There's No Limit to Grouchy Part II

There's no limit to grouchy is right! I wish I could say that we have licked this problem in our house, but truthfully, it has gotten worse. It seems that the best behavior we can manage resembles that of a two year old without his beloved nap. Can you say "meltdown?" Braveheart and Prince Lawn Gnome actually had a knock-down-drag-out over a pillow. Seriously, you wouldn't know that they are 16 and nearly 15 respectively. The only thing worse was my complete overreaction to the whole argument. I'm sure every neighbor could quote me word for word. I think I found a new octave.

My darling hubby has been anything but darling this week. I was beginning to think that he could benefit from a swift kick in the ass. But, I tried to be sympathetic, "honey, is there something wrong?" He mumbles, "nothing." "Can I do anything to help?" "No." Okay then well if everything is fine and you don't need my understanding then how about helping me out around here a little... (my tiredness sending me back to the id stage, age 2). Let's just say, that didn't go over too well. And, just when I was feeling justified in my whinniness, my hubby calls to tell me what the MRI of his lower back revealed. Five compressed discs, 11 discs rubbing one another bone to bone, some fluid retention in all the wrong places, and something protruding 3 mm into the spinal column! That doesn't include his train wreck of a neck either. Plus, a litany of medical jargon that I cannot remember on the spot. No wonder he's been grouchy! Who wouldn't be?

But, the kicker, the real kicker... was the second phone call from my darling hubby. "Are you going to wake me up when you get home? " We're in a marriage series at church. All married couples are challenged to seven days of sex. I'm not sure he's ever paid as much attention to a sermon in all his life. So, I ask you... if you're in enough pain to be grouchy 24-7, but not enough pain to forgo the seven day challenge, just how much am I being played here? Valid question or grouchiness rearing it's ugly head again. I admit it. I'm not above it.

I'm goin' Grandma

Maybe it's inevitable. I hope not, but I'm beginning to recognize the signs. I'm beginning to turn into my mother. That's right, I'm goin' grandma. It starts subtly at first, but it's a slippery slope into elastic waste pants and housecoats. Honestly, the first time grandma style won out over "in style" was when after a dreaded day in really cute boots, I noticed what I thought might be referred to as a bunion beginning to make itself known on the side of my toe! Couple that with the "I think I might die" steps of pain in those boots and they were history. That's right I sacrificed fashion for comfort.

The next to go were the full-set manicures. Have you ever had them peeled off before? Seriously, we could use this as a means of torture for Al-Qaeda terrorists with great results. Never again.

Okay, okay I admit it. I have owned a holiday sweater or two. I never actually purchased them, but I did wear them. Thankfully, after a million episodes of What Not to Wear, I purged them from my closet. Did I really look as pitiful as all those women in the 360 degree mirror?

Yes, I own the dreaded skirted bathing suit. Yes, I've purchased the Miracle suit featured on Oprah. And, no, neither one made my ass look any smaller.

I actually had the cutest little beaded strand made specifically for my reading glasses. I thought my girlfriends were going to stage an intervention (I heard those snickers). Perhaps, it was a good thing when I snapped the string and the beads went flying all over the kitchen floor. Now I'm thinking bifocals...

One of the most frustrating for me is the need to constantly cover the gray hair. It doesn't really matter if I pay to have it done or if I take matters into my own hands. It always comes out looking like... like... well, grandma! I've tried everything and I'm never completely satisfied. If it's going to look bad anyway, why not just give in and let it go gray naturally? I can hear a few of you now, "back away from the cliff."

But the killer, the real sign that I'm goin' grandma is that it kills me to spend the money to actually look and feel better. Looking good on the cheap isn't easy. I need help! I need professional help! I want to look cute. I want my hubby to take a second and even a third glance. And, I don't want to feel guilty about the funds needed to get to that point. I'm too young for this. Is it just me or does it take more and more effort to look good these days?

Laughter and tears...

My intent tonight was to tell a funny tale, reflect upon the craziness of life and hope to look at it light-heartedly. But, today a friend is deeply hurting. Her life is changing... forever. My heart cries for her. Intellectually, I know she will be okay because her foundation is Christ. Emotionally, the road ahead is long.

