I hate cooking. I hate coming up with things to cook, I hate doing the actual work of cooking, I hate begging my child to eat the food I’ve just cooked.
I just…hate it all.
On a recent Monday evening, after working for nine and a half hours, driving a half hour each way to and from work, helping O with her homework for over 40 minutes, I was at the kitchen sink, washing dishes after having made food for Liv and then nagging her to eat it before I had to heat is up AGAIN and I must have had a look of frustration on my face because Tom, from across the room and on the other side of Olivia, asked me what was wrong?
I muttered, “I hate cooking for her.”
Now wait. Let me explain that Olivia’s back was to me, I said this quietly enough that she did not hear me. But you know what? She’s 15 years old. She knows I don’t actually enjoy cooking. She can read the room and knows that I’m annoyed more often than not when I’m cooking. She doesn’t actually care that I hate cooking. She truly isn’t bothered by my pissy attitude at all. She could not possible care less about how I feel about cooking. She will continue to ask me to cook for the rest of our lives with nary a smidge of guilt over my feelings on the matter.
Ahem. Now that that’s settled…Tom made his way across the room with disappointment in his eyes. He was SO disappointed in my attitude. I could feel the disappointment oozing out of his pores. **Can you hear my eyes rolling from all the way over here?**
Once he was standing beside me, Tom said in a low voice, so that our darling precious snowflake wouldn’t hear, “I think most moms enjoy cooking for their kids.”
Oh…really? Most moms enjoy cooking for their kids. If I hadn’t been in such a pissy mood, I might have laughed. Instead I glared at him and said, “No. They don’t.”
He was astounded. He was flabbergasted. How could a mother, a loving, wonderful mother, NOT enjoy cooking for her offspring? Wasn’t it the goal in every mother’s life to cook day and day out for her children?
I told him to google the phrase, “Why do my kids have to eat every day.” I suggested he look up articles on the drudgery of cooking every single day for ungrateful beasts who don’t want to eat what you’re cooking.
Well, that made him run with the idea of being appreciated. He can acknowledge that O doesn’t appreciate the cooking we do for her. But he just couldn’t handle the fact that I vocalized my passionate dislike of cooking for her.
He’ll get over it. Or not, honestly, I don’t care one way or the other.
I did take to FB and post a question for all the moms out there. I asked if all moms enjoy cooking for their kids.
Big surprise…not all moms enjoy cooking, for their kids or for anyone else for that matter. Of course, some moms do and that’s what I expected. All but one of the comments on that post were from women, who all mentioned what they, personally, felt.
The one single post from a dude said something like, okay, fine, I’ll quote him: I think parents in general like cooking for their kids…I have always enjoyed cooking for the kids! *the exclamation point is his.*
I couldn’t…I just couldn’t stand it. I had to simmer for a bit because…damn. Dudes just can’t help but be dudes, can they?
They just have to generalize (she generalized but hey…I’m so over it all) and of all the comments, all the kind, individual comments from women who said that they, PERSONALLY, felt, this dude had to pipe up and generalize that most parents enjoy cooking.
No.
My reply to Dude: “Dude’s name if you read through the comments, you’ll see that maybe half, but definitely not most parents enjoy cooking for their kids. Maybe if more dads enjoy it and take over the drudgery of daily cooking some of us moms would be less annoyed ty the whole process.” It was applauded by one of the other moms because, well, it deserved to be and because, damn. Seriously, dudes?
Update - FB dude replied again, this time implying that there's something wrong with how my husband and I communicate. Whatever. I didn't respond because, well, he's stupid and I have nothing nice to say at this point. But it comes down to him basically proving my point and so with that...
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Showing posts with label Constant Low-Level Irritation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Constant Low-Level Irritation. Show all posts
Saturday, February 19, 2022
Sunday, January 23, 2022
Week In Review
The second half of January is tough. I know this is true for most of us in the northern hemisphere. It's cold, Chrismtmas is over, winter will last at least two more months...it just sucks.
Monday: fine. I stay busy at work now that I process payroll. Did I mention that at any point? My job, at which I've been for over three years, moved me into payroll (I still work the front desk too, this is an addition to my responsibilities, not an exchange of responsibilities...yes, I've been monetarily compensated for this addition.) I'm actually flattered that my boss and coworkers trust me with this job. I mean, payroll is not something to just be handed off willy nilly to anyone off the street. So there's that.
Ohhh, I almost forgot that we had a little antibody party in the front office on Monday. The owner of our company had some spare antibody tests and so about six of us poked our fingers and tested our blood for Covid antibodies. Guess whose vaccines have given her antibodies. Yep, me!! Whee! But guess who will still wear a mask and keep others safe? Yes, still me. Because I care for my fellow man even if they don't necessarily care about me. Hmmm.
Tuesday I was mostly bored, thought I did move some files from one one cabinet to another. That at least got me off my butt for much of the day.
Wednesday, I was as cranky as a toddler that had missed her nap. I can usually tamp down my emotions at work but when our shipping department brought me a 35 pound package to be taken to the post office, it just kind of pushed me over the edge of cranky to pissed off. It didn't help that this stupid package wasn't packed well. I could feel the hydrolic cylinder in there rolling around. There was no way this thing was going to make to Ukraine boxed the way it was. And let's not forget to mention that it cost around $275 to mail it. Not that it was MY $275 I was spending on postage, but it was my arms and hands carrying that stupid package into the post office.
Thankfully, I had to stuff checks that day, so I was able to go into a conference room and be alone, away from the front desk (my desk) and the phone (not that I serve as the operator for the company. A lovely older (older than me, ahem) woman does that job and she's very good at it, and get this, she enjoys it. I'm glad she does because I know I would not so there's a positive in the week.) and just be with the stuffer, sorting and organizing all the payroll checks I'd printed on Monday.
Thursday and Friday were just regular days. It all kind of blends into a sort of innocuous monotony. Which is fine except in the middle of January it makes you start to wonder what the hell you're doing with your life. I mean, I'm 51 years old. Is this it?
I come home each evening and we do homework, I make dinner, I clean up after dinner. Some nights Liv takes a bath and I help her wash her hair. Other nights, I just collapse into my chair at 8 and sit there like a giant lump of frustration.
Alas, we all know January won't last forever. It can't, February has to push her ugly head into existance. But behind February is March, with all the green that is promised and finally April and the gray skies and so on and so on. The earth keeps spinning, Covid keeps spreading, and we keep waking up and doing it all again. The alternative is unacceptable.
Stay tuned, next week I might write about how our idiotic high school is sending their choir and band to Virginia instead of D.C. because they had to make their trip 'unvaccinated friendly.' Yeah, it's as stupid as it sounds.
Monday: fine. I stay busy at work now that I process payroll. Did I mention that at any point? My job, at which I've been for over three years, moved me into payroll (I still work the front desk too, this is an addition to my responsibilities, not an exchange of responsibilities...yes, I've been monetarily compensated for this addition.) I'm actually flattered that my boss and coworkers trust me with this job. I mean, payroll is not something to just be handed off willy nilly to anyone off the street. So there's that.
Ohhh, I almost forgot that we had a little antibody party in the front office on Monday. The owner of our company had some spare antibody tests and so about six of us poked our fingers and tested our blood for Covid antibodies. Guess whose vaccines have given her antibodies. Yep, me!! Whee! But guess who will still wear a mask and keep others safe? Yes, still me. Because I care for my fellow man even if they don't necessarily care about me. Hmmm.
Tuesday I was mostly bored, thought I did move some files from one one cabinet to another. That at least got me off my butt for much of the day.
Wednesday, I was as cranky as a toddler that had missed her nap. I can usually tamp down my emotions at work but when our shipping department brought me a 35 pound package to be taken to the post office, it just kind of pushed me over the edge of cranky to pissed off. It didn't help that this stupid package wasn't packed well. I could feel the hydrolic cylinder in there rolling around. There was no way this thing was going to make to Ukraine boxed the way it was. And let's not forget to mention that it cost around $275 to mail it. Not that it was MY $275 I was spending on postage, but it was my arms and hands carrying that stupid package into the post office.
Thankfully, I had to stuff checks that day, so I was able to go into a conference room and be alone, away from the front desk (my desk) and the phone (not that I serve as the operator for the company. A lovely older (older than me, ahem) woman does that job and she's very good at it, and get this, she enjoys it. I'm glad she does because I know I would not so there's a positive in the week.) and just be with the stuffer, sorting and organizing all the payroll checks I'd printed on Monday.
Thursday and Friday were just regular days. It all kind of blends into a sort of innocuous monotony. Which is fine except in the middle of January it makes you start to wonder what the hell you're doing with your life. I mean, I'm 51 years old. Is this it?
I come home each evening and we do homework, I make dinner, I clean up after dinner. Some nights Liv takes a bath and I help her wash her hair. Other nights, I just collapse into my chair at 8 and sit there like a giant lump of frustration.
Alas, we all know January won't last forever. It can't, February has to push her ugly head into existance. But behind February is March, with all the green that is promised and finally April and the gray skies and so on and so on. The earth keeps spinning, Covid keeps spreading, and we keep waking up and doing it all again. The alternative is unacceptable.
Stay tuned, next week I might write about how our idiotic high school is sending their choir and band to Virginia instead of D.C. because they had to make their trip 'unvaccinated friendly.' Yeah, it's as stupid as it sounds.
Saturday, January 15, 2022
19
Lyss turned 19 this week. This isn't really a birthday post, though. I mean, she's amasing and totally deserves a birthday post but this is more about me and how the older I get the more pissed off I get at the entire world at large.
See, her birthday was on a Friday. The Wednesday night before her birthday she sent me a Snap asking if I was working all day on Friday. I was asleep when the snap cam in so I responded the next morning, Thursday.
I casually mentioned to Tom that she'd asked and he, well, he got annoyed. Not with me, more with her for even suggesting that I take a partial day off to celebrate her birthday.
Do I even need to mention that his annoyance annoyed me? Why would he even care if I took half a day off? I work over 40 hours a week. I have excused time off, both paid and unpaid. We pay our bills, I pull my substantial weight around here. What difference does it make to him if I take time off?
I was so annoyed by the time I got to work that I had to take some Excederin for the headache that had formed from my irritation.
Because that amount of frustration is hard to sustain I was fine by the end of the day. But I'd also decided that if Lyss wanted to come home that Friday and spend the afternoon with me, I'd totally take the time off to be with her.
I don't mind bending for her but I'm so tired of bending for the rest of the world. When I was nineteen, I was just at the point where I was starting to bend for others. At 16, I was tough, I was sure of myself, I KNEW I was right in my convictions and I stood up to everyone and anyone about them. Sometime between 16 and 19, my spine softened and I started giving in to the will of others and these days, damn it, I'm as spineless as a jellyfish.
