Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Peace

So you all know that Robin Williams committed suicide yesterday.  Its impossible to avoid the news.  I have taken this very hard, like, Newtown hard, and I've figured out why.  I read an article this morning that talked why the whole nation is taking this loss so hard:

 "when someone who publicly advocates for a disease that you're intimately familiar with decides the pain is too much to bear - even with every resource available to him - what hope is there for the rest of us who battle this disease on a daily basis?"

I have told you all about my own problem with depression, and all I could think about today was that as low as I got, and as much pain as I was in, it can still get worse.  I was never suicidal, but knowing that the bottom of my abyss was nowhere near the actual bottom is both tragic and terrifying.

Another good quote I read recently, and if I remember correctly it was from an excerpt from Rob Lowe's book (but I'm sure he wouldn't take credit for it) is Never judge someone's insides by their outsides. 

If you are out there and feeling low like I am, IT WILL GET BETTER, I PROMISE.




Tuesday, July 22, 2014

He Does't Know

She's at camp.  She's at camp, she's at camp, she's at camp.

Rob thinks I'm mean when I wipe my brow with relief that she's gone for a week, but HE DOESN'T KNOW.  He is not the one who has to go ten rounds with her about putting her dish in the dishwasher, or about turning off the TV, or not being so snotty.  He's not the one who gets texted at 11 p.m. with messages that she can't sleep and is afraid of something she saw on Parks and Recreation.  He doesn't get yelled at, and defied at every turn, and she never rolls her eyes at him.  And do you know why?  Because he is Daddy Good Times!  He gets home, and they high five 16 times and hug and do puzzles and make fun of mom.  They both apparently believe that I should have infinite patience and be calm and kind 24/7.  HAVE THEY MET ME??

I miss her a little.  She is kinda cool.  I'm mostly thinking about which activities she is doing right now, and hoping she made some friends in her cabin, and I'm checking the whether in those mountains every hour.  I tried to find some small things to send in a care package, but could only find large plastic crap, and the camp doesn't allow food to be sent.  If I could send a batch of cookies up there, I would.  I just sent her a card.  See? I have a little bit of a heart.

Leila's fish is swimming around in his bowl next to me.  I moved him out of her room so I don't forget to feed him and end up killing him while she's gone.  He really darts around in there.  Where is he trying to go?  Even if he successfully got out, and were able to breathe air, he would just get eaten by a crow or run over by a car.  Doesn't he know he is safer in his bowl?  He looks like he's trying to tell my something with his little fish mouth:  HELP ME! YOU'RE NOT MY REAL MOM!

Ok, that's it for today.  Adios.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

The Experiment Ends in Complete Failure

I've been informed that the Russians are missing me, so I'm back!

Leila is leaving for camp in a few days and I am SO READY.  I just hurt my foot twice trying to maneuver around her rat's nest of a room, and declared that I was going to throw everything away while she is at camp unless it is spotless by the time she leaves.  The experiment to see how long it would take her to clean her room if left up to her own devices is over.  The conclusion we can draw is that she will never clean her room, and will be happy to live in her own filth forever as long as she can play minecraft on her ipod touch.  She was like this as a baby too; never cried when she had a poo diaper.  She was perfectly content to slosh around in it.

I'm over it.  She can live in her own filth when she's a grown up all she wants.  Her roommates will just love her.  Wait until they find out that she wont pick up a dirty dish and put it in the dishwasher because its "disgusting" even if its the dish she just ate from.  And just wait until she uses their towels and they end up all nasty.   And when she uses all the glasses in the house for a few gulps of water and leaves them by the sink?  They'll throw her a freakin' party.

I realize with all the hormones and tears and puberty that maybe not making her clean her room sounds like a good idea, and I've been pretty self righteous about it, like I'm such a cool mom eliminating that battle from our repertoire, but my coolness supply just ran out and I'm gonna start making her clean that hell hole like every other mom out there.  You know what else? I'm gonna get her a good old fashioned alarm clock so that I can take her stupid ipod touch away at night and she can't use waking up as an excuse.  ENOUGH!

