With a little tweaking, I could be happy EVERY day!

Have you ever had one of those days where a lot of little things go wrong, right in a row? The kind of day where even though you handle things better than you normally would, you're still not happy about the way things are going; where you're kind of floating through on a wispy cloud of hope, praying that tomorrow will give you a few more reasons to smile; where while you probably wouldn't call it a bad day, it certainly doesn't fit into the good-day category either?

I had a day like that yesterday.

The morning started out in an unspectacular fashion. I had slept badly because Millie had slept badly, Adam was away on a fishing trip, there were three tons of dirty dishes in the sink mocking me, and my jeans felt tight. By nine thirty, I was already so apathetic about life that I cleaned up the flood in the bathroom without harsh words or threats towards the boy, the three plastic sharks, and the squirt gun that had caused it. I was in such a funk that I couldn't work up enough fury to tell off the lady who stole my grocery cart at Walmart. (I know she saw me walk into that bathroom with two kids, though. She even smiled at me! But when she left the restroom before me because she wasn't burdened down with a screaming one-year-old and a five-year-old who couldn't make up his mind which stall to pee in even though he was seconds away from doing it right there on the floor, did she leave me the cart with functional straps so that I could at least immobilize my screamer? She did not.) After the shopping trip, it took me over an hour and a half to put away six bags of groceries. That's how much I didn't care whether things got done or not. While I worked on the seemingly insurmountable task of finding where to stash the Chlorox wipes, my kids ate leftover lunch scraps off the dirty kitchen floor. I shrugged my shoulders and left them to it. Later, I let them pull all the couch cushions off and beat each other senseless while I watched Star Wars. And then, to top it all off, we had breakfast for dinner. I don't even like breakfast for breakfast! But pancakes are easier than tuna casserole.

It wasn't until the kiddos were snug in their beds that I had this unexpected epiphany: at no point during this day had I felt overly hurried, stressed, or inadequate. A little blah, maybe, but not crazed. Do you know how infrequently that happens in my life? I'll tell you. Very infrequently! If I could figure out how to have a day like yesterday and be in a good mood, do you know what would happen? I could become that annoyingly cheerful woman you see around town who never yells at her kids or snaps at her husband. I could consider having more children without going into hysterics. I could have balance in my life. I could rule the entire world!! (And let's be honest, I would totally rock at that job.) But do you see the possibilities? They are endless.

I always knew I was a genius.


P.S. I miss you all! Give me another month and things will start to get back to normal. In the meantime, quit writing so many stinking posts!! I'm four hundred behind as it is.

The grass isn't always greener

I have a fantastic husband who, for the most part, understands that being a stay-at-home mom does not, in fact, mean that I kick back and live the easy life while he brings home the bacon. He knows that I work hard and he appreciates it. He does have his days, however. Days where he wants to switch roles for a while because he's fed up with office politics or sitting in meetings all day long. That's when we have conversations like the following:

Him - How about you go to my meetings tomorrow and I'll stay home?

Me - Okay, but there is some stuff I'd like for you to get done while I'm gone.

Him - What kind of stuff?

Me - Well, I need to go shopping at Fred Meyer. And at Three Bears. And the bathroom needs cleaned. Oh, also I need to drop off a letter and do a load of laundry and plan next week's menu. And if you could wash and chop the veggies you pick up at Three Bears, that'd be great. Let's see, what else? I kinda wanted to have a nice meal ready just in case your parents get here around dinner time. And I was thinking about making bread.

Him - Never mind.

Me - No, no! I want to be able to sit down all day. Let me go!!

Him - Weeeell. I think they're going to want you to be a little more like me.

Me - You mean like less hair and no boobs?

Him - No, I mean you're gonna have to be more vocal.

Me - I can be vocal!

It's true. I can be very loquacious if the occasion calls for it. Especially if the occasion will get me out of a super huge to-do list. Yeah, they want vocal, I'll show 'em vocal...

But, anyway. Back to reality. I'm going to be glaringly absent from the blogging world for the next couple of months. (It's okay to shed a few tears; sadness is a part of life.) I'll try to drop in now and again if life slows down a bit, but I just wanted to give you the heads up so you didn't think I got eaten by a bear or trampled by a moose or sucked dry by mosquitoes (sheesh - why do we even live here?) or anything else that has a very small probability of happening.

Peace out. (I'm not sure I'm groovy enough to pull that off, but let's pretend, okay?)

The truth will set you free, but lying can make you rich

Last week I heard a story on the radio that threw me for a loop. The story goes something like this: Boy meets girl. Boy and girl get married. Girl wants to start up a business. Girl goes to bank, gets approved for a $10,000 small business loan. When checking her bank account at a later date, girl discovers that some poor idiot got a little crazy with the zeroes and landed her with $10,000,000. Girl and boy pull a Billy Joe and Bobbie Sue and are never heard from again. The end.

After relaying the tale, the radio host took callers from around the country to hear what they would do in that same situation. Apparently, our country is full of cheats and liars. But I, having never told a lie before, am skeptical. I refuse to believe that telling the truth is out of fashion. In fact, I think that most lies, white and otherwise, are simple misunderstandings. The problem is, we're not all speaking the same dialect of truth.

