Reasons why today was good… ?

[written Friday night, amidst sweltering heat, I might add]

Today was good. We
went to the zoo and that was
quite a lot of fun.

Braden was cute all
day long, as is usual.
He brings me such joy.

Um, dinner was good.
Yeah, it was yummy. Sketti.
Yeah, dinner was good.

Oh, who the hell am
I kidding?! Being positive
is not my best trait!

I need to complain!
UPSTAIRS A/C EFFING DIED!
*pulling out my hair*

Why upstairs? Huh? Why?
UPSTAIRS! Where the heat rises!
Why not downstairs, HUH?

Eighty-Seven – not
an acceptable number
of degrees inside.

I stand firm on this.
So does Braden. His screams at
bedtime confirm it.

Who can sleep like this?
And how can I possibly
Plurk well in this heat!?

Oh well. Off now to
dip my BEWBS in ice water.
Can’t let them suffer.

 

 

{ Oh yeah, don’t forget
to go vote for BEWBS and PECS!
The Rack begs you to! }

 

The struggle is easy; letting go is hard.

I am struggling
not to feel empty inside.
It is not easy.

I am struggling
not to be angry right now.
It is not easy.

I am struggling
not to cry so I can breath.
It is not easy.

I am struggling
not to feel like I’m broken.
It is not easy.

I am struggling
to clear grey clouds from my heart.
It is not easy.

But I know that it
is not healthy to keep this
inside, so I won’t.

I am letting go.
I am allowing myself
time to just grieve now.

And I find that I
have these two guys to help me
clear grey clouds away.

I guess what I’m saying is, can’t we all just get along, bitches?

Sometimes, when I’m surfing around Ye Olde Blog World, I notice, here and there, some rather harsh words relating to the whole “Mommy Blogger” Trend. The harshness seems to be multiplied when referring specifically to the Stay-At-Home breed of MB’s.

I try not to get offended. It ain’t easy, because:

1) I’m stupidly sensitive and ridiculously, pathetically easy to hurt.

2) Ack. I’m a “Mommy Blogger” (the SAHM breed), and those rude comments? Could be directed at me, easily.

(I realize that they are not, but I’m into taking things personally. It’s part of my Mental Issues thing.)

It’s funny. (You know, not funny-ha-ha, and not funny-queer, but funny-f’ed up.) I see people say things out there like how if you stay home all the time with your kid(s), you aren’t a “real person” with your own identity. Or maybe they mention that if you talk about your kids every day, or even quite often (especially if you talk about their fecal habits or post “inappropriate” photos of them), you are clearly vacuous.

[Oops. I happen to talk about my kid's fecal habits. And I'll mention now, some people have told me that my photos of Braden are inappropriate, and should not be posted all over the Internet for "pedophiles to drool over." Rather, they should be kept private. (Thanks for your opinion!)]

Further? It seems that there’s a group of people out there, for whom, just saying, “Oh, that’s just not for me,” is not enough to get their feelings across on the whole matter. For some reason, there is a need to actually flame “Mommy Bloggers,” and to put them down in an extremely derogatory fashion. I’ve seen comments out there like, “Mommys make me sick and wouldn’t go near one of their blogs with a ten foot pole.” Wow, alrighty.

I want to point out that I quite understand that no one will like every type of website. I mean, I’m not hittin’ up the Automotive Blogs every day, because I just don’t care for them. Besides, who has time for Automotive Blogs when you surf as much Asian Porn as I do?

But I digress.

My point here is, you don’t like something, cooool, but there’s this condescending, derogatory undertone I’m noticing; this sense that talking about your kid(s) often is just completely intolerable. As in, you know, it would make you sick to have to read that. As if it were all about bashing in the heads of bunnies with a mallot, or extolling the virtues of Martha Stewart’s Towel Line at JCPenny. I mean, THAT I could see throwing up over.

