Introspect with a dash of doubt

"Are you doubting yourself again?"

This is what my boss said to me yesterday as I pow-wowed with my favorite co-worker of all time. I was working on a project. A large, complex and highly obnoxious project. Now, remember, I love my job. I do! I love waking up every morning because I get to work/play with people that I admire, respect and best of, like. My work family, they're the best.

But, "Are you doubting yourself again?"

It really got me thinking. At that moment, I wasn't doubting myself, I was just working through some details. So, yay me! But he was right, I doubt myself.

I doubt myself.

And inevitably, that doubt grows teeth and claws and morphs into a ravaging  beast. Or, as it's better known, worry.

I worry that I'm a bad wife. I worry that I am too critical of my husband. Or that I'm not affectionate enough. Or that I exclude him or ignore him. I worry that I'm selfish and petty. I worry that I'm not beautiful enough.

I worry that I'm an awful friend. I'm pretty sure that I have a tendency to be a hermit. I worry that I don't contribute to my friendships. I worry that I'm a one-way street. I worry that I either say too much or too little. I worry that I don't reach out or that I don't see others reaching out to me.

I worry about being a lame-ass employee. I worry that I'm too sarcastic and mouthy. I worry that I don't do enough. Or that I do too much. I worry that I have a tendency to react, not act.

But most of all, I worry that I'm a terrible mom. Am I too strict or not strict enough? I worry that I'm mean-spirited and am teaching my girls to be mean-spirited. I worry that I'm completely inappropriate and rude. I worry that I put too much pressure on them or expect too much. I worry that my standards are too high. I worry that I model a horrible human being and am influencing them to be the same. I worry that I say too much or not enough. I'm sure I yell too much. I worry that I can't find the balance between smothering them and giving them their space.I think I need them too much and that I don't want them to have their secrets. I worry that I'm too nosy. I worry that I just suck.

I think, as women, we are naturally inclined to worry. We worry and we "mother" and we tend to those around us. Even if they don't want us to. Even if we aren't good at it. Is it because we are biologically and chemically wired to do so? Is it because that's the role that society tells us we have to play? Is it because our brains never shut up? NEVER. SHUT. UP. In trying to shut our brains up, do we fill our lives completely and stay busy, busy, busy?

I swore I would never be my mother. She's a great woman, don't get me wrong. But she is non-confrontational and I think that leads her to be taken advantage of. Before you get a mental picture, let me set the stage. My mom taught Kindergarten for 25 years. She was an amazing teacher. People placed their kids on lists to get into her class. Her students loved her and she loved her students. By the time she retired, she was teaching second and third generations of some of her original students. She is well known and well-loved by her peers, her students and her community. If I knew what was good for me, I would aspire to be like her. But I don't and I'll tell you why. She's under appreciated by the man who should cherish her as the most precious thing he could possibly get his hands on. But most horribly, she was under appreciated and not respected by someone who should have known better. Me. It's true, I didn't respect her. I thought she was ignorant and oblivious. I didn't ask for or graciously receive advice or direction from her. I separated myself from my family and shut them out of my life. I was a bitch. A rotten, selfish, nasty bitch.

So, I decided that wouldn't happen in my house. I was involved early on with the girls. I knew their friends. I spent time with them. A lot of time. As much as I could. I still do! I asked tough questions. Seriously, it isn't unheard of for me to ask things like, "So, are you having sex?" "Are you you doing drugs?" "Have you tried alcohol". Out of the blue and totally unexpected. I'm not afraid to ask the questions and have uncomfortable conversations. It's far more likely for the girls to be embarrassed by hard questions than me.

But in the midst of these teen years, I find myself constantly second guessing decisions and things I say. I worry that I'm saying too much of the wrong thing and not enough of the right thing.

I doubt myself.

What's the solution? Is there one? Am I alone? How do I be a better wife, mom, friend? A better person?

Anyone?

