Sunday, February 10, 2013
Sunday, February 3, 2013
The male peacock.
My husband and I have this on going conversation about how men with babies attached to them, not unlike wounded war victims, are somehow heroic and women, with these same accessories are seen as, oh, I don't know- overwhelmed.
"You sure got your hands full." says every robotic person on the planet that comes into to contact with me. When clearly, yes, with my cellphone in one hand (snapping IG pictures) and a Target shopping list in the other, I might literally have my "hands full". Let me preface this with, I do not think this is in any way, shape or form meant as a compliment or even a reassuring comment about my awesomeness as a Mother. It is more like, "geez lady, how many kids do you have?".
And no I am not always snapping pics or shopping at Target but running errands is when I hear the most chatter. The most judgment comes when I am dashing from one place to another, with a child on my hip, one at my feet and another one by my side. I am one of those people that will do everything outside the home in the same day. I hit the post and the market and the craft store and the pet store and the doctor and the dentist (well...?) in one day, all the other days, I am "working".
Enough about me.
Enter to the story, let's just say, my husband. And what do you know, he is SUPER DAD! All the old ladies are looking at him adoringly and thinking "oh his wife is SO lucky, look at what a hands on Dad he is". The mere sight of this guy with a toddler and a sippy cup and he's the fucking Pope of all Daddy's. He is a god damn saint. These ladies have no idea my husband is afraid to walk out of the house with all of our kids, let alone sit down at anything more than a coffee shop with them. They don't realize he has only been out of the house for 8 minutes and he will be quickly heading home, as to not exceed his 12 minute rendevous with our brood.
Now is the time I should add the information that my husband IS, in fact, a fantastic Dad. He is supportive, he is strong and a total softy. He teaches them how to play guitar, has a princess voice and how to grow a garden. He changes diapers and wears them (the kids, not the diapers) in a sling, pushes a stroller. The bastard even plays ponies.
BUT! Why in the shit-storm that I am creating, is he put on the Papa pedestal and I merely look like I'm in too deep?
And I get it, I am! I know I am. But why isn't he? I am out numbered like a motherfucker, but so is he! I have three kids, two are 3 and under but SO DOES HE!
He... let's be honest, he doesn't and can't do half the shit I do, nor do I want him to. He wouldn't want me on stage playing the bass and singing "Smoke of Hell" anymore than I want him handling this mess.
It's an agreement we have. I'm like "stay out of my way and be helpful" and he's like "stay off the stage". "Okay?" "Okay."
My problem isn't with him. When I see him wearing the baby in a sling or holding hands with our girl, I get all weak in the knees too but I'm not chasing after him because he dropped his binky.
People will sit and stare at him at restaurants when he is sitting with the kids but if it is just me and them, they are praying not to be getting set next to us.
People dash over and hold the door for the guy with a stroller, I get the same door dropped on mine. Recently I saw people stare at him from across the room at the library, he had the baby in the stroller and was helping our daughter find a book. They have no idea he hasn't used his library card in so long, they had it flagged so he could be issued a new one.
I feel a little like I am dogging him out. Like I am saying he doesn't deserve this praise, well of course he does. Parenting is not for pussies. Any two people can make a baby but the endurance to not only raise a child, but raise them right... this is something many (most?) fail at. The will do it for a few years and the kids get into school and their gone. Or worse, be a helicopter parent until the kid gets into middle school and then they just set them free. They have no idea it is like letting a lion out in a bunny farm. Bad idea. That is when they need the most parenting... I think of it as them being toddlers all over. Remember when they start getting mobile and crawling turns to walking? Just when you thought you had it all under control, the kid calls an audible. It's like that, but that is a whole different entry I guess.
I don't think I need to be thanked for the thankless job I am doing every day. I chose it, I CHOOSE it but seeing the differences, they just make me laugh. They make my husband laugh too, he thinks it's hilarious, he enjoys seeing people fawn over him like they would a male peacock. Do we ever notice the female? NO. No fancy tail, no fucking fawning.
I would finish this off with a nice rounded ending, but I am going to go stay up late tonight and watch a movie, so tomorrow morning Mr. Wonderful can go out and turn the fucking park upside down.