Sometimes, the indication is even that if the SAHM would just get a job and do more outside of the home then they could be considered to be an actual, intelligent woman with a life. Someone with a brain. WTH, people? Have we taken such a huge step backward as women – hell, as people - that we can’t just SUPPORT ONE ANOTHER no matter what our decisions in life are?

So, here I sit, feeling stupidly offended and ridiculously, pathetically hurt.

**Not asking anyone to come to my rescue. There is no “troll” to hunt down, no bashing to be done. Let us not form a mob today. (We’ll save the pitchforks and fire for another day, eh?)

I just want to “talk” about this for a minute. And maybe “listen” to you guys have some intelligent discourse on the matter when I’m done.

Pretty please?

See, on a personal note, the thing is this:

This is a season in my life. I have, in my short 31 years, already been through a variety of phases and stations in life. I have occupied many different roles, and continue to do so today.

My opinions, feelings, beliefs, and values have changed over time, and also continue to do so (maybe I’m just a flake!)

I’ve been the Curious Kid, the Ambitious Pre-Teen, the Angst-Filled Teenager, the Party-Hardy Young Adult.

I’ve been a Slacker, Driven College Student, Hopeful Graduate Researcher, Disillusioned Degree Seeker.

I’ve been an Ice Cream Scooper, Weight-Loss Trainer, Milk-Shake Maker, University TA (Teacher), Retail Temp Worker, the Manager of an Upscale Store.

I’m a High School Graduate, College Graduate (BA), and Grad School Graduate (MA).

I’ve been Drama Club Dork, Band Geek, Phi-Kapp-Phi, Psi Chi.

I was Magna Cum Laude. And I will still laugh at the middle part of that.

I’ve been a Daughter, Sister, Best Friend, Jerk, Worst Enemy, Girlfriend, Cheater, Ex-Girlfriend, Mistress, Betrayed Wreck, Lost Soul, Fiancee, and Wife.

Now I’m a Momma, Mommy, Mother, Mom.

I’m a Woman. A Person.

I’ve been an Atheist, Agnostic, Christian, Other.

I have FREAKED OUT on people. I have held my tongue and moved on.

I’ve been a Thief.

I’ll even admit to having been, to some degree, no matter how small, Racist, Sexist, Homophobic, Righteous. (Feel free to throw stones. Just make sure to step out of your glass house first.)

I’ve also been Moral, Just, Tolerant, Humble, Meek.

I’ve Wronged, Grudged, Apologized, Forgiven and Been Forgiven.

I’ve learned and grown and changed and loved. I laughed, cried, rejoiced, wanted to die, and just been mellow.

I’ve regretted, hoped, wished, and planned.

I’ve done wrong and I’ve worked to make things right.

I’ve been compassionate after being judgemental, and understanding after being intolerant.

I’m a Woman. A Person.

I used my heart, body, and mind (BRAIN) all the way from there to here.

Now is when I have a website where I talk about my current station in life, and the experiences related to that. Now I happen to be a mother who is not gainfully employed outside of the home (label me whatever you want – “Mommy Blogger,” SAHM, Ignorant Loser, PunkAssBitch – whatevs).

I will talk about my child. Often. Shit is an experience I’ve had with him. I’ll talk about it. I’ll also say lovey-dovey, sickly sweet and annoying things about my feelings for him. I will post photos of him that I think celebrate his beauty, without worrying who lives down the street from me or what “weirdos” are viewing this website online, because that’s not how I live my LIFE.

Others will judge. So be it.

When I started this website, I didn’t even know about the whole “Mommy Blogger” thing. While I had recently discovered her blog and loved it to pieces, I didn’t know that Dooce had planted a seed that blew up like gang-f’in-busters and that fifty-gagillion other moms decided to write about theirs lives and kids, too, as I was embarking on just that enterprise.

