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The first time I heard the phrase, “Happiness is not a destination, but a state of mind,” I couldn’t have agreed more. It was an “ah-ha” moment that someone else got it.

I’m a lot of things…

1) I’m confident. Not in that overly annoying cocky way, but just a healthy dose of self-esteem.

2) I’m strong…minded anyway. Exercise and I don’t run in the same circles, so strong-minded is all I got. I gave up wasting money on gym memberships years ago.

3) I’m stable; well mostly, just don’t ask the hubster (we agree to disagree on this topic).

4) I believe in seeing the best in life. Making the most of whatever hand I am dealt.

…834) I believe that the right doors open exactly when we need them to.

All those wonderful things people say that make you want to barf when you’re having a crappy day.

But some days…I’m just a hormonal pregnant human.

And so today, I am eating Fudge Stripes Minis out of the vending machine in the break room. No, they don’t erase the fact that three years and thirty pounds of Diva Princess can make me feel like a total failure as a parent some days, but after a 2 am fight with the terrible three’s over sleeping arrangements and apple juice, they sure satisfy the need to eat…at least for ten minutes.

Tomorrow I will find my inner Gandhi, but for today…I’m sticking with the Keebler Elves!

A few months back I was sitting in Barnes and Noble when this guy, probably in his mid to late twenties, sat down in the armchair next to me. A very normal occurrence if you spend enough time sitting in the Starbucks at B&N writing. Then I noticed the twitch…

Earbuds in, music flowing, fingers typing, I was working away when the constant fidgeting took complete control of my ADD. I couldn’t focus on anything but the steady rubbing at of the back of his neck, scratching at his arms, and tugging at his jeans. Honest, I don’t know if they guy was nervous or completely eaten up with chiggers – if it’s a medical condition, I will feel bad – but the movements were making me more and more aware of only the small round coffee table separating us. Then he got up…

Now, I know you shouldn’t judge people – and I am very guilty of it as you are about to see – but I’m a bit of the overly cautious type. Or crazy as the hubby likes to call it; “to-may-toes” “to-mah-toes”. And along with being overly cautious, I am uber-observant, aka nosy. It’s all in the name of research, I swear.

Anyhow, I’m sitting in my chair when John Doe twitchingly goes to the counter to order and I can’t help but notice the silver plated pocket knife tucked neatly in his front right pocket, the shitkicker boots he’s wearing, and least of all the Military sniper magazines he’s reading that are now lying on the small round coffee table. Maybe it’s just me, but between the twitching provoking my ADD, the attire that screamed “I want to be badass” and the choice of reading materials, I decided my productivity had hit its peak. So I left. But not without a whole new plot forming in my head.

Since the day I ran into my twitchy John Doe, I’ve been bouncing around the idea of my next novel. From the time it took to walk from Starbucks to my car, the first chapter was playing in my head. The back story was quickly filling in the blanks and a new set of characters were born, but they needed names. And just like naming a child, naming characters is a process, but today Julia Hawthorne was finally crowned with a name. Now, I just need a name for the sexy, pain in her ass police sergeant who seems hell bent on making her life anything but easy in the small town of Carefree, SC.

Ready, set, go…what’s your favorite male name?

As a bonus, check out some of these actual wacky town names I found!

With only 16 days left in the year, now’s the time for that final push to win Mother of the Year. If you haven’t upped your game, it’s now or never. And this doesn’t just apply to mothers; it’s the final countdown to all categories…Father of the Year, Employee of the Year, Driver of the Year. The possibilities are endless.

Along with all the terrifyingly terrific moments this year, there are also the…well, tad bit dishonest moments that get your name entered into the “reaping”. For instance, this morning. It’s Monday, nobody likes Monday’s, but we have to deal. And to deal, I needed a small dose of 23 flavors with a kick of caffeine. Dr. Pepper for those who just thought I had the weirdest coffee order ever. Don’t worry; my doctor is completely cool with my 6-8 ounce consumption of caffeine a day. The only small problem with this scenario…I didn’t have any change/cash for the vending machine.

Being the best, honest mother that I am, I waited for my husband to leave with the Diva Princess before swiping the $1.25 in quarters from her piggy bank. “Swiper, no swiping.” Yeah, yeah, I know. But honestly, it was mine to start with and she doesn’t get to actually spend it anyway since dearest dad of the year takes it and puts it into her college savings account. So she might have to be short a meal on her meal plan, I hear ramen noodles are still dirt cheap.

