Where I'm From

I've been itching to do this since I saw it on Jennifer's blog last week - but time, it gets in the way.


There is a template to do this exercise and it is a mind-stretcher....


In doing this, I pulled up Google maps of my old neighborhood using street view.  And wow, did it put things in perspective for me.  I remembered being poor, but seeing the grounds I lived my first 14 years in, and remembering them having always been exactly that way - not merely run down by time as my husband suggested - really brought it home for me how vastly different my life is today.  Kelso, WA, particularly South Kelso, where I grew up, is very poor.


I am from overcast skies, from Weyerhaeuser paper and totem poles


I am from tired and worn streets with semis parked in front of dilapidated homes, from backyard slews whose banks were littered with treasures neighborhood hobos had left behind for The Boxcar Children


I am from the unruly wild blackberry brambles, ancient forests of the giant Douglas Firs with spongy trails to explore, and the scarred horizon St. Helens left behind


I am from friendship outweighing blood when it comes to who gets the title of Aunt, strong women drinking coffee and Kahlua (decades before the happy hour playdate ever made the Today Show), from Mamie  and Shearan Ann and Tara Melody


I am from the we fight because we love each others and pleas to rise above it all


From Daddy’s gone away and social services entangled in all aspects of life


I am from a hodgepodge of invitations to church with neighbors and friends. From the VBS’s held by kind, white-haired ladies at the clubhouse of the housing projects each year


I'm from the poverty of Arkansas jumping at the opportunity of the Northwest timber industry, from Scots and Irish who worked hard and drank harder, from sweet tea and Sunday night family suppers of pork and dumplings (Grandma detested chicken)


From the woman who worked three jobs to keep food on our table, teachers who gave more than a damn and actually changed lives, and the three best buds a girl could ask to play The Boxcar Children with


I am from a cardboard box in a cool basement storage room in NW Colorado, a thousand plus miles from where I started, in which baby books, recorded by a poor, teenage girl’s bubbly script, attempt to demonstrate the love she always struggled with showing as we got older.  Those words, may as well have been written in gold – for they show that she always intended to try her best; I know now that she did


********
Next, I'd like to write one for how I hope my children would fill theirs out....

Quotable...

Last night I was driving the kids back from the Boys and Girls Club and the topic of conversation was fixated on their impending sleepovers with friends.

We were talking transportation, and I told Middleton we'd pick up his friend, Birthday Buddy, after we got Screech and were heading home.  Special K pipes up, "But what about A?" (A is her friend who will also be staying over, and driving home with us).

At that moment I realize, indeed, as initially planned, we would have more children than seatbelts, and I said, "Well, we'd figure something out."

Special K then suggests, "You should drop me and A off, and then go get Birthday Buddy, because we're responsible.  For a minute or two, anyway."

I laughed and laughed at her candor and accuracy.

I'm compelled to tell the kettle it's black

According to the old adage, that'd make me a pot, eh?  Guess that would also make me black (taking a wild stab here, but I'd assume this cliche was born in the era of cast iron).

A few weeks ago, when I started this blog, I thought I might convince myself [and you!] to quit wallowing in the sea of self-deprecation and dive on into the less familiar waters of self-acceptance.

Hah...I wrote this and a day later, while running!, heard a new[er] song by Jennifer Knapp [LOVE her!] that has a similar theme of water and self-acceptance - crazy. Check this out: 

I'm so tired of standing on the edge of myself.  You know I'm longing for it.  To dive in, dive in

Alas, I've been in a funk.

I've felt distant from God, due to my own reluctance to engage with Him or His Word.  It's not that I'm struggling with faith or have stopped believing...it's more just a hard time feeling His presence and thus not feeling up to doing the work to find Him again.

And with that, everything seems wrong....

My cluttered house is not at all like the neighbors' homes, which albeit just as small as ours, are well organized and decorated and always clean.