"You sure got your hands full." says every robotic person on the planet that comes into to contact with me. When clearly, yes, with my cellphone in one hand (snapping IG pictures) and a Target shopping list in the other, I might literally have my "hands full". Let me preface this with, I do not think this is in any way, shape or form meant as a compliment or even a reassuring comment about my awesomeness as a Mother. It is more like, "geez lady, how many kids do you have?".
And no I am not always snapping pics or shopping at Target but running errands is when I hear the most chatter. The most judgment comes when I am dashing from one place to another, with a child on my hip, one at my feet and another one by my side. I am one of those people that will do everything outside the home in the same day. I hit the post and the market and the craft store and the pet store and the doctor and the dentist (well...?) in one day, all the other days, I am "working".
Enough about me.
Enter to the story, let's just say, my husband. And what do you know, he is SUPER DAD! All the old ladies are looking at him adoringly and thinking "oh his wife is SO lucky, look at what a hands on Dad he is". The mere sight of this guy with a toddler and a sippy cup and he's the fucking Pope of all Daddy's. He is a god damn saint. These ladies have no idea my husband is afraid to walk out of the house with all of our kids, let alone sit down at anything more than a coffee shop with them. They don't realize he has only been out of the house for 8 minutes and he will be quickly heading home, as to not exceed his 12 minute rendevous with our brood.
Now is the time I should add the information that my husband IS, in fact, a fantastic Dad. He is supportive, he is strong and a total softy. He teaches them how to play guitar, has a princess voice and how to grow a garden. He changes diapers and wears them (the kids, not the diapers) in a sling, pushes a stroller. The bastard even plays ponies.
BUT! Why in the shit-storm that I am creating, is he put on the Papa pedestal and I merely look like I'm in too deep?
And I get it, I am! I know I am. But why isn't he? I am out numbered like a motherfucker, but so is he! I have three kids, two are 3 and under but SO DOES HE!
He... let's be honest, he doesn't and can't do half the shit I do, nor do I want him to. He wouldn't want me on stage playing the bass and singing "Smoke of Hell" anymore than I want him handling this mess.
It's an agreement we have. I'm like "stay out of my way and be helpful" and he's like "stay off the stage". "Okay?" "Okay."
My problem isn't with him. When I see him wearing the baby in a sling or holding hands with our girl, I get all weak in the knees too but I'm not chasing after him because he dropped his binky.
People will sit and stare at him at restaurants when he is sitting with the kids but if it is just me and them, they are praying not to be getting set next to us.
People dash over and hold the door for the guy with a stroller, I get the same door dropped on mine. Recently I saw people stare at him from across the room at the library, he had the baby in the stroller and was helping our daughter find a book. They have no idea he hasn't used his library card in so long, they had it flagged so he could be issued a new one.
I feel a little like I am dogging him out. Like I am saying he doesn't deserve this praise, well of course he does. Parenting is not for pussies. Any two people can make a baby but the endurance to not only raise a child, but raise them right... this is something many (most?) fail at. The will do it for a few years and the kids get into school and their gone. Or worse, be a helicopter parent until the kid gets into middle school and then they just set them free. They have no idea it is like letting a lion out in a bunny farm. Bad idea. That is when they need the most parenting... I think of it as them being toddlers all over. Remember when they start getting mobile and crawling turns to walking? Just when you thought you had it all under control, the kid calls an audible. It's like that, but that is a whole different entry I guess.
I don't think I need to be thanked for the thankless job I am doing every day. I chose it, I CHOOSE it but seeing the differences, they just make me laugh. They make my husband laugh too, he thinks it's hilarious, he enjoys seeing people fawn over him like they would a male peacock. Do we ever notice the female? NO. No fancy tail, no fucking fawning.
I would finish this off with a nice rounded ending, but I am going to go stay up late tonight and watch a movie, so tomorrow morning Mr. Wonderful can go out and turn the fucking park upside down.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Happy Thanksgiving, all your crap is busted.
It is Thanksgiving... well, actually it isn't anymore. It's is 12 a.m. on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving and I have no idea what the date is. Which is beside the point.
It's over. It was nice because my Mother came up for a week but I think I have one too many kids to sneak upstairs and take a nap for 3 hours midday. Shit.
