Mom to the Screaming Masses

And The Score Is..

Life: 1 million, Carmen: a big fat 0.

I feel like, in every aspect of my life, I am a failure right now. Almost every kid in my house is having trouble with asthma. Maybe if I had been more on top of that, we wouldn't be sucking so much albuterol right now. I've got a stack of prescriptions in hand, and anyone who wonders where the money went last month – just look for the pharmacy receipts.

One of my kids is struggling in school. Maybe, if I had been more on top of that, the grades would be better. The self-confidence would be better. The student wouldn't feel as if every teacher hated him.

My writing has left me. I feel abandoned by the muse.

Every single day, we are out of something VITAL at the store. EVERY DAY.

I have almost no desire to exercise. I haven't been to Zumba class, other than once, in more than three months. Frankly, I do not have time for the drama and cattiness that occurs. I try to walk at least four times a week, but it feels like a punishment, a slog, and I can't wait to be done with it.

We seem to specialize in mouthy and self-centered lately. No family does mouthy and self centered quite as well, I'm convinced.

Everyone keeps asking what I want for Mother's Day, and my inbox is full of Mother's Day pitches. But I'm not quite sure how to tell everyone that what I really want for Mother's Day is a nap. And not to have to do one single dish, one piece of laundry, pick up one single thing. And that doesn't mean no one does it, and i do double on Monday. I want it all done by SOMEONE NOT ME.

Wow. I'm pretty negative lately. It's no wonder my readership has gone down – I don't even want to read me. But I've always been committed to telling the truth, even if it's not flattering, or filled with puppies, unicorns, and rainbows.

I did do one thing right. We did this this weekend:

And then we did this this weekend as well:

I'm missing 2 pepper plants, so that's why it's empty in the middle

And then, somehow, my oldest boy turned 21. I remember being 21. If I can remember it, how can he BE it?

I think I need to get out to the beach more. In fact, I think we ALL need to get out to the beach more.

January, February, Blah Blah Blah

For complicated reasons that I'd rather not delve into here, being that the Internet is forever, and I have no idea who reads this – although you are all really very lovely people – January and February are always difficult months for me.

I know the reasoning behind it, I know that I've had tough times in these months in the past, and I know that the weather doesn't help. (Although, hello, today = 70 degrees...) I try to be especially aware of this and be kind to myself. I try to do things that will make me feel better. My things are not always the same as yours. For example, I once shared this with a friend, and she "solved the problem" by sending me tons of funny puppy and cat pictures.

I'm not a puppy person. I'm not a cat person. Now if you want to send me sarcastic e-cards, we might be in business.

I typically wake with a sense of purpose, a sense of excitement, a feeling of "Something's going to happen, what will the day bring?" In Jan and Feb, I don't feel that. Opening my eyes leads no excitement, no anticipation - it seems dull and blah. Even planning fun activities- parties, trips, etc - it doesn't seem to help.

I try to exercise every day, for I know that that's a mood improve-r for me. I have in years past taken a vitamin D supplement every day, and I realized yesterday that this might be something I need to look at again. I try to make sure to eat the right things, get enough sleep, spend time with friends, do everything "right". I really try hard to avoid stuffing my face, because I know that food makes me feel better - but tight pants make be feel worse. It's really a catch-22.

But sometimes, it doesn't really matter how much funny stuff I watch, how much good music I listen to, how much exercise I do – I still feel very dark inside.

So. January/February = holding on for March. And today means that I'm halfway through. I know I'm certainly not the only one, and I'm supremely lucky that this is only a temporary thing - I have family and friends who suffer from long term depression and have gone through that myself, both post partum and non. I've taken anti depressants, and am aware of myself enough to know that I'm not at that point - it's seasonal.

Right now, I'm going to go sit outside and soak up 30 minutes of warmer than average air. I'm going to close my eyes and just - sit.

Do you feel at all affected by seasonal depression? What do you do to combat it?

(I once saw a critique of my blog and the writer said that, by asking a question at the end of the post, I was begging for comments - maybe I am, but I sincerly want to know - what do you do? I can't be the only one who feels this...)

Who Am I, Anyway

I read this really very interesting post yesterday. I'm not sure whose it was, or where it was - I followed a rabbit trail around the internet for quite a while, jumping through this hoop and over that branch and landing in some pretty interesting places.

In the post, the author details things that she likes and things that she hates. The vanilla of the internet, if you will - surely that post is a dime a dozen. But it DID make me think.