And that pissed me off.
And I do not want that for her or for Olivia. I want them to be strong and self-assured and to always believe in their right to have an opinion.
When Tom was going on about how it was selfish of her to want me to take time off for her birthday I wanted to say, "So what? If you can't be selfish with your own mother, who can you be selfish with?"
Instead, I stood there and let him rant but I also had a look that I know said, "Go ahead, have your say but I'm going to do what I want to do anyway." See, my spine is trying to reassert itself.
I don't have any resolutions for this year but if I did, one of them would be to be stronger, to speak up more often, to maybe stop letting people walk all over me. I want to be the one to make the decisions that affect me. I WANTED to take time of to be with Lyss. She wasn't asking me to do anything I didn't want to do. That's the difference in this situation.
I don't want Alyssa's spine to soften. I don't want her bend herself in half trying to please everyone else and put all her own desires and dreams on hold. I want he to be kind, and strong and sure of herself. Which, right now...she is and I'm so, so proud of her and the life she's living.
See, her birthday was on a Friday. The Wednesday night before her birthday she sent me a Snap asking if I was working all day on Friday. I was asleep when the snap cam in so I responded the next morning, Thursday.
I casually mentioned to Tom that she'd asked and he, well, he got annoyed. Not with me, more with her for even suggesting that I take a partial day off to celebrate her birthday.
Do I even need to mention that his annoyance annoyed me? Why would he even care if I took half a day off? I work over 40 hours a week. I have excused time off, both paid and unpaid. We pay our bills, I pull my substantial weight around here. What difference does it make to him if I take time off?
I was so annoyed by the time I got to work that I had to take some Excederin for the headache that had formed from my irritation.
Because that amount of frustration is hard to sustain I was fine by the end of the day. But I'd also decided that if Lyss wanted to come home that Friday and spend the afternoon with me, I'd totally take the time off to be with her.
I don't mind bending for her but I'm so tired of bending for the rest of the world. When I was nineteen, I was just at the point where I was starting to bend for others. At 16, I was tough, I was sure of myself, I KNEW I was right in my convictions and I stood up to everyone and anyone about them. Sometime between 16 and 19, my spine softened and I started giving in to the will of others and these days, damn it, I'm as spineless as a jellyfish.
And that pissed me off.
And I do not want that for her or for Olivia. I want them to be strong and self-assured and to always believe in their right to have an opinion.
When Tom was going on about how it was selfish of her to want me to take time off for her birthday I wanted to say, "So what? If you can't be selfish with your own mother, who can you be selfish with?"
Instead, I stood there and let him rant but I also had a look that I know said, "Go ahead, have your say but I'm going to do what I want to do anyway." See, my spine is trying to reassert itself.
I don't have any resolutions for this year but if I did, one of them would be to be stronger, to speak up more often, to maybe stop letting people walk all over me. I want to be the one to make the decisions that affect me. I WANTED to take time of to be with Lyss. She wasn't asking me to do anything I didn't want to do. That's the difference in this situation.
I don't want Alyssa's spine to soften. I don't want her bend herself in half trying to please everyone else and put all her own desires and dreams on hold. I want he to be kind, and strong and sure of herself. Which, right now...she is and I'm so, so proud of her and the life she's living.
Thursday, April 16, 2020
Home
The last day I went to work was Friday, April 10. On Thursday, April 9, my doctor sent a letter to my place of employment stating that as a former cancer patient, one who'd been through chemotherapy and radiation, it was his medical opinion that I should self-quarantine for at least two weeks.
So I'm home. And I'm SO LUCKY that I'm currently home with full pay. Please know that I realize how lucky I am. SO LUCKY.
The stress level in our house went from explosive to manageable that Thursday night when I got home and told my family that I was going to be at home with them for the next two weeks.
Things had gotten rough in the days before my doctor's note arrived at my work.
Olivia and Tom were at constant odds over school work.
I'd get home from what felt like eighteen hours at work and before I'd even put my purse down, Tom would be informing me that he needed my help with O's schooling. She'd need my attention, Alyssa would want to show me a TikTok.
It was hard for all of us.
I've been home for six full days and things have settled into a routine. We had our best, most productive 'school' day yesterday.
We're doing our best, just like everyone else is.
And I know that we're some of the lucky ones. We have income, even though we're all at home. We have money for food, we can pay our mortgage. We aren't sick. We have each other and even if that sometimes feels overwhelming, we're so lucky.
I've made masks and we wear them if we have to go out into public. Alyssa wears one to work each time she had to work. Tom wears his to the post office.
My 80 year old dad is NOT social distancing. He goes to his local gas station every single day to buy a newspaper. My brother and I have had to tell him point blank not to come to our house.
I made my dad a mask. He drove to our house and I met him in the driveway to give it to him. He went to his nephew's house for Easter dinner. Sigh. That nephew is NOT social distancing either. He's 70 years old and says, "If I get it, I get it."
What the actual hell, Phil!?!
Okay, so if YOU get it, you get it but you know what? If you're going out and about after YOU'RE infected, YOU are not the only one getting it, dumb ass.
It makes me so angry because those of us who are trying so hard to flatten this curve are being sabotaged by idiots like him.
I'm so glad to be home. I'm go grateful that I can be here, helping Liv with her school work, watching TikToks with Alyssa. Feeding my family, both with actual food and with the spiritual, emotional support that we all need.
I just wish the idiots out there would get it together and stop thinking that this isn't a big deal.
It's a BIG FUCKING DEAL.
So I'm home. And I'm SO LUCKY that I'm currently home with full pay. Please know that I realize how lucky I am. SO LUCKY.
The stress level in our house went from explosive to manageable that Thursday night when I got home and told my family that I was going to be at home with them for the next two weeks.
Things had gotten rough in the days before my doctor's note arrived at my work.
Olivia and Tom were at constant odds over school work.
I'd get home from what felt like eighteen hours at work and before I'd even put my purse down, Tom would be informing me that he needed my help with O's schooling. She'd need my attention, Alyssa would want to show me a TikTok.
It was hard for all of us.
I've been home for six full days and things have settled into a routine. We had our best, most productive 'school' day yesterday.
We're doing our best, just like everyone else is.
And I know that we're some of the lucky ones. We have income, even though we're all at home. We have money for food, we can pay our mortgage. We aren't sick. We have each other and even if that sometimes feels overwhelming, we're so lucky.
I've made masks and we wear them if we have to go out into public. Alyssa wears one to work each time she had to work. Tom wears his to the post office.
My 80 year old dad is NOT social distancing. He goes to his local gas station every single day to buy a newspaper. My brother and I have had to tell him point blank not to come to our house.
I made my dad a mask. He drove to our house and I met him in the driveway to give it to him. He went to his nephew's house for Easter dinner. Sigh. That nephew is NOT social distancing either. He's 70 years old and says, "If I get it, I get it."
What the actual hell, Phil!?!
Okay, so if YOU get it, you get it but you know what? If you're going out and about after YOU'RE infected, YOU are not the only one getting it, dumb ass.
It makes me so angry because those of us who are trying so hard to flatten this curve are being sabotaged by idiots like him.
I'm so glad to be home. I'm go grateful that I can be here, helping Liv with her school work, watching TikToks with Alyssa. Feeding my family, both with actual food and with the spiritual, emotional support that we all need.
I just wish the idiots out there would get it together and stop thinking that this isn't a big deal.
It's a BIG FUCKING DEAL.
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
The Children
These are trying times, no?
Yes. Yes, they are trying.
The governor of Ohio closed schools for the first time on March 12. The last day the girls were in school was Friday, March 13. They came home with Chromebooks.
That first ‘closing’ was supposed to be for three weeks. The tentative restart date was April 6.
Unless you live under a rock (can I move in with you?) you probably know that that date has been pushed back to May 1 and there are murmurs about it school not resuming at all for the rest of this school year.
We’re all under a ‘shelter in place’ warning. Of course, that doesn’t mean a thing to me, I go to work every single damn day anyway.
And guess what? I’m not a doctor or a nurse. I’m NOT important and yet here I am.
But my family is at home and that television is on all the time. And it’s all news, or rather, it’s nothing new. It’s all about death and destruction and illness and scary shit and Olivia is losing her mind.
I recently got home on a Tuesday and she was drawing at the kitchen table. Which is nice. She was wearing a purple one-shouldered dress. She looked lovely and yet…she’s haunted right now.
By 6:30, she’d worked herself into quite a lather.
She wanted to write her Gram a letter but didn’t know what to write. She is bored and tired and stressed and at 13, she doesn’t know how to handle her emotions.
I fed her some dinner. She cried.
I ran her a bath. She cried.
I washed her hair. She cried.
We called her Gram. She cried.
I gave her some hot tea and a cookie. She felt a little better.
She’s scared. She’s young and fragile and scared. She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want her mom or her dad or her sister or her Gram to die.
I hugged her and told her we’re doing all we can so that none of us will die.
I finally asked her if she’d like to me to take a couple of days off work to spend with her.
That brightened her up.
We made plans for those days. We planned to go outside and draw on the driveway with chalk, go to the school and pick up pies that had been ordered months ago for the prom that will probably not happen (have I mentioned how glad I am that I didn’t buy a prom dress yet?) After we pick up the pies, we planned to take the ones my mom ordered to her, maintaining our distance, of course.
The, the next day, our big plan was to go through the McD’s drive-through in Montpelier. Mama needs her coke and Olivia needs to get out of the house, away from the house, even if for a little while.
Tough times, indeed.
Yes. Yes, they are trying.
The governor of Ohio closed schools for the first time on March 12. The last day the girls were in school was Friday, March 13. They came home with Chromebooks.
That first ‘closing’ was supposed to be for three weeks. The tentative restart date was April 6.
Unless you live under a rock (can I move in with you?) you probably know that that date has been pushed back to May 1 and there are murmurs about it school not resuming at all for the rest of this school year.
We’re all under a ‘shelter in place’ warning. Of course, that doesn’t mean a thing to me, I go to work every single damn day anyway.
And guess what? I’m not a doctor or a nurse. I’m NOT important and yet here I am.
But my family is at home and that television is on all the time. And it’s all news, or rather, it’s nothing new. It’s all about death and destruction and illness and scary shit and Olivia is losing her mind.
I recently got home on a Tuesday and she was drawing at the kitchen table. Which is nice. She was wearing a purple one-shouldered dress. She looked lovely and yet…she’s haunted right now.
By 6:30, she’d worked herself into quite a lather.
She wanted to write her Gram a letter but didn’t know what to write. She is bored and tired and stressed and at 13, she doesn’t know how to handle her emotions.
I fed her some dinner. She cried.
