I know it’s real because I can feel it.
It’s painful. It’s heavy. It drowns out the sunlight.
I’ve taken the classes. I’ve spoken with therapists and psychiatrists. I’ve taken the drugs. I recognize when it’s happening.
Engraved deep in my mind are feelings of unworthiness. I don’t believe that that I am good at anything or worthy of much- including love, friendship or success. I’m the outcast, the stupid girl who didn’t go to college, who is too bogged down with fears and insecurities to ever amount to anything.
Most days I can fight those feelings, but on days like today- I can’t. I can’t fight them.
So, I get quiet. I isolate myself. I get angry. I get sad. I get sleepy. I cry.
I allow myself to sit with the pain and loneliness, hoping that tomorrow it gets better. It almost always gets better.
There’s No Crying In Tree Decorating (is a LIE!)
Last night was Tree Decorating Night.
The fantasy went like this: We would eat a delicious sirloin steak dinner. After we finished our dinner, the kids would clear the dinner table while I loaded the dishwasher while Christmas music played in the background. Everyone would be smiling and happy because soon we would be eating freshly baked cookies while sipping on hot chocolate while dancing around the Christmas tree that we would be decorating with the most beautiful ornaments!
The reality went like this: I was crying in the first 5 minutes because the red beads were not spaced properly and proper spacing IS EVERYTHING! (Also- see: PMS) The Teenager sat on his butt, making comments like “next year I won’t have to do this because I’ll be 18 and probably won’t even be living here.” G and The Middle Child argued over stupid things like “why does HE always get to put up the big ornaments?”
It wasn’t ALL bad. There were some wonderful moments. When we weren’t arguing/crying/almost breaking each other’s phones– we were laughing, sometimes until we cried and/or farted. We sang Christmas songs. We talked about our favorite Christmas memories.
However, the Christmas Joy Jesus Is The Reason For The Season Silent Night Peace On Earth moments didn’t last for long. By the end of the night, the kids were fighting over a blinking red nose while I took pictures with one hand and ate lots of cookies with the other hand.
JOY TO THE WORLD!
So, the Decorating of The Tree didn’t go quite as I had planned (and our tree looks like a-s-s) but no one killed anyone and we still all love each other, so I say SUCCESS! Also? damn, the cookies were GREAT. All 7 of them. (Just kidding. I only ate 5.)
So I Guess That Settles That?
G asked for a particularly expensive gift for Christmas.
I explained to her that if that was really what she wanted, she most likely would not get anything else because even Santa is on a budget, child. I could tell by the look on her face, she was not happy about this news because there are so many things that she wants!
“How about you and daddy just go ahead and buy me The Expensive Gift that way Santa can bring me all of the other things that I want.”
Before I could respond, she added “And if you and daddy don’t have enough money, then you should just go sit down and start working as fast as you can to make as much money as you can to buy it for me.”
And then she turned her back on me and walked away.
Highlight of My Weekend: When Hailey Met Gabby
This weekend my daughter met Jenny’s daughter. It was as precious as you can imagine. They said hello, gave each other a hug and then Gabby was all “does your mommy have a blog?” And Hailey was all “Yes, my mommy is The Bloggess. ” And Gabby was all “No way! You’re so lucky!” And then I was all “hey, I may not have 70,000 followers on twitter, but Justin Bieber follows me! Who’s your mommy now, Gabby?”
Some parts of that story are quite possibly not true.
In all seriousness, Jenny is one of my dearest friends and it was a wonderful surprise to see her this weekend. It was even more wonderful that our daughter’s got to meet one another (at The Happiest Place on Earth!) and talk about important things like “Space Mountain” and “The Chipmunks.”
We are both very scared of the stories these two are going to have to tell about us on their blogs some day.
The Second Best Part Was When His Sister Shouted “Hey! That’s My Brother! HE’S MY BROTHER!”
After years of me encouraging (possibly also? Nagging.) My First Baby finally put his fears and insecurities aside and tried out for a school play.