The future looms

Today, a rare and wonderful thing has happened. I am at home. Alone. Ahhh, bliss. The minions went back to school this morning, and I don't mind telling you that 6:00 am came horrifically early. I, however, don't have to return to work until Wednesday. Wednesday! As of this minute, I have had my coffee, taken a nap, showered and folded some laundry. I have a list a mile long of things I need to do, but fully intend to do as little as possible for the remainder of the day.

My day of luxury did get me thinking...what in the world am I going to do with myself when my girls are gone? I do work and I have a small circle of friends, but will that really fill my time? I highly doubt it. The Mr. works all the time and my family doesn't live close by, so who am I going to play with?

Apparently, I need some more hobbies...

I'll start a list:

Things I like to do that may possibly fill my hours when I become alone and crotchety

I like to read. However, this is a solitary endeavor.
Blogging. Again, best done alone.
I am a gamer. Did you know? Don't worry, the girls didn't suspect it either. Sadly, this is another activity that doesn't require company.
I love Disneyland. Maybe, I could move there and play with the guests every day.
Traveling makes me happy. I better start saving my money, yeah?
I am a fan of volunteering, but one can't volunteer every spare hour...right?
I like taking pictures. Maybe, I'll take some photography classes.
I also want to finish a book (at some point). Maybe I'll take some creative writing/publishing classes.

That's really all I've got... Not very encouraging, is it?

*sigh*

Ants, laundry and being thankful

I have been waging a great battle. Seriously, I am currently engaged with a vast and menacing army and I don't think I'm winning. The Great Ant Battle is currently underway in my house. Ants makes me homicidal. True story. As of right now, my kitchen is torn apart because there were ants in my butter dish, on the dishes, the paper towels and in the silverware drawer. They are also hanging out in the bathrooms and wandering around Little Bit's dresser. Why they were crawling all over the extra paper towels and trooping across the top of the dresser, I'll never know. Hey, I never said ants were smart.

Anyway...

Like I said, ants makes me homicidal and being homicidal is pretty much a negative thing. As I was thinking about my blog today, I thought...I'm going to blog about the stupid ants! That will show the little bastards! But then, I remembered that ants don't have access to the internet and even if they did, I'm pretty sure they can't read.

Sooo.....

I decided to go against my deepest, darkest feelings and blog about things I'm thankful for.

Ready?

I am thankful for ants in my butter...because this means I have food in my kitchen.
I am thankful for a broken dishwasher...because this means I have dirty plates due to my kids getting to eat every day.
I am thankful for ants in the bathrooms...because this means we have indoor plumbing.
I am thankful for bills...because this means my family has a roof over our heads.
I am thankful for piles of laundry...because this means that my family has clothes on their backs.
I am thankful the stupid signs my neighbor puts in her yard...because this means our neighborhood is a safe place for kids to hang out and play.
I am thankful for ridiculous gas prices...because this means I have a car to put gas into.
I am thankful for the obscene cell phone bill my daughter ran up...because this means she has dear friends to talk to.
I am thankful for my alarm clock...because this means I have purpose every day.
I am thankful my husband works 6 days a week...because this means my family is provided for.

Did you see what I did there? Normally, I would just bitch, bitch, bitch about this stuff. But today, today, I choose joy and thankfulness.

In which I get saucy in my sleep

I don't know about you, but Winter wreaks havoc on my sleep. I know that you are just dying to know what I'm talking about because you are here on this blog that clearly never goes anywhere and is simply a product of my over active imagination.

Anyway...

In the Winter, the heat is on (because The Mr. is a delicate flower and gets cold...big baby), since the heat is on, I get parched in my sleep. Yes, parched! I use big words now, big words are cool. When I get parched, I get thirsty and when I get thirsty, I cough. And this wakes me up. Still with me?

Good.

Last night, I woke up coughing and so I got up and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. Now, here is where the story gets fuzzy. I was sure that I went right back to bed and fell asleep. Sounds legit, right? According to The Mr, this was not the case. His version of the story goes like this...

