too much is too much

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This weekend, my wonderful husband chose to be super helpful around the house. For that, I am very thankful. During his time off from work, he mulched the leaves, cleaned the gutters, watched the children so I could sleep after shopping all night, stayed home while I went out to the Star City Comedy Club with good friend, Jannine, got the Christmas decorations out of the attic and did the dishes. And, you know what? I didn't even ask him to do any many of these things. What a dear!

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The thing is, he hit a snag the last time he did the dishes.  The soap packet that had been put into the dishwasher for the previous run had not dissolved.  So, my handy husband decided he would add Dawn dishwashing detergent to the cup to get the job done.  I think he may have mentioned that we were also out of the Cascade packs.  I don't remember.  At any rate, he squirted a cupful of Dawn (the type you use to hand wash dishes) into the machine.  He turned it on.  A little while later, he went to get something from the kitchen and found a mess.  "Oh....." he groaned.  I asked what was the matter and he told me, "There are some bubbles on the floor."  Some bubbles?  A good quarter of the kitchen was covered in suds.  Oh my!  Deja vu, anyone?

For the second time in three months, I started to clean up a wet mess.  We bypassed the bath towel route this time because I didn't want to add to my backed-up laundry pile.  Instead, he grabbed the mop and I used the dust mop.  He would swing his tool across the sudsy floor, and I would push back, trying to keep the water and bubbles from spreading even further.  It felt like we were playing a gentle game of hockey, or participating in that weird-ass Olympic sport, curling.

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Eventually, we were able to get the floor mostly dry and we turned our attention to the dishwasher.  You see, when John walked into the kitchen, soap was pouring out of the front of the machine.  He promptly turned it off, to minimize the flooding, but we realized we would soon have to deal with the mess inside.  Opening the door, we found a wall of bubbles.  Slowly, but surely, we began to scoop them out until the were nearly gone.  When we had removed as much soap as possible, we turned on the dishwasher to let it finish the cycle.  Water continued to dribble out for much of that run, but now our machine is as good as new and cleaner than it has been in a very long time.

This whole ordeal got me to thinking (bad idea, I know!).  A lot of times, we think that if a little is good, then a lot is a whole lot better.  Like the little squirt of dawn turning into a good half cup being poured into the dishwasher.  We have a tendency to go for the overkill, especially with our children.

Christmas is coming.  I have a difficult time moderating how many gifts my kids receive.  I just love to give them things and there are so many toys and items on the market that they would love to have.  Once I get started buying presents, I find it so hard to stop.  But, is more really better when it comes to giving things to our kids?  Or, should they learn the life lessons that go along with disappointment and/or hard work?

While waiting in line to shop at Toys R Us on Thanksgiving night, I spoke with Jessica, a young mother of a two year old boy.  Her son will be receiving many things this Christmas, among them a 32" flat screen television.  Her reasoning?  He needs something to entertain him.  Feel free to roll your eyes.  Inwardly, I did, too.  My response, "My kids are getting an aquarium."  Jessica's mother, who was along for the ride, just about died laughing.

You see, over the years I have come to realize that the bigger and better presents aren't always the best.  If you get your two year old a giant tv, then what is there to look forward to as he grows up?  Hell, we don't even have a tv that big in my home.  When Alex was young, he was overly spoiled.  I couldn't wait to get him the next best thing for his "age."  However, I failed to realize that just because he was in the appropriate "age range," and I was able to buy the items, they weren't necessarily suitable playthings for his stage.

When you jump ahead and buy anything and everything for your children, they lose more than they gain.  The kids no longer become enthralled with the gifts they receive, they become spoiled, and they lose interest in their toys more quickly.  They don't learn the value of hard work with suitable rewards, nor do they experience the thrill of receiving something they have longed for. Things become disposable.  In general, items lose their value when they are given by the bucket load.  While a squirt of generosity is good, a cupful just creates a mess. 

How will you balance your desire to give it all with your children's need of moderation and value this season?  What are the top gifts on your list?  Will you go all out, or will you (attempt) to keep it simple and sane?

not for the faint of heart

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Black Friday. The day to beat all shopping days. A day of major consumerism, a day of adrenaline rushes, a day of registers ringing and dollar bills flying (or credit cards swiping). But, also a day of hot tempers, fist fights, screamed obscenities, and pushy mamas all trying to get the "best" deal or the "right" toy for Christmas. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not looking down my nose at the shopping expeditions that go along with the day after Thanksgiving. I was right out there with them.