I've struggled with sharing my faith here, unsure of whether or not this should be a place free from religious talk. But, today it is abundantly clear that the troubles of life will come to your doorstep and kick in your door at will. Friends, it matters. Faith matters. And, while we might have differing beliefs in the end, the common denominator is that one day each of us will face the question "what is it that I do believe?" That struggle is real and sometimes harsh. While I have made my decision, while I am firm in my belief, I know there are those of you that are struggling. In my personal life, I try very hard to be the kind of friend that will walk alongside without judgement or condemnation. Yet, I am also a friend that will hold up a mirror when you need it. I don't sugar coat. I won't just tell you what you want to hear. I'm not into false flattery. So, it is by extension that this blog should reflect that, a cyber image of the real me. Life is too short and I'm not interested in faking it.

So, some days will be for laughter and some for tears, but always genuine.

The Dance...

Oh, Lord, my cross is heavy! In the same week, Songbird announced that she is too old to wear Barbie underwear any longer and she needed $5.00 for a ticket to the school dance. School dance? There is a very distinctive sound (thud) when your heart hits the ground. There is a very distinctive jolt of pain when you realize that your "baby" is old enough to go to a dance.

It was time to go into immediate interrogation mode: "Who else is going? What boy are you hoping to dance with? You do know that boys are to keep their hands in appropriate places when you dance don't you? What are you planning to wear? Absolutely no hoochie-momma outfits. Absolutely no make-up. What do you say if a boy tries to put his hand in an inappropriate place?" To her credit, Songbird, just giggled and played along.

The scary thing is that she's the one I know I need to worry about. She is stealthy and usually flies under the radar, but I know beneath all that innocence and puppy- dog- eyes is a boy crazy preteen just looking for an adventure. It may be time to put her brother and sister on the payroll as informants. I'll admit it, I'm not above bribery.

There's No Limit to Grouchy

It's 2:23 in the morning and I can't sleep. I'm all whacked out because half the week I work nights and the other half of the week I share a bed with my hubby. I love the man, but it is becoming increasing harder to get a good night's sleep next to him. First of all, he must have the t.v. on to fall asleep to. I can live with that, but do I seriously need to relive fifth grade history over and over again? Cursed history channel. Or, how about what I call the "doomsday channel?" Every night they find a new way in which to off the entire human race. The scenarios are endless. Just how many meteors and their trajectories should one person know about? Don't forget death by ice age, volcanic eruption, alien abduction, nuclear war, famine, and overpopulation just to name a few. These shows are seriously affecting my dreams!
I can't complain about the snoring, apparently I do plenty of my own as well. But there is a newer development that is taking it's toll. Have you ever seen those commercials for Restless Leg Syndrome? I never knew anyone that had it before. My sweet, sweet hubby does a jitterbug nearly every night. He's tried several medications and none of those seem to help. So, here he is dancing around. And here I am, wide awake. I'm beginning to think that Ward and June Cleaver were on to something with separate beds. I am in the market for a new mattress, I wonder...
It's an issue that is going to have to be addressed. The level of grouchiness in the family is on the rise. You'd think we had a newborn or something. Braveheart felt compelled to mention it at dinner the other night stating, "there's no limit to grouchy!" I think she's right. I don't think it really levels off, or caps out. A person can only go so long without a decent night's sleep. What are the odds that the non-habit-forming sleeping pills really are non-habit-forming? Hmm....

It's the little things...

Some things in life are just that good. Some things in life are not worth the compromise, such as... real butter, real bacon, dark chocolate, Jose Cuervo, unlimited long distance, name brand control top pantyhose, an extra lock on the bedroom door, a bottle (not a box) of Merlot, higher thread count sheets, home-made ice cream, and Starbucks coffee.

Some experiences in life are just that good. Some experiences I wouldn't trade for the world: the all encompassing love of a really good man (hubby), the all out laughter of each of my children, the steadfast loyalty of amazing friends, laughter through tears, late night in the driveway conversations, and the sound of the locusts at the end of a perfect summer evening.