The hates and likes of our lives are what make us - us. What make us unique and special and so completely different from the person in the next cubicle/home/block/continent. The things that make each of us just like exactly no one else that we've ever met or not met.

Here are some of the things that are unique to me.

I absolutely cannot stand beets. Or carrots. I love to read in my bed. I fell out of a tree when I was 18 and to this day can't remember the entire day before or after. I wake up with a headache every day of my life and have since I can remember. I hate to wear socks. I'm afraid I'll end up being an old lady with huge ropey varicose veins. Which makes me really a very vain person indeed. I'm addicted to Facebook and Instagram and wearing sunglasses. I have the coldest hands and feet in the entire free world. Ask my husband.

I get seriously twitchy if I don't have a tube of lip balm every minute of the day - I have one in the car, at my desk, by my bed and in my purse - and always in the pocket of my jeans. I love to wear dresses and, also, sweat pants. My favorite flavors are lemon and vanilla and I'm secretly squigged out by beer. If I could eat spaghetti and garlic bread every day, I would. I'm snarky and smart mouthed and I hate to hurt people's feelings.

My parents are divorced. My husband was before he and I married. I'm completely fine with the fact that I'll never have another baby - babies do not make my ovaries hurt. I'm super judgemental even though I super try not to be. I bite my tongue all day long. I love to serve at funerals and I tear up at every eulogy. I'm not sentimental for cards/books/flowers/ etc - but one of the ladies I do funeral ministry with told me today that Jan 28 is the anniversary of her daughter's death 30 years ago and I'm going to send her a card to arrive on that day.

That's the kind of sentimental stuff I do. I also turned someone in to the cops tonight.

Charlie and Lola was my favorite kids show, and I still watch it if it comes on. I love the movies Overboard, The Breakfast Club and Steel Magnolias. I do 50 squats and 50 push ups every day, as well as the burpee challenge I'm in right now. I once did a musical theater show in which I was asked to please, for the love of God, stop singing and just lip synch. Lord of the Rings,Legos, and Star Wars bore me to tears.

Music is my lifeline. Julie Andrews had the best voice of anyone, ever. I once did a ballet in a baseball field in front of 1000 people wearing a chicken suit. I don't watch award shows, or really, much TV. Except I Love Lucy every morning from 5-7. Goals for this year? Learn to shoot a hand gun, buy a motorcycle and connect with the person to do prison ministry.

I'd be willing to bet that you all have at least one of those things in common with me - which one?

I'd be willing to bet we have a lot less in common than you ever thought - and that's ok.

Did any of those surprise you?

Snowflake Waltz

You've probably seen The Nutcracker once or twice in your life. For a long time, I professed to hate it. My ballet teacher was vehement in her hatred of the oft performed tale, and it does appear to be the most overly performed ballet of all time. Everywhere you go in the month of December, all you hear is Nutcracker music. The Waltz of the Flowers is probably the most often played, but right behind it would be the March of the Soldiers.

Nutcrackers are all around the world, everywhere you go. They are an overused symbol of Christmas.

The Nutcracker here to stay. And I performed bits and pieces of it for different shows, but I was never in a complete performance.  My dance teacher hated The Nutcracker, so I did as well. Even though, I secretly really loved the Waltz of the Snowflakes. I performed in many ballets of my life, but I considered it personally epically tragic that I never did the Waltz of the Snowflakes. I think that would've been an absolute blast.

If you listen to the music, it's very deceptive. It starts off light, airy, almost like a real snowfall does. If you haven't heard it, or you don't remember it - find it on youtube and listen. It's light and fluffy, and increases in tempo, speed and ferocity.

Much like my life. Wake up in the morning with your day ahead of you. Nothing exciting, nothing earth shaking. But slowly, as the day goes on, it gathers steam and speed, much like the Waltz of the Snowflakes. If you listen to the music, it becomes frantic – this is the part often referred to as the deathspiral, or the reverse spiral. Dancers dash from one side to the other, crisscrossing back-and-forth, dodging each other, weaving throughout, and snow was falling everywhere. It's a scene of chaos. It becomes more and more frantic, faster, faster, faster– and then it slows down. Becomes peaceful, allows you to catch your breath. Just like life. There's even some beautiful singing.

It's a deceptive calm.

Suddenly, without warning, it speeds up, and it feels almost as if you're caught in a blizzard. And it gets faster and faster, and if you were dancing it, you would become breathless.