Anyway, all of that hoopla for it and then, boom. (so anti-climatic, it doesn't even deserve all cap's).
It was nice. I have nothing to complain about and everything to be thankful for but it seems a little amiss, as I miss my husband. And since it is officially past, I am not going to talk about it.
He isn't here and hasn't been for what can only be known as A REALLY FUCKING LONG TIME! Notice the cap's, this has climax. Heh heh heh...
When he returns on Christmas eve (yes. Christmas eve) he will have been home no more than 6 days in 15 weeks. Annnnnnnnd, that's a lot. (Oh and we have a baby that is 21 weeks old, so no big deal.
I miss him and I miss the whole family dynamic, I feel very much as though we are growing over him like skin would grow over a bb, embedded into your chest. Even though that is a gross thought, it is very much the way it feels and that sucks.
I worry. I worry that we may unintentionally take on our own lives and never be able to meet up again. Physically we will be in that place but mentally and emotionally, it seems very possible. There seems to be a growing trend in couples splitting up. Ones that have been together longer, ones that seemed way better matched (E and I are opposites down to the bone), I just wonder what happens? It is as if I am less scared about "it" happening and more afraid of "what"? Like, what happens? I am still very much in love and he me, so if we find ourselves in that spot do we like... get a memo? Is there an app for that?
I hate being honest in a blog but I was told recently that I should keep writing and because there are seemingly deeper issues going on in my head, it seems odd but then I'm like "fuck it". If you are going to do it, do it. So I'm doing it. Well, writing that is.
I am not leaving my husband, so ladies- settle the shit down. I am just stating that there comes a time in your life, when you are married to a rock n' roller, that you go- "oh." and then you sigh and hope to cuss he is thinking the same thing. It is a very big "oh" and more like an "ooooooooooooooooooh", like "I knew this or I should have and yet here we are, learning fucking chinese" but in a way it is comforting to know we are learning chinese together. Although he is a slack ass student and you know what I mean, guys are LAZY! They don't know what to do or say and they just pretend you will forget and blah..... I say stupid shit like "you need to do stuff" and he's like "ok, (image of a dumb, panting dog.... nnnnnnNOW!) like what?" and I'm all "I can't tellllllll you what to do, then I might as well do it for myself. You need to think of stuff and do it and mean it and..." and he says nothing but I am fluent in thought bubble, I can even read it over the phone- so I know he's like "... then why don't you just... do... it... yourself...?!!"
It's all the same. Don't matter if your man digs a ditch or signs CD's at 2 a.m. I know, I know. I am not special and I don't get treated special and that is fine by me but at least you get to sleep next to your stinkin', snorin', bed hoggin', ditch diggin' husband every night.
It's over. It was nice because my Mother came up for a week but I think I have one too many kids to sneak upstairs and take a nap for 3 hours midday. Shit.
Anyway, all of that hoopla for it and then, boom. (so anti-climatic, it doesn't even deserve all cap's).
It was nice. I have nothing to complain about and everything to be thankful for but it seems a little amiss, as I miss my husband. And since it is officially past, I am not going to talk about it.
He isn't here and hasn't been for what can only be known as A REALLY FUCKING LONG TIME! Notice the cap's, this has climax. Heh heh heh...
When he returns on Christmas eve (yes. Christmas eve) he will have been home no more than 6 days in 15 weeks. Annnnnnnnd, that's a lot. (Oh and we have a baby that is 21 weeks old, so no big deal.
I miss him and I miss the whole family dynamic, I feel very much as though we are growing over him like skin would grow over a bb, embedded into your chest. Even though that is a gross thought, it is very much the way it feels and that sucks.
I worry. I worry that we may unintentionally take on our own lives and never be able to meet up again. Physically we will be in that place but mentally and emotionally, it seems very possible. There seems to be a growing trend in couples splitting up. Ones that have been together longer, ones that seemed way better matched (E and I are opposites down to the bone), I just wonder what happens? It is as if I am less scared about "it" happening and more afraid of "what"? Like, what happens? I am still very much in love and he me, so if we find ourselves in that spot do we like... get a memo? Is there an app for that?