At 8:45 PM, I arrived at Toys R Us, which was scheduled to open at 10.  I was number 354 or so in line.  Some people had been there since 4, I heard.  The store was planning on letting in 50 shoppers at a time, spaced a minute or so apart, to avoid mass stampedes and confusion.  While waiting in line for the next hour or so, I befriended a mother-daughter duo named Barbara and Jessica.  Jessica has a two year old son that she was shopping for and her mother, Barbara, was along for the ride.  The laughter we shared and random chatter we enjoyed caused the time in the parking lot to pass so much more quickly.

I have to say, once I made it into the store, Toys R Us was not nearly as chaotic as I thought it would be.  During my 10 years of Black Friday early bird shopping, I had never been to that store at opening.  Most people were friendly and happy to be out and about.  I saw a little bit of a skirmish over the direction of the check-out lines, but that was due to minor disorganization on the store's part and was worked out quickly enough.  I grabbed the two things on my list and went on my way.

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Next up, Wal-mart.  The pit of hell in regards to Black Friday shopping.  I arrived at 11:15, found the items I was there for, and staked out a spot near the small stack of Zhu Zhu pets.  At $4, they were a great bargain and people were building up a frenzy over whether they would get the colors and numbers they wanted.  I saw the best of the best in that store last night.  Complete redneck men who got a power trip from being the closest person to the coveted items, their crazy-ass girlfriends and wives who warned fellow shoppers, "You'd better be stayin' outta my way," and a giant black man who proudly announce that he would elbow anyone and even knock them over to get his daughter's prized hot pink Zhu Zhu.  Craziness, I tell ya.  Send me back to the Mayberry store I normally shop at with little blue-haired ladies who get excited over a blanket.  Please.

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At 11:50 PM, the aforementioned power-tripping redneck started to grab Zhu Zhus and throw them back into the crowd.  Shoppers cheered him on until they realized the toys would soon be gone.  Panic broke out.  Mass chaos ensued.  For whatever reason, I took the opportunity to dive between legs, going underneath the crazed shoppers to snag the two Zhu Zhus of my choice.  Bad idea.  I soon found that I couldn't get back up.  People were pushing towards me and my heart began to race.  Grabbing a cart, I hauled myself up out of the toys and got the hell out of there, clutching my toys as I battled the crowd.

Was I dumb for performing a massive toy dive in the midst of Walmart Black Shopping chaos?  Absolutely.  Would I do it again?  Absolutely not.  I was sore for an hour after that stunt.  I could have been the woman in the headlines who died for the love of a hamster.  What did I learn?  Stay out of trashy Wal-mart stores in which the shoppers have no class (for the most part, I did see some very lovely people there, too.)  The funny thing is, I made a stop at the Wal-mart closest to my house about an hour after the store had opened, and almost all the doorbusters were still available.  Hmmm... I'm sensing a bit of flock mentality here.

Throughout the course of the early morning, I also had the opportunity to witness a mother calling a bunch of college girls "high-falutin' hos," which sealed the deal in regards to my thoughts about the town in which I live.  Lord, help us.  The people who grew up here all think that they are better than one another, when we're all just a bunch of dumb-fucks some days.  And, you can definitely tell the natives from the transplants.  One group has class, while the other... just doesn't.  Why bother to act like such a bee-atch?  We're all in it for the same reason, so just act peacefully and nobody will get hurt.

Black Friday wasn't all bad, and I did actually have a great time.  I ran into a couple of friends in Wal-mart, caught glimpses of others, recognized some people from high school (to which time has not been kind), and had a lovely conversation with an old co-worker.  I met new people, shared interesting stories, and laughed in the early morning hours of the day.  The good outweighs the bad, but I still don't understand how we can get so caught up in the search for a few good deals, all in the name of Christmas, and after a day of gratefulness.  Come on, people, where are your heads?

where there are women....

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... there will be drama.  And, I was involved in a pile of it this week.  Actually, not just involved.  I'm ashamed to say that I set it off.  I'm not going to go into the whole ugly ordeal right now, but I just want to say that sometimes, as women, we need to stick a gag in our mouths and not say anything at all.  That is, if we can't be nice about it.  It is neither productive nor admirable to shoot off at the mouth just because you can.  It doesn't help anything or anybody, and will hurt feelings more often than not.  This is, obviously, something I am still working on. 