He got the part.
He’s been practicing every day- learning his lines, perfecting his expressions. All of those things that actors need to do to get ready for a performance.
Last night, he put on his costume (that I had to pay for out of my own pocket, damn you The Economy!) took a deep breath and said “see you there, Mom!”
I kissed him on the cheek and wished him luck.
When he walked out on stage, I could see his nerves– he was unsure of himself and of his lines. But as he went on, he became more comfortable, more confident.
It was wonderful watching him up there, enjoying himself and all of his hard work. I was so proud of him.
And I could tell by the smile on his face when we greeted him after the show that he was proud of himself. That was the best part for me, really.
The Lloyd
Today I dropped my oldest son off at the barber shop so he could get a hair cut. He wasn’t happy about it cutting it, but he has a starring role in a school play tomorrow and so he had to do it. When I dropped him off, I told him to ask for a “trim only.”
Um, either my son doesn’t know how to communicate the idea of “just a trim” or the barber didn’t understand English. Because, you guys, THIS happened.
Luckily, I’ve raised a son who can laugh about things like this. We’ve been laughing about it all night. He MAY not find it as funny in the morning when he has to go to school, but for now, Oh, how we laugh!
(For the record, the photo was his idea. Because my kid is awesome.)
The One Where I Ask You To Help Me Interview My Teenage Boys.
This is sponsored content from BlogHer and LG Text Ed
Earlier I was asked to participate in LG’s Text Ed campaign. I agreed because I have two teenage boys (Two! Teenage! Boys! How am I still alive and walking around this world?) and this topic is relevant to my life.
In my first post on this subject, I made a confession:
I have 2 teenage sons who both have cell phones and who both use those cell phones for texting. I suppose as a responsible parent, one would expect me to say that I’ve had conversations with them about “sexting.” But the truth is, I haven’t.
I have had conversations about what is and is not appropriate to post online. But I’ve never had the conversation about what is and is not appropriate to send via text messages.
I trust my children with their cell phones. They’ve been responsible cell phone users and to my knowledge, have never engaged in sexting. But, I suppose I would never know that unless I checked their text messages.
I do not check my children’s text messages.
This is about to change. As part of the LG Text Ed campaign, I am going to interview my boys on this subject and post that interview here. But! I need your help. Will you help me? I’m looking for suggestions for questions that I will ask my boys. The questions can be anything cell phone related–phone ettiquite, sexting, bullying. Keep in mind that I am open and honest with my boys and that they have an AMAZING sense of humor. So, this will not only be educational, but most likely HIGHLY ENTERTAINING. You’re going to want to be a part of this. Trust me.
Added Bonus: Your comment will help others!
Because this topic is so important for our kids and their futures, BlogHer really wants to get the conversation about texting, sexting and safety going – both with our kids and among parents. It will match LG’s donation of .50 to dosomething.org for every comment on this post.
So, would you please be so kind, so helpful and give me your suggestions on questions for my boys? Dosomething.org will get a $1.00 for each and every one.
More Like The Monte OhHELLNo
Last year we spent our wedding anniversary in Vegas. We had such an amazing time, I knew that I wanted to do it again this year. Except this year was out 20th, so I wanted it to be a bit more extravagant. For us, “extravagant” basically means “willing to spend more than $58 for a room via Hotwire.”
So, last month I spent days searching various websites looking for a good deal on a nice room with a jacuzzi.
Out of all of the hotels and all of the deals that I found, I ended up booking a Spa Suite at the Monte Carlo.
You may be all “the Monte Carlo? BUT WHY?”
You see, last month I stayed there and I had a pleasant experience. The hotel was clean, our room was nice, the staff was friendly and I loved the location. (I’m easy to please. Obvs.)