I get settled into work, 15 minutes late – hey, It’s Monday and I’m knocked up – before heading up to the break room, where the devil of junk presides. One by one, I listen to the metal clank its way to the endless pit that promises empty calories and short-lived energy boosts. As the last coin lands, my finger reaches out, caressing the smooth surface of the tiny button; the bottle almost in my grasp. And then it happened…

“SOLD OUT”

Well played Karma, well played.

So I’m pregnant. Yep. Knocked Up. Bun In The Oven. Eating For Two.

And I miss wine!

Merry Christmas from my family to yours!

I have a few blogs going at the moment, drafts I can’t seem to find time to finish, so I thought I would start a new one…logical, right? But today’s topic, I think, is an important one.

‘Tis the season to be unnecessarily stressed, fa la la la la la la la la.

Okay, so the words don’t exactly flow with the song, but isn’t it the truth? I’m sure there is a medical journal out there stating the overall increase of hypertension in the month of December. But tell me, is it really worth it? As a parent, I am just as guilty as the next person, for wanting my child to have the best Christmas memories. This year I let the Diva Princess help decorate the tree – albeit driving my inner Martha Stewart insane – we decorated a “gingerman” house – she insist it’s not gingerbread – she even helped wrap the presents for her teachers and placed them under the tree. At three-years-old, it’s the first year that she really gets it, and I wanted it to be magical.

But there is a reality that we can’t ignore. Stress.

We stress about money, about getting everything done. We stress about whether the family can manage to get through a meal together without Uncle Bob pissing off dad again. We stress about what to buy and will the receiver like it. We stress about the exact placement of ornaments – wait, I may be alone there. We stress. And stress some more.

But is it worth it?

Here’s the thing folks…we’re missing the point. The point of life. Love.

I remember the year my parents asked us what was the “one” thing we wanted for Christmas, because there would only be one thing that year. My dad’s health was failing, and the medical bills were climbing; it was going to be tight. And, I can only imagine how painful that was as a parent; how stressful it must have been. But the truth is that Christmas was just as special to me as any other. I don’t look back now and think how my life was ruined because I only got one RC car – I really loved that car too. No, I look back at my childhood and feel blessed. Beyond anything I could ever ask for, I was loved and my parents made sure we knew it.

I’m not saying don’t buy your kids presents, but let the stress go. If you can’t afford it, don’t buy it. I don’t have a clue what my parents bought me when I was three-years-old, but I knew they loved me. I don’t remember if we baked cookies together or decorated gingerbread houses, but I knew they loved me. I don’t remember much outside of pictures, but I knew they loved me. And that’s all that matters. Because I guarantee, if you spend every holiday stressed, your kids will see it, will feel it, and the magic will be lost. So check the stress at the door and enjoy your blessing.

Merry Stressless Christmas to all!

In honor of a good friend and devoted follower of my blog, who is having a baby today, I thought we would cover a few of the ways life changes post-kids. I am sure I will miss a few so please feel free to comment any I miss.

It’s a right of passage as a new expecting mother, that all your friends with kids torture you with the horrible stories of the blowout diapers, the incessant crying, and well, every horror story they can come up with.  But the truth is life changes majorly. Let’s start with the obvious…

SLEEP –

Pre-kids, work was the only thing that got in your way of sleep. If you wanted to go out Friday night and party till dawn, so be it. You had all day Saturday to sleep. Of course, you could go to bed early and still sleep in. It was all your choice.

Post-kids, you get none.

Leaving the house –

Pre-kids, you grab your purse and walk out. Done.

Post-kids, it takes you three hours to plan and pack the diaper bag, feed the baby, change the baby, get poop on the most adorable outfit you picked specifically because the friend you are meeting bought it, so you have to do a wardrobe change. Get the baby in the carrier, walk out the door. Forget the wipes, so you go back in. Put the baby in the car, only to realize you forgot the diaper cream, back in you go. Fifteen times later, you’re exhausted, late and over it. So you grab everything from the car and head back in. Maybe tomorrow will be your day. It’s like a sea turtle hatching and trying to make it into the ocean for the first time. Nealy impossible. And don’t even get me started on overnight trips.

Wine – (can be substituted with beer, liquor, hell even coffee)

Pre-kids, it was your happy place. Nothing beat sitting on the patio with a few girlfriends, cold glass of Moscato in your hand, reminiscing about the good ole days.

Post-kids, you realize the patio was the good ole days. Why the hell did you leave them? Now you drink to drown out the clanging of toys and the annoying pretend voices of your daughter’s toys, as they fight over who gets to ride the magic carpet first. Why must kids make their dolls talk all whiny? As if we don’t listen to it enough.

The Bathroom –

Pre-kids, you just close the door. Immediate privacy.