I ran her a bath. She cried.
I washed her hair. She cried.
We called her Gram. She cried.
I gave her some hot tea and a cookie. She felt a little better.
She’s scared. She’s young and fragile and scared. She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want her mom or her dad or her sister or her Gram to die.
I hugged her and told her we’re doing all we can so that none of us will die.
I finally asked her if she’d like to me to take a couple of days off work to spend with her.
That brightened her up.
We made plans for those days. We planned to go outside and draw on the driveway with chalk, go to the school and pick up pies that had been ordered months ago for the prom that will probably not happen (have I mentioned how glad I am that I didn’t buy a prom dress yet?) After we pick up the pies, we planned to take the ones my mom ordered to her, maintaining our distance, of course.
The, the next day, our big plan was to go through the McD’s drive-through in Montpelier. Mama needs her coke and Olivia needs to get out of the house, away from the house, even if for a little while.
Tough times, indeed.
Monday, April 13, 2020
Please Leave Your Babies at Home!!!
Everyone in the entire world is on lockdown, right?
Or, we’re supposed to be, right?
My place of employment is still open and so I’m still going to work. Sigh. I feel guilty every single day as I drive away from my home.
I’ve gone to the grocery store once a week, right after work, since this all began (two whole weeks ago…has it really only been that long?)
The first week, right after Ohio closed schools, my mom, Olivia and I went to lunch and the grocery store as usual. We also went to Hobby Lobby for some sewing supplies.
It was insane; not Hobby Lobby, that place was the epitome of calm and collected.
Applesbees wasn’t too bad either. They’d taken all the advertising tents and condiment trays off the tables for cleaning and business was kind of slow but it was only 11:30, so who knows how much busier it got that day.
But Walmart…OMG. Seriously.
The shelves were picked over. There was no pasta, no ramen, no potatoes. Obviously, there was no toilet paper. We didn’t even need toilet paper and yet…it was daunting to know that it wasn’t available had we needed it.
I got most of what we needed and we went to Meijer to see if they had potatoes. They did. We got a small bag. Oh, Meijer also had toilet paper that day. We didn’t actually need any, but I bought two 8-roll packages anyway. Oh. Wait. Does that make me a toilet paper hoarder? Yikes.
The next week, I went to Walmart on Friday after work. Well, wait. I actually left work that Friday at about 3:30 in hopes of beating any rush.
My early departure was in vain. There were STILL no potatoes, ramen, pasta or toilet paper but also, there was no bread whatsoever. Milk and eggs were plentiful but the Country Crock shelves were empty as were the Pillsbury biscuit shelves.
I went to Meijer AGAIN, this time for the bread. Again, Meijer had plenty of bread and they had three packs of toilet paper. These were labeled as ‘RV toilet paper.’ I have no idea what that means. I did NOT get toilet paper that day. Look at me, letting go of my hoarding ways.
Anyway…
This past week, week two of the girls being off school but it feels like we’re heading into week three, if you know what I mean, I went on our grocery run on Thursday after work. I kind of wanted to see if the shelves are different on a Thursday than they were on Friday.
There were potatoes! And toilet paper! Oh, and pasta and bread were on the shelves too. Alas, still no ramen. What the hell?
Ahem.
So I got my usual groceries.
As I made my way through the store, getting the things on my list, I came across no fewer than three families, FAMILIES, in that store.
And by family, I mean, there were two parents and AT LEAST two kids. Two of these families had a toddler and an INFANT with them.
What I want to know is WHY COULDN’T ONE OF THOSE PARENTS HAVE STAYED HOME WITH THOSE KIDS? I know. I need to calm down and stop screaming at you.
But people, seriously!
I’m so freaking resentful that I, and I alone, have to go out and work and buy groceries. I would give anything to be ‘sheltering at home’ with my family.
But I’m out there, going to work, buying groceries, getting gas for my car, blah blah freaking blah and these people are taking their BABIES out in this. Why? Why would you do that?
Sure, we’re all going a little stir-crazy. (Okay, I’m not but that’s because I don’t get to be ‘stuck’ at home.) But is that really reason enough to take your INFANTS out to a place like Walmart where germs are crawling all over the place, people are coughing and sneezing and it’s just GROSS.
Those poor babies!
Why, yes, it does appear that I’m becoming a germaphobe.
Or, we’re supposed to be, right?
My place of employment is still open and so I’m still going to work. Sigh. I feel guilty every single day as I drive away from my home.
I’ve gone to the grocery store once a week, right after work, since this all began (two whole weeks ago…has it really only been that long?)
The first week, right after Ohio closed schools, my mom, Olivia and I went to lunch and the grocery store as usual. We also went to Hobby Lobby for some sewing supplies.
It was insane; not Hobby Lobby, that place was the epitome of calm and collected.
Applesbees wasn’t too bad either. They’d taken all the advertising tents and condiment trays off the tables for cleaning and business was kind of slow but it was only 11:30, so who knows how much busier it got that day.
But Walmart…OMG. Seriously.
The shelves were picked over. There was no pasta, no ramen, no potatoes. Obviously, there was no toilet paper. We didn’t even need toilet paper and yet…it was daunting to know that it wasn’t available had we needed it.
I got most of what we needed and we went to Meijer to see if they had potatoes. They did. We got a small bag. Oh, Meijer also had toilet paper that day. We didn’t actually need any, but I bought two 8-roll packages anyway. Oh. Wait. Does that make me a toilet paper hoarder? Yikes.
The next week, I went to Walmart on Friday after work. Well, wait. I actually left work that Friday at about 3:30 in hopes of beating any rush.
My early departure was in vain. There were STILL no potatoes, ramen, pasta or toilet paper but also, there was no bread whatsoever. Milk and eggs were plentiful but the Country Crock shelves were empty as were the Pillsbury biscuit shelves.
I went to Meijer AGAIN, this time for the bread. Again, Meijer had plenty of bread and they had three packs of toilet paper. These were labeled as ‘RV toilet paper.’ I have no idea what that means. I did NOT get toilet paper that day. Look at me, letting go of my hoarding ways.
Anyway…
This past week, week two of the girls being off school but it feels like we’re heading into week three, if you know what I mean, I went on our grocery run on Thursday after work. I kind of wanted to see if the shelves are different on a Thursday than they were on Friday.
There were potatoes! And toilet paper! Oh, and pasta and bread were on the shelves too. Alas, still no ramen. What the hell?
Ahem.
So I got my usual groceries.
As I made my way through the store, getting the things on my list, I came across no fewer than three families, FAMILIES, in that store.
And by family, I mean, there were two parents and AT LEAST two kids. Two of these families had a toddler and an INFANT with them.
What I want to know is WHY COULDN’T ONE OF THOSE PARENTS HAVE STAYED HOME WITH THOSE KIDS? I know. I need to calm down and stop screaming at you.
But people, seriously!
I’m so freaking resentful that I, and I alone, have to go out and work and buy groceries. I would give anything to be ‘sheltering at home’ with my family.
But I’m out there, going to work, buying groceries, getting gas for my car, blah blah freaking blah and these people are taking their BABIES out in this. Why? Why would you do that?
Sure, we’re all going a little stir-crazy. (Okay, I’m not but that’s because I don’t get to be ‘stuck’ at home.) But is that really reason enough to take your INFANTS out to a place like Walmart where germs are crawling all over the place, people are coughing and sneezing and it’s just GROSS.
Those poor babies!
Why, yes, it does appear that I’m becoming a germaphobe.
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
Flashing Back
Author's note, this was written in the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic.
Social distancing is all well and good but some of us still have to go to work.
I do not have a job that can be done from home. Sadly.
But hey, you know what? I’m lucky I have a job that I’m still able to do during this time of crisis.
Alyssa came home from work on Sunday, March 15th and said that the governor of Ohio had declared that all restaurants and bars were to close. She did say that her managers had said that if employees were scheduled to work, they should still show up, they could clean, help with the attached convenience store and the drive-thru would still be open and food would need to be prepared for that.
So.
Walmart was out of potatoes and ramen; and, obviously, toilet paper. Meier, located less than a mile from Walmart, had plenty of potatoes, 15 packages of beef ramen and some toilet paper. They were limiting the amount of toilet paper each person was allowed to buy, but that was understandable.
We didn’t even need toilet paper. But we did need potatoes and ramen.
Speaking of ramen, I get that with kids home from school for at least three weeks, we all have to feed them as conveniently and cheaply as possible. I mean, that’s actually why I was even looking for it. It’s one of the few foods that Olivia will eat with minimal nagging.
We decided that this first week off school is going to be treated as spring break since that was the original schedule.
But the following weeks, ugh. I don’t envy Tom and yet, I kind of do. He’s going to have to police screen time and make sure that Olivia does actual school work while she’s off during these coming weeks. I pointed out that we have her daily scheduled posted on our fridge. She needs to adhere to that, even if it’s a loose adherence. I suggested that she try and keep to the schedule at least half way. As in, if, when she’s in school she’d do math for 40 minutes, at home she should do 20 minutes.
Recess! Get that child outside. She can’t be allowed to sit on her butt for twelve to fifteen hours a day while she’s home from school. She needs to get outside and run, or just sit and let the wind blow off the germs.
She has gym two days a week. I think Tom could very well institute a PE period at home. In fact, I think he’d be good at this.
Alyssa could help Liv with the other ‘specials’ which include art, music, and technology.
I’m just rambling here but these are scary times. I’ve read enough apocalyptic fiction to know that the world can go to hell overnight. But I also know that we have a lot of precautions being implemented so that doesn’t happen.
We’re still going to the eye doctor and the dentist. We’re still going to the grocery store. We’ll go through the drive-thru for food because that’s the only option these days and that’s okay.
Let’s all do what we can to remove the panic while still keeping our distance and not gathering in crowded areas.
Olivia’s hands are chapped from over-washing but these days, is there any such thing? I’ve slathered her hands with Mary Kay satin hands, a very waxy substance that helps her skin retain its own natural moisture.
And on that note…
Social distancing is all well and good but some of us still have to go to work.
I do not have a job that can be done from home. Sadly.
But hey, you know what? I’m lucky I have a job that I’m still able to do during this time of crisis.
Alyssa came home from work on Sunday, March 15th and said that the governor of Ohio had declared that all restaurants and bars were to close. She did say that her managers had said that if employees were scheduled to work, they should still show up, they could clean, help with the attached convenience store and the drive-thru would still be open and food would need to be prepared for that.
So.
Walmart was out of potatoes and ramen; and, obviously, toilet paper. Meier, located less than a mile from Walmart, had plenty of potatoes, 15 packages of beef ramen and some toilet paper. They were limiting the amount of toilet paper each person was allowed to buy, but that was understandable.
