Gaining perspective

Well, this time I didn't dodge it.  This time I did get trapped in my house with my two rambunctious children for three days.  We had electricity the whole time, which is more than I can say for some of my friends, so I was grateful for that.

The weather, and my hormones, and my children, and holiday stress, and the fact that I can't say "no" to save my life had us all less than cheerful by Saturday evening.  I was grumpy and snapping at everyone.  Something I would come to deeply regret.

Because spending Sunday reeling from the knowledge that my boyfriend had had a head on collision with a concrete wall put a lot in perspective.  He is okay.  His truck is not.  Yesterday we heard the words "maybe totaled."

He should not have been on the roads, but he was, and after I found out about the wreck and confirmed he was okay and yelled at him a little, he told me exactly what had happened.  I then spent most of Sunday replaying the mental picture of him slamming into that barrier over and over and over again in my mind until I got completely snowed under the "what ifs" in my head.  You know those anxiety disorders he and I both have?  They are wreaking some real havoc in our house right now.

Now I can't stop hugging and kissing him and my boys.  I can't fall asleep without one hand gripping him as I doze off.  I've always been one to say, "I love you"  every, single day at least 400 times to the point of annoyance, but it's been a little more annoying the past couple of days.  (Silas inherited this from me, and I love that).

It does not matter how crazy they all drive me, I need them.  I need them around making me want to pull my hair out, turning me gray, and giving me wrinkles.

Yesterday morning, I found out that in 8 weeks and 3 days the last little member of my family will be joining us.  Thanks for all of your "willing."  It totally worked.  Vivi is scheduled to make her grand entrance at 7:30 am on February 7 ("And we're doing the tubal?  For sure?"...."Yes, if there is paperwork to sign, hand me a pen.").  

She will be one more ball of energy and ray of sunshine bouncing around demanding to be fed and bathed and changed and loved to pieces.  As terrified as I am about the extra stress and money and worry that another baby is sure to bring, I need her too.

I never envisioned myself as a mother of 3.  It was not my plan.  But, then, nothing I had planned worked out.  I had something much better in store for me.

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)

Oh the difference a year makes

One year ago today, my boys were with their dad, and I was a nervous wreck.  

You see, I knew that at 7 p.m. I would be going on a first date.  A practice date is what my friends and I were calling it.  And while I had absolutely no intention of ever seeing this guy again after this date - because men had turned into selfish, lying, manipulative pigs, and I was certain this guy would be the same - it was a first date nonetheless.  My first date with anyone in months and my first date with anyone but Michael in years.

I spent the day shopping so as to distract myself from the stupid thing I had planned that evening.  I bought my kids Christmas presents and I bought myself a pair of red shoes - because they were half off, and a girl needs to look good even on a practice date.

When it came time to get ready, I grabbed a beer out of my refrigerator and held onto it for dear life.

While I applied my make up and flat ironed my hair and put on my new red shoes, I drank my beer to try to calm my nerves.

On the drive to the restaurant, I text my best friend a picture of the guy with all of the personal information I had about him and the name and address of the restaurant - just in case he tried to kidnap and murder me. 

She informed me, "he looks like a thug" (lots of tattoos/people are judgey/we've covered this) just to set my mind at ease.  I almost turned around and went home.

But I like tattoos, and we were meeting in public, and it wasn't like I was planning to marry the guy.  Just have dinner.  If he was awful, I had my car and could just leave.

My plan was to have this date, use it to assess how horribly awful it was going to be to date as a 30 year old single mom, and then ignore this dude (and all other dudes) for the rest of eternity.  Because getting involved with people gets you hurt.  And it hurts your kids.  And I had had quite enough.  Odds were he wasn't going to try to contact me again anyway because - as I have already mentioned - men were not exactly held in my highest regard at that point in time, and I was quite certain he would be a complete and total DB.

Imagine my surprise when this man turned out to be funny and charming and engaging and nice and interesting and made me like him too much to ignore his text messages the next day.  Yes, he text me the next day.  And the day after that.  And the one after that.  And he called and talked to me for hours every night after my kids were asleep - like we were 14.  So on and so forth.