I was in love with The Room I Booked. I imagined myself sitting in the spa, with a glass of wine in one hand and my husband’s…hand in the other, admiring the beautiful view and flashing lights. I imagined other things that I won’t write here because certain members of my family read this blog now and they’re kind of sensitive about things that involve me talking about sex in any way, shape or form. I swear, I mention my Blow Job Punch Card Reward System ONE TIME.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I had high hopes for this room, for the spa, for my vagina.
The day after Thanksgiving was Our Big Day. The drive to Vegas started off rough– nothing like dead stopped traffic to test our marriage! But, traffic didn’t last for long and after I apologized for blaming the traffic on my husband, we had a wonderful time! We smiled a lot and talked about how much fun we were going to have (and when I say “fun” I mean, YOU KNOW WHAT, MY FAMILY.)
After we checked into the hotel, we did that really fast walk that people who want to hurry up and get naked so that they can “eat at the buffet all night long” do. We opened the door to our room and, well, it was nice. But the window was FILTHY and the view was not all that sweet and I could feel The Disappointment rising from within my soul and into my eyeballs but I was NOT going to cry about a dirty window with a not so pretty view! Instead, I asked my husband to call and ask if we could get a room with a nicer view.
The person who answered our call was very nice and offered us another room. We picked up our suitcases and headed down to the 19th floor. We walked in and it looked exactly the same as the other room! Except that we could actually see out of the window and the view was pretty sweet. But then I walked over to the tub and that is when I saw it.
Other People’s Pubes.
I kind of freaked out.
“LOOK! PUBES! THERE ARE PUBES IN THE SPA! PUUUUUUUUUUUUUBES.”
PigHunter rushed over to have a look.
He saw the pubes (that wasn’t the only one.) I started to cry.
“There is a pube in our spa! I can’t go in there. I will never be able to go in there!”
He picked up the phone and actually said the words “there is a pubic hair in our spa. My wife is crying. This is our 20th anniversary. Can we get a room with a nice view and a clean spa that does not have pubic hair, please?”
The person on the other end of the phone apologized. Then, he offered us a new room and a free buffet for the two of us. I didn’t care about free food. I just wanted a Pube Free Spa.
We picked up our things for the 2nd time and headed to our 3rd room.
The first thing I did upon entering room #3 was run to the spa to check for OPP. I was relieved to see that the spa was clean and Pube Free. I took a look around and everything seemed to be fine. So, I put all of my things down, took off my shoes and went to sit down on the sofa.
Except that just as I was about to sit, I noticed a rather large stain. I remained calm while I pointed it out to my husband.
“That’s not blood, is it?” I asked.
“I hope not.” He replied.
I hope not was not the answer I wanted to hear. I wanted him to say “hell no that’s not blood! It’s chocolate!”
Within the next 5 minutes, we discovered the following:
A half empty bottle of Coke. Something sticky all over the nightstand. Stains on my pillow case.
PigHunter made another call to the front desk. They sent someone up to inspect the room. They cleaned up the room while we stood there and watched (aaaaawkward.) The hotel gave us a $50 food and drink comp for the inconvenience.
Once the drama was behind us, we were able to relax and have a great night.
We enjoyed our free buffet. Played some slots. Went back up to the room to chill for a bit, fell asleep, woke up and laughed about how old we are, freshened up and went out for some drinking and dancing and some laughing and some kissing and some arguing and some more dancing and some walking through the hotel lobby angrily while I said things like “I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW!” and then some apologizing and some cuddling and finally some [edited for family] bible study time.
Four hours later I wake up to the sound of water dripping. I hope it’s just a dream because am so tired from all of the dancing. It’s not a dream. The sound of water is real, but where the eff is it coming from? I get up and look to see if our shower was leaking. Nope. I check the toilet. Nope. So, I go back to sleep.
A few minutes later, PIgHunter wakes up.
“I hear water running.” He says. “Do you hear it?”
We look around the room. PigHunter goes “Oh my God.” I turn around and see this:
Water, pouring from the ceiling down the wall next to our bed.
What! The! Hell!