I came back to bed and sat down on the edge. And didn't take that next critical step, the lying down step. Never one to miss an opportunity, The Mr reached over and, um...placed his hand on my northern regions. My response to this? "Why, hello there!".

Now, I can't testify to the validity of this event but in all honesty, it sounds about right according to the recent night time antics my brain has been playing on me. Greeting my husband's wandering hand with a suggestive and slightly shady, "Why, hello there!" pales in comparison to my recent dream in which I was in a McDonald's bathroom and the toilets where so high up off the floor, that I had to leap up onto it and then, when I managed to get up there, the toilet became a swing toilet and there was some sort of circus happening under me.

See? Winter + heat = havoc.

Dishes, men and be kind to your nurse

I think The Mr. might be losing his eyesight. True story. Last night, I had the pleasure of having a celebratory glass of wine (okay, maybe several glasses of celebratory wine) with my very best friend, Tracy. We were toasting to the news that she was accepted into the nursing program. Not only am I excited because she's my bestie and this is her life's dream but because she will be an amazing nurse. Also, she might one day be the one to stick me with a needle and I don't know about you, but I prefer people with that kind of power to be on my side! Seriously folks, be kind to your nurses.

Anyway, before I left for her house, I made dinner, supervised homework and gave out instructions regarding showers and bedtimes. When I left, there were a few dishes in the sink, but not many. When I arrived home, about 3 hours later, it looked as if every cabinet in the kitchen had exploded and there was a pile of dishes a mile high. Not only were there dishes everywhere, but there were dishes with FOOD still on them. Really? You can't even rinse your dish off? Now, I get that men are completely unaware of where things are in the kitchen (as well as the rest of the house, apparently), but the sink is literally right next to the dishwasher. It's a one stop shop. Sink, soap, sponge, dishwasher. It's not rocket science. I know that it's not rocket science because I am not a rocket scientist and manage to do the dishes EVERY DAMN DAY.

I also know that my husband is not a completely incompetent person who would ignore the mess and go to bed and lie there with his laptop on his chest watching YouTube videos until he falls asleep. Riiiiiggghhhttt...

Therefore, the only explanation I can come to that would justify this behavior is that he's going blind. And because he's going blind, he couldn't SEE the dishes piled in the sink. And because he couldn't see them, he couldn't wash them.

See?

In which I ease my mom's worries

We are leaving for a Disney Cruise in 2 days! I'm super excited about it...so excited, in fact, that I decided to make a schedule for my mom because as moms are wont to do, she likes knowing where we are and what we're doing. I think this should ease her mind and allow her to know that we are safe and having fun!


The Sique’s Epic Adventure at Sea or…In Which We Run Away to be Pirates

Day 1 - October 28, 2012

     All Aboard by 4:00 pm (Tito mentioned something about a strip poker game. But I’m sure he was  kidding.)

Day 2 - October 29, 2012 (at sea)

    Today is “Swim With the Dolphins” day. I hope we can keep up with the ship because according to the Pirates Code, “Whoever falls behind, stays behind.”

Day 3 - October 30, 2012 (at sea)

     Today is “Job Switching” on the Disney Wonder. It’s a special time in which the guests and the crew switch places for the day. It should be a real learning experience! I hope they make me Captain.

Day 4 - October 31, 2012 (Puerto Vallarta)

     Today we have planned a great day at a spa. It’s called “Cosechamos los órganos de forma gratuita!”. I think it means, We play organs while you harvest your free spirit! Sounds pretty amazing, right?

Day 5 - November 1, 2012 (Cabo San Lucas)

     Today we plan to drop the girls off at a local school so they can learn something new and appreciate what they have at home. Then, Tito and I plan to see some local color. This may include the nearest cosmetic surgeon, a brothel and possibly the dentist. Super excited!

Day 6 - November 2, 2012 (Cabo San Lucas)

     This is our “Anything Goes” day. Discuss.

Day 7 - November 3, 2012 (at sea)

     This day is solely reserved for drinking, dancing and carrying on. And some water skiing. But that’s not definite because the waters may or may not be shark infested.