We didn’t even need toilet paper. But we did need potatoes and ramen.
Speaking of ramen, I get that with kids home from school for at least three weeks, we all have to feed them as conveniently and cheaply as possible. I mean, that’s actually why I was even looking for it. It’s one of the few foods that Olivia will eat with minimal nagging.
We decided that this first week off school is going to be treated as spring break since that was the original schedule.
But the following weeks, ugh. I don’t envy Tom and yet, I kind of do. He’s going to have to police screen time and make sure that Olivia does actual school work while she’s off during these coming weeks. I pointed out that we have her daily scheduled posted on our fridge. She needs to adhere to that, even if it’s a loose adherence. I suggested that she try and keep to the schedule at least half way. As in, if, when she’s in school she’d do math for 40 minutes, at home she should do 20 minutes.
Recess! Get that child outside. She can’t be allowed to sit on her butt for twelve to fifteen hours a day while she’s home from school. She needs to get outside and run, or just sit and let the wind blow off the germs.
She has gym two days a week. I think Tom could very well institute a PE period at home. In fact, I think he’d be good at this.
Alyssa could help Liv with the other ‘specials’ which include art, music, and technology.
I’m just rambling here but these are scary times. I’ve read enough apocalyptic fiction to know that the world can go to hell overnight. But I also know that we have a lot of precautions being implemented so that doesn’t happen.
We’re still going to the eye doctor and the dentist. We’re still going to the grocery store. We’ll go through the drive-thru for food because that’s the only option these days and that’s okay.
Let’s all do what we can to remove the panic while still keeping our distance and not gathering in crowded areas.
Olivia’s hands are chapped from over-washing but these days, is there any such thing? I’ve slathered her hands with Mary Kay satin hands, a very waxy substance that helps her skin retain its own natural moisture.
And on that note…
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
What's Getting Low? A Look Inside the Mind During the Covid-19 Pandemic/Quarantine
Other than morale, what’s getting low in your house?
I might need to buy tooth paste next time I go to the store. The four of us all use a different tooth paste, which I admit is stupid and yet…none of us is willing to switch to one of the others’ choice so…four tubes of tooth paste it is.
And I’m the one getting low on my Sensodyne.
What else?
Hair color! Yikes, my roots are starting to show and NO ONE wants to see that.
We’re going to need milk this week.
And probably snack cakes.
Let me check the status of the Cheez-Its.
Tom probably needs pretzel rods.
I should start a list.
Wait, I do that already. We have a running list on the microwave. I’ve got things that I get every week because they’re staples. Those things are typed on a list and there’s space at the bottom to add unique things.
I should probably get some more feminine hygiene products…those are something a house with two teenage girls does NOT want to run out of.
Should I get some ground turkey? What will I make with it if I do? Tom has a bunch of frozen chicken breasts that he can make so…
This is all so unprecedented. No one knows how long it’s going to last. Will the kids go back to school at all for this school year?
Who knows?
I might need to buy tooth paste next time I go to the store. The four of us all use a different tooth paste, which I admit is stupid and yet…none of us is willing to switch to one of the others’ choice so…four tubes of tooth paste it is.
And I’m the one getting low on my Sensodyne.
What else?
Hair color! Yikes, my roots are starting to show and NO ONE wants to see that.
We’re going to need milk this week.
And probably snack cakes.
Let me check the status of the Cheez-Its.
Tom probably needs pretzel rods.
I should start a list.
Wait, I do that already. We have a running list on the microwave. I’ve got things that I get every week because they’re staples. Those things are typed on a list and there’s space at the bottom to add unique things.
I should probably get some more feminine hygiene products…those are something a house with two teenage girls does NOT want to run out of.
Should I get some ground turkey? What will I make with it if I do? Tom has a bunch of frozen chicken breasts that he can make so…
This is all so unprecedented. No one knows how long it’s going to last. Will the kids go back to school at all for this school year?
Who knows?
Monday, April 6, 2020
Morbid
My health insurance pays me to do things like get a flu shot (wonder if in the future it will pay us to get a corona shot? Hmmm…) and verify that I’m tobacco-free.
I also got $$ for taking a health assessment.
And guess what?
I’m morbidly obese.
Duh.
Please note that my health insurance is as obnoxious as my radiation oncologist.
And yet, reading this news on a computer screen wasn’t nearly as devastating to my psyche as it was hearing from face to face from a doctor’s actual mouth last June.
But whatever.
Even though my insurance thinks I’m a fatty, they still gave me money for doing that assessment. Wonder if they’d give me more if I adopted a healthier lifestyle.
Now there’s incentive…
(For reference as to how much I really need some sort of incentive: As I typed this post, I had just finished a Reese’s cup, the second cup sitting in front of my keyboard taunting me.)
I also got $$ for taking a health assessment.
And guess what?
I’m morbidly obese.
Duh.
Please note that my health insurance is as obnoxious as my radiation oncologist.
And yet, reading this news on a computer screen wasn’t nearly as devastating to my psyche as it was hearing from face to face from a doctor’s actual mouth last June.
But whatever.
Even though my insurance thinks I’m a fatty, they still gave me money for doing that assessment. Wonder if they’d give me more if I adopted a healthier lifestyle.
Now there’s incentive…
(For reference as to how much I really need some sort of incentive: As I typed this post, I had just finished a Reese’s cup, the second cup sitting in front of my keyboard taunting me.)
Friday, April 3, 2020
The Bad Years
Maybe it’s just a symptom of getting older.
Maybe I’m turning into a pessimist right before your eyes.
Maybe these past few years have just sucked.
You be the judge.
2017 – In July of that year, I was informed that the company I worked for was closing down the facility where I and around 30 other people worked. I’d been there for seventeen years. Yikes. Nothing like starting over, right? On the bright side of that situation, they told us in July but weren’t closing until the end of December. And those of us who stayed on with the company would receive a ‘stay package’ as well as a severance package.
But wait, 2017 wasn’t done with us yet. In August, on the 21st to be exact, I was given a diagnosis of breast cancer.
Well.
Let’s do this. I was given an appointment with a surgeon for the next Thursday, August 24. At that appointment we scheduled my surgery, which took place on September 5th. It was a Tuesday.
After surgery, we scheduled the start of chemo. Those treatments took us into 2018.
2018 actually wasn’t too horrible. I completed my cancer treatment, finishing chemotherapy and radiation therapy. I took the summer off and started looking for a job in July of that year.
I started my new job in August of 2018.
2019 – The year of injury. Tom hurt himself a couple of times this year. Each injury was bad enough that it took him out of commission for a couple of months each time.
It was awful to see him suffer.
The farmers also suffered during 2019. The rains seemed like they would never end. It was literally too wet for most farmers in our area to get the crops in the ground.
2020 – Damn. Talk about adding insult to injury. Hello Covid-19, way to turn the world upside down.
I don’t have a pretty little conclusion to this one, because right this second we’re stuck right in the middle of this shit storm. But it’s bad…it’s really, REALLY bad. And it will probably get much worse before it gets better.
That’s such a scary thought. But then…it’s a scary world out there right now.
And damn it, I just cannot stop touching my face. My nose itches, my eyelashes are being weird. Oh, that spot above my eyebrows is itchy now. Wait, there’s a hair in my eyes.
Maybe I’m turning into a pessimist right before your eyes.
Maybe these past few years have just sucked.
You be the judge.
2017 – In July of that year, I was informed that the company I worked for was closing down the facility where I and around 30 other people worked. I’d been there for seventeen years. Yikes. Nothing like starting over, right? On the bright side of that situation, they told us in July but weren’t closing until the end of December. And those of us who stayed on with the company would receive a ‘stay package’ as well as a severance package.
But wait, 2017 wasn’t done with us yet. In August, on the 21st to be exact, I was given a diagnosis of breast cancer.
Well.
Let’s do this. I was given an appointment with a surgeon for the next Thursday, August 24. At that appointment we scheduled my surgery, which took place on September 5th. It was a Tuesday.
After surgery, we scheduled the start of chemo. Those treatments took us into 2018.
2018 actually wasn’t too horrible. I completed my cancer treatment, finishing chemotherapy and radiation therapy. I took the summer off and started looking for a job in July of that year.
I started my new job in August of 2018.
2019 – The year of injury. Tom hurt himself a couple of times this year. Each injury was bad enough that it took him out of commission for a couple of months each time.
It was awful to see him suffer.
The farmers also suffered during 2019. The rains seemed like they would never end. It was literally too wet for most farmers in our area to get the crops in the ground.
2020 – Damn. Talk about adding insult to injury. Hello Covid-19, way to turn the world upside down.
I don’t have a pretty little conclusion to this one, because right this second we’re stuck right in the middle of this shit storm. But it’s bad…it’s really, REALLY bad. And it will probably get much worse before it gets better.
That’s such a scary thought. But then…it’s a scary world out there right now.
And damn it, I just cannot stop touching my face. My nose itches, my eyelashes are being weird. Oh, that spot above my eyebrows is itchy now. Wait, there’s a hair in my eyes.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
Doom
This was written not quite a week into our government-enforced semi-shut-in, I was feeling quite a sense of doom.
I’m so tired. Not necessarily physically, but emotionally. This whole Covid-19 situation is taking its toll on all of us.
Alyssa had most of the first week (spring break week) out of school off work as well but had to go back on Thursday. When I got home from work that Thursday, Tom mentioned he was thinking of sending me out to Arby’s to check out Alyssa’s work environment.
Why he’d have to send me, I have no idea. I mean, the dude can drive a car. He has $$ if he wants to actually buy something while there but no, he was going to SEND ME back out. Sigh.
Alas, he took one look at my face and realized that I was going NO WHERE that evening. In fact, the only place I went from that point, was to sleep. Ha, I crack myself up.
But seriously, the weight of world is heavy these days.
Italy is dying.
The U.S. is right behind it.
I just…don’t know.
And, to be a whiny baby, I can’t help but wonder why I, the person in our household who is probably the most at risk should I catch this horrible illness, am the one who is going out every single day to work and then being expected to go to the store, the gas station, the wherever the hell you might think of to go. I know. I get it. I’m the one who HAS to leave in order to make a living.
But it feels so unfair.
When I got home that day, Tom said that Alyssa was starting to get anxious. I replied that I am too.
But, jokes on me, her anxiousness is about being locked in the house and my anxiousness is having to leave the house.
She wants to get out. She wants to go see Naomi. She wants to be FREE.
I want to be shut in, I want to NOT have to go anywhere. I want to be shut in and have the façade of safety.
I want this to be over and for our entire family to come out the other side, safe and sound.