I hate being honest in a blog but I was told recently that I should keep writing and because there are seemingly deeper issues going on in my head, it seems odd but then I'm like "fuck it". If you are going to do it, do it. So I'm doing it. Well, writing that is.
I am not leaving my husband, so ladies- settle the shit down. I am just stating that there comes a time in your life, when you are married to a rock n' roller, that you go- "oh." and then you sigh and hope to cuss he is thinking the same thing. It is a very big "oh" and more like an "ooooooooooooooooooh", like "I knew this or I should have and yet here we are, learning fucking chinese" but in a way it is comforting to know we are learning chinese together. Although he is a slack ass student and you know what I mean, guys are LAZY! They don't know what to do or say and they just pretend you will forget and blah..... I say stupid shit like "you need to do stuff" and he's like "ok, (image of a dumb, panting dog.... nnnnnnNOW!) like what?" and I'm all "I can't tellllllll you what to do, then I might as well do it for myself. You need to think of stuff and do it and mean it and..." and he says nothing but I am fluent in thought bubble, I can even read it over the phone- so I know he's like "... then why don't you just... do... it... yourself...?!!"
It's all the same. Don't matter if your man digs a ditch or signs CD's at 2 a.m. I know, I know. I am not special and I don't get treated special and that is fine by me but at least you get to sleep next to your stinkin', snorin', bed hoggin', ditch diggin' husband every night.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Shit!
My iPhone has eaten 3000 pics!! I'm so sad, it seems they are gone... It did that photo library "cleaning" and left me w/ the first 327 pics only.
Gulp.
Gulp.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
IG killed FB
and that is fine by me.
There are few gadgetry things that I get hooked on.
I don't know where my ipod is but I do know it is the first generation mini. It's real old and it was loaded by my husband before he gave it to me as a gift (back when he got me gifts, ahem)
I am pretty big on FB but over the last 6 months I am less and less about chatting and just about posting pictures taken from my IG account. To those who don't use IG, you will not understand, to those that do- will.
I can't get enough.
At first I didn't really get it but it gave me a way to manipulate my pics of my kids, so I was into it.
Then I started to get followers. Then I started to follow. Then came the comments.
Something about someone telling you they hope your child feels better, when you've posted a pic of a sick babe, I don't know, it just feels like I am connected to the world. And the best part- not the whole world, just those who are genuinely interested in my world and more often than not, mine theirs.
It's cool to be a fly on the wall in their world. Looking through feeds of homeschoolers and their kids. Watching babies grow up. It's personal and yet narcissistic in the most perfect way. I blog so I know I like to hear myself "talk" but pictures... it's different. Sometimes it is hard to find the words, that is why so many blogs go unwatched. Actually that is why so many people don't have blogs, aren't writers and don't rely on post-its to guide them through their days. At times I'll get a quiet moment and come to the computer with a cup of tea and I just don't have it in me. It's either tough to put into words or there are so many words, my hands can't keep up, so I leave, curl up in my bed and take a nap.
Which to be honest, every time I am on the computer and the babies are sleeping, I think "you should go to sleep". I should and I will try but really I will just lay in bed, quietly and flip through IG.
There are few gadgetry things that I get hooked on.
I don't know where my ipod is but I do know it is the first generation mini. It's real old and it was loaded by my husband before he gave it to me as a gift (back when he got me gifts, ahem)
I am pretty big on FB but over the last 6 months I am less and less about chatting and just about posting pictures taken from my IG account. To those who don't use IG, you will not understand, to those that do- will.
I can't get enough.
At first I didn't really get it but it gave me a way to manipulate my pics of my kids, so I was into it.
Then I started to get followers. Then I started to follow. Then came the comments.
Something about someone telling you they hope your child feels better, when you've posted a pic of a sick babe, I don't know, it just feels like I am connected to the world. And the best part- not the whole world, just those who are genuinely interested in my world and more often than not, mine theirs.