Yet, the lovely lady whom I verbally assaulted has a pretty good grasp on that.  She didn't reply to my apology.  She probably couldn't.  She was probably still upset with me.  Hell, I know she was still upset about the whole incident and I don't blame her.  I would have been, too.  However, she did post the "platinum" (her words) rule on Facebook.  This is what she wrote:

Some good advice taken and bares repeating: "The Platinum Rule - Do Unto Others As They Want Done Unto Them"

What a great reminder.  Too bad I let it slip my mind in the first place.

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piddle puddle

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Here's a lesson I learned just this morning: don't brag about your amazingly super-advanced child, lest she turn around and make a fool out of her less-than-advanced mother.  Wait a year or two before you tell tales of rapid learning and advancement.  Why?  Because there I was, sitting in Chick-fil-A with two lovely mommy buddies, who had just brought up the subject of potty training.  Of course, I decided to open my big fat mouth and mention how we had started the three day potty training method just about a week and a half ago and that Katie is very nearly day trained and not wearing diapers or pull-ups except for at night.  Of course.  I was just about to launch into the ins and outs of three day training and how it had magically worked for us as all the planets had aligned just so and ta-da!  easy-peasy, right?

Uh-huh, so as I start my little speech, Katie runs up from the play area and her pants.are.soaked.   soaked!  So much for staying dry all day.  I scooped her up and made a quick exit, as the extra pair of pants was in the car because, of course, I wouldn't need it. 

Now, I realize that every child has accidents, even those who are trained early and quickly, like my daughter.  My question is, what would you have done? (other than keeping your big mouth shut about how easy potty-training had been for your little one).  Would you have made a fast departure, as I did?  I realized, as I drove home, that I didn't check the play area for puddles or notify the management of the "spill."  I just left, throwing my trash away on the way out.  What do you take care of first, if you're alone?  Your child or the public area that has just been doused with pee?  I do feel bad for any other kids who may have unknowingly crawled through the urine-soaked area, but my little girl was dripping.  What to do, what to do?

i married tim taylor

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I married the tool man.  Really, I did.  You know, the build-it-bigger, disaster-prone, grunting, snorting, car-loving, tool-wielding, master of home improvement.  I must say, it makes life interesting.  Besides, now I can more aptly identify with Jill when I watch Home Improvement reruns late at night.  I think my husband should start his own home improvement blog.  Readers would find it hilarious, but only if he included all his random mishaps.  Since he won't, I thought I'd share some here.

It seems like every time we have a home improvement project going on, Mr. Hull either gets injured, breaks something, or both.  Every project becomes more elaborate than planned.  Nothing is easy.  Nothing is quick.  Everything requires at least two trips to the hardware store.  at least. 

Now, I must say, that Mr. Hull doesn't get in silly competitions with the neighbors over Christmas lights and the such, though I would love for him to hang some lights one year.  Rather, he has two issues:  He is a disaster-prone perfectionist. 

Mr. Hull plans and plans before he ever starts a project.  He approaches everything that he does well-educated and level-headed.  He researched storage sheds for no less than two weeks before he ever broke ground to build one.  He doesn't go about things willy-nilly and he strives to do everything just right.  For example, with this shed he's currently building, he used 6x6 pieces of wood for the floor frame and 2x6s for the support joists.  Last night, he revealed to me that the project instructions only called for 4x4s and 2x4s.   Overkill?  maybe.  Again, where someone else might just level off the ground and plop down their metal building, using some gravel to keep things drained and dry, Mr. Hull took a whole day and a half to properly build a deck foundation.  He either does it all the way, or not at all.  Build it bigger, build it better, build it to last.  He's a good man.

The problem comes when disaster strikes.  I can't tell you how many cuts, blisters, scrapes, bruises, and more Mr. Hull has gotten in the last two weeks alone.  Yesterday, he came into the house holding his hand above his head.  He had sawed into his finger instead of the wood.  Luckily, it was a minor cut compared to what it could have been.  Last week, he bloodied his hands while digging the mortar out from between the tiles in our new bathroom.  When he went to work a few days later, his boss asked if he had a stigmata.  This is in addition to the second degree burns he got while cooking steak a few days prior to that.  The poor man's hands are beaten all to hell.