 Day 8 - November 4, 2012

     All ashore by 9:30 am. I’m sure we will have made some new friends. Looking forward to sharing our trip with you but I hope you won’t need a kidney anytime soon because Tito is a little unsure about the spa. I bet it’s fine though.

　

　

　

　

Shoplifters, Yoda and The One

Today is a special day. Today, I'm giving a big shout out to all the thieves and shoplifters out there. Now, before you become indignant, let me tell you a little story.

It starts innocently enough, the family and I headed out to the Mall to do some back-to-school shopping. We found a great deal on backpacks. Yay! As usual, The Mr. escaped to the TV section (the big baby), which happens to be right next to the bra section. In hindsight, I realize that this is, in fact, great marketing at work. Think about it, you're a man, your lady wants to look at pretty panties, "Babe, aren't these cute?". You're as cornered as a rat in a barrel. Suddenly, you see out of the corner of your eye, your White Knight. He beckons you, "Come toward the light!" You find yourself drawn like a moth to a flame, "Yeah, those are great. I'm just going to look over here...". Your lady is blissfully unaware that you have abandoned her (cardinal sin, gents) and you get to stand, slack jawed before a huge bank of TV magic.

It's a win-win.

Anyway, I left The Mr. drooling over TVs big enough to fill a wall and went in search of the ever elusive Comfortable, yet Flattering Bra. Perhaps you've heard of it. I've heard whispers, rumors..."It's true, I say. My mother's cousin knows a bartender that has a roommate who met a girl at the bank who swears that she has one! It's real!" I decided that today was my day, I was going to find this Mythical Beast. Onward!

I searched high and low, pulling style after style, color after color. The tags shouted at me, "Best Bra Ever!", "No Pinch Underwire!", "The Best Kept Secret!", "Mega Pushup!". Oh, the sensory overload. I gathered my wits about me and headed to the fitting room with an armload, thinking, "One of these has to be The One."

Things started out fairly tame. Not The One, but nothing weird either. Which, ladies, you KNOW is important when we are seeking the Care and Maintenance of "The Girls". Then, it happens.

The security device.

Don't get me wrong, I completely understand stores using these and don't disparage them for it. However, I definitely have a problem with where they have decided to attach them. Could it be on the strap, where it wouldn't interfere with the fit? No. How about on the upper area of the cup where, while it may feel awkward, wouldn't really be that big of a deal? No.

No.

The security device is on the back. Right on the clasp. Because that's THEE perfect spot to put a large, bulky plastic thing. It's so incredibly easy to reach behind you and blindly try to fasten your bra clasp when there's a plastic bulge the size of Australia. Not. If, by some miracle, you get the damn thing fastened against all odds, now you're faced with a different problem. When a woman is trying on her most important piece of clothing, it's important that it be seamless and comfortable, right? Well, nothing says comfort like Australia digging into your back. I wish ALL bras had Australia somewhere on them, it would make life much more interesting and our clothes would look just that much better on us.

So, while I was trying to appreciate the bra that may well be The One, I was also cursing shoplifters everywhere because thanks to their errant ways and general misbehavior, I got to stand in front of a fitting room mirror (or as it's more commonly know, the Fun House Mirror) and try to ignore Australia hunching on my back like Yoda. So thanks, all you rotten shoplifters, you made my day,

I did prevail, I found The One. I skipped back over to the TV section where not only was my husband still drooling over the big screens, my daughters were standing in front of a 3D TV with 3D glasses on looking like little zombies. As special thank you for "shopping" with me, I let The Mr. pay for The One. Good times.

Remember ladies, when you're faced with roadblocks on your search for The One. Don't despair. Don't give up. You too, can conquer Australia.

"Do or do not, there is no try" - Yoda

R.O.U.S.!

I went into the garage to do laundry the other day. Yes, you read that right..."The Garage" because in their infinite wisdom, the contractors that built our house didn't see fit to include a laundry room inside the house. Either that or they did not consult a woman when pondering their design. So, I walked out into the 25° icebox and began the time honored tradition of filling the washing machine with other people's dirty clothes. All of a sudden, I heard a rustling sound behind me. I turned and there, running from the bag of cat food was a R.O.U.S.

