Monday, October 22, 2007
Welcome to my blog btw!
Welcome, welcome, welcome! You must read my profile to understand the basic contents of this blog. It’s my outlet, my sanity and my home away from home. I write very candidly. I speak from the heart and I will try to convey my point with the utmost clarity. You might disagree with the point of views expressed here, however, they are my sincere thoughts and feelings. So be kind when commenting and if you “don’t like me” then simply navigate away from this page. Save your nasty or derogatory comments for your annoying neighbor or the random lady who cuts you off at the grocery store. I’m writing for me. Now that that’s out of the way, we can proceed with uninhibited writing.
You ate how much Butter!?!!
So my Tuesday begins and ends like this:
5:30 AM: I wake up, wash my face, start the coffee and get my 18 month old daughter up to take her to the sitters. By 6 am we are in the jeep and off for a 30-40 minute fight in rush-hour traffic. Drop her off and turn around and drive back home to get myself ready for work. The reason I drop her off first and not AFTER I get ready is because rush-hour around 7:30 am is a gridlock for hours. I would never make it on time. Anyhow, I proceed to work for 8 hours or so and then again travel the 40 minutes to the sitters and back home again. Upon my arrival home its very near 7pm. I realized we needed milk and bread. (Grill Cheese Sandwiches and soup for dinner.) So I drop our daughter off and head to the grocery store. I enter and exit quickly. I despise the grocery store. Upon my arrival home, I’m greeted eagerly from my daughter who just woke up and a well-rested boyfriend who slept and played video games all day.
I casually head into the kitchen. It’s only been seconds since walking into the kitchen when I realized dear hubby has rested on his butt all day while I worked. There is about 10 rotting egg shells in the sink, along with every dish we own dirty lying around in miscellaneous areas about the house. It’s upon this realization that I take the time to glance thru-out our house. Everything item of clothing he’s worn in the past 3 days since he’s been off are scattered about the house. There’s probably 10 sets of misc. dishes piled next to the couch and close to 100 Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Miniature wrappers stomped into the nearly white carpet. My mood turns into a bad one. I retreat to the kitchen where I begin to slam cabinet doors and bang dishes around for 2 reasons: 1. To vent some frustration so I don’t go in and ring his neck, and 2. To casually convey to him how angry I am.
So I take out the necessary ingredients for an easy dinner. I pour 3 cans of soup into a pot on the stove. Pull out a skillet and peer into the fridge for butter. Hmmm… Butter? butter?? Where is the dang butter??? It’s all gone. Damn near a pound of butter vanished into thin air. My anger turns into rage as I try to calmly ask what in the world happened to the butter. His retort was a good one, but due to the previously mentioned rage I didn’t hear any of it. The only part I did hear was his Nutty suggestion of “spraying Pam on the bread” instead of butter. I almost freakin lost it. I tossed a look of disapproval and stomped off to find my purse amoung the piles of garbage and clothes. I slam the front door and I’m off to 4 nearby gas stations looking for even a stick of butter. No luck. My mother lives probably less than a mile away so I took this opportunity to go to her house, borrow some butter, and vent about my current “situation”.
Upon my arrival (3rd trip now) home I come inside to dear hubby trying viciously to pick up dishes and run them to the sink. I almost tried to explain how his last minute attempt at redeeming himself would not be successful, however, I just kept my mouth shut and finished dinner.
Whewwww…. That’s a load off.
Note to self: 1 lb of butter will NOT be a sufficient amount for 1 week.
Note to self 2: Make sure you have all ingredients for dinner before you let dear hubby cook because it should be noted that if missing an ingredient you could become victim to horrible substituion. Upon which you won’t realize until your deathly ill from food poisening.
5:30 AM: I wake up, wash my face, start the coffee and get my 18 month old daughter up to take her to the sitters. By 6 am we are in the jeep and off for a 30-40 minute fight in rush-hour traffic. Drop her off and turn around and drive back home to get myself ready for work. The reason I drop her off first and not AFTER I get ready is because rush-hour around 7:30 am is a gridlock for hours. I would never make it on time. Anyhow, I proceed to work for 8 hours or so and then again travel the 40 minutes to the sitters and back home again. Upon my arrival home its very near 7pm. I realized we needed milk and bread. (Grill Cheese Sandwiches and soup for dinner.) So I drop our daughter off and head to the grocery store. I enter and exit quickly. I despise the grocery store. Upon my arrival home, I’m greeted eagerly from my daughter who just woke up and a well-rested boyfriend who slept and played video games all day.