My friends who are going here and there to eat and to this show or that event are so lucky.  We've been home bound and while I like to cook, the kitchen seems like such a ball and chain when the budget is non-gourmet and time is slim.

 And vacation? What is that?  As Special K is fond of pointing out, we never go on vacation.  Save for an occasional weekend camping trip or visit to Craig, she's right.  

One of my personal favorites though, is how my children are the ones that make everyone else's look like angels when in the company of other parents/children.

The other old fave?  Body image.  Sigh.

A friend of mine invited us to her neighborhood pool the other day, and we gladly accepted the reprieve from 90 degree weather.  I normally don't have too much issue with swimsuits these days b/c usually the other mothers have comparable bodies to mine.  There is confidence in numbers of other women bearing the evidence of motherhood.  Not so [for me] in this neighborhood.  It is a more affluent area and it wasn't just that they were all so pretty in the face and thin with flat tummies, no, it was the 6-12 month old babies they each had on their laps with nary a stretch mark or bulge to show for it that got to me.  I felt the unevenness of my wayward unbraced teeth press against my lips in self-consciousness, and it seemed like each instance of cellulite on my wide thighs (many, no exaggeration) pushed outward like goosebumps.  Was I in Stepford? I began to wonder.

I'm up 12lbs from where I was 6 months ago and the clothes fit tighter.  This is largely due to the lack of running I've done over the winter/early spring.  Said lack of running was caused by a number of factors, namely the damnable winds we had.

I'm just trying to sufficiently set the stage for y'all to understand the pity party my mind has been of late.

I had a breakthrough this week though.

I was determined to start running regularly and be active again.

So I went Tuesday.  Ran 1.5 miles before I had to walk, and did intermittently walked and ran for a total of 4 miles.

Wednesday night we rode our bikes as a family to/from church (12 miles).  I had a mtg afterward for upcoming camp and the fam left 20ish minutes before me.  I caught them for the last 5 minutes of our ride home (with kids it's about 40 minutes) - I was booking it!

Thursday I ran and walked for 3.8 miles, averaging a 13:38/mile pace.

Yesterday, I ran a full 3.5 miles before caving to walking (albeit with a potty break at about 2.6 miles), and walked the remaining .5 of my loop.

All of this activity has been awesome and just this spark I've needed to recapture glimpses of God.  Soaking up His sunny days, singing along with my worship and praise music, and the awesome reminder of just how far physically He's brought me in the past two years, together, these things have revived my desire for Him and for serving my family, helped me get back on track, and given me an overall sense of zen that I've been lacking for quite awhile.

Guess that means it's true.

I'm a Christian runner.

When I'm not true to that, when I don't carve out time for my runs with God, everything else in life falls apart.

Scars

I've been in something of a quandary lately regarding just how open a person ought* to be in the age of Facebook and instant information being at the ready with a few clicks of a mouse.

*said level of openness gauged by the fact that colleagues, church members, old friends you really have no intention of being truly intimate with again, etc can know pretty much whatever you decide to put out there in 2.5 seconds flat thanks to Google and/or Facebook.

It's been said by many a blogger that blogging is a much cheaper alternative to therapy, and I'd count myself in that chorus.  I've rehashed old wounds, sought validation, and fixated on the scars left behind via this medium.  And I've loved it.

But Facebook came along, and in my attempts to pursue the commercial blogging route I posted my blogfeed on Facebook.  It garnered hits, for sure.  But suddenly, people reading were no longer random connections on the internet - no, there were my Sunday pewmates - many of whom I didn't go past the "Hi, how are you?" depth of conversation while face to face - and fellow do-gooders - many of whom could be potential references or employers - reading all about my sordid past, my marital issues, my inability to balance a checkbook, etc. and then two things would happen: 1.) These people, who I knew fairly superficially, would come up to me (face to face at church or via post/msg on blog/FB) and suddenly know all about me with me knowing little to nothing about them - and lopsided intimacy pretty much sucks, y'all; it tends to generate pity.  2.) Other people did NOT want to know these things and thus began to avoid me.  And that's not awkward at all, right?