I call the front desk to let them know that “Hi! There is water pouring into our room from the ceiling!” PigHunter tries to keep me calm while I go on and on about the possibility of the ceiling crashing in on us and five minutes later, there’s another person in our room, inspecting things while we stand around and watch.
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO US!
The water situation is fixed, PigHunter leaves to go get us breakfast. While he’s gone, hotel security comes up to take pictures. He asks if any of our personal property was damaged, I was like “do hopes and dreams count as personal property because if so, YES! PERSONAL PROPERTY HAS BEEN DAMAGED!”
Two minutes after Security Guy leaves, there is a knock on the door. There is a dude standing there with a stack of towels. I was confused. “Ohh, did you come to clean up the water?” I ask. He was confused. “someone called up for towels.” Hmmm. Maybe PigHunter called up for the towels? I don’t know, but I want this guy to leave because I’m sick of Random Hotel Staff all up in my room so I take the towels and set them on the counter.
When PigHunter came back with breakfast, he noticed the towels on the counter.
I told him that some dude dropped them off. “I thought maybe you had called and asked for towels?”
My husband, who is one of the most level headed, kind, calm people on the face of the earth, lost his shit.
He started ranting and raving. “Oh, do they expect US to clean up the mess? Do they think we’re going to spend our anniversary trip drying up all of this water? OH HELL NO THIS IS NOT RIGHT I’LL BE RIGHT BACK AAHHHHHHHHH!
He had every right to be angry. The water leak? Not their fault. But you know, it happened and they didn’t call to check on us or offer to move us to a room that did not have soaking wet carpet. Instead, they sent up a stack of towels so we could clean up the mess ourselves? Um, no.
The hotel offered us another room (#4!) and a $100 food/drink comp.
So, we had to pack up our things again and move to another effing room.
When we made it into our 4th! room (which, by the way, was pretty much perfect) I plopped my over fed ass on the bed and sighed the loudest sigh I’ve ever sighed in my entire life time. This was not the get away I had hoped for. This was nothing like I had imagined it would be. It was stressful and annoying and I wanted a do-over. I allowed myself to sulk for a bit (why do these things always happen to meeee? Why can’t things ever go right for me?) then I sucked it up and vowed to make the very most of the little time we had left (to use the mofo spa) together.
We finally did make it into the spa (to pray, of course, my family!) late Saturday night. We turned the water on, got in (in bathing suits!) poured the bubbles and settled in (on opposite sides of the spa!) I poured some bubbles in and pushed the button to turn on the thing that makes the water all bubbly? The jets? The power nozzles? THE WHATEVER THE EFF THEY’RE CALLED. Anyway, I pushed the on button.
Nothing.
I pushed again.
Nothing.
I pushed it again, held it down for a few seconds.
Nothing.
I could feel the anger rising within my soul.
“It’s not working!” I said, in a voice that sounded kind of satanic because… ANGER! RAGE! ANOTHER THING IS WRONG!
Tony jumped to his feet and leaped out of the tub.
“I am going to call them right now!” He shouted, all angrily. “This is not okay! IT IS NOT OKAY!”
And then I remember reading somewhere that in order for the spa jets (?) to work, the tub had to be filled to a certain point. So I told my naked (kidding, family!) husband to get back in and wait for the tub to fill up a bit and we’d try again.
Sure enough, it worked.
After we stopped laughing, we um, you know, “relaxed” until we couldn’t “relax anymore.”
In the end, I didn’t have the Anniversary Getaway I had planned or dreamed of, but we made the best out of the situation and managed to have a Few Moments of Awesome together. So, it’s all good.
She Is Her Mother’s Daughter
Yesterday was my sister in law’s wedding. I wasn’t sure which dress I wanted to wear, so I put each dress on and asked my husband and my daughter for their opinions.
My daughter loves to give fashion advice and it’s usually better than any advice my husband gives me. (Which is usually something like “I don’t know, if YOU like it, then I guess it looks good.” Or “I bet it would better on the floor so take it off and let me see!”)