But, Mr. Hull doesn't just beat himself up.  Check this out:

• On a camping trip this summer, Mr. Hull walked down to the water faucet to fill our jugs.  He turned the knob and it felt a little loose.  He turned it a little more and the whole thing came off in his hand.  A 100 ft. geyser shot up from the spigot.  The camp host and park ranger had to scramble to find the water shut off in a dark field.  It took a couple of hours and the field was flooded.  
• Our bathroom faucet started dripping a little last spring.  Mr. Hull thought he would fix it.  In the process, he stripped something or the other and we wound up with a new faucet.
• During clean-up from our mini-flood that I caused, our other toilet developed a leak.  Mr. Hull spent the whole day working on it, and we wound up with a new tank at day's end.
• While reinstalling our bathroom light fixture, I hear Mr. Hull cry "Oh Shit!"  I reply, "Did you shock yourself?"  He answers, "Maybe... possibly."  It turns out, his father had told him that he merely had to turn the light switch off before playing with electricity.
• Years ago, he smacked himself in the mouth while assembling a China-made computer desk, and nearly knocked out his teeth.

The thing is, though, like Tim, Mr. Hull's heart is in the right place.  He tries so hard to repair things around our house and, eventually, succeeds every time.  One can only learn by doing, and Mr. Hull does a lot.  He may get injured, it may take lots of time, but we always come out on the better side of things.  We've only had to call someone in to clean up a mess once, and that was mine.  So, I guess I'm fortunate.  From what I hear, other men don't do anything at all.

work in progress

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I am so close to nearly having the bathroom of my dreams.  After our recent mini-flood, I honestly couldn't see the blessing at hand because everything seemed to be falling apart.  Every couple of days, something new would come up.  Since Labor Day, my family has been dealing with repairs in the main bathroom, a broken toilet in the only other bathroom, no laundry facilities, two kids and one mama with the stomach bug, three nasty arguments between Mr. Hull and me, a health insurance letdown, a broken computer, and, now I have a cold.  On the upside, Mr. Hull got a fabulous new job, which he starts in a week.  

He told me one night that he thought we were enduring all these trials because the devil was trying to steal our joy.  I think Mr. Hull is probably right about this, but I still think it is quite unfair.  I have felt beaten down and broken, as if it doesn't matter what we do because things will never get better.  But, I realize that I need to turn that attitude around and look at the upside of things.  I need to recognize our blessings, rather than being dragged down by what I had mentally deemed our "curse." 

So, here I am.  I'm healthy, aside from an annoying nasal drip and a cough.  My kids are healthy now.  We have shelter over our heads and clothes to wear on our backs (and, come this weekend, those clothes will be clean.)  Our financial woes are about to be lifted because of Mr. Hull's new position and his plan to get us out of debt super-fast.  I won't reveal how, because most people would tsk-tsk our solution, but it is one that works for us and we're young.  That's right.  I'm selling my soul.  And, as soon as we finish the last bit of work, we'll have a brand-spanking new bathroom.  Well, we'll have new paint and tile, which is a huge improvement.  And, then, I went out and purchased a new shower curtain and towels.  We still need to buy a shower rod and bath mat, so if you have any Bed, Bath, and Beyond coupons, send 'em my way.  This is, in fact, coming close to being my dream bathroom.  All it lacks is a huge whirlpool tub to soak all those cares away.

Tile flooring.  This strip of baby tiles divides the laundry
closet from the main part of the bathroom.

Paint for the interior of the laundry closet.  I don't care if
nobody else will see it, I will, and that will make me happy.

This warm vanilla color is for the main part of the bathroom.

time to spill the beans

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Hey, ya'll, did you notice I was "missing" a little bit last week? You know, the week in which I barely posted anything? Want to know what I was doing? I guess I've alluded to it a little bit, but now it's time to spill the beans and catch up a little bit.

Last Tuesday was my son's first day of school.   After waiting all summer for a day alone with my Katie, I decided to try to catch up on some of the housework, just a little bit.  As I was doing laundry, I ran across a bloody shirt that Alex had worn the day he had two teeth pulled.  Since it was one of his favorites, I figured I would try to get the stains out.  I put the shirt in the bathroom sink, ran some water over the top, sprinkled in my borax, and let it sit.  A few minutes later, I noticed that all the water had drained out of the sink.

"Well," I thought to myself, "I'll just have to make sure the water can't run out so well."  So, I took an extra-thick washcloth, firmly pushed it over the drain hole, and turned the water on again.  Then, I went outside to hang up laundry.  "Oh no!" you say?  "Don't do that!  The water will run all over the place?"  No, it won't.  Not if you only leave it for a couple of minutes.

When I came back in the house, Katie was awake from her nap.  I scooped her up and got ready to go to the library and pick Alex up from school.  Did I notice the sound of running water coming from the bathroom?  Hell no.

Two Hours later...