So then I started to question myself.  Have I just shot myself in the foot with all of these confessional posts?  Have I become one of those people who is TOO open?

And cue the music...I begin to hear the Newsboys asking me:

Why you holdin' grudges in old jars /  Why you wanna show off all your scars? / What's it gonna take to lay a few burdens down?  / It's a beautiful sound....

Scars are a funny thing.  Most of the time, they go unnoticed, but every now and again, they might itch and beg for attention, drawing your mind to them.

They, like most things in life, can mean very different things with a shift in perspective; scars can signify victimization and burden us with baggage, or they can remind us of battles from which we emerged victorious, stronger, and bless us with gratitude.

I find that I cycle through these two perspectives, and that sometimes, the latter one can resemble the first when we get stuck on describing the battle.  A lot of my writing after I faced my own mortality two years ago fell in this category...

In the end, I decided to own my scars and to count them as mementos of triumph versus reliving all the bad.  But here's the thing....by pretending I don't have any scars, i.e. not acknowledging them, robs me of opportunity to witness just how far God has delivered me.  So I will continue to write - albeit more cautiously with respect to who my audience may be.

Sidenote - an appropos exchange with the kids re: scars:
Middleton: Mama, Special K says you have thousands of scars!  Do you?
Me: Well, I wouldn't say thousands...
Special K: Would you say hundreds?
Me: Hmmm...I'm not sure.
Middleton: well, which ones doe you have?
Me: Well, I have my scar from surgery, two scars from the chest tubes, two from the pic lines, one on my neck, the time I had stitches as a kid....
Then as my shirt rode up and I caught glimpse of my crepe paper belly with lines of silver all over it, I laughed.
Me: You might just be right, Special K.  I could have thousands of scars.  They're called stretch marks, and they all remind me of that special time when you were inside my belly!

Packing Up

It's time to move on from this place.

5 years is a long time, and I'm finding that I'm just not the same person I was when I started this blog.  I've moved on and started another - but am somewhat cautious about inviting everyone I know to it.  If you wish to follow, simply send me an email at hthrmyr (at) gmail (dot) com.

Blessings!

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Welcome!

Five years after I started my first blog, Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child, I decided it is time for change.

At Ramblings, I did a lot of shadow-boxing, working through multiple depressions, role strain, and many other quarter-life crisis topics.  I also chronicled some sweet memories of my two older kiddos, so it wasn't all bad ;)

I identified myself as being the odd man out - hence the whole red-headed step-child beat - but at some point, I began to feel as if that put a chip on my shoulder, that I was playing victim to my circumstances.

This new blog is to pay homage to the fact that life happens.  And rarely according to plan, particularly ours.  I believe that God has a plan for us all, though, and sometimes that means stops, yields and complete detours on the paths we set out upon in order to remain in accordance with His will.

Also of note?  This idea that we have to be the finished product, that we have to have it all in order, in a word - perfect - before we can go on into life is pretty much....uh, false.  Life is in the journey and not so much the destination!  So quit echoing your kids' "Are we there yet"s and stop worrying about whether you're a perfect housewife/personal finance manager/cook, etc.  Enjoy the ride and know that you will arrive at your [un]intended destination when you're supposed to.  Just remember to listen to the 'On-Star' of your life: God, and you'll navigate just fine.

So - there you have it.  This is a life blog - no mommy blog, food blog, etc. niche to fill.  So the things that happen and make life memorable will all play a part (and yes, that does mean the occasional recipe!) in the posts here.  I hope you'll follow along with me.

Oh, the things I've NOT been doing!

It has been awhile, dear readers, since I've had much NMM fodder...but this weekend the past 2 weeks?  FULL of it.  (For those of you who are ignorant to how NMM works, click the button!)