My chest hurts these days. Is it anxiety/panic/worry? Or is it a heart attack and should I risk the doctor’s office to have it check out? It’s awful that this is even a question, isn’t it?
I’m so tired. Not necessarily physically, but emotionally. This whole Covid-19 situation is taking its toll on all of us.
Alyssa had most of the first week (spring break week) out of school off work as well but had to go back on Thursday. When I got home from work that Thursday, Tom mentioned he was thinking of sending me out to Arby’s to check out Alyssa’s work environment.
Why he’d have to send me, I have no idea. I mean, the dude can drive a car. He has $$ if he wants to actually buy something while there but no, he was going to SEND ME back out. Sigh.
Alas, he took one look at my face and realized that I was going NO WHERE that evening. In fact, the only place I went from that point, was to sleep. Ha, I crack myself up.
But seriously, the weight of world is heavy these days.
Italy is dying.
The U.S. is right behind it.
I just…don’t know.
And, to be a whiny baby, I can’t help but wonder why I, the person in our household who is probably the most at risk should I catch this horrible illness, am the one who is going out every single day to work and then being expected to go to the store, the gas station, the wherever the hell you might think of to go. I know. I get it. I’m the one who HAS to leave in order to make a living.
But it feels so unfair.
When I got home that day, Tom said that Alyssa was starting to get anxious. I replied that I am too.
But, jokes on me, her anxiousness is about being locked in the house and my anxiousness is having to leave the house.
She wants to get out. She wants to go see Naomi. She wants to be FREE.
I want to be shut in, I want to NOT have to go anywhere. I want to be shut in and have the façade of safety.
I want this to be over and for our entire family to come out the other side, safe and sound.
My chest hurts these days. Is it anxiety/panic/worry? Or is it a heart attack and should I risk the doctor’s office to have it check out? It’s awful that this is even a question, isn’t it?
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Job Hunting Etiquette
So I worked in HR for almost 18 years.
These days, I’m on the periphery of HR. And honestly, I’m okay with that. I have no desire to be back in the conference room conducting interviews and filling out reviews and sitting in on meetings issuing warnings or even, heaven forbid, terminations.
No thank you.
But since I’m still here, on the edges of it all, I have a bit of advice for anyone out there on the job hunt.
First, an interview is your chance to make a first impression. So…maybe shower the day of your interview and wear clean clothes. I know, this seems so obvious. You’d be surprised by how many people don’t do these things. I’ve had to spray the area around my desk more times than I can count in an effort to mask body odor and/or cigarette smoke.
That brings me to the second hint. If you smoke, well, obviously, you should quit but I get that it’s harder than I think. But, um, maybe don’t sit in an enclose car and puff away at that last cigarette right before entering the building where you interview is taking place. The haze of smoke is blinding and it causes more gagging than you may realize. Ick.
I mean, okay. I get that maybe you’re nervous and so you need that last cigarette. But perhaps you could finish it a few minutes early and get out of the car and let the wind blow the stink off for a bit before heading inside the building.
Third, let’s say you decide to apply for a job at the same place your significant other is applying. Good for you two for wanting to work. That’s awesome. And hey, if your interviews are back to back on the same day, I get needing to bring your kids with you. No big deal there.
But…see, if your significant other is called and invited back for a second interview, maybe DON’T send the hiring manager a snippy little email that says, “Guess I didn’t make the cut.”
Yes, that happened. Talk about burning bridges.
Why would you do that?
You don’t know if maybe the significant other was just a better fit for the position the hiring manager happened to have open at that moment. You could very well be the next on the list for the very next job opening but if you’re going to show that kind of attitude before you’re even on the payroll…guess who isn’t going to end up on the payroll at all.
Another suggestion is to maybe take your facial piercings out before the interview. I know that these days these things are much more acceptable than they were even ten years ago, but damn. When you’re face has more holes than…something with a lot of holes, maybe don’t wear the three lip rings, the tongue stud and the eyebrow ring for that first interview. The green hair probably can’t be changed as easily but the piercings…they just kind of put some people off.
I know I’m showing my age here. I am very much a member of Generation X and it shows. But damn, people.
These days, I’m on the periphery of HR. And honestly, I’m okay with that. I have no desire to be back in the conference room conducting interviews and filling out reviews and sitting in on meetings issuing warnings or even, heaven forbid, terminations.
No thank you.
But since I’m still here, on the edges of it all, I have a bit of advice for anyone out there on the job hunt.
First, an interview is your chance to make a first impression. So…maybe shower the day of your interview and wear clean clothes. I know, this seems so obvious. You’d be surprised by how many people don’t do these things. I’ve had to spray the area around my desk more times than I can count in an effort to mask body odor and/or cigarette smoke.
That brings me to the second hint. If you smoke, well, obviously, you should quit but I get that it’s harder than I think. But, um, maybe don’t sit in an enclose car and puff away at that last cigarette right before entering the building where you interview is taking place. The haze of smoke is blinding and it causes more gagging than you may realize. Ick.
I mean, okay. I get that maybe you’re nervous and so you need that last cigarette. But perhaps you could finish it a few minutes early and get out of the car and let the wind blow the stink off for a bit before heading inside the building.
Third, let’s say you decide to apply for a job at the same place your significant other is applying. Good for you two for wanting to work. That’s awesome. And hey, if your interviews are back to back on the same day, I get needing to bring your kids with you. No big deal there.
But…see, if your significant other is called and invited back for a second interview, maybe DON’T send the hiring manager a snippy little email that says, “Guess I didn’t make the cut.”
Yes, that happened. Talk about burning bridges.
Why would you do that?
You don’t know if maybe the significant other was just a better fit for the position the hiring manager happened to have open at that moment. You could very well be the next on the list for the very next job opening but if you’re going to show that kind of attitude before you’re even on the payroll…guess who isn’t going to end up on the payroll at all.
Another suggestion is to maybe take your facial piercings out before the interview. I know that these days these things are much more acceptable than they were even ten years ago, but damn. When you’re face has more holes than…something with a lot of holes, maybe don’t wear the three lip rings, the tongue stud and the eyebrow ring for that first interview. The green hair probably can’t be changed as easily but the piercings…they just kind of put some people off.
I know I’m showing my age here. I am very much a member of Generation X and it shows. But damn, people.
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
Stage Mom
Another year, another musical. This year’s musical is The Addam’s Family. Alyssa is in the chorus.
Because I’m That Mom, I’ve helped with costumes and hair and makeup. I also made food for the evening of the last performance.
It’s what I do.
But you know what? I’m willing to be That Mom but I really don’t want to be THAT MOM.
And yet, they almost made me do it.
The first full dress rehearsal with hair and makeup was the Sunday before the actual performances which were the following Friday and Saturday.
Oh my goodness, let me tell you, that show was rough that Sunday night. Yikes.
But what made me almost turn into THAT MOM was the fact that during an ensemble scene there are two duets. One is sung by two girls on the left side of the stage. The other is sung by my own darling Alyssa and a fellow ancestor (what they call the chorus in The Addams Family.) That Sunday evening the two girls on the left side of the stage both had microphones (these are worn on the head with the mike wrapping around their face toward their mouth) and neither Alyssa nor her duet partner had one.
Obviously, this meant that you couldn’t hear Lyss’s voice (or her male partner’s) over the pit band. But you heard A and J loud and clear.
I made up my mind that the next day, which was also a full hair and makeup dress rehearsal, I would speak to one of the directors and gently suggest that perhaps one of the two mikes on the girls across the stage from Lyss should give up her microphone to Alyssa or the dude who was ‘singing’ along with her (for what it’s worth, he doesn’t actually sing, so it’s kind of a solo – Oh, hello, my name is Marie Nordoff and I am THAT MOM.)
I worked myself into quite the tizzy that night, worrying over the ‘confrontation’ I’d have to have with the directors.
Yes, it was as ridiculous as it sounds. I kept telling my stupid brain to call the hell down. It wasn’t that big a deal. I mean, seriously.
But my mind would not stop. I ran scenarios in my head, thought about how I’d make the suggestion gently, not so much as a stage mom but as a concerned audience member who wants everyone to hear everything that’s going on in the play.
And guess what? All that angst was for naught. The directors watched the same rehearsal I’d watched and told Alyssa the very next night that she needed to wear one of the mikes so we could hear her.
Hear that brain? We didn’t have to be THAT MOM. It’s okay and all that worry was completely unnecessary.
[Side story to this whole thing: I stupidly mentioned the mike thing to the real Marie Nordoff. Guess which role her daughter, Harmony, is playing? Why yes, she is a member of the Addams Family, however did you guess? No, I’m not going to say which member of the family. I’m pretending to maintain the slightest bit of anonymity here. Anyway, when I mentioned not being able to hear Alyssa’s and her duet partner’s voices, Marie was quick to tell me that the school has a limited number of microphones and they have to give them out in order of who has the most lines/songs.
Duh.
I managed to not roll my eyes at her or tell her, “Yeah, I know. It’s not like I was going to suggest they take Harmony’s microphone away from her to give to my kid and her one small solo. Though, let’s all be honest here, Harmony’s got a voice on her that carries pretty darned well without a mike. Just saying.]
*Please note that the musical was a couple of weeks ago but I wrote this and scheduled it to post at a later date. I know, I should probably be better at posting more current stuff but hey, I'm doing the best I can here.*
Because I’m That Mom, I’ve helped with costumes and hair and makeup. I also made food for the evening of the last performance.
It’s what I do.
But you know what? I’m willing to be That Mom but I really don’t want to be THAT MOM.
And yet, they almost made me do it.
The first full dress rehearsal with hair and makeup was the Sunday before the actual performances which were the following Friday and Saturday.
Oh my goodness, let me tell you, that show was rough that Sunday night. Yikes.
But what made me almost turn into THAT MOM was the fact that during an ensemble scene there are two duets. One is sung by two girls on the left side of the stage. The other is sung by my own darling Alyssa and a fellow ancestor (what they call the chorus in The Addams Family.) That Sunday evening the two girls on the left side of the stage both had microphones (these are worn on the head with the mike wrapping around their face toward their mouth) and neither Alyssa nor her duet partner had one.
Obviously, this meant that you couldn’t hear Lyss’s voice (or her male partner’s) over the pit band. But you heard A and J loud and clear.
I made up my mind that the next day, which was also a full hair and makeup dress rehearsal, I would speak to one of the directors and gently suggest that perhaps one of the two mikes on the girls across the stage from Lyss should give up her microphone to Alyssa or the dude who was ‘singing’ along with her (for what it’s worth, he doesn’t actually sing, so it’s kind of a solo – Oh, hello, my name is Marie Nordoff and I am THAT MOM.)
I worked myself into quite the tizzy that night, worrying over the ‘confrontation’ I’d have to have with the directors.