And that's where I step in and, with no thought of reward or praise, save the day with my excellent translation skills. Behold!


Medical "Misunderstandings"

what they say: This medicine won't make you drowsy.
what they mean: Though you will still be technically conscious, do not attempt to operate heavy machinery, drive a car, tend to your children, or walk upright.

what they say: This won't hurt.
what they mean: This will hurt a little.

what they say: This will hurt a little.
what they mean: Brace yourself.

what they say: This will hurt.
what they mean: Tell Grandpa hi for me.

Political "Misunderstandings"

what they say: I am not a crook.
what they mean: I'm someone you're gonna wanna keep your eye on.

what they say: If I am elected Mayor, things will change.
what they mean: If I am elected, things might get worse.

what they say: I have not had sexual relations with that woman.
what they mean: Bow chica bow bow.

Familial "Misunderstandings"

what they say: I understand you completely.
what they mean: Please, please, please, can we end this conversation now?

what they say: Dinner was... interesting.
what they mean: Never make that again. Ever.

what they say: It's your turn to change the diaper/do dishes/take out the garbage.
what they mean: It's my turn, but I'm hoping you won't remember if I'm convincing enough.

what they say: I love you.
what they mean: I love you. Pick up your socks.


Well then. That clears things right up, doesn't it? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to apply for a small business loan. Wish me luck.

Blast, flip, and other non-swear words

Hello? Can anyone hear me? Gosh, it's like I'm all alone in the dark, scary, vast universe. Except for my husband. And kids. And the thousands of people in the Mat-Su Valley. But really, without normal blog capabilities, I feel a little bit alone. Sniff.

Anyhow, enough self pity (since I'll be resorting to violence soon enough). This will be my last attempt to post a post before I am forced to pursue other activities for the sake of my sanity.

Farewell.

All in the family

My current husband called me a freak for no good reason. Singing "House, house, I love you house. Will you be my house forever?" while glancing at our floor plan doesn't make me a freak. Right?

My son is firmly convinced that in a confrontation with a wild animal, he needs only to don his super cape. He will then be instantly transformed into the supreme champion wild animal butt-kicker of Wasilla, Alaska. While I admire his confidence, I'm a tad alarmed that he might actually put this theory to test and then I will no longer have a son.

My daughter has morphed, seemingly overnight, into a screaming, raging, tantrum-throwing fireball of drama. Terrible twos, my eye. She's starting a full four months early. I want a refund.

My sister and I have been playing phone tag for a week and a half now. She's either very busy with her four kids under four or she's dead. Maybe both. But doggone it, I need to discuss last week's season finale of Lost with someone! Has she no compassion?

My in-laws are coming. Maybe this week, maybe mid-June, maybe sometime, anytime in between. They haven't really given us specifics. I'm an obsessive compulsive control freak who needs details and concrete plans for everything. You know this. I know this. How did they not get the memo?

As for me, a quick peek around will shed some light on how I've been wasting my valuable time lately. I thought about completely changing templates, but it was too much. So I ate a Twix (or two) instead.

An update: If this post shows up three times in your reader, sorry! It wasn't updating correctly, so I had to nix my new favicon and snazzy signature to see if that would clear things up. I even started with a clean slate by doing the template thing, which I didn't really want to do. Stinking Blogger.

Bloggy issues

Testing, testing. One, two, three.

If the shoe fits

If you're a regular to my blog, you've probably surmised that I'm a pretty practical person. (And, apparently, also a person who adores alliteration, but that's neither here nor there.) I like to play it safe. I'm dependable, predictable, and responsible. And I've never, ever owned shoes whose sole purpose in life - no pun intended - was to make me look good.

Until now.

A couple of weeks ago, I was wandering through PayLess Shoe Source with no intention of buying anything, when I heard a voice. "Becky. Becky! Look at us. Aren't we preeeetty? We're on cleeeearance. C'mon. You've always wondered what it would be like to slip a pair of us on and we all know it! Besides, isn't there an unwritten law that at some point in your blogging career, you must post a picture of some great shoes? We can be those shoes."



What was I supposed to do? You don't ignore pretty shoes who can present a rational argument in a singsong voice. You just don't. I bought them. I brought them home. I strutted around our apartment like a peacock in them. And yesterday I wore them to church and a miracle occurred! I felt invincible. I felt sexy. I felt very, very tall. I am certain that if Death himself had come for me that day, he'd have taken one look at me in those shoes, realized that I was not to be trifled with, and come back another day. I am also certain that by the end of the three-hour block, I would have gladly told Death he was welcome to everything below the knees.

There has never before been an item in my wardrobe that I have so vehemently despised and cherished at the same time. Who in their right mind wears this kind of shoe on purpose?! When did it become socially acceptable to be a stark raving masochist? Why not just save yourself time and money and take a sledgehammer to your toes? It's crazy. Crazy!

I got about six compliments. I think I'm gonna wear 'em again next week.