Afff-Lac

While I'm trying to be all motivated and conquer the world, my doctor is doing her best to diagnose me with something scary.

This morning, I went for a physical. Just routine business. Until doc started asking a bunch of questions all suspicious like and then said the word "cancer." No one has diagnosed me with cancer. They tried three years ago, but they did a biopsy and came back with "dysplasia" instead. Not cancer. Just pre-cancer. Just keep an eye on it so it doesn't turn into cancer.

So, I know there's some weird stuff floating around in my body that could take on a mind of its own and turn into cancer. I just operate under the assumption that it never will. However, this doctor decided that my symptoms warrant checking to see if it has. I'm not sure why she felt the need to tell me. Especially since I'm all, "everything happens for a reason" and I bought a cancer policy last week on the off chance that my "weird stuff" did turn into cancer. My gut reaction when she said (like she was ordering lunch), "we're just going to do some testing for ovarian cancer and h pylori (which I totally googled and found out that it can cause ulcers and/or......stomach cancer)" was, "Oh God, did I jinx myself via Aflac?"

Because I said so!

J (step-daughter) upon seeing me put her 3T clothes in a bag: Hey! What are you doing with those clothes?!

Me (being logical adult): The clothes are too small for you now. So, we're going to give them to a little girl who can wear them.

J (being three and unphased by logic): No! Those are my clothes!

Me (trying new tack, i.e. bribery): I know, but they don't fit, and they're taking up room in your closet. We need to make room to go buy you new clothes.

J (thinking her authoratative hierarchy is also mine): But MY MOM SAID they still fit me. (She has also told me I have to give her cookies because Pappi said I have to).

Me (growing tired of this conversation): your mom hasn't seen you in these clothes in a while, so she doesn't know they're too small yet.

J (crying now): Uh huh! My mom bought me those clothes, and you can't give them to anyone else!

Me (officially done with the coversation now): The clothes your mom bought you are in the dryer. They're going home with you. Brooke gave us these clothes, and we're giving them to Kate now.

J (not done with the conversation): why?! They're mine!

Me (officially turning into my mother) Because I said so.

J: Stops crying, leaves kitchen and resumes toddler activities.

The reason "because I said so" was invented: its sheer power to end unwinnable arguments with toddlers.

I'mma a survivor

If you don't know all the crazy stuff that has happened to me in my life then you've probably also never done Jager shots with me until 3 a.m. Suffice it to say, I have a unique story (yes, I know you do too, but this isn't about you.)

People (mostly my friends Christen and Natalie) have been encouraging me to tell my tale for years. However, I am lazy, and I fear failure (reason I am a paralegal and not a lawyer), so I come up with every excuse in the book to not write a book.

Yesterday I spent an hour reading the blog of a real writer (www.jennsylvania.com you should read it too) and decided that it was time to either write the damn book or shut up talking about writing the book "someday." This morning, I prayed for a sign while I flat-ironed my hair. Something like this: "Dear God, if you really think me telling my story will help people, please give me (another) sign. Love, Michelle."

Driving to work, I checked Facebook (he who is without sin, let him cast the first stone. I know you've done it too, so shut it), and I saw the following post from someone who it never occurred to me would read my blog:

I love your blog, by the way! Stumbled across it yesterday; already have it in my RSS reader. :)

Now, I won't even pretend to know what an RSS reader is, but I know that God is saying (through Nick), enough already with the procrastinating....I gave you the story and the desire to write it, now do it.

So, this is my way of forcing myself to start. An announcement on the blog means the pressure is officially on.

P.S. I have no delusions of grandeur, and I'm not daydreaming of being a best seller, and I'm not saying it won't take me two years to write the book. I'm saying, my story will inspire people who need inspiration. It's just a fact.