Ok, well, it wouldn't hurt to date him casually, I guess.

When he asked me to accompany him to his company Christmas party, I decided to go and wound up having fun.  He used the word "girlfriend" to introduce me to his co-workers, and I rather liked the sound of it.  

Casually went out the window.  I had a boyfriend.

I introduced him to my friends.  And then I introduced him to my parents.  And THEN I introduced him to my kids and monitored his every move expecting him to screw it all up.  But he didn't.  He handled himself perfectly.

And now here we are.  One year later. 

This man who was just supposed to be a practice date has turned into a part of my family.  He helps me raise my kids.  He fixes my car when it's broken.  He puts together swing sets and paints pink rooms.  He washes dishes and does laundry and cooks meals.  We celebrate holidays and birthdays together.  We spend lazy Sundays together napping on the couch.  We have a house together.  We are having a daughter together.  We have a life together.

If you had asked either of us on December 4, 2012 where we saw ourselves in a year, I guarantee neither one of us saw ourselves here.  We just got lucky that way.

Happy first anniversary to the absolute best man I have ever known.  I love you, and I thank my lucky stars that you accidentally won my heart and that I accidentally won yours.

My two cents

So, I received a link to this article from a friend.  Maybe you've read it.  If not, please go do so now so as to fully understand what I'm talking about.

Ok, everyone read it?  Have your opinion formulated?  Whatever your feelings/opinion, I promise you I respect them.

Here is mine: 

We as women are some fickle beings.  We go from a culture of women who damn near kill ourselves to fit some ideal image we are bombarded with in every magazine and TV show to a culture of women who get up in arms when someone posts a picture that makes us feel bad about ourselves.

Did I look like Ms. Six Pack Abs four days after giving birth?  No.  I didn't look like that when I was 18.  I'll never look like that.  Ever.  Not even with surgery.  Ok, maybe with, like, millions of dollars in surgery.  But odds are, never.

Even so, seeing that picture didn't make me feel not one twinge of "oh my god, why so much pressure to lose all this weight right after birth?!" and I'm 2 months from giving birth and have given birth three times previously.

I don't know if it came with having a million kids or turning 30 or realizing that (yes, Miranda again) it really does take all kindsa kinds, but I just don't put that kind of pressure on myself anymore.  I certainly am not going to start because a woman I do not know posted a half naked picture of herself on Instagram.

I think we can all agree that she is a severe exception to the rule.  Most of us have a stomach more akin to a deflated inner tube four days after giving birth.  And we go at our own pace in taking the baby weight off.  I've done everything from put on 60 more pounds after birth to dropping enough weight to equal half a person after birth.  Both approaches were my choice.  Your approach is your choice.

My advice is to douse yourself with reality when it comes to judging yourself against pictures like this.  

I don't know that woman.  I don't know her motives in posting the picture.  I don't know how healthy or unhealthy she was during her pregnancy.  I imagine that post-baby body has to do with her being a disciplined person and a whole whole lot more to do with her genetics.

WE CANNOT CHANGE OUR GENETICS.  And the quicker we come to terms with that and learn to love our bodies and make choices that make sense for us as individuals, the better off we are going to be.  

I don't think it is fair that we fight all these battles for equality and to be respected for who we are as individuals and then we turn around and crucify someone who isn't "normal" because she isn't "normal" in a way that makes us jealous or makes us feel inadequate about ourselves.  That is still being judgmental and hypocritical.  That is still the very definition of what we claim to hate about our society.

That's my opinion on the matter anyway.

The first Thanksgiving without the boys

I survived my first "family holiday" without the boys.

I only cried once.  If you just rolled your eyes, I would like to remind you that 1. I am pregnant and 2. I am a crybaby even when my hormones are at their most balanced.  So, one little breakdown in five days is an accomplishment to be celebrated.

Keeping busy was key.

Wednesday I left work early to finish shopping and cleaning and getting a pedicure (Jimmy insisted on the pedicure.  I kept saying, "no, I really need to clean," and he kept saying, "just go get a pedicure, and we'll knock the cleaning out together when I get home," and I finally said, "ok, since you've twisted my arm."  Voila: orange toes.)