I absolutely did NOT, after a full day of Screech's incessant and ear-piercing, uh, screeches, find myself an incoherent, brain fogged mama.  And I did NOT decide to pack us both into the car a little after 2, hoping a change in scenery would jolt his temperament back to the peaceable one he used to bless us with, only to find the clock, glaring 2:15 at me.  And, because glares are seen and not heard, I did NOT seem to hear the aforementioned glare hissing tick-tocks at me, accusingly.  I did NOT have to mumble to myself, "2:15, why is that sticking in my mind like a bad idea?" repeatedly, and I most certainly did NOT panic when it suddenly came crashing into my consciousness that Middleton's OM team was doing  a dress rehearsal of their problem in front of the school at their assembly and he'd told me their curtain time was 2:10.  I did NOT utter a swear that starts with S, because such language is absolutely NOT a residual struggle of my childhood influences for me.  I did NOT gun it straight to the school and did NOT feel a flood of relief upon seeing that the assembly was only just beginning.  You see, since I was NOT actually late, none of that earlier stuff mattered.  I made it to see my special little guy perform, and he was none the wiser!  Phew.....

I did NOT freak out when Special Ks birthday cake (yes the party was almost 2 weeks after her birthday, thank you to the Over-Scheduled School-Aged Children stage in life) failed to rise, instead sinking into layers with miserably gnarled topography.  Said cake's failure to rise was NOT due to my stubborn inability to drop the SuperMom attempt at creating memories that really wouldn't be all that different had I made a cake mix that I knew would turn out reliably.  Because I do NOT have any motherhood issues...at.  all.  I did NOT attempt to fix the cake's lopsided layers by strategically placing the low ends atop the high ones, nor did I try to level them with obscene amounts of frosting.  Nope, the cake turned out perfectly, if I say so myself...picture evidence is not so easily shared....it's on my FB acct and my Droid and has not been uploaded to my lappy.

I also did NOT lose my running shape this summer, dropping from a 6 mile avg run, 3+x/wk, to a less than 3 mile avg run, 1-2x/wk.  Because I'm harder-core than that!  I did NOT, therefore, entertain* the idea of running the Sharin' o' the Green 5k last week because it was 1.) Just hours immediately preceding K's bday party and 2.) a stretch, given my current lack of running.  *Entertain = go to the online registration for the race, only to abandon the thought prior to hitting submit....or maybe you actually do hit submit and subsequently talk yourself out of it, forgetting you had hit submit.  Uh, yeah...  My memory is shot, y'all!  Because, 1.) I, again, have NO issues with needing to prove myself, and therfore feel NO need to put myself in such an overcommitted frenzy that only SuperMom can master, and 2.) well, let's just say I know my limits.  Because I was NOT so silly to register for this race, I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning.  And failed to hydrate.  Then, mere hours later, I did NOT chug some water, put my running duds on and get the dog all excited, grab my phone (b/c I cannot live without my iMapmyrun app!) only to find an e-mail from Active.com wishing me luck at my race just before I set out the door.  I did NOT frantically run upstairs to rouse Mr. Fixit and tell him, "Uh, I guess I did register for that race and I gotta leave NOW!"  I did NOT speed to the race site only to get there when registration check-in was supposed to close, and I certainly did NOT revisit my unwholesome talk when I couldn't find a parking space.  I was NOT simultaneously Relieved (ah! not LATE) and Frustrated (I'm gonna have to jet back for the party!) that registration was running 15 minutes behind schedule.  I did NOT have to walk for approximately 3 mins after 2.5 miles, because I'm In Such Great Shape I've Run A 10k Before!  And I did NOT lose the full-on sprint to the finish line from the last corner to a woman who had a good 15 years on me, but most certainly, I did NOT puke seconds after crossing the finishing line when I began to put the brakes on.  I mean, heck if I ran a 5k in a sub20 time, then I'm entitled to puke, but 37 minutes was not really puke-worthy...it wasn't even a PR for me.  I did NOT walk immediately to my car, arrive home, and proceed to rapidly sponge bathe, apply deodorant and change clothes only to get everything gathered up for the b'day festivities, arriving at the party less than 40 minutes after crossing the finish line.  Because that would require SuperMom.  And I?  Am so NOT her.  But maybe I am, sometimes.