Michelle for Mayor of Mommyville

Qualifications:

• My wardrobe choices are becoming: wear same three outfits over and over OR wear spit-up stained clothing.
• My backseat has two carseats and no room for anyone but pint-sized passengers.
• I have had occasion to look down into my (ridiculously expensive) purse and see teething toys.
• Three people have told me they love my "mom 'do" or "soccer mom hair-cut." (Um, 1. that is NOT a compliment, and 2. my then-single, childless friend had a similar haircut a year ago, thank you very much.)
• I can talk on the phone, fold laundry, and hold a bottle at the same time.
• It feels like Christmas every time I leave work to head home and see my little boy.
• The "camera roll" on my phone has 431 photos and 15 videos. I can count on one hand the ones that are non Silas-related.
• Phrases I have uttered in the last 24 hours: "Did he poop today?" and "Hold the baby while I get this spit up out of my bra."
  

More lessons courtesy of Silas

I have married two momma's boys and dated countless others. It has been ultra rare for me to get along with their mothers.

My current mother-in-law was no exception. I always felt like their mom's were competing with me, and I was damn determined to win that competition. I would say things like, "cut the cord already" and be really irritated when I felt their moms had overstepped.

Then came Silas, and it suddenly all made sense to me. I no longer have any desire to compete with my mother-in-law to be the number one woman in my husband's life.

I finally see with my own eyes that we have different roles.

Michael needed to go to the ER today. He called his mom because the roads were slick, and I sat at home with my baby while she sat at the hospital with hers. My husband knows that I love him, and I know that his mom felt better sitting by his side than sitting at home waiting for me to update her about him. Not only do I know that, I actually care.

Now I just have to hope my future daughter-in-law learns this same lesson asap so I don't I go "Michelle" on her. Maybe Silas will be gay and save me the trouble of reeping karma for my mother-in-law torture. Don't tell Michael I said that.

DELETE

Well, I've officially been censored. My husband (and my lawyer) made me delete a bunch of stuff I have written because some crazy person is internet stalking me to try to find things he/she can over-analyze, pick apart line-by-line and use against my family. It has left me feeling fairly un-motivated to write anything. My blog was supposed to be a place I could rant and rave and attempt humor at other peoples' expense.

So, this is being a grownup? I can't have a silly, little cathartic blog because other people may use it to hurt the ones I love? What the hell happened to first amendment? I guess I technically have the freedom to say whatever I want...as long as I don't say anything that someone else can misconstrue or purposely take out of context and use to turn my family's lives upside down.

Should make for some interesting reading for YOU in the near future. (yes, sarcasm)

A Simpler Time

The Daily Show did a segment recently trying to find the simpler time in America. They were making fun of people like Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity and Billy O'Reilly, but I cannot tell you how many times my parents and grandparents have lamented the state of the world and longed to return to a simpler time. I'm sure at some point you've heard a speech about how much the world sucks today and how great it was back in the day.

One of the reasons I love the Daily Show is that they use humor to point out what should often be glaringly obvious. The moral of this particular story is that America doesn't have anymore problems today than it ever has. It has different problems but more or less the same amount. The reason Glenn Beck (and my grandma) look back and see a simpler time is because when they look back, they see their childhood. The world was obviously rainbows and ponies and sunshine because someone else was paying the mortgage and buying the groceries and worrying about what was happening in the news while they were outside playing baseball.

My son woke up at 5:30 this morning. I assumed he was hungry and made him a bottle. Well, I was wrong. What he really wanted was to "discuss" his newest fascination with me. He had a foot in each hand tugging at his socks, rolling from side to side, babbling and cooing and grinning at me as if to say, "Can you believe how freaking cool my feet are?" His happiest moments are spent "talking" to his feet, "talking" to Michael and me about his feet or trying to get his feet in his mouth. His life is just that simple. He hasn't a care in the world that mommy is chugging caffeine to stay awake at her desk so that she can keep the job that buys his formula. America is at war and in a recession, but this is his simpler time.

Let's all save our children the "life was so much better in my day" speech and realize that the world has always had problems, and the only time it was ever simple was when your parents hid those problems from you.