It's cool to be a fly on the wall in their world. Looking through feeds of homeschoolers and their kids. Watching babies grow up. It's personal and yet narcissistic in the most perfect way. I blog so I know I like to hear myself "talk" but pictures... it's different. Sometimes it is hard to find the words, that is why so many blogs go unwatched. Actually that is why so many people don't have blogs, aren't writers and don't rely on post-its to guide them through their days. At times I'll get a quiet moment and come to the computer with a cup of tea and I just don't have it in me. It's either tough to put into words or there are so many words, my hands can't keep up, so I leave, curl up in my bed and take a nap.
Which to be honest, every time I am on the computer and the babies are sleeping, I think "you should go to sleep". I should and I will try but really I will just lay in bed, quietly and flip through IG.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Call the fuzz.
Really. I have to call, EVERYTIME I see them "drunk and disorderly"?
Well fuck it. I will.
I found out, thanks to my husband who did the digging, that the steps to take are as follows.
Step 1. See disgusting behavior.
Step 2. Call the 5-0.
Step 3. ABSO-FUCKING-NOTHING.
Step 4. Repeat.
So here goes. I am going to rotate through these ridiculous steps and see if I can't bug the shit out of someone. After all my husband is on tour, so I need to bug someone.
Remember when you were young, like before legal drinking age, and you'd walk around with your friends and drink your poison (5 O'Clock vodka for me... I shudder to think) and when one of them would get out of hand, you would actually be trying to get them to act right, get them home or at least tell them to shut up? I do. I remember being aware that I could, oh I don't know GET ARRESTED, so that kept me in line, somewhat.
Today I met a friend at said park and she had read my recent blog entry. Wouldn't you know it, we got a repeat. Although this time we were there first, we sat in the benches with a back and we didn't move when they rolled in with their filthy mouths and filthier clothes (Elvis, "what's that smell Mommy?" Me, "good question"). So they are there, not yet drunk enough to fist fight but there was some yelling and one guy laying on the bench actually rolled off into the bushes and yes, he stayed down. I couldn't help but think I am turning cold because I did not give a shit if he was dead. I was just glad he didn't get back up on the bench- more room for the parents that are daring (less and less) to bring their kids.
Let me say this real quick, cause I have to go, if you are in a park and this is happening, take a stand. Do something. I think I will detour in my car anytime I am driving in the hood and if they are there (who am I kidding, they LIVE THERE) I am going to call the Pigs. "drunk and disorderly on 58th and 22nd NW", if I WE call enough, they might just have to do something.
Well fuck it. I will.
I found out, thanks to my husband who did the digging, that the steps to take are as follows.
Step 1. See disgusting behavior.
Step 2. Call the 5-0.
Step 3. ABSO-FUCKING-NOTHING.
Step 4. Repeat.
So here goes. I am going to rotate through these ridiculous steps and see if I can't bug the shit out of someone. After all my husband is on tour, so I need to bug someone.
Remember when you were young, like before legal drinking age, and you'd walk around with your friends and drink your poison (5 O'Clock vodka for me... I shudder to think) and when one of them would get out of hand, you would actually be trying to get them to act right, get them home or at least tell them to shut up? I do. I remember being aware that I could, oh I don't know GET ARRESTED, so that kept me in line, somewhat.
Today I met a friend at said park and she had read my recent blog entry. Wouldn't you know it, we got a repeat. Although this time we were there first, we sat in the benches with a back and we didn't move when they rolled in with their filthy mouths and filthier clothes (Elvis, "what's that smell Mommy?" Me, "good question"). So they are there, not yet drunk enough to fist fight but there was some yelling and one guy laying on the bench actually rolled off into the bushes and yes, he stayed down. I couldn't help but think I am turning cold because I did not give a shit if he was dead. I was just glad he didn't get back up on the bench- more room for the parents that are daring (less and less) to bring their kids.
Let me say this real quick, cause I have to go, if you are in a park and this is happening, take a stand. Do something. I think I will detour in my car anytime I am driving in the hood and if they are there (who am I kidding, they LIVE THERE) I am going to call the Pigs. "drunk and disorderly on 58th and 22nd NW", if I WE call enough, they might just have to do something.
Monday, September 17, 2012
This bums for you.