I did NOT forget that the Mother's Day Out program Screech has been going to when I work was closed for the Neighboring School District's spring break (which is different from our school district's spring break and therefore, not on my radar) last Tuesday.  Therefore, I did NOT get all ready to go, drive down there, only to see it was a ghost-town and be slapped with the realization that I'd Failed To Plan.  I did NOT go to my contracted agency's office with baby in tow whilst he slept.  And he did NOT wake up while I was trying to transfer files, and proceed to cry while other people may have been in therapy.  That will NEVER happen again.  Ugh....

So....per Almond Joy and Mounds, somedays you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't.  Lately, I'm on a nutty streak.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

A Synopsis...of Sorts

Sort of in that I just don't do short stories all that well, right?

So....

This week I had an assignment for my class to:

1. Interview the finance person for a non-profit/government/healthcare organization; and
2. Get them to reveal their most pressing financial challenge for the coming year[s] to me; and
3. Write a BRIEF (one order of Heather's Kryptonite coming right up!) memo to the instructor detailing said organization and their respective challenge, as well as my 'penetrating analysis, offering sage advice."

Because either the instructor didn't get the memo that we are all students, many of whom have never had direct financial management experience outside of casa del :insert last name here:, or he uses sage advice with license looser than the tooth my daughter refuses to just. pull. out. already!

I digress...as usual.

Anyway, the caveat was that we were to pick complex situations, and organizations for whom we didn't currently work.  Hmmm....Well, he didn't say we couldn't pick an organization for which we used to work, so I shot off an e-mail to the CFO of the organization that hired me fresh out of college some 9 years ago.

Dear CFO dude who used to really intimidate my 22 year old self with both his physical stature and his intellectual command of numbers,
Hi!  Remember me?

I really hoped he didn't actually remember me, as in actually working together with me, because I was really young, green, and well, I shot my mouth off at him on my last day.  To my credit, he was being a jerk at the time and I was later praised by others for my boldness.  Perhaps he remembered me for my work with the homeless count, or other such community presence.

Blah, blah, blah - hey, I'm doing an assignment for grad school, and could you do me a favor by interviewing with me? 

His response was, yes of course he remembered me, yes, he'd love to help me out, yada yada, bada bing, we set a date and time.

The other day I set out to interview him and as we reacquainted ourselves, he pretty much told me that I'd left a good name with the agency and if I'd like to help them out with some grant-writing while their development director was out on maternity leave, they'd love to have my help.  Remember when I said that whole deal about breaking the nets?  Yeah!

Then we get down to business.

Except he paints this totally rosy picture for me about the agency's fiscal outlook.  Bottom line is that legislation being implemented re: Medicaid eligibility, not to mention the impact of our craptastic economy, has increased the number of folks eligible for their services, and since that is the bulk of their budget - business was booming.

We talk a few other details and I get kind of stuck.

I say, wrinkling my nose in quiet frustration, "Well.....the assignment was for me to identify your challenges and then," I go into air-quote mode, "offer my 'sage advice' on what to do to address those challenges.  But it seems like you guys have already had your challenging years and are now rebuilding.  Hmmm..."

He says, "Yeah....I might challenge you to talk to another non-profit and compare and contrast...."

I look at him and tap my pen on my notepad a few seconds.

Something clicks.

"So, you basically have said that due to the bad economic conditions more people are becoming Medicaid-eligible, due in part to unemployment or under-employment, and that has benefited you.  What happens when the economy rebounds, and those consumers who came to you in their unemployment find new jobs, with insurance, and say, you're not in the insurance's network so they leave?  What do you do then, I mean it seems like you might be in a 'bubble' like the housing market was in, right?"

