Last week I only had 44. WOW! 12 new followers in a week? Must be a fluke, because, still, it doesn't feel good enough.

Beyond that, anything to do with stats is rather humorous to me. The key words they used to find me and what posts they spent the most time on. But, that still, after all of that, doesn't' silence George. Nope. He still sits there peeling bananas and flappin' his lips. Because, in looking at those stats, I discovered that when I actually write, I mean, labor over writing something, because, well, I am not the best writer, and it gets nothing. No comments or in some cases, very, very, very few. Which in my mind equates to no recognition. And it hurts and makes me question why I even bother. But, then I post a beautiful picture of my Mayhem Maker or post something silly that she said and the comments and the traffic on my blog go through the roof. And, while that should make me happy, it doesn't. All it does, for some reason is just reinforce those feeling that perhaps my writing really does suck.

Which leads me to think, that in spite of the fact that I have been blogging for almost 3 years, first privately and then for the last year or so publicly, those numbers, up there in paragraph 2. They suck. And they provide no validation at all for what it is I am doing. And, in reality, what they do most of all, is remind me of high school. Yep. Those torturous locker filled halls, musty classrooms and the quest for popularity. Popularity that never came and was never achievable. Re-enforcement that I will always and forever be the fat kid with dorky glasses in the last row, blending in with the wall. Really, that is how blog land feels to me most days. As I bounce from blog to blog, and read about the benefits, the glory and the accolades. As I watch my twitter feed fill with complaints about many were approached by a PR firm - forgetting that some of us have never even ever been approached. And, just like high school, I feel like, once again, I'm blending into the walls.

And, then there is that one time. Just like high school and that fateful night that you just once hung out with the Homecoming queen. That one time where big blogger tweets you back or sends you and email in response to your comment. And, you get all giddy and light headed. But, when the dust settles there you are again, back in your dark corner, left with the company of the dust bunnies. And, you realize that a lot of lip service is paid to spreading the love. There is a lot of talk about building community, masked with sense of meaning and understanding. And, for a brief moment you mistake mutual admiration for nothing more than what was originally meant as politeness. And the feeling you are left with, the one that sits in your stomach like a rock, mirrors that same one you had 15 years ago when the boy you liked asked you to a dance, only to find out it was really nothing more than a practical joke.


But, really, at the end of the day, I am none the worse for the wear. I made it through high school, heck, I even managed to be sociable in College. And, so, I tell George, no, I scream at George that I am happy. Happy with what I write, happy with the followers I have, and content with my place in blog land. Even though, deep in side, in the darkest corner, where the dust bunnies hide, it's really not.

So, George, put that in your banana and eat it!

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Ugly Toad

I feel like a toad.

A big, fat, lumpy, warty, ugly toad.

My face has been breakout central for at least a month now. I turned 29+ 3 this week, so perhaps a reminder that I in now actually IN my 30's, not just barely 30. Its like my face is in competition with my ass to see who can have more creases and crevices, dips and dimples. But, for now, it is safe to say, that my ass is winning that competition. But, either way, its just down right gross. It like all of a sudden my face went backwards 15 years while my body stayed the same. My own twisted version of 13 going on 30 - except limited to my face, because if my ass suddenly decided to revert backwards to when I was 13, I would not be complaining.

And, you know what else, I can't seem to lose the 10 pounds I gained at the holidays. I don't want to stop eating carbs to do it. Not eating carbs makes me a nasty, miserable, irritable person. I love carbs like a fat kid love cookies. I have tried to think of several reason why I can't shake this 10 pounds. And, yet, I can not come up with one. I am very good about portion control/measuring. I drink at least 4 or 5 16 ounce glasses of water each day. And, I am giving up soda and something else to be determined for Lent. And, I keep asking God to make me skinny. Either what he's doing is not working or he's not listening.

And, this 10 pounds? Which feels more like 15, plus my face issues, is what is making me feel like a big, fat, lumpy, warty, ugly toad. My jeans are tight and my pants don't fit the way I want them too. My cheeks are fatter than a chipmunk gathering for winter storage and I could hide small children and animals in the rolls of my chin. My hair is stringy and greasy, or at least I think it is, and my fingers look like lil' smokies in need of BBQ sauce. I even think this 10 extra pounds is making my toes look fat.

A big, fat, lumpy, warty, ugly toad. Yep. that is EXACTLY how I feel.

Monday, February 8, 2010

What I KNOW....

Nothing pisses me off than when someone leaves less than a mugs worth of coffee in the communal coffee pot in the office kitchen.

Equally irritating, is when someone leaves something in the microwave and it beeps every 3 minutes until said person returns to collect their food or drink.

and while we are on office many times can the same play be Monday morning quarterbacked? Really? 3 different, overly loud conversations about the same play is a little ridiculous

The person behind me this morning on the way to work - did you think my trunk was sexy? Because I was going to give you a birds eye view, but I was already running late and I just didn't have time to exchange insurance information with you after I caused you to rear end me

Sometimes my mother forgets that I am Madaline's mother. I made her sit on the naughty step for a reason. You undermine my parenting when you pick her up from said step because you can't stand the sad teary eyed look on her face.

People that leave cryptic status updates on Facebook - "We shouldn't have done that" or "Perhaps YOU should tell them" or "Something happened today that is going to change my life forever - in a bad way". If you can post a cryptic status update about it - then for God's sake, just tell us the whole story.

I think its rude to use speakerphone - for all your phone conversations. The delay in the conversion is annoying and really how hard is it to pick up the hand set? Really....

I have almost 300 followers on twitter, of which only 7 of them communicate with me on a regular basis. What's the point?

I lost a follower last week on my main blog - I took it as an indication that said follower thought my content/writing sucks.

Friday, February 5, 2010

an introduction - if you please

Why this space? I already have two others. One dedicated to my daughter - and one dedicated to my desire to own a bakery. Because, well, those are just - well - they are NOT about me. What goes on in the inner workings of my mind. What makes me tick. *shudder*

Here, you will find the raw, emotional, sometimes a mental train wreck side to the flip flop wearing, coffee drinking, monster cookie making, small town marketing professional who used to be a waitress at a local diner. You will discover that I much, much more than a person with a small obsession with good food, exceptional bake goods and local wine. Here you will read why my ass is as large as it is - its because I think everyone should eat 4 meals a day – breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert. But, most importantly, here, I will let you look into the corners of my mind - my hopes, my dreams, my fears and my expectations. *eeeek*

And, so, this, this, THIS is MY space.

Welcome to the random mind of a drowning aquarius. So, pull up a chair, grab your mug, a brownie and settle in.

Oh - And, please, PLEASE, don't feed the dust bunnies - it makes em' bite. *ouch*