Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Me and my thoughts

My kids are in Seattle this week.
My in-laws, Scott's parents, have generously taken them for a few days so that I can recover my sanity rest.
As I have mentioned in possibly every single post previous to this one, I dislike being a single parent.
It is exhausting.
Well, parenting in general is exhausting, but doing it alone is as awful as growing out your hair from looking like Johnny on the Karate Kid.
It requires patience, a sense of humor, and a willingness to endure a lot of ugly.
I should know.
Growing my hair out is what I will be concentrating on for the next nine to twelve months.
And also parenting.
Well, I will focus on parenting longer than that.
^^ An actual picture of my hair. Hot. ^^
Anyway, my point is that I like to whine about how hard my life is now that I am flying solo.
And my hair is frightful.
That is why my posts have been so sporadic (my sucky attitude, not my horrendous hair).
And lest you think you are experiencing déjá vu, you aren't.
I have, in fact, already whined about this topic recently.
About how I feel I have nothing positive to say because I am spiraling.
I may have even said to my sister recently that, "My life is like hell."
Which might have been an exaggeration.
But it felt very accurate at the time; the time being four days ago.
I am getting very good at feeling sorry for myself.
I practice it daily.
I think maybe if I started working, I would feel like I was propelling my life in a forward direction and inching toward independence.
Which is the goal.
I had a priesthood blessing (which, in the LDS church, are prayers given by authority from God for healing, comfort, and encouragement) a short while ago that offered me assurance that God had not forgotten my struggles and I would not have to live my life alone.
I try to think of that when I want to, say, let myself go completely, stop showering, and then go out in public smelling like a Yeti.
I try to remember that my life has purpose and will continue to get sunnier.
And that it could be so much worse.
And that no one likes a Yeti.
p.s. Don't anyone go and get the wrong idea that this post was a cry for help.
I am not going to off myself.
I am just puttin' it out there.
All raw and shite.
p.p.s. I will try an muster up a more cheerful post next time.
p.p.s.s. If anyone knows of a great job, that say a single mother with a college degree could take, while still maintaining her dignity, just let me know, and I will ....uh ... pass it along.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Date #1

So I went on a date.
A real one.
It was the first one I have gone on in 13.5 years.
The last time I went on a date, Facebook, American Idol, iPods, and Justin Bieber did not exist.
Back then, everyone was getting lower-back tattoos and wearing chokers.
You could still walk freely through the airport and greet people directly at their landing gate.
It was a weird time.
Anyway, things are different now.
I am different now.
I am older (but in my opinion much better ... my eyebrows were unnerving circa 2002).
I have a lot of children.
And I am more comfortable in my own skin.
And this, consequently, is why I most likely scared my date.
He was very friendly.
He was cute.
He had nice teeth.
He was quiet. (I was not quiet.)
And was attentive.
He also bowled much better than I did.
Although, truth be told, I bowled like a granny and rightly deserved to lose.
It was fun to go out.
It helped me to realize that I am ready for this.
I want to date now.
I am done being a spinster at home darning socks and pulling out stray chin hairs.
It is time to get back in the game.
The only problem is that I seem to be the only one looking for a date in the entire thriving metropolis that is Eugene.
So here's where I shamelessly throw out a pathetic plea to all my peeps (we used this word back when I was dating, in the new millennium) to send all eligible bachelors, that are looking for someone awesome to date, my way.
What? You live in Utah? Colorado?
That's okay.
I am pretty sure social media was invented exclusively to bring strangers together.
I swear to Oprah.
Anyway, this post is getting very dumb and as soon as I publish it, I will accept my date's friend request and he will see what a lunatic I really am.
And then I will be back to wearing nipple-high pants, eating butterscotch candy, and putting doilies under all of my lamps.
Like an old maid.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Looking ahead

