(What do you mean, you didn’t know I was gone?)
I’ll update on our family’s super-quick jaunt to the south later. For now, I have a question:
How is it possible that I used 60 sunblock and STILL ended up with a sunburned nose? Also: is it possible to burn your eyeballs even through your sunglasses? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I did. Just sayin’.
(I am SO not built to go out in the daylight.)
Occasionally, I will catch myself doing or saying something very grown-up (“it’s time to study your spelling words”, “that music is so loud; I can’t hear myself think”) and I’ll wonder how it is that I look and act exactly like a 33 year old woman when I still feel like a very un grown-up kid a lot of the time.
I am an adult and have been for quite some time. The birthdate on my driver’s license says so. The fact that the checkout girl at the liquor store asks for my ID not because she believes I’m under 18 but to verify that I haven’t stolen someone else’s credit card in order to purchase my grandmotherly bottle of Bailey’s Irish Creme. The way my bones snap, crackle and pop like a bowl of Rice Krispies when I get up off the couch and the way that I can throw my back out with an out-of-nowhere sneeze evidences that I’m not in my teens (heck, twenties) anymore.
I spend my days meal planning and grocery shopping. I vacuum, clean the toilets and do an obscene amount of laundry. I chauffeur the kids back and forth to school and extra-curricular activities. I confer with their teachers about how they’re doing. I make and enforce the household rules. I help the kids with homework and manage to answer all of their questions like I actually know what I’m talking about. I am a wife, mother and homemaker. I’m even relatively successful at it.
I got a steam mop for Christmas and I was happy about it. Why? Because, when asked what I wanted for a gift, it was the only thing I could think of that I really, really wanted. Because getting down on my hands and knees to scrub the floor sure does a number on the old joints, don’t ya know.
I rarely drink alcohol and when I do, I limit myself to one or two because life doesn’t just stop when you’d like to let loose. Sometimes, I just want silence. My idea of finding something fun to spend extra cash on is buying a cute outfit for the kids at Gymboree. Or purchasing that terry towel shower curtain that I’ve been looking all over the place for. I wear flats because they’re practical. I put a toque on when it’s cold because you lose most of your body heat through the top of your head and vanity has no place in the middle of winter.
Despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I still feel like a kid. I do a double-take every time someone calls me “ma’am.” I sometimes find it odd that my kids look up to me as though I’m a grown up, especially when they assume that I have the answers to everything. Clearly I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. For some reason, though, they don’t see that. Bless their little hearts, my kids really do believe that I’m a mature, responsible parental figure. What they don’t know is that I am a fraud. Here is how I know:
When I was growing up, my parents were grown-ups. They did have the answers to everything. They did have everything figured out because even though they claimed to have been children once upon a time, they weren’t really. Or if they had been, it had passed really quickly. They did all sorts of parent-y things like chauffeur my brother and me to school and extra-curricular activities, do obscene amounts of laundry and cleaning, and make and enforce household rules. Obviously, they had this whole adult thing in the bag. Because, naturally, you must pass some sort of wiseness and general maturity test in order to become parents. Duh.
It didn’t even dawn on me until I became hopelessly entrenched in this whole parenting thing myself that maybe my mom once felt the same way I do now. Like she was really just a kid masquerading as an adult who had everything figured out. That thought made me feel a little bit better about myself because if my mom ever felt like she was flying by the seat of her pants sometimes, it’s okay that I do, too. She’s making her way through parenthood and adulthood in general like she actually knows what she’s doing and, if I’m completely honest, I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it myself. It doesn’t really matter that I feel like an imposter sometimes as long as the rest of the world doesn’t manage to figure it out.
Maybe being stunted is a good thing after all. I don’t have to have everything figured out all the time to be successful in my life. I mean, I’ve come across lots of people who think they know it all and really, those people are kind of assholes. Sucks to be them. Heh.
The other night, I had a small bowl of strawberries, bananas and blueberries for a snack. When I was finished, I had heartburn and a stomach ache. I had to take Tums before going to bed. Chocolate never does that to me. Clearly, chocolate is better for my body.
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Last night, frustrated with PCOS and weight gain, I ate some chips at a Canada Day barbeque. Salty snacks are not my indulgence of choice. I just did it because they were there, and because it doesn’t seem to matter what I eat. This morning after a shower, I weighed myself. I am down 3 pounds. My conclusion? Eating chips = weight loss.