I just want to talk about what floats my boat right now, ya dig? I want a creative outlet where I can celebrate exactly who I am right now (and maybe talk about who I used to be, and who I might become, too!). I want to create a history of this time in our lives for my family. I’m a mother, and I’m not ashamed that I stay at home and devote my time here. For now, it is what I choose to do, and I am lucky to have that choice. Later, it may all change. Let’s see where life continues to go, right?

Incidentally, I use this website to broaden my horizons and practice other interests I have, such as writing and photography. And, of course, I have other hobbies and interests that I’ve never even mentioned here. But, alas, when they pick apart the “Mommy,” they judge with slanted eyes while viewing just a slice of life. Just the portion you’ve had time to tell.

Like I said, it may be a little ridiculous that I am even offended. I don’t feel that I fit the derogatory “definition” I see out there of the so-called “loser Mommy” who “has no life outside her children.” And yet, somehow, I feel that perhaps many women are being crammed into that category just because The Crammers are in short supply of actual facts, and in a hurry to judge those who have chosen a different path than their own.

Do not assume that I do not have a brain or that I am not a real person with a real identity just because of this station in my life, or just because I rejoice in and focus on things that are different than those which you rejoice in and focus on.

And I will not assume just as rude, ignorant, and short-sighted things about you.

Deal?

A decidedly different post than this past Friday’s.

I am sitting here, at my computer, with my brow furrowed, writing.

It is 1:18 am.

About 30 minutes ago, and after struggling fitfully for some time, my eyes opened wide (imagine the cartoon sound-mixture of breaking glass and squealing brass horns, and picture red veins in my eyes) and I gave up trying to go back to sleep with the buzzsaw next to me droning on endlessly.

Annoyed, I snatched up my pillow.  I resisted the rather strong temptation to hold it over John’s face.

Instead, I quietly (can stomping be referred to as quiet?) left the room and stumbled down the stairs (YAY FOR STAIRS!NOT.) to the couch.

After having finally quieted the seemingly endless stampede of noisy elephants in my brain that is my mind refusing to shut the HELL up when I want to go to sleep (does that ever happen to you?) I was starting to drift back towards the edge of slumber.  In fact, the wispy tendrils of sleep sent by the sandman were already winding their way into my hair and tickling my cheeks.

Suddenly, a small sound crept down the stairs and around the bend, hurrying to reach me before I escaped to my dreamworld.  It grew quickly, and (was I imagining it?) truimphantly it danced across my face with heavy feet, ripped its way down the auditory canals and bitch slapped my eardrums.  

I was not slow to identify it as the evil.snoring.from.hell.

It is completely normal and sane to lie on your couch half-naked well past midnight, biting your lip, clutching your pillow, and thinking about putting some “special powder” in your husband’s morning coffee.

I am so not deranged and psychotic.

*cartoon-sound: cuckoo clock*

Where’s Mr. Bubble when you need him?

Quick Announcement:
Next PSBN Post: March 10th
Breastfeeding Carnival Post scheduled for Tuesday, March 11th.
Birth Story Carnival Post scheduled for Monday, March 24th.
(see here and here for more info)
Link in with your related story on those days.  I’ll post buttons soon.

On to today’s post:

Since I’ve been vomiting on you people all of my feelings and states of being for some time now, I really don’t see a reason to stop.  So here’s a little update.

I’ve been off The Pill since January 28th.  It did not take all that long for me to feel much better.  The heavy depression I was feeling before has receeded dramatically, and my libido has resurfaced.  In fact, I’m thinking that tonight ‘conditions will be perfect.’  *Ahem*  Anyway…

Braden and I have been sick twice this past month. (Just FYI, when your child chokes on vomit, it’s REALLY scary.)  Even between colds and now at the end of the second one, I keep finding that a nagging fatigue has been settling on me again.  Yesterday, I had horrible sinus pains and headaches.

And I have made a lovely new discovery.  Some rather ugly mold is growing in our (rental) home.  Could this be contributing to the newfound feelings of malaise?  So, something else to deal with.  Life remains exciting!  We’re still waiting to hear back from the Property Management Folks about the mold, because they don’t like taking care of problems promptly (or at all).  It never ends.