^^ I know, I know ... Saved By the Bell called and they want their bangs back. My hair is redonkulous. ^^
I yelled at my kids today.
Well, I yell at them almost every day.
I am not what you would call patient.
Or soft-spoken.
Or nice.
I talk to my kids like they are mini adults.
I understand that they are children and have the mental capacity of not-yet-fully-developed humans but I am not the babying type.
I love them, and take care of them, and teach them, and discipline them, but I don't coddle.
I think about those three hooligans all the live-long day.
I want them to be happy, well-adjusted, polite, productive.
But today I snapped.
I wanted to jump in my car and drive away, after peeling out.
It was in between the second and third time I had to wash poop out of Micah's underwear in the toilet.
I was tired and hot and they were fighting, again.
About Legos, no less, of which there are nine thousand.
Mathematically that works out to all three children having quite a few Legos each.
You know, if divided fairly.
They were also looking at and breathing on each other (which is apparently another reason worth fighting about).
I freaked out, sent them into the backyard, shut the door, and locked it.
They just stood right outside the french doors and stared into the house.
Micah pressed his nose up against the glass for good measure.
I ignored them and looked at
Single-parenting blows already, but it doubly blows in the summer.
On a somewhat related note: I declare it to be mentally draining to always be hoovering in limbo.
You wouldn't think that doing nothing would be so exhausting.
I also think that I have been feeling sorry for myself lately.
When I jump on Facebook or catch up on Instagram all I see are beautiful pictures of my friends and family living happy, fulfilling lives.
I hesitate to post anything to my feed because I don't feel like my life looks the way I want it to, or the way I thought it would.
I don't feel we do anything post-worthy and live kind of a weird in-between life, just waiting to get started.
I want to create a tight family unit that has its own traditions and personality.
Separate and not an appendage to someone else's family.
I want to be an adult and a parent and establish something special that is ours.
I feel like that could be something that I am proud of and would want to share.
Maybe that is why I have been so tight-lipped lately.
I am ready to move forward but it is as if my feet are stuck in the mud.
I am trying really hard to be happy in my life.
Sometimes it is easy and then sometimes it is work.
Today it was a lot of poopy work.
Tomorrow we go to the water park.
It will be better.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Micah is thrrreeee and my life has been shortened by at least a decade

Micah is THREE!
Unbeknownst to him, we celebrated a day early.
Of course, he doesn't really know anything in general so ... there you go.
Anyway, back to him being three.
How he survived this long is beyond me.
He has no sense of self-preservation and gets into all kinds of trouble.
Scott used to say if he weren't so adorably handsome we would have dropped him off at the fire station.
And then run away.
Because he is a maniac.
As I have mentioned in every single sentence ever written about him, he is very naughty busy.
Being his mother is exhausting.
I am stressed out just thinking about what will happen when he wakes up tomorrow.
He is quite bright and can navigate my new iPad better than I can.
And he loves cheese.
With all his three-year-old heart, he loves cheese.
He is very stubborn, which he inherited entirely from his father.
I am not that way at all. I am also telling the truth.
He is against using the toilet.
In fact, whatever the opposite of potty training is, that is what we are doing.
Un-potty training? Reverse-potty training?
He has mastered reverse-potty training and will, without regard, pee in every pair of miniature underpants you throw on him in record time.
So that is a fun little tidbit to remember.
He is however, my snugly-est baby and is definitely a momma's boy.
And not by default. He was that way before we lost Scott.
He is also the one that looks the most like me, so he is therefore my favorite for that reason.
Just kidding. I'm not.
He enjoys playing dress up (particularly tutus and necklaces; his father would be thrilled).
And he loves to watch music videos.
His favorites are Katy Perry and the a Capella group Pentatonix.
And a little Pharrell, just for versatility sake.
He can sing along with them all.
He is shy and takes a while to warm up to people.
And by warm up, I mean stop shooting you indignant looks and crack half a smile.
He loves church (and wetting his pants at church) and looks forward to it all week.
He also loves Ryan.
He cannot get enough of his big sister.
He follows her around relentlessly and/or asks where she is so he can follow her around.
It is sweet.
In fact, he is sweet.
He is intense and I love him so much I can barely stand it.
And now for 89 pictures.
^^ Showing us how old he is. ^^ 
^^ You cannot fake this kind of enthusiasm. ^^
^^ A manic grin as candle Number 2 is lit. ^^
^^ The center of attention as the he listens to his birthday song. ^^
^^ Blowing out his candles. Very gently. ^^ 
^^ I am not sure what this smirk is. I, however, look amazing. And so young. ^^
^^ With some of his spoils: a bubble gun and a Harley. What more could a man desire?^^
Happy birthday to my baby.
I love you, Micah.