Monday Vent - Swearing

*#@%&!

While growing up there were very strict rules about what we could and could not say.  I remember being slapped for asking my mother what b-u-t-t spelled.  That was a bad word.  My mother would also tell us that swearing was for people who did not have the education or the creativity to effectively put their thoughts into words so they had to rely on the "shock factor" and use profanity.  I admit, I agree with her.  I rarely, if ever, swear, other than the occasional "dammit" when I am injured (e.g. at church, my son slammed the kneeler onto my foot and I swore very quietly under my breath).  My husband typically does not swear in front of me during normal, everyday conversations.  I appreciate the fact that he accommodates my feelings that way.  We do have two young children, which, you would expect would further clean up his language.  For the most part it has, unless he is playing a video game.  While playing these STUPID and INANE games he swears so profusely that I have to shut whatever doors lie between him and me.  Our sons call this game the "yelling game" because he screams at the top of his lungs. We have had so many discussions/arguments about his abuse of language within earshot of our children and me, that I am beside myself with frustration.  My children have learned ALL the swear words there are straight from the mouth of their father.  It's completely infuriating and disgusting to me.

S-)

Monday Vent - The Kitchen Sponge

Yes, today's vent REALLY IS about the kitchen sponge. Not so much about the kitchen sponge, as where I find it, REPEATEDLY.

 For you to fully understand, I will have to share with you my disgust of kitchen sponges. Kitchen sponges, to me, are just playgrounds for germs and bacteria. They gross me out to no end. I use a brush to hand wash things or even a paper towel that then gets thrown away (I know. Not exactly green of me.)

My husband LOVES the kitchen sponge. He will use it on ANYTHING. He will wipe off the counter top and then go right to the cook top. I have seen him use it on dishes and the garbage can. (Hold on... I'm gagging...)

Once he is done using the kitchen sponge, he then throws it into the sink. No rinse. No wringing. No setting in on the edge of the sink so it can dry. Nope. It sits in the sink while cups are rinsed, hands are washed, and dog bowls are filled. That kitchen sponge sits in the bottom of the sink just waiting to be picked up again so a couple squirts of dish soap can be squirted on it and contaminate wash the next thing. (dry heave)

I have tried to discourage the use of the kitchen sponge many times. I hid the kitchen sponge, and my husband found it. I didn't buy new ones, he bought replacements.

I then thought I would at least try to keep the sponge out of the sink. Repeatedly I pulled out the sponge, rinsed it, squeezed the extra water out of it and set it on edge to dry. Certainly if my husband finds the sponge this way enough times he will return it to that position, right? Nope. I thought that perhaps my husband, being the gadget guy that he his, just needed a place to put it and THAT'S why he always throws it in the sink. (Side note: there is a hidden ledge on the front side of our sink that he COULD put the sponge in already. In fact that's where I put the kitchen scrub brush, but I digress.) So, while out shopping, I found a double sided sponge holder. It looks like a saddle and hangs on the cross bar between our two sinks. PERFECT and EASY place to put the kitchen sponge. I point out to my husband the new purchase and promptly place the kitchen sponge in it.

Do I even NEED to tell you where I STILL find the kitchen sponge? This is one of those battles that I will never win. I refuse to fight with him about it, and as gross as I think it is, we have never gotten sick because of it (that I am aware of). Full disclosure: whenever I see plates or silverware that he washed drying on the counter, I put them in the dishwasher when he isn't looking.

This is one of those things that I know will not go away. I try to not focus on it. However, if one day, you see a news headline that reads "Woman Goes Crazy Mumbling About Her Kitchen Sponge" you will know it is me.

=J

Have a similar situation at your house?

Bright Side Friday! Opportunites and Hope

OPPORTUNITY

COMING THIS WAY!

This week's Bright Side Friday has to do with opportunities. When things are looking bad, all I hope for is an opportunity to make things better. As everyone knows, the economy hasn't been that great lately. It has really impacted my business, which my husband and I both work at, and hence our family counts on income from.

Lately we have been noticing more and more new customers. When we ask how they found us, sometimes it's by accident - they were just passing by, and other times it's because one of our other clients recommended us. Now that's a feel good. It's not just that they HAVE to use us, there are competitors fairly close. They CHOOSE to come to us AND tell their friends to do the same! Awesome!

Having business pick up a little bit is a relief to us, but having the opportunity to gain clients is wonderful and renews our hope.

Just last night, a friend asked if I could design a logo for our local travel soccer team. I still need to get her a quote, and I'm not guaranteed the job yet, but it's another opportunity. It makes me happy that the opportunity was presented to me. If I get the job, will it make me rich? No. But it gives me hope that more opportunities will come our way.

What opportunities have come your way that were unexpected or made you feel good? Here is hope for you, that even more opportunities will come your way. Make the most of them.