Some things in life you'd rather forget... labor (need I say more?), the rank smell of teenagers that obviously forgot the deodorant, the negative balance of a checking account, the screech of the tires before you totalled the car, strip poker, the hangover from the afore mentioned poker game, and the number on the scale the last time you weighed.

Some things in life are worth chasing the dream for: a lake house, a speed boat, liposuction, grandchildren, a healthy bank balance, a 50 year anniversary celebration, well adjusted children (after the therapy), dark chocolate and Starbucks coffee.

Every winter...

It happens every winter so you wouldn't think that it would catch me by surprise. I knew it was serious last year when I found myself watching every single moment of the Godfather Part I, II and III including commercials (as if I didn't know it all by heart). I forced my pitiful self out of bed when I realized that the entire series was going to play for a second time. I feel like Michael Corleone, "just when I think I'm out... they pull me back in." I'm not normally a depressed person, but once in a while it happens. I NEED spring! I NEED sunshine! I NEED the desire to get my ass in gear and actually accomplish something!
The winters here aren't even that bad. It a darn good thing I don't live in Alaska. I would be a permanent fixture on the couch. Instead, I find myself spending the winter self medicating with chocolate, coffee, any ol' mobster movie, a heaping dose of "I'm soooo fat" and if that doesn't work... I'm making margaritas! It's a good thing I'm not a shopper, although I have found the remote control lingering on QVC a little longer than usual and those late night infomercials aren't looking so ridiculous.
No pity, please, I have a rule of only 24 hours on the pity-pot at a time. I'll kick it. I know I will. I intentionally turned off Goodfellas today and took a shower, put on make up and actually made an effort. Pray for an early spring!

You can purchase hope!

I hate to admit it but it's true. I've joined the ranks of the of the 36 and up category. Yes, I now have to check the next box. With this little reality check came an annoying new problem... the need for moisturizer. So, when I happened upon a blog topic related to such, I was intrigued. Apparently, this is a hot button issue for many women. They had oodles and oodles of advice each with their own personal favorite product. It was a bit overwhelming to say the least and then I came across the personal endorsement of Philosophy's Hope In A Jar. Hope comes in a jar? Wait till I tell my pastor. He'll love this one.

Just how gullible does the cosmetics industry think we are? I may not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but I'm not falling for desperate sales ploys. Within ten minutes of Internet surfing I found products that promised to age diminish, rejuvenate and triple lift. Triple lift? Maybe I should try this on my boobs. But, the absolute best are the hilarious names: Deception, Dramatically Different, Bliss the Youth As We Know It, Moisture Surge Extended Thirst Relief, Express the Truth, Skyn Iceland Pure Cloud Cream with Biospheric Complex, Zero Gravity Repair Wear Lift, Doll Face Burlesque Renewal Cream, Kiss My Face All Day Cream, and Intervene Pause and Effect Moisture Cream just to name a few.

The ultimate has to be yet again, Philosophy. Not only do they sell Hope In A Jar but they also sell When Hope Is Not Enough Replenishing Cream! What's next Ugly Duckling Cream? How about You're So Ugly We Can't Help You Cream? How about Give It Up Moisturizer? It's no wonder women struggle with self esteem issues. Not only do we innately deal with them, but then we pay good money to smear them all over our face. All I want is a simple cream that I can use in the winter time so my face doesn't feel like it's going to crack. Any companies out there that I can support that won't issue an all out assault on my ego? I would love to hear your thoughts on this one ladies.

Ode to the Pine Flycatcher

While perusing the daily news stories, I came across one about the Pine Flycatcher, a tiny little bird. Apparently, it is all the rage in the bird watchers realm, as it made a 200 mile treck out of it's natural habitat eventually settling in southern Texas. The Pine Flycatcher appears to be alone and (get this) according to John Arvin the research coordinator at Gulf Coast bird Observatory it seems "very much out of whack." Which begs the question, what criteria must be met to seem "very much out of whack" as oppossed to just out of character?