Katie has selected Mr. Brown Can Moo from the library, Alex has been retrieved from school, and we are returning home.  I turn the key in the lock, open the door, and hear the strangest noise.  Why, it almost sounds like water.  What?!  It IS water!  

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The bathroom was flooded, water had dribbled down the air conditioning vent, gotten under the vinyl flooring, and made a gigantic mess.  I tried to clean it up on my own, but alas, it was no use.  As soon as I fessed up to the husband two hours later, he called Servpro to come take care of the mess.  Oh, and did I mention the insurance adjuster?  Yeah, him too.

One week later, we are living without use of the bathtub or the laundry because both were located in that room.  The floor has been ripped out.  Tubing for the HVAC system has been replaced under the house.  My kitchen is now the temporary home of my vanity, washer, and dryer.  The floor has finally been deemed to be dry, after 6 days of running a huge dehumidifier and fan.  This weekend, we will be getting a new tile floor and putting everything back together.  The price of stupidity?  A $500 insurance deductible.  Thank God it wasn't more.  Oh, and the shirt?  Still stained.

the first one was a mistake

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At least, it was about a mistake.

This week, the SITS Girls are going Back to Blogging.  You can read more about this endeavor on their main blog.  As always, the purpose is to improve our blogs.  The twist is that this week is sponsored by Standards of Excellence, Westar Kitchen and Bath, and Florida Builder Appliances, and one lucky gal is going to win big.  Real Big.  As in, a brand new turquoise washer and dryer set from Electrolux.  Now, wouldn't that look fancy in my new bathroom?

So, today's assignment is to repost your first blog post.  The following was originally posted on Mrs. Hull's Musing's on April 9, 2007.

Uh-oh 

So I am pretty sure I failed my math test that I took last week.  The teacher handed them back today.  I didn’t get mine because I was allowed to take the test one day late in the Learning Technology Center and they haven’t sent it to him yet.  He went over the test in class and I am certain that I actually missed all the ones that I thought I understood, and of course I couldn’t have gotten credit for the ones I left blank.  I’m hoping he’ll let me write a paper or something for extra credit as I really, really, really need that A…

Did I get the A?  I don't remember.  I do know that my final grade was an A for that class.  It was a math class, Mathematics for the Liberal Arts, in fact.  It was taught by a Mr. Fightmaster.  He was quite the character, but I liked him after I got used to his eccentricities.

But, back to the topic at hand.  That was my first post, and I like it.  It reveals my insecurities,, my worry, and my tendency to jump into projects with two feet, as if I've been involved all along. 

However, if I could rewrite it, and I actually did, when I started this blog, I would take more time to introduce myself, explain why I was writing, and address the reader.  Of course, at that time, I didn't think there would be any readers.

plain ol' stupidity

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I used to think that those warning labels that can be found on just about everything should be removed.  I figured that, if a person is that stupid to use a curling iron in the bathtub, place a baby walker next to a set of stairs, or ride a motorcycle barefooot in the rain, then they would deserve whatever consequences they received.

However, my view on this multi-warning, dumbed-down, libelicious- society phenomenon has changed as of late.  Why, you ask?  Well, it has recently occurred to me that stupid people can have children, too.  And, when they do, the consequences for their poor offspring can be disastrous.  While I've written about this in the past, here are some more recent examples:

• While I was at a private pool at the end of August, a father walks in with his two year old son, Ethan.  At first, the dad seems to be attentive, feeding Ethan yogurt, helping him into his floating swimsuit, and so on.  However, he then leaves the two year old child pool-side with no lifeguards or anyone else (but me) around, while he goes to use the restroom.  While he is gone, the boy runs over to the ladder, hops into the pool, and begins to paddle around with no supervision.  When the man returns, he walks over to his lounge chair, lays back, and sunbathes while his two year old plays in the water, which is no less than 3 feet deep.  Talk about inattention!  What sorts of labels should have been, or likely were, on that suit?  "Use with adult supervision," "Not a lifesaving device," or, maybe, "Not a reliable babysitter."  What an idiot!

•  I had a playgroup at my house recently which involved food and one of the guests actually fed her 9 month old daughter marshmallows and pretzels, without even paying attention as to whether she was choking or not!  Um, excuse me, lady, but don't let your child die in my house!  

• Several years ago, I was at the park with my son when I saw a young couple walk into the area with a baby walker and a baby.  The walker had a rope tied to it.  The father put the walker down at the top of a hill, held the rope, and put the baby inside.  He then let the child (maybe 1 year old) roll down the hill, while he held the rope.  I can only imagine they were attempting to create either a torture device or an amusement park ride.