Post-kids, don’t close the door. It’s not worth it. The tiny click of the door latch, sliding into place, is like a shot in the dead of night. Every ear in the house knows you closed the door, and immediately the needs ensue. Whether you are trying to pee or take a shower, it is guaranteed your attention will be needed. Showers are also a sure-fire way to ensure your baby will take the shortest nap humanly possible.

The Phone –

Pre-kids, and may years ago, I loved to talk on the phone. I would call friends, family, whoever, and talk for hours.

Post-kids, it’s another sure-fire way to make sure your attention is needed. Texting is not just a changing of times for me, it was a changing of life. Want the baby to cry, get on the phone. Want your three-year-old to spill a drink, or ramble off their entire life in one monologue? Get on the phone. I just gave up.

The Radio –

Pre-kids, it was turn up your favorite summer song and sing to your hearts content.

Post-kids, it’s a continuous scan trying to find one song that doesn’t have a cuss word in it. Even country isn’t safe. And then, just when you think you have found a station that is “safe” your kid starts belting out “I got my chainsaw” or ” I got a real good feeling something bad’s about to happen”. Always promising.

The list could go on and on, so tell me what else changed when you had a child?

Happy Holidays! The time of year when everyone loses their minds and has a cause they fight for. This year it seems everyone is jumping on the bandwagon against retail stores being open on Thanksgiving evening.

Now, I love social media as much as the next person, but it seems more and more it’s turned into a ranty superficial crusade. People spew their opinions on whatever the trending topic is for the moment and expect the world to change. But here’s the thing…are you really doing anything other than wasting my time?

So you say, “I can’t believe stores are going to be open on Thanksgiving. It’s a time for family. Those poor retail workers.”

It’s an admirable statement. That we could all be home with our families, relaxing by the fire, with our bellies full. Christmas music playing softly in the background, as the grandkids play nicely together over a game of “Sorry”. The men gathered around the TV watching whichever NFL team is playing, while the women clean the kitchen and talk about how good so and so looked at the Macy’s Day Parade and which sales they want to hit at 3am on Black Friday.

And queue the record scratch…

Let’s just analyze this picture for a moment. Now, let’s say Uncle Billy is sitting on the couch and suddenly his chest is tight and hurts. Are you going to feel sorry for all the emergency medical staff that has to work the holiday when you rush him to the hospital? No. So, it turns out Uncle Billy went a little too heavy on the Figgy Pudding and has one upset upper GI track. You’re grateful it wasn’t a heart attack, but even more thankful for all those folks who weren’t home with their families like you seem to think everyone should be.

“But they’re medical staff and police,” you say. “That’s justifiable.”

And true, I think that it is justifiable that we still have access to vital resources, but it doesn’t change the fact that they work on the holiday. Your crusade is about people being home for the holiday, correct? So already we are discounting certain areas of service? Now, let’s say Uncle Billy doesn’t need to go to the ER, but instead continues to spend his family time in front of the boob-tube watching sports. Have you ever thought about all the people it takes to actual bring you that game?

“But they are sports stars and make millions,” you say.

Ah yes, the pro athletes are rich. Richer than I will ever know, but they aren’t the only ones involved in bringing that game into your living room. What about the guy that make $7.35 an hour to park all those fans, out in the cold, while his family is at home? Or the guy selling the way over priced beer, while he makes half the cost of one drink in an hour.

“But I’m not at the game,” you say. “I didn’t make him direct me through traffic or pour me a beer.”

No, you didn’t. But did you ever think of the crew that is working at your local TV station to make sure the game is broadcast to all its viewers? Did you remember to say thanks for them while you were blessing your food in the comfort of your home, surrounded by your family, while they work so that you can all veg out in front of the TV later? Same goes for anything on tv that day. Be it the Macy’s Day Parade (we all watch it), the news, the weather, the commercials, all of it. Someone has to make sure those things still operate.

And what about the gas you needed on the way over to Uncle Billy’s house because you forgot to stop yesterday. Or the Duke Energy worker who is missing out on a warm meal because someone clipped a pole after drinking too much Egg Nog, and he is trying to make sure you aren’t missing the game, because heaven knows, we couldn’t have that.

So let’s say you don’t watch TV, you don’t care if you have power, and you don’t need any emergency medical attention. But…oh yes, there is always a but. But you are going to make sure you are in line for the latest, greatest, “must have” going on sale at midnight, because God knows you won’t go to any store that is open prior to midnight on Thanksgiving night.

Again, it’s an admirable thought. But come on, do you really think those workers showed up at midnight, ready to work? No, they have been there for hours. Nor, do you feel bad that the store that normally closes at 10pm is forcing their workers to work all night just so you can save a few dollars.