He looks at me and smiles, in concession.  "You," he says pointing at me, "You always were a pain in my side with your questions, weren't you?"  And it seems like some of the memories of my days with him are returning.  He clarifies, "I mean that in a good way, ya know?  It means you're smart, and that's good - really good.  But for someone like me, it is SO ANNOYING!"  He laughs and nods his head.  "That right there, that's our biggest challenge over the next five years.  Bing-O."  It was such a fraternal way of paying a high compliment - and with the earlier job offer, I was practically floating on the clouds!

I smile and tell him, "See, I can make this assignment work after all - just had to dig a bit!"

We talked some more and wrapped up.  Then he took me to meet the development staff person who wasn't on maternity leave - whom I actually worked with, albeit only via e-mail, while I was at the city.  Then he told on her that she had once confided in her co-worker that CFO Dude really intimidated her too and that she didn't like to work with him!  We laughed and talked some more and I really began to see CFO dude in a new light, one that made him look less like a bogeyman who could chew me up and spit me out.

Then, he asked Development #2 if she could take me to the clubhouse (a vocational rehab site for the consumers) and give me a tour, which she did.  It was amazing and I was truly proud to have had some affiliation with such a meaningful organization.

And, cut!  This is so long, and yet it has virtually none of the she-said-and-then-I-said details that my hubby and friends got to hear - thus, I stand by my title.
© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Friday Fragments + FREE!

* It only took me a year, but I finally landed my first review/giveaway gig.  Please click over to my first ever giveaway post and enter to win a free natural lip balm!

* This morning Screech spilled my coffee on my laptop.  I was horrified.  I've already been having problems with the memory (needed a BIOS update, but not sure that was all as it was acting up again this week), and if I lose my stuff, there goes my business!  Thankfully most of my stuff is accessible via my e-mail.  Note to self: invest in external hard drive.  Now I'm en route to a computer repair shop to get it fixed.  I love my children, love them, love them, love them!

* Parent teacher conferences + President's day = 5 days in a row of all 3 kids, sans break.  Pray for me

* Parent Teacher Conferences revealed that my kids are doing great academically, but Middleton is.... "I wouldn't say de-FIIIIIIIII-ant per se...." said his teacher, "but there's something there."  To which I said, yes, and it has been going on for some time (within weeks of his birthday - which was in July - he began acting like a moody little teenage girl and Mr. Fixit has since been known to say, "That boy needs a Midol!") and it seems like he's taking on a victim mentality where it is Certainly Not My Fault and Life's No Fair all the time.  We're working on it.  And Special K has had some run in with the whole Queen Bee/Wannabe dynamic it would appear. 

Stream of Consciousness

I hate getting behind.  But last week Special K and Middleton were out of school for not one, but two non-snow snow days.  The weather was below zero with wind-chill, but the roads were clear and not hazardous in our area with very little actual snow, so I didn't really get why they got two days off, seeing as it IS Colorado and things do get cold from time to time, but hey, whatever, right?  We mostly did alright, with little to no altercations, save for the incessant undoings of anything I attempted to do domestically, which then resulted in subsequent RE-doings to the power of x, x being that mysterious value of "you will never get anything accomplished today, bahahaha!"  Quality time with the kids, good.  Falling behind in laundry, housework, my Finance Mgt for Non-Profits class, and life in general: Bad....very bad.  I'm digging out.  Slowly.  Obscene amounts of caffeine are predicted in the forecast.

