Day 278 or The Day I Lost My ...

Brain. Oh I mean credit card. (Now did your mind go somewhere else? Naughty. Naughty.)

But back to my lost card. My husband is about to take a big trip. A trip North. Very North. Needless to say, life in Texas has not necessarily prepared us for all the contingencies of the Northernmost regions of the world. So yes, we pulled out the old reliable for a few necessities.

Unfortunately, I pulled it out while we were in the kitchen, unloading groceries (me), cooking dinner (said husband), and bickering (children). At some point I believed that I gave my husband the card. Except that when he was about to head out, he asked for it. WHAAAAT?

I gave it to you. No, you didn't. Yes, I did. No, you didn't. So on and so forth. So we start looking. And looking. And looking. For hours.

Now I have one of those houses with a Bermuda Triangle quality. Not because it's messy. In fact, we were expecting company so we had cleaned all day. Yet things just seem to disappear. So after looking in all the obvious places, we looked in the less obvious places. After all the less obvious places, we looked in the stupid places. And after stupid places, well... I just started to lose it.

Had I created a memory? Because that means you're full-on, padded cell, white jacket crazy. It is entirely different than forgetting something. If I had not given it to my husband, what had I done? And why did I think that I had?

So just shy of pure "Gaslight", I had pulled out the microwave, I pulled out the stove, and the frig. I cleaned places that nobody cleans because nobody sees it. Because nobody loses their credit card, where? Drum roll, please.

In the Ziploc box. Yes, you read that right. The Ziploc box. It seems if we could have rewound the tape of our lives, we would have seen that while I was dividing up the huge pack of beef (that I got an awesome deal on) for the freezer and my husband and I were trying (and I do mean trying) to have an important conversation about this trip while my children were simultaneously fighting and calling my name every two minutes, I picked up the card with the extra Ziploc bags and promptly deposited them and the card into the box.

When my husband found it, I literally dropped to the ground. I cried. I'm not CRAZY. I'm just a very distracted mom. Very distracted. And I need to slow down and not try to multi-task so much.

So lesson learned.

Well, for today. But I am a mom. And we are expected to do more things in one day than any human is capable of and it is not just possible but entirely likely that I will attempt to do more than one thing at a time.

Probably tomorrow.

But for today, I will try to do better.

P.S. The good thing that came out of it -- my husband saw how thin I was stretched and made me a very large White Russian and a hot bath. So as they say, all's well that ends well.

I'm Good Enough... Part 2

Hi guys. Remember when I said that I wanted someone to follow me around quoting Stuart Smalley, telling me that I am good enough, smart enough, etc.? Well, a over at "Aunt of 14", she has found something almost as good. She has these Affirmation Balls, like Mystery 8 Balls, that answer your questions with happy, affirmative answers. I don't often blog about others' giveaways but this was too cute not to share. So, if like me, you would like your own personal Stuart, check her out!
:-)

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Day 167 or Blonde Ambition, Pt. 3, Going back to my roots

So for those of you following my hair saga -- here's the update. I'm fixed! Maybe fixed is not a good word choice -- it sounds like I just took an unpleasant trip to the Vet. How about corrected? That's better but it does bring back images of a stern English teacher. I'll use the word my friend, A, used. Radiant! I feel radiant.

Now I know that I learned the lesson that my hair problems are not hardships, tragedies, or disasters (especially in light of our recent loss), but I would be a Pinocchio style liar if I didn't say that it feels great to not have orange-ish hair anymore! If you saw my Wordless post yesterday, you got a glimpse of my newly naturalistic (notice I did not say natural) hair.

Now here's the kicker. After all this hair drama, my new hairdresser convinced me to put a lot of my own hair color back in and I actually liked it. She basically took my hair back to my roots and just added a pop around my face.

Now, lest you think that this is simply a narcissistic post about my hair, I do think that there is something to be learned here. After all the mess I went through, I looked at my own hair color with new appreciation. Isn't that how life works? We glamorize something outside of ourselves or our lives. We think that what we have is dull and plain. Then we have a chance to play on that metaphorical greener (or blonder) side of life and realize that our lives weren't nearly plain or dull at all. They were radiant.