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If fruit gives me heartburn and chips make me lose weight, then I’m obviously doing something wrong in this whole “get healthy” endeavour. Maybe I’ll start my own chips-n-chocolate diet. Food for thought!
For some reason I can’t wrap my mind around, the fine people over at Blogtrepreneur.com have put me on their Top 50 Mommy Blogs list. I made it in at #44. The mind boggles.
I’m in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life’s no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I’m in a hurry and don’t know why
Well, that about sums it up for me. I’m an awesome employee for that very reason. Once I have a task set in front of me, I become an insane, crazy, obsessed person until I get it done. I’m extremely efficient.
Too bad I drive myself insane over my need to get things done right now.*
Case in point. I love scrapbooking. But I hate to be behind on it. On average, I run about six months behind which, judging by everyone else I know, is actually pretty impressive. It’s not good enough for me, though, so I’ve been coming up with ways to get it done faster faster faster now now now!
*cough* I think I need a cigarette.
First I started by adding regular, divided album pages to my scrapbooks so that the volume of pictures I needed to scrapbook would be lessened. My friends think it’s a great idea and, I have to admit, I like the look it adds to my scrapbooks. It’s still cheating, though. It’s a slippery slope. It starts with a few added album pages here and there and before you know it, it morphs into entire (gasp) regular albums.
See? In the name of just gettin’ ‘er done, I actually went out and bought regular photo albums:
In my defense, though, I did alter the covers. So that counts, right?
These are likely only the first of many. I’m addicted to the speed, people. The first one is for pictures of favourite Christmas ornaments. Maybe that’s weird, but well, so am I.
The second is for random photos taken by yours truly (like the frost pictures). I like them and want them around, but the thought of scrapbooking every random picture makes me a little crazy. Do you have any idea how far behind I’d get if I ever tried to scrapbook anything other than events? Gah. I can’t think about it. I’m getting jittery.
The third is for artwork and pictures done by my kids. They bring home so many crafts and draw so many pictures that I can’t possibly keep them all. This is the best of both worlds, in my most humble opinion.
Trust me to be so completely obsessive-compulsive that I take a fun, relaxing hobby and turn it into a race against time. Isn’t there a pill for that? (A chill pill? Har har har.)
(Sorry, that was pretty pathetic. Won’t happen again.)
The news that makes my heart sing? I’m caught up until the end of November, though, so HA! Beat that, suckers. No time to smell the roses. Can’t you see I’m in a hurry up in here?
* This little obsession of mine doesn’t extend to getting laundry folded and other household chores done in a timely manner because that would just be crazy. We all have our limits.
What is it about me that causes me to compulsively stay up past midnight every single night? I annoy the crap out of myself while I’m doing it and yet? I can’t stop! It’s a sickness.
(At least I’m not eating.)
(Right now.)
And so, here I sit at two minutes to midnight, not-so-patiently waiting for a bunch of pictures I took over a month ago to upload to the Kodak website. I don’t even use the Kodak website. I’m more of a Snapfish girl. But I’m uploading them for a friend who does use Kodak, just to make it easier for her to order the ones she wants. I’m nice like that. At least, I think I’m nice like that. I’m too tired to tell. Maybe I’m just so sleep deprived that I can’t think straight enough to be not-so-nice and just send her a link to my Snapfish album. (Or too sleep deprived to make any sense whatsoever, apparently). I wonder what kind of a hateful bitch I’d be if I actually got the requisite 8 hours of sleep each night? Or, OR! Would I become so nice and wonderful with all of that extra sleep that I’d become a veritable saint? The Mother Teresa of my own little world, if you will. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll think about that one tomorrow night when I’m thinking up new stupid excuses not to go to bed…
It’s not as though I’m not tired, either. I am. I guess I’m just a night owl. My brain turns on at about 9:30pm and whirs around like that really awesome KitchenAid I’ve got my eye on:
Scratch that. I’ll just be honest here. With the scattered, fragmented sleep I’ve been getting for the past couple of years, my brain is really only whirring around like one of these:
And, with a mind like an egg beater, how do you really expect me to be with-it enough to get to bed earlier?
Maybe I’ll buy the mixer and set it up beside the bed as a reminder that sleep is important. It’s no good being a crappy old egg beater when you have the potential to be a shiny new stand mixer. I think I’ll get on that one right away.
Now, if only those pictures would hurry up and finish downloading. Hmm. Maybe while I’m waiting I’ll start that new book from the library…
* photos courtesy of Google images.
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