I like to think of myself as a pretty cool cucumber. When there is something to get mad about I like to think I do my best not to care. This is not to say I am mean or cold hearted. I am sensitive and caring and compationate. I buy the "Real Change" mag, I have "bum dollars" in my car to hand out at the random stop lights. I help wheelchair bound people reach high stuff in the market. I hold the door, let mergers in, I always let the guy on the right go around the "round abouts" and I would hand a dollar up to a man that dropped it. Shit, I would hand up $100 bill.
There are so many more examples. It's just been who knows how long since I have had time to write and now that I have a minute (like 4) I want to just get this off my chest.
Today as I was walking up to our local grassy knoll, splash park/benches galore, favorite hang out here in Ballard, I noticed something. 26 bums.
Bums (and if there was another word for them, I'd use it. Homeless, yes, but these guys, are b.u.m.s.).
It is not unlike this park to house a handful (okay, maybe 2) of these guys but today, it took my breath away- in the "go the fuck away!" kinda way. It pissed me off.
This is a splash park where little kids run half naked on hot days. It is where my son skateboards, it is where we have at least 3 outings to a week when the weather is nice. It is the American dream. We can walk there.
There have been more than one occasion of fights. Yelling matches and pot smoking. All of which I just go about my business. I am always of the mind that "they" need a place to hang out too. I have actually said this out load.
Today I had planned to go and nurse the baby on a bench, while my toddler... well, toddled in the water, chase birds- people watch but I couldn't get past the rage I had that every single bench was full. There are a ton. There are many, many places to sit and they were all taken. One was actually open, this is where I sat and right next to it a grocery cart full of what could only be the rotting carcass of an old, giant squid.
So what? What the fuck to do?
I am sick of these smoking (I actually don't mind the pot as much as the cigarettes), fall down drunk, screaming, swearing FILTHY fools. I am sick of it. I will not retreat to my home. I will not feel bad anymore that they don't have a place to go. GO TO THE FUCKING GRASS, OUT OF THE WAY OF THE KIDS RUNNING BY YOUR GODDAMN BEER CANS, STEPPING ON YOUR CIGARETTE BUTTS!
I am going to do something. I am not going to let this go. I am nice, but I'm not a dumb bitch. I know I have some goddamn rights here. There has got to be something said for all that is going on in the park and NOTHING happens and I got a ticket parking in front of MY HOME for facing the wrong way.
I fought that ticket and I won.
Imma' win this shit too.
There are so many more examples. It's just been who knows how long since I have had time to write and now that I have a minute (like 4) I want to just get this off my chest.
Today as I was walking up to our local grassy knoll, splash park/benches galore, favorite hang out here in Ballard, I noticed something. 26 bums.
Bums (and if there was another word for them, I'd use it. Homeless, yes, but these guys, are b.u.m.s.).
It is not unlike this park to house a handful (okay, maybe 2) of these guys but today, it took my breath away- in the "go the fuck away!" kinda way. It pissed me off.
This is a splash park where little kids run half naked on hot days. It is where my son skateboards, it is where we have at least 3 outings to a week when the weather is nice. It is the American dream. We can walk there.
There have been more than one occasion of fights. Yelling matches and pot smoking. All of which I just go about my business. I am always of the mind that "they" need a place to hang out too. I have actually said this out load.
Today I had planned to go and nurse the baby on a bench, while my toddler... well, toddled in the water, chase birds- people watch but I couldn't get past the rage I had that every single bench was full. There are a ton. There are many, many places to sit and they were all taken. One was actually open, this is where I sat and right next to it a grocery cart full of what could only be the rotting carcass of an old, giant squid.
So what? What the fuck to do?
I am sick of these smoking (I actually don't mind the pot as much as the cigarettes), fall down drunk, screaming, swearing FILTHY fools. I am sick of it. I will not retreat to my home. I will not feel bad anymore that they don't have a place to go. GO TO THE FUCKING GRASS, OUT OF THE WAY OF THE KIDS RUNNING BY YOUR GODDAMN BEER CANS, STEPPING ON YOUR CIGARETTE BUTTS!
I am going to do something. I am not going to let this go. I am nice, but I'm not a dumb bitch. I know I have some goddamn rights here. There has got to be something said for all that is going on in the park and NOTHING happens and I got a ticket parking in front of MY HOME for facing the wrong way.
I fought that ticket and I won.
Imma' win this shit too.
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