So what’s the difference between 5pm and midnight?

Maybe it’s that deep down you feel guilty that those folks are forced to be up all hours of the night so that you can fight lines and complain about every living soul around you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t want to be behind on the times, “Everyone else is saying stores shouldn’t open, so I just agree.” Or maybe you genuinely believe stores shouldn’t open. Whatever the reason, you have joined the social crusade. And good for you. You’ve chosen a cause, and you’re willing to fight for it.

Then fight for it.

90% of the people who will shop on Black Friday are women. For years it has been known that Walmart has “mistreated” their employees, especially women. If you want to fight for your crusade, then fight. Never step foot in a Walmart again. NEVER. Or any other store that you think is unjustly making their employees work. Don’t turn around and show up at 2am because technically it’s no longer Thanksgiving. Guess what, those same employees that had to be there for the 5pm sale are still on shift. It’s still the same day for them, and you are still giving your money to the “big box” chain. You are still driving local merchants into the ground. Still supporting the mistreatment of employees. And still feeding the beast.

All I ask is if you are going to join a cause, not matter what that cause it, fight for it. Don’t half live for a superficial social media trend just to make yourself feel better.

On the other hand, we assume that all employees who have the day off are paid. It’s a paid holiday, right? Wrong. Not everyone gets paid holidays. Most retailers don’t give their employees paid holidays. And a large population of people who work in big box retails need every penny they can get. So before you go feeling sorry for everyone, maybe they need that money. Maybe that one day of pay is the difference between having the lights on and not. Maybe it’s the difference between Little Johnny getting a Christmas present or not. The world is full of different circumstance. Don’t assume everyone has the same circumstance as you.

And lastly, can we please remember what Christmas is really about (hint: it’s not presents)?

I would love to say that the title of this blog has some Biblical reference…but it doesn’t. It’s actually quite the opposite.

A few months ago, I posted a blog about friendships and the inevitable strain life places on those relationships. In that post, I mentioned what I call “The Get Together’s”. The get together’s are the friends that you love, you have a deep history with, but life doesn’t always let you spend the time you would like with them. You cherish the moments you are together and wouldn’t change them for the world, but sometimes those moments span a large gap of time.

Two nights ago, I had the chance to sit down with a group of women that I love dearly. Once upon a decade ago, before I moved away, we used to spend countless nights around a certain dining room table, laughing, drinking wine, and making beautiful memories. We were our own group of Ya Ya Sisters.  The amazing part of this group of women is despite the span of ages (30 years give or take) and all of our different stages of life, we come together like a masterpiece. But the best part…it’s judgement free.

I won’t divulge all of our secrets, mostly because I would probably get shot for telling the internet, but let’s just say there was more sex-talk than a men’s locker room. Women, myself not included – hey, I’m trying to make a living writing sex – like to pretend that we don’t talk about such things, but that was the most honest and down right hilarious conversation I have had in months. And the truth is, wait for it…it’s healthy. Okay, I have no scientific proof of that, but they say laughter is the best medicine…and boy was there laughter.

But it’s not just sex that women talk about. The topics of conversation roamed from Common Core Math to how much you should leave behind after a Brazilian wax…the consensus to which seems to be “a little garden of Eden”. I for one have never experienced such torture – fifty shades of No Thank You! – but the fact that we can all be comfortable enough to sit around and talk about our who-ha’s is empowering. And no, I’m not empowered by knowing my friends wax, but the mere fact of being comfortable in my own skin as a woman in the 21st century is empowering. We embrace our flaws, every earned stretch mark, every grey hair, because we are women. And we are strong. And…not to mention no man would last five minutes in a conversation with all seven of us.

The point is, no matter how busy your life gets, or how far you think you have strayed, there is nothing a good girls night and a few bottles of wine can’t cure. Oh, and the other point…make sure they drink enough of that wine so they don’t remember the conversation about the group trip to get a Brazilian wax with a Groupon…cause the only thing Brazilian I’m interested in venturing down under is a really hot Brazilian OBGYN.

 

 

 

Yes, you read that correctly. And sometimes I really think it. For instance, yesterday, when I was over being The Default Parent (a must read for any parents, default or not), and for all overly-dramatic intents and purposes just wanted to sit on the couch and scratch my balls while watching football.