Of course, I wont actually have an opportunity to put all this tough love into practice because she's practically not going to be here for the next month.  But when school starts?  Put on your seat belts, its gonna get bumpy!

In other news, I'm in summer school learning drafting, both hand drafting and CAD drafting.  You know what?  I think I have a knack!  Not sure I want to be a draftsperson, but it made me lament my terrible math education.  I should have been a geometrist.  And if that's not a career, I should have invented it.

UPDATE!  Leila just came out of her room with some cable and you know what?  I THINK SHE'S CLEANING UP!

See? It pays to lose your temper and throw in a well placed "God Damn it!!"  She knows when I say God damn it that I mean business.

So GOD DAMN IT! someone comment on this post so that I know your'e still out there!

Love you.




Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Perfection, You're an Asshole



You know how the universe speaks to you?  Well, the universe was hitting me over the head with a shovel yesterday.  Okay, I get it, universe, you can stop shoveling me!

It started when Rob sent me this article about perfectionism and how many problems it causes us.  Then I was cruising facebook and read this article Anne Lamott wrote about... Perfectionism.  Then I was channel surfing in the afternoon and Katie Couric had on a dame that wrote a book about the perils of... Perfectionism.  All of these things were unrelated, not like when you see the same actor on every talk show in the same week pimping the same movie.  And I didn't go looking for any of them (or did I?)

So I asked myself, after the second run in with perfectionist dogma, why is this coming into my life today?  What am I supposed to take from this besides the obvious?

I do not consider myself a perfectionist.  I'm an eye baller, not a measurer.  I don't beat myself up over failures, I'm more of an "oh well." type.  However, I do take pleasure when I get things perfect.  My own measurement of perfection, not anyone else's.  I like things to be just so, and I have to talk myself down a little bit when they're not.  I like rules and parameters and un-ambiguous answers.  In class recently, we've done a color theory section and we had to mix paints and make a color wheel.  I hated it.  I like 2 + 2 to equal 4, and that's not the way it works in color mixing.  It was crazy making.  This is why I like baking better than cooking: Cooking uses a recipe as a guide, and then you "salt to taste."  I am paralyzed by salting to taste.  Or, you're supposed to go to your local farmers market and buy what's fresh and in season and make it work.  This does not work for me.   I like the recipe to be the gospel, and I never deviate from it.  That's baking.  

I think my daughter suffers from perfectionism.  She has a history of being good at everything at the first try, and when she isn't, she gives up in less than a minute.  Then she beats herself up because she can't do stuff, or she's not perfect at it.  This causes a lot of anxiety.  I've been wondering what, besides hormones, is causing her anxiety, and I think the universe was trying to speed up the process of discovery yesterday.  Thanks, universe.

Have I made her a perfectionist?  I mostly brag about what a total loser I am, so it doesn't seem like I have, but I probably have, what with my baking and my math.  But why doesn't she focus on the things I'm terrible at?  Like planning what's for dinner and cleaning the grout in the bathroom? And eating a healthy diet and exercising?  I'm a complete failure at those things! I am the most mediocre gardener in the world, and I almost let a baby fall down the stairs one minute in to a babysitting gig the other day.  Brick stairs, not carpeted.

Parenting is hard.  And I don't want to hear anyone bragging about how they are a perfectionist.  Its a DISEASE!  Read the articles, and tell me you don't see yourself or your kid in there.  I dare you.

Friday, May 2, 2014

Can I be Done?

It has been a busy morning.  I have gone grocery shopping, dropped things off at the vet, and gone to the pharmacy (which was closed.)  When I came home, I did laundry, cleaned up the house, scrubbed the stove, installed a hanger in the closet for my new vacuum cleaner, and paid bills.  I'm not done yet.  There is more stuff to clean up, and I want to actually use the new vacuum, and there's laundry to fold, and I still have to go to the pharmacy.  

When it is enough?  When can I be done?  I am pooped, my feet hurt, and my hands smell like rubber gloves.  I really like to start the weekend with a full fridge, clean laundry, and a tidy house.  Its easier to relax that way.  But, man, what a pain in the ass.  