What is a R.O.U.S., you say? Let me sum up...

See? This is what was in my garage! Okay, maybe not THIS big, but big all the same. I'm not ashamed to admit that I ran away screaming, like a little girl. I immediately shouted to The Mr., "R.O.U.S., in the garage!" What do you think he did? Nothing. He remained on the couch and asked, "Are you sure?"

Well, of course I was sure! It almost leaped at me. It nearly bit me.

Alright, maybe not the leaping and biting part, but it was there! I finally convinced him that we needed to put a trap out. A BIG trap, not some little sissy trap for little mouseys. We needed to get out the big guns. Or an elephant gun. Last night he brought home a trap and set it for the R.O.U.S. I'll keep you informed as to our epic rat hunt.

On a side note, Little Bit (who turns 10 this coming Sunday), announced this morning that she thinks we should call the government R.O.U.S.', because, "They take all our money." I'm not sure how rodents and money connect in her little pea brain, but connect they do and I have to say, I think the term is pretty fitting.

Especially today...End Piracy, Not Liberty

Disneyland and my unmentionables

The Mr. and I went to Disneyland this past weekend...just the two of us. Ahh, it was bliss. We walked hand in hand through the park. We sat close to each other on the benches and gazed into each others eyes.

We also gleefully shot past families waiting in line when we heard those magic words, "Party of two?" That was US! A party of two! It's not often we get to be a party of two and we intended to enjoy it to its fullest. We also took great satisfaction in knowing that any crying children we saw or heard were NOT ours and even took to laughing maniacally when any ride instructions directed riders to "please, watch your children". Ha! What are these children you speak of? We don't have any children!

Ah, good times...

We went back to the hotel that first night tired and happy and ready to sleep deeply so we could enjoy another blissful Disney day.

I showered, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, put on my jammies and then...WTF? Where's my panties?

TMI? Sorry folks, but if I had to endure, so do you.

I forgot to pack clean panties for myself. Wow. This was definitely a first as I truly understand and appreciate the importance of clean underwear.

After tearing my suitcase apart to make sure I didn't pack them in a secret compartment that even I didn't know about, I sadly came to the conclusion that I was indeed, pantie-less.

No bueno.

After I recovered from my shock and despair, I did what any resourceful wife and mom would do. I busted open the hotel soap and had a little laundry party in the bathroom sink. Pretty good, eh? I thought so too until I woke up the next morning to find that my panties were just as wet as they had been the night before.

Now, as much as I appreciated The Mr.'s offer to "wear his" underwear, I decided that men's boxers just weren't for me. Again, I did what any resourceful wife and mom would do.

I went commando.

That's right, you heard it here first.

In the car or short trip to crazy land

My family took a mini vacation this Labor Day weekend. We traveled about 7 hours to Southern California and spent some time on the beach and with family. First and foremost, you need to know that I don't like the beach. I know, I know...what kind of crazy person am I? But really, sand in unfortunate places? No thank you. Anyway, The Mr. and the girls LOVE going, so I brought along a book and a chair and enjoyed the beachy weather while they swam. But that's not what I want to tell you. What I want to tell you is that strange things happen when 4 people are in a car for long periods of time. For instance...

Little Bit, "Mom, she bit me and she licked me"

Zippy, "Mom, she bit me and licked me first"

Little Bit, "Mom, she took Mr. Bumble (this is her Pillow Pet...clearly not to be touched). Let's take her to get the cheapest, ugliest pillow pet, then she won't take mine anymore"

Kid. You. Not.

I was also privileged enough to hear the Happy Nappers jingle, reasons why boys are dumb and a running monologue of Little Bit being Tour Guide Barbie for Mr. Bumble.