I casually head into the kitchen. It’s only been seconds since walking into the kitchen when I realized dear hubby has rested on his butt all day while I worked. There is about 10 rotting egg shells in the sink, along with every dish we own dirty lying around in miscellaneous areas about the house. It’s upon this realization that I take the time to glance thru-out our house. Everything item of clothing he’s worn in the past 3 days since he’s been off are scattered about the house. There’s probably 10 sets of misc. dishes piled next to the couch and close to 100 Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Miniature wrappers stomped into the nearly white carpet. My mood turns into a bad one. I retreat to the kitchen where I begin to slam cabinet doors and bang dishes around for 2 reasons: 1. To vent some frustration so I don’t go in and ring his neck, and 2. To casually convey to him how angry I am.
So I take out the necessary ingredients for an easy dinner. I pour 3 cans of soup into a pot on the stove. Pull out a skillet and peer into the fridge for butter. Hmmm… Butter? butter?? Where is the dang butter??? It’s all gone. Damn near a pound of butter vanished into thin air. My anger turns into rage as I try to calmly ask what in the world happened to the butter. His retort was a good one, but due to the previously mentioned rage I didn’t hear any of it. The only part I did hear was his Nutty suggestion of “spraying Pam on the bread” instead of butter. I almost freakin lost it. I tossed a look of disapproval and stomped off to find my purse amoung the piles of garbage and clothes. I slam the front door and I’m off to 4 nearby gas stations looking for even a stick of butter. No luck. My mother lives probably less than a mile away so I took this opportunity to go to her house, borrow some butter, and vent about my current “situation”.
Upon my arrival (3rd trip now) home I come inside to dear hubby trying viciously to pick up dishes and run them to the sink. I almost tried to explain how his last minute attempt at redeeming himself would not be successful, however, I just kept my mouth shut and finished dinner.
Whewwww…. That’s a load off.
Note to self: 1 lb of butter will NOT be a sufficient amount for 1 week.
Note to self 2: Make sure you have all ingredients for dinner before you let dear hubby cook because it should be noted that if missing an ingredient you could become victim to horrible substituion. Upon which you won’t realize until your deathly ill from food poisening.
Cute shoe AGONY!!!
Now its Thursday! One day past hump day and one day before Friday. Most people care nothing about a Thursday, however, I am NOT one of those people. I arise at normal time, but spring up with a little extra bounce in my step. There are 2 reasons for this. 1. It’s the day before Friday. Only one morning left before I can sleep in. Or beg my little girl to sleep just a little longer. 2. My shows are on tonight. Now I am aware that my life is extra boring if one good show on in the evening can make me spring out of better like a jack-in-da-box. But it’s not just any show, IT’S GREY’S ANATOMY! I have watched this show religiously since it began. Johnny (dear hubby) says that my attention is only kept by the uncany drama. And the fact that everyone sleeps with everyone. Now, I suppose this could be true. Not really sure why I like it, I just do. And that’s that.
Ever go the shoe store? Now, I’m sure this doesn’t apply to our friends of the male nature, but for us of the female gender this is an exciting event. I anticipate having the extra money to engage in a shopping extravaganza. I will almost always head to the nearby shoe outlet and drool over the many styles of shoes I would LOVE to have. I usually decide which “type” of shoe I’m looking for before hand. A cute tennis shoe, and strappy sandal, a pair of gorgeous knee high boots, but on this particular occasion I was in the mood for a nice dress heel. I search the isles slowly. And quickly come upon the most darling little dress shoe with a 4 inch heal. I’m instantly in love. I try the little shoe on and no more needs to be done. I glance into the little bench/shoe mirror and am pleased with the reflection. I package the shoe up and head to the register. Never mind the cost of this beautiful shoe. Money was obviously no object.
Fast forward to 3 days later. I get ready for work as usual. I put on my little brown outfit and head to the closet. ( I have to “hide” my new shoes or Johnny will murder me if he knew I had bought yet another pair). I rummage thru quickly finding the item I was so excited to put on. I throw them on and head out the door to work. Now we have about 6 stairs leading to the walk way to the drive way. I take the first step and thump, thud, crash, boom, and finally bang to the little walk way. I peer up only to find the darling little shoe had slipped off the back of my heel on the way down the steps. Causing a very scary fall. Still determined to make my shoes work I pick them up and climb into the jeep. I get to work and slowly make the walk into work. My little shoes are slipping off the back of my heel and scrunching my toes and rubbing a blister on the side. I’m horrified. Still determined to work thru my problem. I head to little cabinet of band aids and grab 12 or so. Big ones, little ones, all sizes. And sit at my desk. Carefully placing them on all the places my foot is throbbing. About 5 hours and 3 blisters later I give up.