While I was modeling the different dresses that I had bought, my daughter made a suggestion.
“Mom, you should try wearing a shirt that shows your belly! Those kinds of shirts are so pretty.”
(I’m getting more and more concerned that she may actually follow through with her dream to “work at Hooters” when she’s a teenager because “they wear really short shorts!” )
“NO way!” I responded.
“But mommy, why won’t you wear shirts that show your belly?”
I stopped myself from opening my mouth. I thought carefully about how I would answer her question. Because this was One Of Those Moments That Mattered.
Before I read the Life Changing Words, I wouldn’t have thought twice about my answer. I would have blurted out something like “Because my belly is fat and ugly and there are stretch marks and I hate it so much!”
But I know better now. I know my daughter is listening, watching, learning from from me about how how she will relate to her body. I understand that the way I speak about my body will have an impact on how she feels about her body.
Just as I was about to answer her question, she followed her question with a statement.
“Your belly isn’t ugly, so I don’t know why you don’t want to show it!”
I didn’t argue with her. I didn’t try to convince her that my belly is ugly. I just smiled and said “I know it’s not ugly, I just like to keep my belly private. Some girls like to show their belly, but mommy is shy about showing her belly.”
“Ohhh.” she said, as if she totally got it. “Well, I’m not shy about my belly and when I’m a teenager, I’m going to wear shirts that show it.”
I smiled. I smiled so hard.
Later that night, as the music played and the lights flashed, I watch my daughter glide around the dance floor, paying absolutely no attention to what anyone thought of her as she ran and twirled and rolled around on the floor.
“Just like her mama.” people said.
I can only hope that I can continue to be a positive influence to my daughter as her image of self continues to take shape. I can only hope that she always dances.
And I hope that when she’s old enough. (30? 40?) she still feels confident enough to wear a shirt that shows her belly.
A Part Of Something Special
I used to have a neighbor who would invite me to go out dancing all of the time. My answer was always something like this: “I’ll go when I lose x-amount of pounds or when I am less than x-amount of pounds.” I never got down to the size that I thought was acceptable enough to go dancing out with my friend. I was 150 pounds.
I am now 179 pounds and I’ve danced more in the past 6 months than I’ve danced in my entire life.
I know that I’m still overweight, I know that I’m not society’s idea of a “beautiful woman.” But I dance anyway.
I can feel my arms jiggle when I raise them up in the air. But I dance anyway.
My jeans are a size 16. But I dance anyway
I have a double chin. But I dance anyway.
What changed? I made a choice. I chose to stop believing the lies I would tell myself (you’re ugly. You’re repulsive. You don’t deserve to enjoy your life) I chose to stop measuring my worth on the stupid numbers on a stupid scale. I made a choice to believe and trust the people in my life who love and care about me. For many years I disregarded the loving words of my husband. I found it hard to believe that a man could find my body attractive. He would tell me that I was beautiful, that he loved every inch of my body. I would tell him he was lying. I stopped calling him a liar and made a choice to accept and embrace his love and desire for me. For my body. I made a choice to stop believing that I have to be a Certain Size to enjoy my life.
This hasn’t been an easy process. It’s taken me many years and many tears to get to this place. I still have days where I contemplate NOT doing something because “I don’t have anything to wear” or “my stomach is SO BIG!” It’s still a struggle– but I am DETERMINED to live the rest of my life to the fullest. No more regrets. No more sitting at home wishing I had gone, wishing I hadn’t said no, wishing I didn’t feel so alone.
I don’t believe I could have arrived at this place of peace with my body without the words of encouragement and wisdom from the women I’ve met through blogging. And that is the reason why I said yes when I was asked to be a part of new project– Curvy Girls Guide. I feel honored to be a part of something so positive, so encouraging, so…real. I hope you’ll join the conversations we’re having over there. I think it’s going to be something truly special.