I awoke at 7 am on Thanksgiving morning and cleaned the upstairs since we'd only managed to get through the downstairs the night before. (You'd think we live in absolute filth, but in fact we had a turkey fryer to assemble the night before.)

Jimmy was planning on frying a turkey (was that made obvious by the fact that we assembled a turkey fryer?), and I woke him every 15 minutes to ask whether I should start thawing it out.  (HELLO, DUDE, IT'S FROZEN AND PEOPLE WILL BE HERE AT 1!!!)  This annoyed him.

He finally got up just as I came out of our bathroom hauling a mop and a broom and glass cleaner and paper towels (I was kind of loudish).  

"Do you want me to start thawing out the turkey?"  I asked and giggled.  He made a "seriously? I just got out of bed" face and ignored me.  

He set about thawing the turkey (which was quite an involved process) and watching YouTube videos about how to fry a turkey while I made 32 desserts and sweet potato casserole and mashed potatoes.  

He finally requested my assistance in reading the directions for starting the turkey fryer at 12:25 pm.  He got it started only to realize we needed a new propane tank.  (Can I just say that I was feeling vindicated for all of my annoying "GET UP, GET UP, GET UP!" behavior at that point?)

The turkey was an hour late, but it tasted great and the wait gave all the women a chance to sit around and gossip.  So, all was forgiven.

It was weird to have an all adult Thanksgiving, but everyone seemed to enjoy it.

Jimmy and I actually managed to make it to a movie after everyone left - where I checked my SportsCenter app 100 times through the previews because I was forced to go in the 4th quarter of the Cowboys game.  We won, so it was okay.  

We went to the movie theater with the smooshy leather recliners and saw Catching Fire.  Jimmy drank beer and bought me the biggest popcorn he could find.  It was fantastic.

We went home.  Jimmy went upstairs to shower.  I curled up on the couch and was alone for the first time that day.  That is when I cried my little eyes out missing my boys and feeling sorry for myself because next year it will be Christmas.  Vivi's first Christmas will be without her brothers.  I hate that so much.

Jimmy came downstairs and caught me crying and hugged me and built me a fire and made me laugh and cheered me up.

Friday we spent the day out of the house shopping and the evening cooking and playing a board game.

Saturday, we drove to the wrong location for the 3D sonogram and so had to reschedule it again.  Jimmy and I put up the Christmas tree and hung the stockings and put out "Red" (our Elf on the shelf).  Then my mom and I finally finished painting Vivi's room and bought her a swing.

Yesterday, we stayed firmly planted on the couch until 5 o'clock.  I was clearly cranky and couldn't even figure out why until I finally got my kids back at 6.  "Feel better now?" Jimmy asked as we drove home.

Oh, so that was what was wrong.  I was having mini withdrawal.  

When they got to the meeting spot, Silas ran around the truck and jumped into my arms, "MOMMY!!!" making me feel quite special.  Gavin grinned his sweet, sleepy, "hi mom" grin and melted my heart.

They were both filthy and exhausted and sick (as usual), but I was so so happy to have them home and to see their little expressions over the Christmas decor.

This morning it started as we came downstairs, "Mom, did Santa bring me lots of presents last night?!"

So, we'll be doing that every day for the next 23 days.

It's going to be a long month, but at least they will be at home when Santa finally does come and bring lots of presents -  and then I will only have them driving me nuts for 5 straight days to blame for being cranky.

Thankful 2013

Yesterday, at work, walking down the hall, a co-worker passed me, stopped in her tracks, turned around and said, "Michelle, you have that glow.  I mean you really look happy!"

My happiness is apparently written all over my face, and I am glad about that.  Feeling this good is something I want to share with the world.

There were years when I was constantly asking, "what is wrong with me? why can't I be happy?"  No matter what I did, I couldn't find a balance in life where I felt like I was happy more days than not.

I kept thinking, "if only this, then I would be happy."  But this wasn't going to change on its own, and even when I did muster up the effort to change one thing, there were still all these other things looming at me.