Upon reflection, I have decided that I would like to live in a bubble from now on.  No, not the John Travolta kind.  A real bubble.  I want to drift along over the world, in a shiny, soapy, happy bubble.

Rent free.

But I think maybe I need to lose some more weight first.

Wave when you see me float by, mmkay?  Just don’t shoot spitballs.

Paradise Below Us

Ahhh.  Renting a house.  I suppose that some people are able to have a good experience renting a house.  Unfortunately,  The Carrolls are not those people.  Let me tell you our lovely story.

May 2006: Move from Austin, TX (*sniff*) to Nashville, TN.  Move into apartment (gag) while trying to sell house in Austin (torture).

I really, really tried to keep a positive view of things.

After all, I was glowing with the aura of happy pregnant lady!

Photo by Athena Carey, lifeprintsphotography

It didn’t work.

May 2006 – May 2007: Miserable living in apartment.  Why?

*Brown Recluse Spider infestation.

*Loud “Horse-Laugh Harry” upstairs.  I honestly think he is the illegitimate child of Mr. Ed.  Really.

*Drug Dealers outside our window.  Thank you, but no, our recovering drug-addict friend would NOT like to buy some pot from you, asshat.

*Stupid lady smoking a cigarette practically in my VERY PREGNANT face at the pool, who obviously had a death wish, but got lucky and somehow survived with her life.  I am not holding a grudge, she just really deserves to have her Marlboros shoved into her other bodily orifices.  While they are lit.

*Sh*tty Property Management Office that likes to lose your packages.  “Ohh, really?  That was your package?  So sorry.  We thought the box looked like it would be happy WITH SOMEONE ELSE.”

Etc.

May 2007: Not ready to buy another house yet, but eager to leave apartment living, we rent a house. 

Summer 2007: Among (many) other crappy things, we discover that there is a problem cooling the house.  The AC Unit runs all day long just to try to maintain a 78Degree temp setting.  It fails.  It is usually at least 85 in the house. 

We nearly die.

Property Management fixes some of the faulty duct work (wasn’t even ATTACHED TO THE VENT under the house!!!), but refuses to do the entire job.  We are left with leaky duct work.

Bills arrive for AC.  We die again.

Current Day: We have just received a gas (heating) bill.  This is separate from the electric bill.  Almost $250.

For one month. 

Our heads simultaneously exploded.

For that amount?  My ass better have been leaving all the doors and windows open, cranking the heat up to about 85 and walking around here NAKED, sipping rum-filled drinks from my SWANKY COCONUT CUP and getting my feet rubbed by the Cabana Boy by the INDOOR, HEATED POOL that we had installed, while lovely Hawaiian tunes play in the background.  AND I’d be needing to have had perfectly moisturized hair and skin and a FREAKING TAN.

Oh. No. Wait.  Is that what was happening?  HELL NO.  I was all up in this mother wearing my ugly sweatshirts and socks, scratching my dried out, pasty-white, itchy skin, wondering why the stupid heater has to run so much just to maintain a temperature of 68. 

DUR. It’s because our CRAPPY Property Managers and CRAPPY House Owner refuse to fix the duct work properly!  They literally told us this on Friday.  “Hi.  This is your CRAPPY Property Manager.  I am a useless bag of ****, have a nice day!” 

They refuse to fix it.  They don’t care about our exorbitant Heating/Cooling bills. 

I think, in short, this is what they said to us:

Except they aren’t cute.

John walked outside the other night and saw steam rising out of the door to our crawl space.

STEAM IS RISING OUT FROM THE CRAWL SPACE.

*slaps self in forehead*

Of course!  The Tropical Party is under our house, not inside it! 

I need to pack up my hula skirt and my coconuts and squeeze under there.  Do you think the Cabana Boy is waiting to give me a foot rub?

Until then?  I’m off to browse real estate in Nashville.  Guess who’s moving in May?