Yes, it was as ridiculous as it sounds. I kept telling my stupid brain to call the hell down. It wasn’t that big a deal. I mean, seriously.
But my mind would not stop. I ran scenarios in my head, thought about how I’d make the suggestion gently, not so much as a stage mom but as a concerned audience member who wants everyone to hear everything that’s going on in the play.
And guess what? All that angst was for naught. The directors watched the same rehearsal I’d watched and told Alyssa the very next night that she needed to wear one of the mikes so we could hear her.
Hear that brain? We didn’t have to be THAT MOM. It’s okay and all that worry was completely unnecessary.
[Side story to this whole thing: I stupidly mentioned the mike thing to the real Marie Nordoff. Guess which role her daughter, Harmony, is playing? Why yes, she is a member of the Addams Family, however did you guess? No, I’m not going to say which member of the family. I’m pretending to maintain the slightest bit of anonymity here. Anyway, when I mentioned not being able to hear Alyssa’s and her duet partner’s voices, Marie was quick to tell me that the school has a limited number of microphones and they have to give them out in order of who has the most lines/songs.
Duh.
I managed to not roll my eyes at her or tell her, “Yeah, I know. It’s not like I was going to suggest they take Harmony’s microphone away from her to give to my kid and her one small solo. Though, let’s all be honest here, Harmony’s got a voice on her that carries pretty darned well without a mike. Just saying.]
*Please note that the musical was a couple of weeks ago but I wrote this and scheduled it to post at a later date. I know, I should probably be better at posting more current stuff but hey, I'm doing the best I can here.*
Monday, March 23, 2020
She Comes By It Naturally
The week before the school musical was rough.
I don’t know why the slightest adjustment to our schedule messes me up so much but damn.
A Tuesday (big shocker) evening was stressful from beginning to end. O and I spent about 45 minutes at my mom’s which was the least stressful part of the day. Rain fell and we watched a rainbow appear. It was lovely.
Then…we went home and it all fell apart. We got home around 6:15. Guess who had homework. If you guessed that I was the one who had homework, you’d be right because obviously if O brings home work that has to be turned in the next day, I am basically the one who does it. I’m so over that shit. I actually wrote question marks on two of the questions because they were stupid and I couldn’t figure out how, from the boring-ass article sent home, one would figure out the answer. One such question was something like, “How could the original settles of the near the Indus river have avoided the flooding of their area?”
I mean…? What? They could have maybe, I don’t know, not settled there? What a stupid question.
Ahem.
Part of what annoys the shit out of me during ‘our’ homework time is that the more frustrated I get, the more Olivia acts out. I know she’s responding to me. I know if I’d just calm myself down it would go much more smoothly but the more she acts out, the more irritated I get and it’s just builds until I want to scream.
After the homework fiasco, it was time for Olivia to eat dinner.
You guys….I just don’t know. This child asks for snacks every ten minutes all freaking day long. But the minutes you put food in front of her that is an actually meal, she acts like she’s three years old. She reads and writes and plays with whatever is in front of her but she doesn’t actually EAT HER FREAKING FOOD. She screws around and then complains that the food is cold.
It’s infuriating. She is thirteen years old and has hands that work, why will she NOT pick up a fucking fork and feed herself?
Finally, she was done eating (sort of but whatever) and she and I could go upstairs so she could take a bath.
Please note that nowhere in the above paragraphs do I mentioned eating dinner myself. Oh hell no. I had to pack lunches (mine and Alyssa’s because she’s decided that when she was in fifth grade and wanted so desperately to pack her own lunch that this independence as premature and these days she’s simply too busy and put-upon to pack her own lunch.) while Liv was eating.
The bath took FOREVER but at last, she was clean and hey, would you look at that, she hadn’t flooded the bathroom. I’m calling it a win.
That was our Tuesday evening.
Then...Wednesday at work…OMG.
I go to the post office every single day at 10am.
Except on this day, at 9:22, the owner of the company brought an envelope down to be mailed and mentioned having more and confirming that I usually go at 10am.
I confirmed that I do go at 10 but said (stupidly) that if he needed me to wait a few minutes, I could go a little later than 10.
At 9:57, he came down with one more envelope (how freaking long does it take to write checks is what I want to know?) and said that if I could give him five to ten more minutes he'd have more. Obviously, I said sure because, hello, owner of the company.
I went into the restroom at 10ish.
I came out at a few minutes after 10ish. Still no more mail.
I waited.
And waited.
Suddenly, I realized I’d heard his voice in the conference room, which is around the corner from my desk.
It was 10:15 at this point, almost twenty minutes after he’d asked me if I could give him five or ten more minutes.
I was twiddling my stupid thumbs waiting for mail that obviously wasn’t coming any time soon.
Damn it!
I had a project that I needed to start at 10:30.
I know the post office isn’t going anywhere and it’s open all day but I have a schedule and a routine and I HATE it when it gets messed up.
Obviously, Olivia comes by this naturally.
I finally left for the post office at 10:23, having confirmed that the owner was not, in fact, going to be giving anything else that needed to go out. Actually, though, could you maybe just take these three letters/checks later in the day?
Sure, why not? It’s not like I need to rush home each evening and do homework or anything.
Gah, I’m such a bitch these days.
I don’t know why the slightest adjustment to our schedule messes me up so much but damn.
A Tuesday (big shocker) evening was stressful from beginning to end. O and I spent about 45 minutes at my mom’s which was the least stressful part of the day. Rain fell and we watched a rainbow appear. It was lovely.
Then…we went home and it all fell apart. We got home around 6:15. Guess who had homework. If you guessed that I was the one who had homework, you’d be right because obviously if O brings home work that has to be turned in the next day, I am basically the one who does it. I’m so over that shit. I actually wrote question marks on two of the questions because they were stupid and I couldn’t figure out how, from the boring-ass article sent home, one would figure out the answer. One such question was something like, “How could the original settles of the near the Indus river have avoided the flooding of their area?”
I mean…? What? They could have maybe, I don’t know, not settled there? What a stupid question.
Ahem.
Part of what annoys the shit out of me during ‘our’ homework time is that the more frustrated I get, the more Olivia acts out. I know she’s responding to me. I know if I’d just calm myself down it would go much more smoothly but the more she acts out, the more irritated I get and it’s just builds until I want to scream.
After the homework fiasco, it was time for Olivia to eat dinner.
You guys….I just don’t know. This child asks for snacks every ten minutes all freaking day long. But the minutes you put food in front of her that is an actually meal, she acts like she’s three years old. She reads and writes and plays with whatever is in front of her but she doesn’t actually EAT HER FREAKING FOOD. She screws around and then complains that the food is cold.
It’s infuriating. She is thirteen years old and has hands that work, why will she NOT pick up a fucking fork and feed herself?
Finally, she was done eating (sort of but whatever) and she and I could go upstairs so she could take a bath.
Please note that nowhere in the above paragraphs do I mentioned eating dinner myself. Oh hell no. I had to pack lunches (mine and Alyssa’s because she’s decided that when she was in fifth grade and wanted so desperately to pack her own lunch that this independence as premature and these days she’s simply too busy and put-upon to pack her own lunch.) while Liv was eating.
The bath took FOREVER but at last, she was clean and hey, would you look at that, she hadn’t flooded the bathroom. I’m calling it a win.
That was our Tuesday evening.
Then...Wednesday at work…OMG.
I go to the post office every single day at 10am.
Except on this day, at 9:22, the owner of the company brought an envelope down to be mailed and mentioned having more and confirming that I usually go at 10am.
I confirmed that I do go at 10 but said (stupidly) that if he needed me to wait a few minutes, I could go a little later than 10.
At 9:57, he came down with one more envelope (how freaking long does it take to write checks is what I want to know?) and said that if I could give him five to ten more minutes he'd have more. Obviously, I said sure because, hello, owner of the company.
I went into the restroom at 10ish.
I came out at a few minutes after 10ish. Still no more mail.
I waited.
And waited.
Suddenly, I realized I’d heard his voice in the conference room, which is around the corner from my desk.
It was 10:15 at this point, almost twenty minutes after he’d asked me if I could give him five or ten more minutes.
I was twiddling my stupid thumbs waiting for mail that obviously wasn’t coming any time soon.
Damn it!
I had a project that I needed to start at 10:30.
I know the post office isn’t going anywhere and it’s open all day but I have a schedule and a routine and I HATE it when it gets messed up.
Obviously, Olivia comes by this naturally.
I finally left for the post office at 10:23, having confirmed that the owner was not, in fact, going to be giving anything else that needed to go out. Actually, though, could you maybe just take these three letters/checks later in the day?
Sure, why not? It’s not like I need to rush home each evening and do homework or anything.
Gah, I’m such a bitch these days.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Trying to Get a Grip
need to get a grip. I’m a mess these days. I don’t even know why.
I feel so put upon, as if the world is asking more of me than I want to give.
Which is stupid, I am only being asked what I’ve already offered.
So suck it up, buttercup.
Maybe it’s the time of year. Friday, March 6 was the two year anniversary of my last chemo. Why should that get to me? I don’t even know but I also don’t pretend to understand the human brain.
I know people suffer post-traumatic stress but seriously, self? What the hell? What I went through doesn’t necessitate PTSD, for Pete’s sake (aka, Pete Sakes.)
I’m here, aren’t I? Is that enough to celebrate? Why do I have to also be so low and annoyed at everyone and everything?
My poor husband and daughters don’t know what to do. If they look at me wrong I either glare at them, snap some snarky comment or cry. What the actual hell? Maybe I need a week-long nap. Someone swaddle me, rub my back and sing me to sleep. Or, you know, maybe everyone could just leave me the hell alone and I will just put myself to bed.
Whatever.
This too shall pass and all that jazz.
But until it does, I apologize in advance for anything I say or do that might be obnoxious. I mean, seriously, just ignore me for the next week or so. And please, PLEASE forgive me if it feels like I’m ignoring you. I promise it’s not you, it’s me.
I feel so put upon, as if the world is asking more of me than I want to give.
Which is stupid, I am only being asked what I’ve already offered.
So suck it up, buttercup.
Maybe it’s the time of year. Friday, March 6 was the two year anniversary of my last chemo. Why should that get to me? I don’t even know but I also don’t pretend to understand the human brain.
I know people suffer post-traumatic stress but seriously, self? What the hell? What I went through doesn’t necessitate PTSD, for Pete’s sake (aka, Pete Sakes.)
I’m here, aren’t I? Is that enough to celebrate? Why do I have to also be so low and annoyed at everyone and everything?
My poor husband and daughters don’t know what to do. If they look at me wrong I either glare at them, snap some snarky comment or cry. What the actual hell? Maybe I need a week-long nap. Someone swaddle me, rub my back and sing me to sleep. Or, you know, maybe everyone could just leave me the hell alone and I will just put myself to bed.