And then I finally figured out that I had some changes to make on multiple levels of my life.  If I wanted to be happy, then I was going to have to dial it up in the doing stuff department.  Getting on my blog and whining wasn't fixin' nothin'. 

One of the biggest things to change was that I came out of last year no longer needing to ask, "what is wrong with me?" because the answer is: nothing.  I'm human, and I had some mistakes to make and lessons to learn and some changes to implement and some medications to adjust.  And that is exactly what I have spent the last two years doing.

I was in an unhappy marriage.  I got out of it.

I was fighting constant anxiety and depression.  I got professional help.

I didn't like my body.  I lost weight.

I didn't like the way I presented myself in public.  I started making an effort.

I felt like a failure as a parent.  I got counseling and, well, we'll call this a work in progress.  But I can assure you it is worlds better than it was 2 years ago.

I was not financially stable.  Ok, another work in progress.  But it is in progress, and I am feeling positive about the progress being made and the plans in the works to pay off bills and cut costs where I can.  Those plans seem solid and sustainable long term, and just the fact that I am focusing on it and trying to do something about it in itself helps me sleep better at night.

I think I'm always going to be someone who is hard on herself (most of us are naturally our own worst critics.  Well, unless we are named Kanye - the man works my nerves.  I digress.) and anxiety prone and guilt prone.  As far as I can tell, I'm just hard wired that way.  

But I think I have also come to realize that there are degrees of those things.  I was living in such a way as to put so much pressure on myself not to fail (again) or hurt or disappoint anyone that I craaaaaaaaaaaaacked under that pressure, and I was a horrible, horrible mess of a human being.  

And then somehow something or someone or (most likely) a collection of someones finally got through to me that not only do I not have to be perfect, I will never be perfect no matter how hard I try, so I may as well just figure out how to be happy.  I had to sit down and really assess my life and refuse to allow myself to make anymore excuses.  I was full of : "I can't go to therapy/the gym/the doctor because I don't have the time or money."  

I found the time and the money and, voila, my life began to improve.  The entire time Michael and I were going through our divorce, he was so irritated with me for choosing that time to change.  For choosing then to finally work on all the things that had made me so unhappy.  And that is fair.  It was a large contributing factor to our split.  But maybe the split was the catalyst.  Maybe being stuck with myself with no one to blame my misery on but myself was the wake up call I needed.

Whatever it was, I literally cannot think back to the very beginning of having memories and remember a time in my life where I was this happy.  Truly, deep down, get up in the morning grateful for my life every day happy.

So, how can I not also be  incredibly thankful?  For that happiness, for my two beautiful, incredible, healthy sons, for my daughter who is on the way, for a family who loves me and bends over backward to help me, for friends who are loyal and loving and full of laughter, for a boyfriend who showed up and just turned into family like he belonged there all along, for a job where I feel valued and appreciated and wanted, for a home that feels truly like my home, and for all the moments and mistakes and choices and lessons that led to having all of this.

I hope all of you who read this either have this kind of happiness or are on your way to figuring out how to have it because I want nothing less for all the people I love.

Have a happy and safe Thanksgiving!

My Jeep should be ironically named lucky

Oh my lord, y'all, I dodged a serious bullet today.  The forecast was calling for "stuck in the house" weather.  As in, a third day stuck indoors with two very over-the-indoors children.  I was worried for all of us.

When Jimmy mumbled "news says roads are fine" at 5 am, I did a little happy dance in my head.

So, everyone is in their respective weekday location getting a much needed break from the house (and, frankly, each other).

Once again, I have no idea how you SAHMs do it.  I'm positive I would be in an institution by now if I didn't get to come to work every day.  As Miranda says, "it takes all kinds of kinds."  Amen, sister.  Sure does.

Friday evening my Jeep swapped paint with yet another driver determined to ruin my day.  It being the third time in less than a year that I have been hit, I was less than patient with this driver.  My kids were both in the car, I'm 7 months pregnant, it was freezing outside and raining, and what's the resale value on my vehicle got to be at this point?  $45?  I'm probably already upside down by, like, $12,000 (I'm being dramatic, but I really am in a bad position with the equity) without all the added damage this crap is doing, so thanks for that come January, jerks.