This past week, my life has felt like this. Brief, intermittent patches of calm, followed by more increasing and ever more intense cycles of frantic running. Dashing from one thing to do next, putting out this fire in time to turn around and put out that fire. Everyone in my life has needed more, more, MORE of me, And it just seems so stressful. So frantic, so - much. I can seem to make no one happy, no matter how much I do, how hard I work, how much I sacrifice of myself to make them happy - it's never enough.

I keep reminding myself that the Waltz of the Snowflakes ends. It is frantic and scattered, stressful and appears infinite - but it does come to an end.

Deep Discussion For a Friday

I was in the office for the reading of the MRI, the insanely expensive test for which I cannot afford to pay but chose to move forward despite this reality, to answer the burning question of What is the extent of the damage to my leg and let's get this show on the road, already, yo!

 He looked straight ahead at the computer, waiting for my answers to the burning questions.

Carmen

No medications.

No new injuries.

5'6".

And there I stopped. I didn't answer the next question.

He turned the wheeled chair around to look over his half glasses at me, a fine specimen of manhood, in his early forties, nicely built, balding with a gray beard. An attractive man. A friendly man. An "I will take no bullshit from anyone" kind of man.

You know what I don't get? It's just a number. You women, you make it all out to be the center of the universe. It's a NUMBER. Ask any man around, and they will tell you that they prefer a woman with a little meat on her bones - and all of those skinny fashion models that we are supposed to emulate? That school of thought comes from gay European designers. Real men, they want a woman who looks like a woman, and not like a prepubsecent school girl.

Now, how much do you weigh?

__________________________

My husband is in love with the USA Women's volleyball pairs teams. He watches the matches, mesmerized and cajoling me to Watch this! as well as Did you see that? and the ever famous Wow, do they look good.

One game before the finals - they all run together, I'm really sorry, I LOVE me some Olympics but I'm kinda tapped out at this point - he made an offhand comment.

The volleyball players are too toned and musculed. I don't like my women like that.

I may or may not have swatted him. He was puzzled - why did I find that comment upsetting? It was just the truth - he doesn't like toned women, he said.

ARGH.

Both of those are true. As a general rule - and I know we aren't supposed to generalize - women hate their bodies. Mostly because we compare ourselves over and over and over. We compare ourselves to magazine covers, to other women we see at school, to TV anchors and next door neighbors. We compare ourselves to women who spend ten hours a day exercising, to women who have different body types, to women who have different goals and realities than many of us.

Know what I do for ten hours a day? WORK. Same as all of you. Either at my computer or in my house, and I can try to do squats while I do dishes and do counter top push ups while the rice cooks - but I'm squeezing it in and that's the very best I can do some days.

These are things I have to remember:

• Weight is a number
• Size is a number
• I'm doing the best I can do
• I've injured myself trying to do more than I should
• I'm not a celebrity/Olympian/Famous Person/model
• I'm an average person
• Being healthy - with lower BMI and blood pressure and cholesterol numbers - is critical
• Being a size 2 does not mean that *I* am healthy. YOU can def be a size 2 and be healthy - when I was, I wasn't healthy.
• If I'm unhappy with my weight, I can eat less
• Or move more. It's all in my control
• As much as I might want to blame someone else/genetics/body chemistry/the environment/the President/state of the global food market/HFCS - well, maybe HFCS

I think we all need to do the best we can possibly do. For most of us, that means exercise every day. Maybe billing that exercise in with a family member as a way to spend time together - I walk with my husband a couple of times a week. I don't think any of us needs to drink a Big Gulp cup of sugar soda every single day, and I think we should all try (oh, so definitely me in this one) to eat less sweets.

Sweets and breads are my arch nemesis.

Why do women get caught up in this insanity and men don't appear to be affected?

 

Are You Ever Really a Part of the In Crowd?

First of all, if you didn't go watch my Ford Videos and read my Ford Review - go do it now. So, so much fun.

So. Last night, I had a (profound only to me) thought that stemmed from a post I wrote on my Facebook.

So, I got a lot of comments from my friends, and while everyone took a lot of effort to make me feel better - and said such really lovely things about me - I noticed one thing over and over.

None of us ever feels like she - or he - belongs. Even those people who I thought have it made. Whatever "it" is.

I actually started thinking of this while traveling back from the Ford Event. When I was in the airport, I had a lot of time before my first flight left - about four hours. I spent quite a bit of time sitting in a coffee shop with a couple of new friends, and when they left to catch their flight, I started walking the terminal. I walked up and down, all the while window shopping and people watching. I love people watching at the airport -

Did you see the movie Love, Actually? Airport reunion scenes are the best. I cry every time.