Now, before I go completely down my The Grass Is Greener rant, I would like to state the obvious and maybe not so obvious. A) I do not know what it’s like to be a member of the penis carrying society, so it’s really not fair to judge, but I’m going to anyway. B) I do not know what it is like to carry the financial weight of my family. I mean, I am trying to be a writer after all, so we can just permanently add that to the “things I will never know” list. C) Somewhere in the world, the grass has to actually be greener on the other side of the fence. Scotland? Ireland? Anyone?  I’m positive it was one of Newton’s laws, it just never hit mainstream, clearly lost along with his fourth law of motion. D) My husband saved my life. Maybe not in the strapped me to a well pipe during a F5 tornado (Twister, anyone?) or saved me from my icy death jumping off the front of the Titanic variety, but he did save me from a string of bad relationships, and gave me a life beyond anything I could have ever asked for. But, yes there is always a but, with that being said, there are still days I wish I had been born with a penis.

Why?

It’s simple really. Okay, it’s not simple at all, but try and follow.

When this post started in my head yesterday, it wasn’t very nice. I was at my wits end. And maybe just a little dramatic. Maybe? It felt like one of those moments where the weight of the world was pressing down on me, and all I wanted to do was make a grocery list. That’s all, a simple grocery list. But there was a larger than life three-year-old determined to derail any plans I had, and she was winning. The two-and-a-half foot tall, thirty-two pounds was kicking my butt. It was one of those moments that had someone taken a picture, and posted it to Facebook, it wouldn’t have been pretty, but it was real. And, in that moment, from my seething red point of view, all I saw was the penis carrying human in our house doing whatever he wanted to do All. Weekend. Long.

Now, I could tell you that the built in closet monstrosity that my husband is building will be mutually beneficial since we live in a 1920’s house with zero storage. And that this was the first weekend in a very long time he hasn’t worked, but that would negate my point of view and be way less dramatic, so we’ll stick to focusing on me.

So here I am, Sunday afternoon, sitting in a house that you can’t tell I spent all day Saturday cleaning, trying to a make a simple list while my child screams from the ground beneath her swing outside that all she wants is for me push her. Meanwhile, the penis carrying human, is in his makeshift work room (I now have tarps closing in my carport and a tank top heater keeping it warm. Thank God it’s on the back side of the house), with Pandora blaring and enough stain fumes to get the entire county high. Did I mention he has been in there all weekend? That part I am not lying about. All. Weekend. And suddenly, I wish I had been born with a penis.

When have I ever had the opportunity to just do what I wanted all weekend? When was the last time the entire house was cleaned by someone other than me? When was the last time I had the day to do what I needed to do without hearing “mommy, mommy, mommy” 8 million times? When was the last time someone else made the menu for the week, made the grocery list, and went to the store with the never ending question asking kid in tow?

When? When? When?

I know it’s not that simple. I know the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. And I know that my penis carrying human does a lot for our family. But sometimes, a girl just needs to wish she had been born with penis. Because sometimes, you just have to believe they have it easier.

Being an aspiring author means I have the pleasure of working a real 8 to 5, while trying to break into the literary world. It’s not the most stimulating career in the world, but it has it’s up sides. For one, I have an awesome boss. He’s the kind of boss that is funny, laid back, but still gets the job done. He’s also the kind of guy who likes a good practical joke.

Now, I am not normally one to participate in practical jokes, because honestly, I’m a weenie. I don’t want the payback. So, I stay out of it. Except, a few weeks ago, my boss thought it would be a great idea to leave me a present.

Let me preface this story with the fact that I work in a really old building. And really old buildings have friends. We came in one Monday morning to find a lovely, rather large, cockroach belly up in my office doorway. We had a training that morning, and of course I was running late, so I dropped my bag in my office and headed to the training. When I walked in, my co-workers asked if I like my “friend”. I, of course, being in a hurry, hadn’t seen him at all. But, boy did I see him when I came back.

Apparently, when my co-worker had asked my boss to “remove” our “friend” he thought it would be funnier to leave him (on a white piece of paper) on my desk. I almost had a heart attack, no lie.

Turn About Is Fair Play

Like I said, I don’t normally get involved, because I don’t like the payback, but this meant war.

Meet Ralph…

 

 

 

 

 

Ralph came in a goodie bag my daughter got for Halloween this past weekend. He’s rubber, and not diseased, but he looks real enough. And he will serve his purpose well.

My boss loves nuts. You know the cans of mix nuts. He can’t resist. Anytime there are nuts in my office (the leftovers from trainings seem to hang out in my office), he always comes in, shakes a handful of nuts in his hands and devours them. Repeat the process a few times, and in minutes he’s eaten a quarter of the can. Well, my good friend Ralph is now buried somewhere in the middle of the can, waiting to make his grand appearance.

I warned my coworkers not to eat the nuts, but I am not sure which they found more hilarious…the prank, or the fact that I said “the next time he comes in here shaking his nuts…” Either way, I can’t wait for him to find Ralph!