So with slightly better perspective, I see my hair and my life a little more clearly. A little more radiantly. And for that, I am thankful.

Day 151 or I'm Good Enough...

Remember the old Stuart Smalley skit on Saturday Night Live. A 12 Step/Self-Help Junkie, Stuart would stare into the mirror and say, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!" As silly as it sounded, and as silly as he looked, there was great truth in his words.

Wouldn't it be great if someone followed us around saying, "You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggone it, people like you"? I know I could use that. Because some days, I don't feel good enough, smart enough, and sometimes, despite all the wonderful people in my life, I do question if people like me.

I'm not sure why. No matter how much success I achieve, there always seems to be more I need to do. If there is any failing, I hyper-focus on that rather than seeing all that is working. It's like a child bringing home a report card of all As and one C and the parent not acknowledging the As and only criticizes the C. Except that I am the parent now. Doing it to myself. And in a room of friends and family, I will feel the presence of the one person in the room who doesn't like me. And fixate on that.

It's silly but it's worse than that. They say that children learn more from watching their parents than by what they say. So, I can tell my children that they are good enough, smart enough, and doggone people like them until I'm as blue as the bonnets for which Texas is famous but if they see those doubts in me, I am still hurting them.

So today, I'm taking a lesson from old Stuart in his v-neck cardigans and bad dye job (well, at least we have that in common right now!) and each time those doubts come bubbling up, I am going to tell myself that "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone people like me". Because it's not just about me.

And if you ever feel this way, too, do yourself the same favor. And in case you need a little help, I'll do it for you -- "You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggone, people like you". I know I do.

Day 146 or I Told You So

So my husband has been wanting me to see a doctor for over a week. But I was convinced that it was merely a virus and the doctor would say that there is nothing to do but wait it out. I hated to waste a co-pay (money is tight!) and well, it seemed a colossal waste of effort. And... I was wrong. (No, that didn't taste very good saying those words). I had an infection that required antibiotics. And now my husband has the power of "I told you so".

Now "I told you so" is usually my territory. And I think that is probably common in a lot of households. I make sure he takes care of himself. I would have sent him to the doctor last week. I would have taken my children last week. As a mom, I wouldn't have thought twice about the co-pay for my children. So the question is why wouldn't I do the same for myself?

I think too often, we moms put ourselves very far down on our to-do lists. And while it is very well-intended, you know where that path leads. Seriously, by putting myself so low on my famous lists, how many other things didn't I get done. If I had broken down and dealt with how badly I was feeling (I didn't blog for five days, for goodness sake!), I would have been up to speed by now. The fact is that I was penny-wise and pound foolish with my health. So in my Spartan-like stubbornness (so maybe I do know where my daughter gets it!), I had less energy to take care of my family or home. In reality, in the name of my family, I didn't just martyr myself, I martyred my family.

So, yes. My husband told me so. And he was right. So I'm going to have to swallow that. But next time, maybe I won't be so stubborn. Because I want to do the best for my family. And because in this house, if anyone is going to say "I told you so", I want it to be me.

Day Eighty - Four or She looks just like you

My daughter is beautiful. I mean it. Actually, both of my kids are gorgeous but my son is a doppelganger for his dad so this is no surprise. But back to my daughter. She's really beautiful. Yes, I am her mom so of course, I think she is beautiful, but objectively, she really is beautiful.

When people tell me she's lovely, I beam. And then they go and ruin it. "She looks just like you". Whaaaaaaat? Visible cringing. That can't be right. Those are two incongruous statements. (Yes, I used incongruous -- been waiting years to incorporate that word-of-the-day.) How can she be beautiful and look like me?

Why do we do that? Right now my daughter feels beautiful, as she should. How do I not F#&k that up???? Once upon a time, I am sure that I felt beautiful. When did that change? It was so long ago that I can't remember a defining moment.