Having a Bad Day

Did you ever have one of those days?

Wake up early, on a day when you have no reason to wake up so early? After a cruddy night of sleep that might as well have not existed?

Go to an incredibly difficult exercise class, struggle through the entire way, and feel like total crap about yourself the entire time you work out?

Lose a friend, when you have so few to begin with?

Check your bank balance and just want to, you know, cry - but it's too much effort?

Look around your house and see the overwhelming stack of responsibility that falls on your shoulders - and know that you have zero desire to rectify any of the issues?

Struggle with most of your kids, and feel an utter futility about the future?

Wonder why you bother sometimes?

Or is it just me?

A Comment Can Stick With You Forever

***Comments are too heated and thus have been closed.***

I think I've made great strides in myself in the past five years.

Losing a lot of weight, getting a job, suffering a major injury, having a miscarriage, and a small nervous breakdown, seeing my blog take off, quitting that job, getting another one, losing that job and various other life circumstances will do that to a person. One thing I have tried to work on again and again is my self confidence.

That, and my alcohol tolerance. Ba-da-Boom!

All kidding aside, I've worked really hard to not let other people's opinions or comments get me down, to stop being someone who is so affected by the words of others, and to enjoy my life without worrying what others think of me. I think I've been pretty successful in this.

When I was a kid and took dance, the instructor told me that I couldn't do jazz because I was no good at it. She made the class so uncomfortable for me that for years I assumed she was right - I couldn't "popular dance". And I never tried, and was so self conscious when we went out that I avoided dancing at all costs.

So not the case now. I break it DOWN. Ahem.

Playing Nice in the Sandbox Never Goes Away

When I was a kid, and even as a young adult, I thought that all grown ups liked each other. Observe a group of adults from the outside, and you'll see that, as a whole, everyone smiles at each other, nods along and treats each other politely. (Presidental debates nonwithstanding.) It's not until you spend some time in that conversation that you hear the sarcasm, the digs, the implied ferosity and the bitterness, you read the body language - and you realize that no one ever leaves the sandbox.

I feel like more than half of my life is spent making sure people do what they are supposed to do - and not all of these people call me Mom. It's like I've signed on to be a police officer, only without the shiny weapons belt and I don't get a pension. I'm tired of looking over people's shoulders - did he get the help he's supposed to get? Is this rule being followed the way it's supposed to be followed? I've all but given up on it - for, after all, I'm NOT a police officer - and yet, when people neglect to do the work that they are supposed to do and it directly affects me - I have to call them on it. I'm tired of doing it, but why have we become a society of slack asses, a society where everyone does the bare minimum and skates to get by?

Doing this, though, in no way endears you to those people. I've yet to meet someone who says, "Why, thank you so much for letting me know that I'm not doing what I'm supposed to do - I so appreciate you! Can I buy you a coffee?"

It's a fine line - no one wants to be a nag, and certainly no one enjoys a nag. How do you know when the matter is someone not doing their job and perhaps they should be reminded of it - and how much of it is I need to mind my own business and let that person screw up what they are trying to do - it doesn't affect me so I need to just back the hell off and MMOB. (mind my own business - I'm thinking that the four letters should be my next tattoo.)

"Well behaved women never make history."  A friend told me this recently, in an attempt to encourage me as I fight a battle that isn't mine, but it's mine to fight until the person affected is strong enough to fight it for themselves. This quote makes me crazy, for it implies that one WANTS to make history - wants to be known as the memorable one. But what if you've made history for something that was not good? Lizzie Borden is certainly well known, as is Sydney Barrows - neither of whom are well known for reasons for which*I* would like to be known.

BTW, I read Sydney Barrows story as a teen, and although I don't recommend that particular story to teens - I think her tale is both engrossing and illuminating.

Would you rather be a well known woman (or man, I'm not going to steroetype) - even if it's for an unfavorable reason - or one of the myriads of people who die virtually unknown?

And do you ever get tired of playing nice in the sandbox? Do you sit at a party and fight the desire to stand up, toss some sand in the face of the obnoxious lady at the end of the table, and let everyone know exactly and precisely why she makes you so, so angry?

And when someone actually does this, calling someone on their shenanigans - do you admire that person, or feel sorry for the one lambasted?

I actually think it's amazing that most of us like as many people as we do.

And, right now, I'm pretty sure you don't want to live in my head as I ponder these diverse, and somewhat unbalanced, thoughts.

Right?