Whatever.
This too shall pass and all that jazz.
But until it does, I apologize in advance for anything I say or do that might be obnoxious. I mean, seriously, just ignore me for the next week or so. And please, PLEASE forgive me if it feels like I’m ignoring you. I promise it’s not you, it’s me.
Sunday, March 15, 2020
Ramen and Toilet Paper
So… corona virus, aka, Covid 19…
Yeah.
Ohio schools have closed at least through April 3. The situation will be reevaluated at a later date to see if they’ll close longer than that.
Oh how I laughed at Tom when we found out he’ll be stuck in a house with Olivia for three weeks.
And yet…damn.
I mean, sure, I get it. We need to slow this thing down. Social distancing and all that.
We currently have plenty of toilet paper, in case you were worried about our butts.
Alas, we’re down to our last package of ramen. Think there will be some when I go Walmart to buy groceries on Saturday?
I’m taking bets here.
See, I don’t even plan to go in order to ‘stock up’. I just need to buy groceries, which is what I do every Saturday. But we are low on ramen. And since the girls will be home for three weeks, we’ll need soup and Spaghetti-Os. Ewww, but still, a child can’t live on ramen alone.
Let’s not forget the macaroni and cheese.
It will appear to the average shopper (me) that I’m stocking up and perhaps even hoarding and that’s okay.
I took Alyssa to the doctor the other day for her sports physical. I felt a vague sense of guilt for taking a perfectly healthy child to a germ-infested doctor’s office but she needed that physical in order to participate in track meets. She can practice without it but she has to have had the physical in order to compete.
She’s fine, by the way. I know that shocks exactly no one.
But our doctor talked to us a little about covid-19. He said that the panic amongst the medical community is due to the unknown. They just don’t know what this virus will do to people, not really. It’s spreading so fast and making the elderly SO sick (or, rather, KILLING them) and there simply are not enough tests in this country to stop people from spreading this stupid virus.
So we have to slow everyone down.
I mentioned SARS and Zika to my doctor and he seemed surprised that I remembered them. They were flashes in the pan, if you will. He said he hopesCovid-19 goes the same path but no one knows for sure that it will.
It might become more like influenza, which still kills tens of thousands of people each year.
He pointed out that the flu killed more people in the late 1910s than bullets did in WWI. So…yeah, that’s depressing.
But we’re hopeful. We’re rallying. We’re staying home and washing our hands and not licking the handle of the shopping carts.
And…some of us (not me, but some people) are buying ALL the toilet paper and hand sanitizer. I just hope there’s still ramen available the next time I go buy groceries.
Yeah.
Ohio schools have closed at least through April 3. The situation will be reevaluated at a later date to see if they’ll close longer than that.
Oh how I laughed at Tom when we found out he’ll be stuck in a house with Olivia for three weeks.
And yet…damn.
I mean, sure, I get it. We need to slow this thing down. Social distancing and all that.
We currently have plenty of toilet paper, in case you were worried about our butts.
Alas, we’re down to our last package of ramen. Think there will be some when I go Walmart to buy groceries on Saturday?
I’m taking bets here.
See, I don’t even plan to go in order to ‘stock up’. I just need to buy groceries, which is what I do every Saturday. But we are low on ramen. And since the girls will be home for three weeks, we’ll need soup and Spaghetti-Os. Ewww, but still, a child can’t live on ramen alone.
Let’s not forget the macaroni and cheese.
It will appear to the average shopper (me) that I’m stocking up and perhaps even hoarding and that’s okay.
I took Alyssa to the doctor the other day for her sports physical. I felt a vague sense of guilt for taking a perfectly healthy child to a germ-infested doctor’s office but she needed that physical in order to participate in track meets. She can practice without it but she has to have had the physical in order to compete.
She’s fine, by the way. I know that shocks exactly no one.
But our doctor talked to us a little about covid-19. He said that the panic amongst the medical community is due to the unknown. They just don’t know what this virus will do to people, not really. It’s spreading so fast and making the elderly SO sick (or, rather, KILLING them) and there simply are not enough tests in this country to stop people from spreading this stupid virus.
So we have to slow everyone down.
I mentioned SARS and Zika to my doctor and he seemed surprised that I remembered them. They were flashes in the pan, if you will. He said he hopesCovid-19 goes the same path but no one knows for sure that it will.
It might become more like influenza, which still kills tens of thousands of people each year.
He pointed out that the flu killed more people in the late 1910s than bullets did in WWI. So…yeah, that’s depressing.
But we’re hopeful. We’re rallying. We’re staying home and washing our hands and not licking the handle of the shopping carts.
And…some of us (not me, but some people) are buying ALL the toilet paper and hand sanitizer. I just hope there’s still ramen available the next time I go buy groceries.
Friday, March 6, 2020
Finally
Finally, I had a dentist appointment that did not lead to scheduling another appointment for fillings.
Ahh, the side effects of chemo that no one mentions: dry mouth and the cavities that come along as a result.
For what it’s worth, I never missed a cleaning while I was going through chemo. I mean, why would I? It wasn’t that big a deal.
But once chemo was over, I continued my regularly scheduled cleanings and all of a sudden, a year post-chemo, I started developing cavities. In the past year, I’ve had eight fillings, five of them in the backs of my top front teeth. Yikes!
I’d like to keep my teeth, please.
Then we all remember that one day I went in for two fillings and left with three. That was actually sort of traumatic, to be honest. I’m not sure why. I mean, I’m really good at telling myself that something unpleasant isn’t going to last forever but that session with the dentist reminded me of why dentists are often compared with sadists.
Alas, it did NOT last forever and I have moved on from the trauma as much as possible. How is it that I felt more traumatized by that hour in the dentist’s chair than I did by months of ultrasounds, biopsies, MRIs, x-rays, surgery, chemotherapy and radiation?
A little displaced angst, perhaps?
Ahh, the side effects of chemo that no one mentions: dry mouth and the cavities that come along as a result.
For what it’s worth, I never missed a cleaning while I was going through chemo. I mean, why would I? It wasn’t that big a deal.
But once chemo was over, I continued my regularly scheduled cleanings and all of a sudden, a year post-chemo, I started developing cavities. In the past year, I’ve had eight fillings, five of them in the backs of my top front teeth. Yikes!
I’d like to keep my teeth, please.
Then we all remember that one day I went in for two fillings and left with three. That was actually sort of traumatic, to be honest. I’m not sure why. I mean, I’m really good at telling myself that something unpleasant isn’t going to last forever but that session with the dentist reminded me of why dentists are often compared with sadists.
Alas, it did NOT last forever and I have moved on from the trauma as much as possible. How is it that I felt more traumatized by that hour in the dentist’s chair than I did by months of ultrasounds, biopsies, MRIs, x-rays, surgery, chemotherapy and radiation?
A little displaced angst, perhaps?
Thursday, March 5, 2020
A Blue Sweater
I wear a sweater to work almost every day. And by sweater, I mean the kind like a cardigan rather than those that are pulled over your head. I have several, obviously. Once upon a time, I had two black sweaters, a blue (royal-ish/navy-ish) one, a light gray sweater and two beige sweaters in different lenths.
Alas, my blue sweater sprung a leak. Aka, it got an enormous hole in it right under my right armpit; it was almost as if the stench under there was so strong it couldn’t be contained. So sad.
One of my black sweaters got a really bad snag and also had to be retired.
Which brings me down to one black sweater, one light gray and two beige. I only really wear one of the beige sweaters.
The other one is just a really unfortunate beige and because of this, I decided, AHA! I’d dye the unfortunate beige one navy blue. The cost of a bottle of dye is much less than a new blue sweater.
Remember that one time I dyed something and it took me five thousand trips up and down the stairs from the kitchen to the basement and back again into infinity? Yeah, this time around the dyeing process was much smoother.
I read the instructions…I followed the instructions. I even noted on the instructions that this dye was not recommended for acrylic.
Huh.
Guess what I didn’t do?
I didn’t check to see what this unfortunate beige sweater was made out of. Can you say foreshadowing?
I went through the entire dyeing process. I made the machine do a pre-soak of the sweater in the blue dye.
I went down an hour later to check the status of the sweater.
I opened the washer…I took out…an unfortunate beige sweater.
The little string that is attached to the shoulder to keep the sweater on a hanger was blue, so I didn’t imagine the entire dyeing process.
I checked the tag. Guess what that stupid, unfortunate beige sweater is made of?
Need a minute?
Let me give you a hint…ACRYLIC. Gross, nasty feeling acrylic. No wonder I hardly ever wear that stupid sweater, the unfortunate beige color notwithstanding.
Which means, obviously, that I am now out the cost of a bottle of dye AND I need to buy a new blue sweater. (I wear a lot of blue, which is why it’s necessary for me to own a blue sweater. The girls’ school colors are blue and gray, another reason for wanting/needing a blue sweater. Not that I have to justify my desire to buy a blue sweater, I mean…ahem.)
Alas, my blue sweater sprung a leak. Aka, it got an enormous hole in it right under my right armpit; it was almost as if the stench under there was so strong it couldn’t be contained. So sad.
One of my black sweaters got a really bad snag and also had to be retired.
Which brings me down to one black sweater, one light gray and two beige. I only really wear one of the beige sweaters.
The other one is just a really unfortunate beige and because of this, I decided, AHA! I’d dye the unfortunate beige one navy blue. The cost of a bottle of dye is much less than a new blue sweater.
Remember that one time I dyed something and it took me five thousand trips up and down the stairs from the kitchen to the basement and back again into infinity? Yeah, this time around the dyeing process was much smoother.
I read the instructions…I followed the instructions. I even noted on the instructions that this dye was not recommended for acrylic.
Huh.
Guess what I didn’t do?
I didn’t check to see what this unfortunate beige sweater was made out of. Can you say foreshadowing?
I went through the entire dyeing process. I made the machine do a pre-soak of the sweater in the blue dye.
I went down an hour later to check the status of the sweater.
I opened the washer…I took out…an unfortunate beige sweater.
The little string that is attached to the shoulder to keep the sweater on a hanger was blue, so I didn’t imagine the entire dyeing process.
I checked the tag. Guess what that stupid, unfortunate beige sweater is made of?
Need a minute?
Let me give you a hint…ACRYLIC. Gross, nasty feeling acrylic. No wonder I hardly ever wear that stupid sweater, the unfortunate beige color notwithstanding.
Which means, obviously, that I am now out the cost of a bottle of dye AND I need to buy a new blue sweater. (I wear a lot of blue, which is why it’s necessary for me to own a blue sweater. The girls’ school colors are blue and gray, another reason for wanting/needing a blue sweater. Not that I have to justify my desire to buy a blue sweater, I mean…ahem.)
