Teaspoon of narcissism

A few text messages and a tricky solicitor named Debbie woke me up this morning.

The texts were to warn that Kenneth was back, and as I was trying to make my son laugh, I was mulling over, "Who the hell is Kenneth?"

That's when it occurred to me that real writers aren't getting attacked by their friends, family and fans. Just their critics. Random strangers who judge them with no actual relationship to color the judgement.

I have a critic. Therefore, I am a real writer.

Hello lemon, you have become lemonade.

Dear Kenneth

Clearly, we all have shitty days, and today was one of my days.

I really appreciate that people read my blog, but if reading my blog prompts you to encourage me to commit suicide, like dear, sweet Kenneth (who I don't know from Adam), do me a favor and don't read it.

It's okay to have bad days, and it's okay to hurt, and it's okay to get angry, and if you disagree, my blog is something you will never enjoy. So, don't waste your very precious time reading it, and don't waste my very precious time encouraging me to jump out a window and leave my 6 month old with one less parent.

I'm moody and bitchy and I enjoy airing my frustrations. It doesn't make me suicidal. It makes me female. I find that most insecure men are terrified by that.

Screw life not being fair

There is a blog in my "saved" folder titled "shiny and happy." You don't get to see that one because I didn't hit publish prior to the shiny and happy wearing off. Instead, you will be enduring plain, old, bitter Michelle.

I'm taking issue with unfairness today. Frankly, all the people who have ever responded to a lament of "It's not fair!" with "Life's not fair" can just stop reading now because I have no patience for your "get over it" attitude at the moment.

I've been "getting over" the same things for years. What that actually entails is taking up a vice (most vices kill you) and applying the vice as a band aid every time my "This isn't fair!" moment rears its ugly head because to address it will only get me beaten back with "life's not fair" which actually translates to "I don't really care."

The solution came to me today while I stared out my window (and didn't work because my work is one facet of my unfairness problem). I'm done participating in unfair situations. Once I have aired my frustration and requested change and been denied, I'm going to walk away. I am not going to keep burying the unfairness with my vices (the ones that are killing me) and hoping things will get better.

Things do not get better on their own, and they certainly do not get better when you accept answers like "life's not fair." Perhaps life isn't fair, but I'm no longer willing to live under anyone else's brand of unfair-to-you-but-it's-benefiting-me while I go quietly crazy.

Changes to come. Maybe you'll see that "Shiny and Happy" blog soon.

Dammit, Apple.

Apple has officially made my list. How can they call the contraption in my hand a phone when it will do everything but make and sustain a phone call?

It would almost be worth paying for a landline not to have to explain a dropped call to my very sweet grandmother once a week (or twice if it's a long conversation or I'm mobile on my mobile phone).

The apps were just awesome enough to keep Apple off my list until my friend, Brooke, also got an iPhone.

It has become nearly impossible for us to communicate, and, for this, Apple makes the list.

I was chomping at the bit to jump on the iPhone bandwagon (not camp-in-front-of-the-store [because I have a job] chomping, but can't-really-make-fun-of-the-guy-camping-in-front-of-the-store chomping).

Yes, I had heard about the dropped calls, but I do not enjoy talking on the phone anyway. So, win-win for me....until I got an iPhone and found out that I hate texting on it worse than I hate talking on the phone.

Blackberry getting Words With Friends is all I'm waiting on to un-convert.

Apple, you're on notice.

Advice for moms-to-be

I was told to write a blog with advice for moms-to-be. Here you go.

1. Enjoy the freedom of your child-free existance to the fullest. (if you already have children, you're already screwed, so move on.)

2. Request xanax immediately after delivery. You'll thank me later when you stumble across it after you've pulled out half your hair.

3. Get comfortable with the idea that you'll be wrong for the rest of your life.

4. Caffeine, Disney movies and your in-laws (even if you think you don't like them) are your friends.

5. Sleep-deprivation and a messy house are just your new existance. They will not sleep when you want them to, and they will destroy everything no matter how long it took you to clean it or how much it cost you. Make peace with that.

6. No matter how badly you want those shoes, you will always be able to think of something your child needs instead. This is the beginning of your journey to What Not to Wear.

7. There will be a day when you show up to work and realize there's spit up on your shoulder. Just buy a cardigan now and always have it handy.

8. Even if your child's father is a rocket scientist, you will find yourself wondering how you could've procreated with such a complete moron on at least one occasion. (like when he uses a bulb syringe to clean out your newborn's eye).

9. Your baby will excrete all manner of bodily fluids on you, himself, and your furniture. Stock up on shout and scotch guard.

10. No matter how frustrated, exhausted and exasperated you are, you wouldn't trade that little angel for all the money in the world, and he (or she) will always be the best thing you've ever done. So, don't be stingy with the kisses and hugs!

My name is Michelle, and I'm a Chocoholic

You know you're out of shape when you find yourself living some overweight comedian's set and actually get winded eating.

Last night, I was so hungry and ate so quickly that I ended the whole ordeal feeling like I had climbed several flights of stairs.

Somebody call Intervention. The Famous Amos cookies are officially a problem.

My prayer for our children

My best friend's son will be born in two days. My other very close friend is three months pregnant. I'm not going to share their stories with you because they are not mine to share. However, I can tell you that both stories confirm my favorite verse for me. Jeremiah 29:11.

My own history with having children led me to pray fervently throughout each day for the child I was carrying when I was pregnant with Silas (truth be told, I started praying when I even suspected I was pregnant). I continue to pray for my son now that he is here.

When I found out about the children-to-be of the two friends I mentioned above, I found myself reiterating the same prayer for their babies. I would pray feverishly for each mother, each father, each child.

As I sat down to write this, I realized that almost every person who reads my blog (and the vast majority of my friends) has a child or will have one soon. These children are my son's peers. The voices who will shape his generation, and I know you love these children with the same ferocious intensity that I carry for Silas.

So, I want to say this prayer for you and your little ones.

Lord, thank you for entrusting us with each child you have placed in our care.

Please give us the courage, the strength and the wisdom to raise our children to be their best selves and to accept them for who they are and who they become. Please show us how to be the parents our children need through each step in their journey and remind us that even when we don't know the answer, we know they need love.

Please protect them with every breath, every step, every stumble, every fall.

Please quiet our fears and make us strong for them in their hours of need and bring us back to the sweet moments in our hours of frustration.

Lord, help us raise a generation of kind, caring, loving people who know You and seek Your guidance.

Amen.

Always remember that God chose you for your child(ren). He gave them to you as a showing of His love for you, and He is always there to help and encourage (and remind you to call your own momma) when you don't know the answer.