The next afternoon I package the little beauties back up and head to the store during my lunch break. I want a refund, store credit, something. But I DO NOT want those shoes. To my dismay, the lady looks at me with an attitude and says, “You’ve worn these, they cannot be returned”. Furious, I snatch the box off the counter and head out the door. Now not only do I have a pair of the cutest shoes ever and I can’t where them. I now have to KEEP them and be forced to look at them everyday for the next however long I decide to keep them, knowing dang well that I’ll never be able to wear them. Now, I am aware that I could give them away, but that’s not me. I’ll keep them in the closet until the next time I get the courage up to try and wear them again. And I will. And it won’t be pretty. Ahhh, the life of a woman. Pain is beauty, my mom always said. But there is just some form of agony I will not tolerate. And those little shoes are one of them.
Ever go the shoe store? Now, I’m sure this doesn’t apply to our friends of the male nature, but for us of the female gender this is an exciting event. I anticipate having the extra money to engage in a shopping extravaganza. I will almost always head to the nearby shoe outlet and drool over the many styles of shoes I would LOVE to have. I usually decide which “type” of shoe I’m looking for before hand. A cute tennis shoe, and strappy sandal, a pair of gorgeous knee high boots, but on this particular occasion I was in the mood for a nice dress heel. I search the isles slowly. And quickly come upon the most darling little dress shoe with a 4 inch heal. I’m instantly in love. I try the little shoe on and no more needs to be done. I glance into the little bench/shoe mirror and am pleased with the reflection. I package the shoe up and head to the register. Never mind the cost of this beautiful shoe. Money was obviously no object.
Fast forward to 3 days later. I get ready for work as usual. I put on my little brown outfit and head to the closet. ( I have to “hide” my new shoes or Johnny will murder me if he knew I had bought yet another pair). I rummage thru quickly finding the item I was so excited to put on. I throw them on and head out the door to work. Now we have about 6 stairs leading to the walk way to the drive way. I take the first step and thump, thud, crash, boom, and finally bang to the little walk way. I peer up only to find the darling little shoe had slipped off the back of my heel on the way down the steps. Causing a very scary fall. Still determined to make my shoes work I pick them up and climb into the jeep. I get to work and slowly make the walk into work. My little shoes are slipping off the back of my heel and scrunching my toes and rubbing a blister on the side. I’m horrified. Still determined to work thru my problem. I head to little cabinet of band aids and grab 12 or so. Big ones, little ones, all sizes. And sit at my desk. Carefully placing them on all the places my foot is throbbing. About 5 hours and 3 blisters later I give up.
The next afternoon I package the little beauties back up and head to the store during my lunch break. I want a refund, store credit, something. But I DO NOT want those shoes. To my dismay, the lady looks at me with an attitude and says, “You’ve worn these, they cannot be returned”. Furious, I snatch the box off the counter and head out the door. Now not only do I have a pair of the cutest shoes ever and I can’t where them. I now have to KEEP them and be forced to look at them everyday for the next however long I decide to keep them, knowing dang well that I’ll never be able to wear them. Now, I am aware that I could give them away, but that’s not me. I’ll keep them in the closet until the next time I get the courage up to try and wear them again. And I will. And it won’t be pretty. Ahhh, the life of a woman. Pain is beauty, my mom always said. But there is just some form of agony I will not tolerate. And those little shoes are one of them.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
The monster inside her..
THIS IS ME AND HUBBY! WELL, ANIMATED HUBBY AND ME ANYWAY! And well the animated version is me before pregnancy the animated Johnny has striking resemblence to the real Johnny. The real Johnny has dark hair and has a little more of an italian presence about him.
Now, my daughter saunters back and forth from a mama and a daddy! Some days she is me all over, and some days she is daddy. She's daddy when she gets
"THE ATTITUDE"
You're aware of the one in which I speak, the little cocky but some how unsure girl is full of angry energy that can only be directed at her mother. Now, at any given point and time this "attitude" can become Null and Void when one of the following happens:
1.) DADDY COMES HOME: She for all of about 30 minutes is distracted from her angry mood, but after that she remembers that she was in terror mode and reverts back.
2.) SHE GOES TO GRANDMA'S: This is when no ice cream, cookie or pleasing items presented to her could pull her from the anger. So I put her in the car and drive her 30 minutes to her grandma's where either A or B will happen:
A.) She will act like she's never been so happy in her life and make me look like a damn liar.
or
B.) She will continue to act like the world is against her, even after I speed off in a giant hurry leaving her grandparents to make the little monster happy!
Ahhhh, I feel better, don't you!
Work, work, work!
They grow up soo fast don't they??? My beautiful daughter continues to amaze me with each passing day. If it wasn't for work, I would never be away from her. My job continues to grow and I spend more and more time here. We are short handed and I miss spending time with her. Oh well... We have to work, work, work, and provide.. I wish I didn't have to work. Katlyn, mommy loves you and I hope you know that I wish I could spend every moment with you!
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