Mr. Fixit and I had a date night on Friday.  The first since.....our anniversary???  Which would have been July.  Sad, I know.  It was GLORIOUS.  My BIL and his wife had given us a gift card to The Outback for Christmas, and some friends had graced us with a gift card to the movie theater, also for Christmas.  Last month, after a snow storm during which Mr. Fixit had done his usual neighborhood snow-blowing, I came home to a note on the door from our neighbor which had a gift card in it - also for the Outback!  We had a friend's daughter come sit our kids since she is saving money for a missions trip this summer (also - tangential side note....14 years ago, if someone would have told my 18 year old self that the then toddler with the cute blonde hair and brown eyes would be babysitting my own children - kids, me? and plural no less? - in what would seem like a blink, I would have laughed at them maniacally).  So we ate at Outback in conversation that was blissfully absent of whining, pinching, or some other activity warranting parental intervention, and then went to see 127 Hours.  It was a good movie.  But, I was unprepared to be hit with torrential emotions as I seem to have drawn some keen parallels between Aron Ralston's plight with that of my own glance at mortality nearly two years ago.  Vastly different settings and details, but that familiar roller coaster of hope and despair, coupled with a mutually experienced, primal, and determined will to survive, left me shaking in my seat as the credits rolled, hands fanned out in a vee and my thumbs attempting to dam the tears.  PTSD's adrenaline had been coursing through me, unbeknownst, and culminated at the scene where he finally knew he was going to make it, for reals, as the helicopter hovered over him....at first just a few tears flowed down, but then I was sobbing and shuddering, borne of something extremely similar to that very potent cocktail of joy and adrenaline one experiences moments after giving birth.  *sigh*  life is good, eh?

I got my first paycheck as a free-lancing, independent contracting, non-profit consultant on Saturday!  And I now have me a fancy-pants business account with a registered trade-name and DBA and everything.  I'm so excited about what the future holds for this endeavor and just know that 2011 is going to be a great year for us.

I don't remember how I landed on this article about extended nursing awhile back, but I swear, it rings so true to my life, particularly this part:

...They are his breasts now. He strokes them lovingly through my shirt and cups them with his palms. He blows raspberries on them and giggles. He nurses in a toddler variation of Downward Facing Dog while simultaneously thumbing the pages of Goodnight Moon. He slaps my chest with both hands and shouts....

I don't know that I'm as embarrassed as the author of the article says she was re: Screech's extended nursing, but we've definitely cut out nursing in public at this point not because I worry about what other people will think, but 1.) his acrobatics are mutually exclusive with any attempts for modesty, which is MY preference, and 2.) there has to be some sort of balance around teaching him boundaries, no?  I still enjoy the quiet moments, the cuddles.  Though it did a number on my body's balance of supply/demand, I had incredible peace of mind when he had 2 GI bugs back to back because I knew through nursing he was getting nourishment as he simply would not eat any food or drink other liquids.  But there are times, like Saturday night in bed, when I get tired of always having an unwieldy toddler stretching my breast into positions once filed in the erstwhile mental category of  "humanly impossible."

French's yellow mustard has something going on.  Special K is something of an anomaly for kids when it comes to her tastes in sandwich spreads - that is, she is a mustard and lunchmeat only kinda gal.    Same goes for burgers, hot dogs, and other condiment-requiring foods.  She'd do great in TX, no?  Last week at the International Festival, Middleton just about popped a gasket b/c the mustard at the concessions stand, French's yellow, was too spicy.  I tasted it, and sure enough, it had the vinegary twang of yellow mustard but the heat of the hottests of Chinese mustards.  I assumed it was an isolated incident.  Until today when I was making lunches and Special K insisted that I NOT use the mustard I used yesterday because it burned.  Sure enough, the brand new bottle I bought was not the same taste we've relied on for years.

Well...this has been days of SoC writing, best to hit publish and get to work.

© 2006-present Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

So, How's it Feel to be Jealous of a Muppet?

Sidenote: I decided to return to using nicknames for my family members...I just like the whimsy it lends to my stories.

Today was a rare day that Mr. Fixit was home with me, without one of us being deathly sick.  He'd worked Saturday and was beat.

So, because we are old and boring anymore, and because we still had little Screech with us and thus could not just spend the day in wild abandon with each other, we set out on some errands, and the promise of a quiet brunch, together.