Wednesday, March 4, 2020
The Commitment Spectrum
There is a spectrum of parental commitment at work around here.
Of course, each parent thinks their level is the ‘right’ level.
On the far conservative end, we’ve got Marie Nordoff. Her daughter is Harmony. Harmony is the best of the best at everything at Edon. Okay, wait. Harmony is not the best at track, but that’s because she’s only three feet tall (or, you know, five feet exactly) and her legs are four inches long. So, while she’s got spirit, yes she does, she’s not the fastest runner. But you’ve got to hand it to her, she’s always willing to get out there and run a race, even knowing she’ll probably come in last.
But other than her less than perfect track score, she’s pretty damned talented.
But her mom, wow. That woman takes the cake of parental commitment. She’s at EVERYTHING. She’s at practices, she’s at performances. She’s paid for years of lessons, both voice and oboe (Harmony does not play the oboe but I don’t to give away too many actual details for fear of giving away too much.)
Lee is a member of the music boosters, she even holds an officer role. Go her. She’s a smother if ever there was one.
Harmony has been heard to say that she can’t way to go away to college so she can get out from under the stifling control of her smother.
But on the other end of this spectrum is the mother of Alyssa’s friend Jayda. Jayda’s a joiner, which is incredibly surprising because her mom comes to nothing. Literally…nothing. Wait, I’ve seen her mom at one track meet in the four years (we’re heading into the fifth) of Alyssa and Jayda participating in the sport.
Her mom is never at concerts, never at plays, never at meets or games where the marching band is performing. Jayda also plays the oboe (she does NOT) and while she’s third chair (behind Harmony and, oh, let’s just say Alyssa also plays the oboe) she shows up and what more can you ask of a child who’s parents are never, ever there?
Her parents are divorced and her dad lives about an hour and a half away. But that’s no excuse. Yes, Jayda is mean to him, but that’s also no excuse. The man is her father. He’s his job to show up for his child, even if she’s an ungrateful brat. The adult looks beyond the brattiness and see the pain and works to overcome it. Right? Right!
Then there are those of us who are somewhere in the middle.
Okay, so I totally admit that I definitely fall closer to Marie’s side of the spectrum than to Jayda’s mom’s side. But while yes, I attend the music boosters meetings, I’m not an officer. And yes, I did take charge of about half of all of Olivia’s class parties from kindergarten through third grade, sharing the responsibility with Deb Porch, the only other working mom but also the only other mom willing to take on that responsibility. But those are extremes that I didn’t want to have to take on, there was no other choice.
I attend the junior parents’ meetings because someone has to. But, go me, I’m not in charge.
I try to let Alyssa do her own thing, supporting her as she figures out who she is and where she’s going. I don’t want to mold her into a mini-me. I don’t want her to live my life nor do I want to try and relive my youth through her.
But I also want her to know that I’m always there. Always cheering her on from the sidelines as she lives her own life.
And wow, this is a judgey-ass post. Sorry. I obviously have strong feelings about being too involved and not being involved enough.
Good thing I’ve found the perfect balance of involvement, huh?
Sorry, I’ve got to go, the hair and makeup crew for the musical can’t make do without me.
And don’t even get me started on all the snacks that Tom, my mom and I brought to give Olivia during a one hour concert. Damn, you’d think she was four years old the way we cater to her. Yikes.
Of course, each parent thinks their level is the ‘right’ level.
On the far conservative end, we’ve got Marie Nordoff. Her daughter is Harmony. Harmony is the best of the best at everything at Edon. Okay, wait. Harmony is not the best at track, but that’s because she’s only three feet tall (or, you know, five feet exactly) and her legs are four inches long. So, while she’s got spirit, yes she does, she’s not the fastest runner. But you’ve got to hand it to her, she’s always willing to get out there and run a race, even knowing she’ll probably come in last.
But other than her less than perfect track score, she’s pretty damned talented.
But her mom, wow. That woman takes the cake of parental commitment. She’s at EVERYTHING. She’s at practices, she’s at performances. She’s paid for years of lessons, both voice and oboe (Harmony does not play the oboe but I don’t to give away too many actual details for fear of giving away too much.)
Lee is a member of the music boosters, she even holds an officer role. Go her. She’s a smother if ever there was one.
Harmony has been heard to say that she can’t way to go away to college so she can get out from under the stifling control of her smother.
But on the other end of this spectrum is the mother of Alyssa’s friend Jayda. Jayda’s a joiner, which is incredibly surprising because her mom comes to nothing. Literally…nothing. Wait, I’ve seen her mom at one track meet in the four years (we’re heading into the fifth) of Alyssa and Jayda participating in the sport.
Her mom is never at concerts, never at plays, never at meets or games where the marching band is performing. Jayda also plays the oboe (she does NOT) and while she’s third chair (behind Harmony and, oh, let’s just say Alyssa also plays the oboe) she shows up and what more can you ask of a child who’s parents are never, ever there?
Her parents are divorced and her dad lives about an hour and a half away. But that’s no excuse. Yes, Jayda is mean to him, but that’s also no excuse. The man is her father. He’s his job to show up for his child, even if she’s an ungrateful brat. The adult looks beyond the brattiness and see the pain and works to overcome it. Right? Right!
Then there are those of us who are somewhere in the middle.
Okay, so I totally admit that I definitely fall closer to Marie’s side of the spectrum than to Jayda’s mom’s side. But while yes, I attend the music boosters meetings, I’m not an officer. And yes, I did take charge of about half of all of Olivia’s class parties from kindergarten through third grade, sharing the responsibility with Deb Porch, the only other working mom but also the only other mom willing to take on that responsibility. But those are extremes that I didn’t want to have to take on, there was no other choice.
I attend the junior parents’ meetings because someone has to. But, go me, I’m not in charge.
I try to let Alyssa do her own thing, supporting her as she figures out who she is and where she’s going. I don’t want to mold her into a mini-me. I don’t want her to live my life nor do I want to try and relive my youth through her.
But I also want her to know that I’m always there. Always cheering her on from the sidelines as she lives her own life.
And wow, this is a judgey-ass post. Sorry. I obviously have strong feelings about being too involved and not being involved enough.
Good thing I’ve found the perfect balance of involvement, huh?
Sorry, I’ve got to go, the hair and makeup crew for the musical can’t make do without me.
And don’t even get me started on all the snacks that Tom, my mom and I brought to give Olivia during a one hour concert. Damn, you’d think she was four years old the way we cater to her. Yikes.
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Motivate Me
The last time I managed to go on a diet and lose substantial weight (60ish pounds in six months) was 2013.
I was motivated by not wanting to be the fat sister in my brother’s wedding pictures.
That didn’t actually motivate me back in 2003 before my own wedding, though. So yeah. Huh.
I don’t know what will motivate me this time. Obviously being fat-shamed by my doctors doesn’t do it.
My jeans being tight and making me uncomfortable doesn’t seem to make a difference.
Hating my body with the passion of a thousand suns isn’t motivating me.
Knowing that being overweight is bad for my health doesn’t seem to matter either.
I mean, come on, self! I don’t smoke because it’s bad for me. I don’t drink alcohol because it’s bad for me. I don’t do heroin because, yeah, SO BAD for me. I don’t vape, I don’t snort cocaine, I don’t go out in the sun without sunscreen because that’s all bad for me.
Yet, I’ll make frosting so that I can eat it from the spoon.
I’ll buy Most Stuf Oreos and eat the stuf.
I’ll eat a bag of mini York peppermint patties, the FAMILY size, for God’s sake, in two days.
What the hell is wrong with me? None of the above things are good for me. I can restrain myself from having wildly unsafe sex with strangers but I can’t stop cramming high calorie, nutrition deficient food into my fat face.
Why? What is going on in my brain that I can’t be satisfied with the salad I have for lunch each day? Why don’t cucumber slices fill the void in my stomach (brain!) the way a bag of Funyons does?
Obviously, I’m a mess. My relationship with food is so very messed up.
So what next? That’s what I need to figure out.
For what it’s worth, I can’t and don’t blame the cancer completely. I know I was a fatty before I got cancer. That’s part of why I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. I mean, what if my fatness contributed to my cancer? One would think that would be motivation, right? Since my stupid cancer wasn’t fed by hormones, hello, something had to trigger it.
So if it was fatness, wouldn’t you think I’d be out there jogging every single freaking day and watching every morsel I put into my mouth, making sure it’s the highest of nutrition and lowest of calorie?
Yes, I’d think that too and look at us, we’re ALL WRONG.
Hello, self, get your shit together!
And this ends my little tantrum.
I was motivated by not wanting to be the fat sister in my brother’s wedding pictures.
That didn’t actually motivate me back in 2003 before my own wedding, though. So yeah. Huh.
I don’t know what will motivate me this time. Obviously being fat-shamed by my doctors doesn’t do it.
My jeans being tight and making me uncomfortable doesn’t seem to make a difference.
Hating my body with the passion of a thousand suns isn’t motivating me.
Knowing that being overweight is bad for my health doesn’t seem to matter either.
I mean, come on, self! I don’t smoke because it’s bad for me. I don’t drink alcohol because it’s bad for me. I don’t do heroin because, yeah, SO BAD for me. I don’t vape, I don’t snort cocaine, I don’t go out in the sun without sunscreen because that’s all bad for me.
Yet, I’ll make frosting so that I can eat it from the spoon.
I’ll buy Most Stuf Oreos and eat the stuf.
I’ll eat a bag of mini York peppermint patties, the FAMILY size, for God’s sake, in two days.
What the hell is wrong with me? None of the above things are good for me. I can restrain myself from having wildly unsafe sex with strangers but I can’t stop cramming high calorie, nutrition deficient food into my fat face.
Why? What is going on in my brain that I can’t be satisfied with the salad I have for lunch each day? Why don’t cucumber slices fill the void in my stomach (brain!) the way a bag of Funyons does?
Obviously, I’m a mess. My relationship with food is so very messed up.
So what next? That’s what I need to figure out.
For what it’s worth, I can’t and don’t blame the cancer completely. I know I was a fatty before I got cancer. That’s part of why I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. I mean, what if my fatness contributed to my cancer? One would think that would be motivation, right? Since my stupid cancer wasn’t fed by hormones, hello, something had to trigger it.
So if it was fatness, wouldn’t you think I’d be out there jogging every single freaking day and watching every morsel I put into my mouth, making sure it’s the highest of nutrition and lowest of calorie?
Yes, I’d think that too and look at us, we’re ALL WRONG.
Hello, self, get your shit together!
And this ends my little tantrum.
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