Maybe, our Pine Flycatcher, whom I will refer to as Piney, has just simply had it with this "birds of a feather flock together" thing. Perhaps, Piney is a rebel, born to adventure and never quite satisfied with the status quo. Wouldn't you just love to know if it's a male or female? I prefer to think of Piney as a mom that has had her fill of feathering the nest. Maybe, the baby birds complained one to many times about the lack of variety of worms and bugs Piney had provided. Could it be that Piney is forlorned over a great love that has flown the coop? Two hundred miles of peace and quiet seems just about the right amount of time to clear one's head to me. "Very much out of whack" humph! Piney simply has a world of possibilities before him/her.

What will Piney choose? A life of solitude, a life of exploration of new territory, a life that charts a new course for Pine Flycatchers everywhere, or will Piney return to the security of the average exsistence. I, for one, am rooting for the great avian adventure. Don't turn back now Piney!

What a Week I'm Having!

Do you remember the movie Splash? Remember the guy who kept saying, "What a week I'm having!" This week was one of those. It's not unusual for me to start off like a gale force wind blowing through the house. "It's time to take back the house!" Time to empty all the trash, do all the dishes, collect all the laundry, do all the grading (for homeschool), pay bills, grocery shop, plan activities for youth group, return phone calls, go shopping with a friend, throw together a meal here and there, go to the dentist, do more laundry, get on Prince Lawn Gnome's case for not keeping up with his school work, run to Songbird's school to dig through trash for one lost retainer (found by one great janitor!), run to Songbird's school yet again to drop off forgotten math book, go to bible study and in the middle of it all, catch a cold.

Throughout the week I could feel the gale force wind dying down, dying down to barely a breeze. And that is where the hard part is because as all moms, wives and devoted employees know a cold isn't really reason enough to be sick. It isn't reason enough to go to bed and let the household fend for itself and don't you remember the last time you did that... the apocalypse can't look much worse. It's not reason enough to use a vacation day. Those are supposed to be for beaches and sunshine not Kleenex and wrinkled sheets.

Just out of curiosity, how many cough drops do you think one can take before officially overdosing? So please forgive the lack of blogging, but as I said before, "What a week I'm having!"

Songbird

Just when the world seems overwhelming, the skies a little too gray, and the responsibilities of life a little too pressing I hear her. She is my own personal Songbird sent directly from heaven, my youngest daughter. I adore the fact that she is still my innocent child. She still calls me "mommy." Additionally, though, God gave her the greatest gift. Her voice is pure. She can sing; she can really sing. She's the reason our water bill is usually $140-$160 a month. Whenever, she's in the shower and she thinks no one is listening she belts it out. I love to hear her then. I love to hear her raise her voice without abandon. The water bill seems a small price to pay.

Songbird is eleven. She wants to be big and actually announced at dinner last week that she was an adult now. She has big dreams of being on Broadway and even though I secretly wish that she will never leave home, I know she will. I know she will go to New York and have a cracker-jack-box of an apartment that she shares with another Broadway hopeful. They won't own a stick of furniture, but their wardrobes will be killer.

Songbird is the one that I know will make the best mom. She has a heart of gold. Oh, and how I pray for a man worthy enough of her. But for now, it is enough to simply be her mommy and help her stay little as long as possible.

The Last to Know

Do you ever feel like you're the last to know? This feeling is becoming an increasing reality for me, speaking as a control freak, it's not working for me. I am aware that teenagers are supposed to grow up, they are supposed to spread their wings, and yes I know, that they don't let their moms in on every aspect of their lives. However, I come from a long line of mothers that made it their business to be in your business. I come by it naturally. So when I heard that my oldest, Braveheart, had a secret pact with her best friend ( a boy nonetheless) for the past four years, I was a bit put off. A pact that when she turned 16 and had a driver's license, that they would road trip off to Kentucky for pizza.

Now I ask you... when you think of Kentucky do you think of pizza? Not me. I think, the Bluegrass state, I think horse racing, but pizza? Immediately my mind started calling foul. There had to be something more... something not quite so random. Thank goodness for Google. I know it might seem irrational, neurotic or over-the-top but I had to. I had to google Kentucky Marriage Age.... Search. Hallelujah it's 18 and those applying for marriage in the state of Kentucky must also be residents.

Okay, okay, I now feel ridiculous. The two in question are just good friends and they probably just want pizza and a little adventure. I may seriously either become an alcoholic or have to be committed before these kids are grown.