Immediately after he hit me, he acted like he was going to pull away.  I glared and shook my finger at him.  So, he stopped in the middle of a very busy road.  I got out and yelled at him in my mom voice to pull up into the gas station out of the rush hour traffic.  

He gave me his insurance information and continuously repeated, "I thought you were going to at least pull up a little further."  Well, I didn't, sir, so that was your cue to sit there and wait your turn instead of pulling out and plowing into my bumper.  Honking at me would have been preferable to the way you handled it, so I really don't want your crappy attitude.

I got home and Jimmy told me I needed to call the other driver's insurance company, and I just flatly refused.  I continued to refuse all weekend.  They get ugly, y'all, and after dealing with their rude customer, I just took on Silas' stance as a three year old every time you told him to do something, "so I don't!" .

I feel like I've endured my fair share of hateful claims reps this year.  I just want to scream, "IT ISN'T MY FAULT THAT YOUR CUSTOMER HIT ME SO STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE!" but instead I am polite and do everything I can to treat them in a way that I'd like to be treated in hopes that they will calm the eff down and be civil.  Mostly they are still assholes. (Maybe no one taught them the golden rule?)

So, let me just give a shout out to Michelle (well, that should have been my first clue) at State Farm for being pleasant to me when I finally called this morning.  She seemed to get that it's just a business transaction.  The money to repair my vehicle isn't coming out of her personal checking account.  I don't want to be dealing with this hassle and am just doing so out of necessity.

I am always honest and don't ever try to claim anymore than the actual damage.  I don't fake injuries or try to defraud the company into paying me more than what I actually need to cover my losses.  So, I appreciate having the hope that I may not have to spiral off into an anxiety attack every time I have to speak to this woman.  Fingers crossed anyway.

If not, I'll be back here to bitch and put her on blast shortly.

Happy Monday of Thanksgiving week!

They all lie

When I was pregnant with Gavin, Mr. Hottie Doctor lied to me about scheduling my c-section and pushed Gavin's birth back by a day.  I was kinda really seriously irritated by that.

Well, this time, my doctor changed her mind about delivering at 37 weeks, which, honestly, is fine with me.  It was very worrisome to me to deliver that early.  I cried on Jimmy's shoulder just last week worrying that they'd take her to the nursery right after delivery and keep her from me for eight hours like they did Si, and no thank you to that.

So, what's my issue, right?  Well, since she decided to push it back, I can't schedule my c-section for two more weeks.  (Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!)  I know two weeks isn't that big a deal (oh, we are at the every two weeks visits now, weird).  I'm just getting very excited and anxious to know exactly when the big day will be!  I had a sonogram today, and I can just see how adorable she is already, and I cannot wait to meet her.

Anyway, because Jimmy's job is not being particularly cooperative about the birth of his child (I'm trying not to bitch because it really is a great job with a great company, but I mean, it's the birth of his child, people!), we have to schedule the birth for as late as possible on a Friday (yes, so he can try to leave work early as they don't want to give him the day off - see my point?).  

That leaves possible birthdays for Vivi as Friday, February 7th and Friday, February 14th.

Frankly, I'm not particularly interested in my poor daughter having to share her birthday with Valentine's day.  No one is ever going to want to come to her parties because 1. let's face it, taking your kids to other kids' parties is somewhat of a pain (picking out the present for someone else's child and hoping they like it, scheduling your kid's nap around it, dealing with the sugar overload and eventual crash once you get home) and 2. people have other things on their agenda on Valentine's day.  Plus, she's totally going to have the whole wrapping up the two separate occasions into one thing happen to her, and she's going to be overshadowed by cupid!  So, on behalf of my sweet daughter, NO. 

That means, we are all willing my doctor (who I adore) to schedule this girl's birthday for February 7th (I'll be 38 weeks, 3 days, so I'm comfortable with that).  Start willing people.  Start willing!