These were THE jeans. The unstoppable ones. The ones I swore I would wear again one day.
4…6…29…
The numbers boggled my mind.
Pencil skirts…low-rise ripped jeans…designer labels…
These styles seem like such a distant memory.
Piece by piece, I pulled items out of the blue plastic tub. Stale and wrinkled, they didn’t provide the fond memories I thought they would. Didn’t make me long for the days when I wore them with flair. I was thin. Very thin. But I didn’t know it at the time. I was insecure. I pinched every jiggle, willing it away. I worked out for hours, desperate to tone, trim, firm. I tried to catch every mirror I could, desperate to like what I saw. Most of the time, though, I didn’t.
Out of curiosity, I pulled one of the shirts over my head. “Medium. …
Image from reallifetravels.com
Bring on the potions
Bring on the pills
Bring on the excitement
Bring on the thrills
I’m plucking my eyebrows
I’m waxing my legs
I’m dancing on tables
I’m standing on kegs
Ditch the minivan
Bring me a Caddy
Don’t call me mommy
Don’t call him daddy
No more Cheerios
No more crumbs
No more boogers
Sticking on thumbs
We’re going out tonight
We’re getting all clean
We’re living it up
Rage Against the Momchine!
…………
Before you start to worry about me, this is just a little creative expression. I’m a little disgruntled.
I only own mom jeans. We’re buying a minivan. I feel better now.
Road trips. Is there anything that brings a family closer together? Two kids under four years old, two adults under 34 years old, and a car so loaded down we were often confused for the Clampetts. “Hey, ya’ll headin’ to Beverly…Hills that is?” Nope, we were heading to Texas Hill Country, off to see family deep in the heart of barbecue, boots and Friday night football. We left at 6 p.m., and arrived at 2 a.m., hopeful that our late-night travels would be peace and quiet from the back seat. Wrong. They slept a total of two hours. Whee! By the time we exited I-35 to make the short trek to my mother-in-law’s house, we were all delirious. My husband was slapping his face to stay awake (after three energy drinks), and the girls and …
Stroll me right to the psychiatrist’s office. I need medication.
(image from babyjunctionga.com)
I’m passive-aggressive about cleaning, even in my car. I’m all casual and “go with the flow” until something drives me over the edge. Today, I was driven over the edge. I took the girls outside to play, and decided I’d do something productive. So, I attempted to “throw a little trash away” from my car. Well, once I opened the door, I realized it was worse than I thought. WAY worse. Toys everywhere, clothes everywhere, food everywhere. So much food, in fact, that our kittens kept repeatedly jumping into the car to grab a snack. “Oh Lord,” I muttered. No, really, I needed the Lord’s help for this one.
Trash was thrown away. Large crumbs were tossed into the yard for the chickens …
Yeah, I know I look rough. But I had to get up in the middle of the night to write this.
Sup? What, you didn’t know I could talk, let alone type? Well, I can. I can do a lot of things. But you wouldn’t know, would you? It’s always “my preschooler this,” and “my older daughter that.” Like the time she danced and people laughed. Woop-di-freakin-do! I could totally take her in a dance off. Anyways, it’s time you know the truth. I’m tired of living in the shadows. Tired of only being the subject of maybe 20% of my mom’s blog posts. That’s right. I exist. Maybe you didn’t even know that. Sure, my mom may have mentioned she has two daughters, but why doesn’t she ever talk about me? It’s always …
Because even when you finally get their room clean, they have a mind of their own. Fact: you can’t get crap done with kids.
Hello friend. How are you? Tired? Overjoyed? Overwhelmed? Whatever you’re feeling, it’s ok. You’re not alone. Millions of mothers have done this before you, and there’s probably nothing you can throw at us that we haven’t heard before. And all those books you read to prepare you? They only tell about half of the story. Yes, they talk about dads taking turns “getting up with the baby during the night.” But you know what? Sometimes this doesn’t happen. Some men are just wired differently and can’t function the next day with little sleep. (Moms always can, even if we’re face-plant tired.) And some men can actually sleep through a baby screaming …