Okay, okay.  I'll admit it. I'm not a saint, either, when it comes to my kids.  Nor am I super-mom.  When my son was three, I caught him about to play Tarzan by swinging off the back deck from a rope that was not even remotely attached to the overhanging tree.  Just last weekend, my daughter was standing on a chair in a restaurant, holding my hand, and tumbled backwards.  She's also fallen off of the bed, jumped from the couch, and been the victim of an incident involving her Little Tykes car and the hardwood floor.  But, I try.  I'm not terribly neglectful and I don't completely ignore all sensible safety rules.

How about you?  What have been some of your parenting blunders?  What warning labels would apply to your life?

snot balls

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SNIIIIIFFFFFFFF.  SLUURRRRRPPP.  SUUUUCCCCK.  Good grief boy, don't suck.  Blow.  Blow that nose.  Great, gooey, slimy balls of snot shoot from his honker.  yuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkk.  Save me now.

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Alex came down with a late summer cold last week.  A nasty one, at that.  I don't know where he got it or how long it will last, but I am pleading with the snot demons that they vacate my house.  now.  no, actually, I wish they had left ten minutes ago.  better yet, ten days ago.

I don't know what it is that Alex doesn't like about blowing his nose.  Is it the slime that extricates itself from the deepest recesses of his head?  Is it that he likes that feeling of great gooby gunkiness, stuck up near his brain?  Does he want to stay sick forever?  Or, does he just like to hear my disgusted reactions to hearing the bubbles of boogers when he sniffs, snorts, and sneezes?

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Really, there are no words to express that sound that the snot makes when children suck it back up into their noses.  Why must they do this?  Just let it fly!  Grab a tissue or a snot rag and shoot it on out.  Maybe the moms of the world should make up snot-shooting contests.  Come on up!  See how far you can blow!  Knock over the milk cans for a glorious prize!

Birthday Blues

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Today's my birthday, so Happy Birthday to me.  I'm a little down in the dumps because everyone else seems to have an opinion on how I should celebrate my day.  Really, all I wanted was to bake a delicious cake and have an easy dinner in tonight.  Nothing big.  Now, don't get me wrong.  It isn't that I didn't want to acknowledge my birthday.  It's just that, at Katie's age, it is much easier to eat at home than to go out to a restaurant and drop a lot of money on a meal that nobody gets to enjoy.

Nor did I want to have a boring birthday.  I wanted to do something with my kids today, something that maybe we don't always get to do, and have a little fun.  Maybe we would go someplace they like to go... a museum, or Chuck E. Cheese, or even just the park.  I had even thought about taking them to one of the state parks to have a picnic and go swimming.  We could do something to make a memory.

But, then I found out that my mother was taking today off from work.  Why?  I have no idea.  She's done this for the past few years, and always expects me to be magically free to do whatever she wishes.  It isn't like she ever took off when I was a kid.  Why now?

So, my mother started insisting that I couldn't have a carefree birthday.  I couldn't just stay in.  I couldn't bake my own cake.  I couldn't not go out to dinner.  She said that my husband was being lazy by not celebrating on my birthday.  In actuality, we have our own, pricey celebration planned to take place in a week and a half that she knows about.  All of a sudden, my nice, fun, yet relaxing day turned into my mother's project.  I would bring the kids over at the ass-crack of dawn and we would all spend the day at her pool, a typical summer event and one that really bores me.  Then, tonight, we would go to a very popular, crowded restaurant that doesn't take reservations and is out of our current budget given the fact that we are spending so much to drive to Charlottesville to see Lady Gaga in 10 days.  We would have to wait in a line to get in, outside, in the heat, with an already-cranky almost-two year old.  And then, more than likely, my husband and I would get to foot the bill after she had planned and insisted on the outing.  Remember, I want to stay in for dinner.

 This morning, I got up, called my mother, and essentially told her to go fuck off.  I'll have the day that I want to have.  I shouldn't be expected to drop everything just because she takes the day off from work.  At the very least, she should be willing to go along with plans I've already made, even if they are vague.  It's my birthday.  I'll do what I want to.

Now, I feel like a giant ass.  I wouldn't want my children feeling this way on their birthdays when they are adults.  I would want to see them and be involved.  But, what can I do?  If my mother is involved, she tends to take over.  I'm a grown woman.  I don't need rescuing.

Down for the Count

There's nothing like being kicked when you're already down.