In a world of "ambush" makeovers, we are taught that we're not good enough. If you watch any daytime TV, you know that the fear of being swarmed by well-meaning fashion/beauty attack dogs is evidently a genuine clear and present danger. I love the Dove real women campaign and yet I listen far more carefully to the advertisements that tell me what I need to "fix" myself.

Commercial : Do you have... insert horrible problem here -- deepening crow's feet, uneven skin tone, limp, lifeless hair, sagging breasts, baby bump, etc. etc.?

Me: Why yes. yes, I do.

Translation: Do you suck and need our over-priced product to suck a little less?

Me: Why yes, yes, I do.

So consciously, I get it. Too ridiculous for words. But somehow I am still magnetically attracted to the makeup aisles in CVS as if it was true North. I hate that and I don't want that for my truly beautiful girl. But how? How do I spare her this?

I guess it starts with not cringing when people say that she looks just like me. I have to fix myself so she doesn't learn that there is anything wrong with looking just like me. So we can both smile and say, "You're right. She looks just like me".

P. S. Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Day Seventy - Two or Blonde Ambition

Well, in the words of the great Lucille Ball, I returned my roots to their natural color today.
This was long overdue. There was a time when I took care of myself. I never broke a nail appointment, my eyebrows were perfectly waxed, and roots were unheard of. I was working in a very competitive environment (ironically I'm not referencing acting. I did very little of that then. Maybe that was part of the problem... but I digress.) and all of that was expected. I can't say as I minded it, though. Especially pedicures. I'm pretty sure that heaven has pedicures.

But in my mostly SAHM days, those are expenses that I can no longer justify. So I paint layer on top of layer of toenail polish (why bother to remove it if you keep using the same color?), I try not to blind myself with tweezers (I've seen my wedding pictures -- I can't go back, I tell you. I can't go back. The 90's were not pretty for eyebrows!) and well, I just try not to look at my hands. But the one thing I have kept is my haircolor. Sort of.

Let me set the stage. I grew up with lovely flaxen blond hair. My brothers and I were all towheads and my hair stayed bright and beautiful until... PUBERTY! Then, did it turn a lush chestnut or chocolate? I would have loved a head of deep, dramatic, dark hair. (Nice alliteration, huh?) No, it turned blah. I'm not kidding. I have dark blonde hair. You know that color that gets lovely names like "dirty" blonde or even better -- dishwater blonde. I mean, who thought up that name? That's just cruel.

They make haircolor in my shade and I have NEVER ever seen anyone buy it. In fact, across all the brands, it is always fully stocked. ALWAYS.

So back to today. I try to fight the blah with highlights. But they cost money. Something that is always in short supply. So I try to avoid seeing when the roots come in. At first, I just comb it differently. Then I blame the lighting. Finally, I just stop turning on the lights in the bathroom. But not tonight. Tonight, I can turn all the lights on in the house without avoiding the mirrors.

Boy does that feel good. Now, if you'll excuse me while I go turn all the lights back off. I've got to keep the electricity bill down. I just paid for highlights!

Day Sixty Nine or "The Spelling Bee"

Tonight, my good friend, AW, and I went to see a wacky yet insightful musical called "The Spelling Bee". I did not stop smiling or laughing for over two hours -- my cheeks and jaw hurt! It was the story of a local spelling bee and its cornucopia of oddballs, overachievers, and social misfits. As each of the group tries to grasp the golden ring, we see how much they need or want this triumph. More than that we see why we need our triumphs.

It matters not whether it's a trophy for spelling or soccer, a diploma, or just a momentarily clean kitchen. We have to take a moment to celebrate the ticks in the win column. We have to take a moment to say, "Yea, me!"

So, no I am not a perfect mom. I am an intermittent house cleaner. And I am not an Oscar winning actress or a working actress for that matter. But I am kind. And I love my kids. And I try to do better everyday. And I don't give up. So "Yea, me!"

Take a minute today and create your own winning list. And tell yourself, "Yea, me!" Heck, I'll say it for you, "Yea You!"