Friday, September 24, 2010

FML

I have some friends all around me who are going through some extremely tough trials in their lives. Their trials are either life threatening or marriage threatening. In comparison, my life is a god damned walk in the park.

Whining makes me feel horribly guilty. It’s worse than the kind of guilt that you feel while jamming a double cheeseburger down your throat and feeding your kids’ chicken nuggets while a Feed the Children commercial is on television.

Thankfully, God has spared me the kind of trials that these friends are facing. For that, I am immensely grateful and blessed. But let me tell you what God is not sparing me from. He’s throwing 16,000 small trials my way – one after the other – occasionally several at a time. None are threatening my life, marriage or livelihood. None are going to kill anyone in my family.

But each one is just large enough to be really fucking annoying and difficult and time consuming and exhausting. Right now I have about 4 at one time and I’m about to start ripping my hair out of my head. I won’t whine or complain or wah wah, but I’d really just like a flipping break.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Easy Breezy Beautiful

I’ve noticed after catching my reflection in mirrors under certain lighting that my makeup was the wrong color for my skin and no matter how long I spend blending, I still have a noticeable orange makeup line on my neck. I don’t use cheap makeup so I went to the department store to have my foundation color checked out.

According to the “specialist” in the little lab coat, my makeup is a perfect match and I suck and would suck less only if I purchase this and that and this and that. So me and my barely breathing self esteem shuffled off. Seeing that I do spend quite a bit on my makeup already, I didn’t want to spend even more, but I did.

I upgraded to the next most expensive makeup at the department store. Fast forward a few months and I’m still having the same issues. My face is oily, I have noticeable makeup lines and by the end of the day my face just always feels dirty and leaves orange marks on my daughter’s clothes when I hug her.

I’ve tried the powders that you have to sit and scrub into your face for an hour with that kubuki brush that leave my face feeling more sandblasted than fresh and free. I don’t like those. I’ve tried it all. From $20 foundations to $100 foundations – I’ve tried them.

Defeated and feeling like I was destined to a life of orange greasiness, I happened upon a commercial on TV where a gorgeous and young and fresh faced Drew Barrymore says that if I go online to this super cheap makeup’s website, they’ll match me to their makeup using my department store brand’s shades. This makeup is what I wore when I was 11 years old because it’s super cheap. But now only Walmartians and 11 year olds still wear that makeup, right?

I ignore the commercial, but I keep seeing it over and over and over. This past weekend, I gave in and went online. I matched my shade to the department store one that the lab coat chic said was my perfect match, grabbed the baby and my purse and headed out to buy the cheap stuff.

Oh. My. God. My whole life has changed. This cheap ass makeup is my dream come true, no lie. I can’t believe it. I am just stunned at how this stuff feels and works and looks. Why did I give this stuff up at some point in my teen years? My face feels clean all day. Not a drop of oil or grease beyond a natural glow. It matches my skin so perfectly that I can’t see it on my neck anywhere or in any lighting. It never rubs off and when it does, it’s barely noticeable. Totally awesome! Plus it’s so cheap! SO CHEAP! SCORE!

Moral of the story – the pricier something is, doesn’t always guarantee its value.

Monday, September 20, 2010

My Morning

This morning Shelby was sitting in the living room very busy busy stirring her toy kitchen pot with her toy spoon. Busy Busy. I walked by and went to make the bed. Then I walked back in and she had food all over her face. And I said, "Luke, what did you feed her?". Luke said, "Nothing, why?"

Then I looked in her pot.

Shelby had somehow sat on her pot...and poo'd. Shelby. Was. Eating. Her. Poo.

It was all over her face.

But, at least she was dainty and used a spoon.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

That's Just a Sock in My Pants

When I was a pre-teen I used to wish that I was a boy. I mean that I wished for it INTENSELY and even went so far as to go out into the garage (which was my land of imagination) and pretend speaking like, walking like and acting like a boy. I would stand up to pee. I would stuff a sock down my pants. My desire to be a boy was rather consuming.

I’m not sure if my mother ever noticed this or anything related to it. I’m not sure if she was ever worried or if she was on the phone discussing this with her girlfriends. She’s never mentioned it in all these years so I assume that my secret is safe…until now that I’m sharing it with the Internets, that is.

I’m not a lesbian or transgender or whatever the word would be for a woman who wants to be a man. I don’t wish to be male as an adult. I kissed a girl once and found it to be gross – way too soft and blah. While I do enjoy staring at a nice set of boobs, I seemed to outgrow my desire to actually be a man.

I get all embarrassed when I sit and think of that time now that I’m an adult. What was wrong with me? Was it some kind of obsession of missing having a father in my life? I’ve never asked anyone if it was normal or what the cause could have been or why it didn’t progress into me becoming something different as an adult.

It’s on my mind today for 2 reasons. First, my son will turn 10 next month and the age of 10 is exactly when all of this occurred in my life. I realize now that he is now old enough to be in his room living a life that I know nothing about. It’s not that I think he’s in his room pretending to be a girl. Of course, if he was, I would accept it totally and love him still and take him shoe shopping. It’s that he is hitting an age where I don’t know his every thought or feeling anymore. He’s having curiosities and lessons and fantasies about things that I probably couldn’t imagine nor would I even probably want to imagine.

That is a scary and exciting thought to me. My baby boy is now more of a person and a human being than just my son. When I think on my childhood, 10 years old is really a pivotal age where I go from remembering tidbits of my childhood to really remembering day to day life and events and feelings. So as a parent, if I fuck up now, I can’t just shrug it off and say, “oh he won’t even remember me doing this to him”. He WILL remember it now. This realization has brought a deep sense of responsibility in me on how I speak to him, how I speak to others, my actions and my reactions.

Heavy.

The other reason I’m thinking of my pre-teen male tendencies? My husband has a cold. This naturally means that he may as well have god damn stage 4 lung cancer with how he’s acting and carrying on as if he’s dying. And as he is lying in bed at home right now at 1:58pm on a Thursday actually getting to use a whole sick day for himself because HE is actually ill, I just really hate him for it and I’m jealous and pissed of how cushy most men with wives have it and I really wish for this moment that I was a man.