But seriously folks as much as I was glad to be home, we had a great time. Not as good of a time as I plan to have on my birthday trip to Disneyland with The Mr. but that's another story ;)

I which I tell you how it is

So, I've been thinking about the 30 Days of Truth that Weltha Jane is doing over on her bloggy blog, and I have decided to do something about it. Now, as much as I think the 30 Days that Her Highness is doing over there is completely awesome, I'm going to do mine a little different. Why? Because I can.

So, play along if you like and hang on tight.

The Truth According to Me

Day 1 (of 30ish)

Things I Love
My pastor (who is absolutely amazing by the way) spoke once about how we as people overuse the word LOVE. I never really thought about it before, but he is right in a big way. Think about it...I LOVE coffee. I LOVE my boots. I LOVE Artichoke Cappellini. Do I really love those things? Probably not. Since hearing this message from him, I have made an effort to curb my use of the word Love, in order to preserve its precious meaning. As part of this Truth series, I was thinking about things that I truly love and why I love them.

I love my husband. Now, you might be thinking, "Well of course she loves her husband. What a dumbass." But seriously folks, think about how many people don't love their spouse. I can truly say that I love this man. He makes me absolutely furious as times and sometimes, I can't stand the sight of his face, but that does not change the fact that I love him. It's been 17 years and my heart still flutters for him and I'll tell you why.

I love that he works like a madman in order to provide for his family
I love that he doesn't give me a hard time when I go out and play with my girlfriends
I love that when Zippy was a little girl and was obsessed with the movie Shrek, especially the wedding scene, The Mr. let her "marry" him over and over and over...
I love that he puts me and the girls first. Always.
I love that he looks at home and gardening magazines and books with me and tries really hard not to fall asleep
I love that he cheers me on when I get frustrated and exhausted with school.
I love that he will defend me to anyone, anytime, anyplace
I love that he loves me whether I'm fat or thin
I love that whenever I leave the house, he asks me, "Do you need money?"
I love that he will play games with the girls and I

He is not a perfect man and we have had our share of fuck-ups, but you know what? At the end of the day, those don't matter. What matters is that we made it through another day and tomorrow, we will choose to do it again.

Paper towels, my dad and my destiny

I married my dad. Well, okay... not literally, but almost.

Growing up, there was this strange phenomena that occurred every single morning. I never actually witnessed the event, but I can personally attest to its occurrence. Every morning, after my dad was done...doing whatever he did... in the kitchen, there was a crumpled up paper towel on the counter. Right smack in the middle of the counter. On this paper towel was a smear of avocado, just a smear. Now, our kitchen was like any other kitchen in that it had a garbage can in it. Right out in the open! In plain view! Not mysterious in its location. Yet, the actual throwing away of the paper towel alluded the user. I tell you, it was the oddest thing.

Now, being the young intellectual that I was, I quickly caught on that my dad was leaving this little treasure on the counter every morning. Why he was doing this has remained unknown and is one of our families great legends and will be retold for generations to come. *this is said with great drama and a grand sweeping of the arms*

Okay, maybe the part about great legends was the tiniest fabrication.

My mom and I have discussed this paper towel in great depth. Neither of us can figure out why he did this (and still does as far as I know). I suggested she just leave the towels on the counter and perhaps add her own touch of flair to the whole ordeal. Maybe just a touch of lipstick or some dribble of the fiber drink she consumes every morning. *gags* Sadly, my mom does not find these ideas as entertaining as I do.

Back to why I have married my dad. The Mr. does not leave a tenderly smooshed paper towel on the counter. What he DOES do is just as irritating though. I swear, every time he makes any kind of toast, he leaves a huge, crumby mess on the counter. It's like he's gathering his troops of crumbs to form his very own Crumb Army. Really? Is it that hard to sweep the crumbs into his hand and dust them off in the sink? They're just crumbs! Why do we have to save them? It's not like they're priceless jewels! It's not like I can claim they carry the image of a saint or George Clooney and sham people out thousands of dollars on eBay. Come on!

So, there you have it. I did that which I swore I would never do. Dammit, foiled again.