So, I'll put in two more hours, one and half minimum, and then I'm done for the day.  Enough is enough.  By Monday morning, this whole house will look like a tornado went through it, anyway.  Dishes will be piled up, the stove will be greasy, there will be clothes and crap everywhere, and I'll have to clean up all over again.  What the hell is the point?  And don't get me started on Leila's room: she hasn't gotten sick of living in a shit hole yet, and none of her dirty laundry made it in to the hamper for laundry day today.  

Have a good weekend, everybody


Thursday, April 24, 2014

The Easter Bunny is Dead

The other day was Easter.  The week before was a crazy busy one with a big family wedding and all that those entail, so I was not super psyched to get up at the crack of dawn and hide plastic Easter eggs, lovingly filled with chocolate, all over the yard.  But the effing Easter bunny was still alive and well in my daughter's heart, so what could I do?  I think it was heroic of me to even remember to get Easter candy at all, even if the dog did suss out the reases pieces and eat them all like a little pig.

There was no ritualistic getting down of the Easter box and wrestling with the plastic Easter eggs to fit tops to bottoms.  Oh no.  I went outside around 7:30 in the morning, and tossed foil-wrapped chocolate eggs all over the lawn from the balcony, and then went down to "hide" some things in the bushes.  Done.

Leila had slept on the couch for the second night in a row because I hadn't had time to put her clean sheets on her bed.  She asks me "Did you hide stuff in the yard for me?"

I have been waiting for about three years to be finally done with the Easter Bunny and his cohorts.  It was wonderful and cute while she was little, but I'm tired of all that sneaking around now, and I just want to hand her her presents and be done with it.

So I say, "What's that now? Are you asking me if I'm the Easter bunny?" Yes.  Yes she was.  So I said, "Yes, I am the Easter bunny." and she says, "What other magical creatures are you?  Like, are you the tooth fairy?" and I said, "Yes, I am the tooth fairy."  Then she says, "Don't ruin Christmas."

We went outside to "search" for the eggs that I'd strewn all over the lawn, and they were gone.  I asked L if she had already gone outside, but she hadn't, and then we saw a scrub jay hovering over us looking guilty.  Damn bird stole all the chocolate eggs!  Can you believe it?  The bird did not, however, steal the kit kats, or the DVD of Talladega Nights hidden behind the garden box.

So there it is: No more Easter bunny, she's lost all her teeth, and the jig is up with Santa Claus, too.  Thank you Easter bunny! Bawk bawk!!


Thursday, April 10, 2014

Harumph

Today is one of those days where nothing on the to-do list is remotely interesting or fun, its all tedious chores that no one wants to do.  This includes having to go to the DMV.  How do you face a day like this?  I just want to go back to bed, but, to add a wrinkle, there are roofers banging around on my roof and jostling my house, so I don't feel like I can go back to bed and watch TV because what if they see me?  They're working their butts off on the roof, and I'm lounging around with the ladies of The View?  Same goes for taking a shower.  I don't want to be naked in my house when there's a bunch of guys going up and down ladders.  What if they punch a big hole in the roof of the bathroom and they're all waving at me in the shower, like, "hello, lady!"

I know this is a first world kind of day, but we first worlders are allowed to whine, a little bit, sometimes, about having to chat with the dishwasher repair man for the third time in three weeks while he tries to get the dishwasher to work.

And the DMV? That shit's not funny.  My front license plate disappeared from my car.  Now, I would be fine cruising around without a front plate, but my recent speeding ticket has made me paranoid, so I have to surrender the remaining license plate, and order a new one.  I wonder how much that's gonna cost me.

Oh, and Tuesday I did online traffic school.  Talk about a pain in the ass. Did you know that they've changed their minds about the 10 and 2 position?  All these years I've been driving recklessly at 10 and 2, and now they tell me is 9 and 3 or 8 and 4 because of the air bags.  I tried driving this way yesterday and, no sir, I did not like it.  It feels wrong.

So that's the short story of my upcoming day.  I also have to clean out the fridge, and I should organize my closet, but I just don't know if I can handle that today.  I'm in no mood.  I hope my dishwasher works and I perk up.  I just can not do any more dishes by hand.  Screw that.

How's your day?  Anything fun I can be jealous of?