First, we went to get Screech caught up on his vaccinations.  Let it be noted that I am NOT one of those moms who thinks that vaccinations are bad, mmkay?, nor have I EVER let my kids get off schedule with their immunizations before, but Screech kept getting sick whenever I had the idea to get him in (and vaccinations during suppressed immune functions ARE bad) and the universe only just now aligned for him to get his 18 mos appointment stuff done.  3 months late.  Anyway, so we got that done.  I do hold vaccinations in poor regard just because of having to reckon with seeing my little ones in pain and anguish, especially when they are wearing that betrayed look on their face of "Mother!!  What in Hades are you letting this wretched nurse do to me?  LETTING her?!?  I thought you loved me!"  Of course, less than 5 minutes later, all was forgiven, I think....

Then we moseyed along, cautiously, as the then-light dusting of snow that looked harmless was quickly turning into black ice with a skiff of the white stuff atop it and accidents were popping up all around us, to Target, where we were hoping to acquire a new backpack for Special K since hers had long since decided to abandon any semblance of functional zippers.  Turns out?  Backpacks with any quality to their design are not so affordable these days.  I mean, we were talking minimum of $30 for packs that were still pretty flimsy!  So after a lot of hemming and hawing, Mr. Fixit and I just decided that we'd let Special K use my Swiss Gear daypack for her use.  Because we are all about the practical on the cheap.  We laughed at ourselves after that as we'd just spent an hour of our time shopping for something only to leave empty handed.

Next stop, Sam's Club.  For the purpose of scouting out truck tires - a purchase that is inevitably coming up the pike but I keep wanting to put off.  Truck tires are EX.PEN.SIVE!!!!  We priced things out, taking mental notes as Mr. Fixit said he would do some online research and compare costs at home.  We found some really nice Osh Kosh winter coats for $5.33 - which was 50% less what I paid for Screech's USED coat from Once Upon a Child this season!  So we got one for Screech to sock away for next winter (wish they would've had sizes big enough for Middleton and Special K, but alas! no such luck), grabbed a giant tub of parmesan cheese and went to the check out.

Wouldn't you know it that it was one of those mornings where all of the checkout aisles not only had some serious lines, but it was like time was suspended for all of them as various price checks and other obstacles stalled them out.  While we waited, I people watched.

And grew increasingly self-conscious of the fact that, while I had showered before we left (since I'd pleaded to get one in before we headed out, on the grounds that showers are NOT guaranteed for SAHM's, and especially newly WAHM's, with toddlers, and I SO needed one), I had not styled my hair after blow-drying it, applied any makeup and was wearing my frumpy clothes thanks to it being my bloated week of the month. Normally, I don't care about that kind of thing - normally, I am confident enough to wear no makeup into the workplace, knowing that the only time I need to take the effort is when I want to.  But today was an anomaly.

There were fit, perfectly made up, beautifully dressed, well coiffed women in abundance this morning.

Well, I have an anti-poker face, in that whatever is going on inside my head is totally apparent to even the newest of acquaintances.

Mr. Fixit noticed and asked me what was up with the frownies.

I told him that I was feeling a bit below average in comparison to those around us, leaning my head toward the gal in designer jeans and boots ahead of me.  She was dainty and petite in frame, naturally olive in complexion with perfectly highlighted platinum locks and had a structural beauty to her face with prominent cheekbones and pouty, collagen-filled lips.  Minus the boobs, she looked, to me, like Pamela Anderson.

Source: Life.com

Mr. Fixit immediately quipped, albeit in a hushed tone so that only I could hear him, "You mean her, the one that looks like the chick from the Dark Crystal??  She looks like a damned Muppet, Heather!"

Source: Henson.com

No sooner did he say that than I was able to see the uncanny resemblance.

And couldn't stifle the ridculousness of my up-til-then feelings of inferiority.

Nice to be reminded that beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder - and so much nicer still that my beloved's eyes are so discerning.