=J

Monday Vent - Candy for Lunch

It was a Sunday, and after church, I had a meeting to attend.  My husband was going to run to the hardware store and then take our boys out to lunch.  Sounded like a good plan to me.  I arrived home a few hours later to be pounced on by my boys who were "starving".  When I asked my husband what had happened, he explained that at the hardware store the boys saw some candy that they wanted.  So, he gave them the choice of getting candy or going out to lunch.  Guess which one they chose?  That would have been fine if he also gave them some REAL food also.  When I questioned him further he replied, "what do you want from me, they wanted the candy!"  This goes back to other blogs we have written when seemingly normal, intelligent, independently functioning men do really STUPID things and then wonder why we're irritated.

S-)

Now it's your turn. Can you relate?

Candy image borrowed from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Candy_in_Damascus.jpg

Bright-Side Thursday Night

My bright side Friday occurred on Thursday night.  I was watching a show on TV in my bedroom.  There were only a few minutes left and one of my boys climbed up on the bed.  I told him he could sit with me only if he didn’t talk so I could hear the end of the show.  It was just before bedtime for the boys.  Moments later, my other son climbed up, and then my husband joined us.  It turned into a tickling, giggling, hugging, kissing time. It was great.  The thought crossed my mind that this is one of those moments that I will look back on again and again as long as I live.  Having my family all together, healthy, happy, laughing, and just enjoying being together is an amazing blessing and a wonderful memory to carry with me.
S -)

Monday (Vacation) Vent

We just returned from our vacation, camping with our two young boys.  If anyone asks me how it was, I will, of course, tell them it was a lot of fun.  I would be lying through my teeth.  The truth is, I have not had a relaxing, fun vacation yet as a mother.  I think vacations with young children and husbands are only actually fun in retrospect.  In the moment, I am dealing with trying to appease all of them at the same time, which is rarely possible.  The only thing my husband wanted to do was fish.  The only thing my boys wanted to do was go to the pool.  Not that anyone was interested, but the only thing I really wanted was some peace and quiet and to read a good book and go for long walks.  As it turned out, the boys and I were in the pool every day for a few hours, made arts and crafts, and played at a park.  My husband fished every day for most of the day.  I guess it was a successful trip since they are all happy about it.  Now I want to go take a trip with my girlfriends!!!


S-)

Monday Vent-Bogey Man

It is Monday morning and I am exhausted and in need of uninterrupted sleep.  My husband had a momentary lapse of judgment and allowed our two young boys to watch a part of “The War of the Worlds” right before bedtime. Luckily for them, it was a part where there is a lot of screaming, running, and the aliens suck up people and dissolve their remains into liquid.  If you haven’t seen it, let me assure you it is quite horrifying.  Now, these two boys had nightmares when he had another lapse of judgment last summer and let them watch him playing a video game involving zombies chasing people through a forest.  Those nightmares lasted a few days and they still talk about it.   Although they are typically good little sleepers, they were sobbing and scared when I called them upstairs.  It became apparent that they would not go to their own beds so I allowed them to come into our bed, just to stop the crying.  My husband can sleep through anything, but, unfortunately, two little extra bodies kicking and rolling around kept waking me up, although I’m not actually sure I fell asleep.  I put them back in their own beds around midnight, but one returned by 2:00 a.m.  So, here we are at 5 in the morning and I have to get moving, yet all I want to do is go back to bed.  Thanks honey!!!

Now it's your turn! Come on, you know it will make you feel better!

S-)

My Lame Father's Day Effort

Over the years, I have complained too many times about the time that my husband bought me flowers for Mother's Day, at the grocery store, near the gym, on his way home from working out.  Or the time, that I got flowers, from the same place with the comment "I would have been able to get you a gift, but we did that family thing yesterday." (Insert eye roll here.) So yes, my husband hasn't really blown me away in the Mother's Day arena, but over the years, I have come to accept that, that is just him. It doesn't mean I'm not appreciated. It doesn't mean I'm not loved. He does plenty every day to let me know those things. Also, after being married as long as we have, we have both mellowed a bit, become more accepting of each other and far less critical.

This year, for Mother's Day, I told my husband "Don't get me anything." I meant it. He found time to shop and bought me a pair of capri pants and a cool t-shirt. It was sweet and unnecessary, AND the wrong sizes (admittedly, I have put on a few pounds). Luckily, he still knew where the receipt was and I was able to exchange the shirt and ultimately return the capris.

Which brings me to this Father's Day. My husband told me "Don't get me anything." He meant it. I was OK with it too. I picked out a funny card for him from the kids and checked Father's Day off my list. Until Saturday night, when my kids were getting into bed, and with panicked looks on their faces asked "What did we get Dad for Father's Day?" When I told them "nothing" they replied with "We HAVE to give him SOMETHING!" Uggg... kick me in the gut. Bad, bad, unthoughtful mom. I asked them for ideas, and of course they had none. Now my brain kicks into overdrive. "Are the kids little enough to make some cute little craft and have him be overwhelmed with it?" No, at this point, Dad will know I forced 2 sleepy kids to do a crappy art project when they are capable of creating something beautiful if given enough time. Then, I remembered that my husband was planning on working out early in the morning. I should be able to go pick up something when the stores open and get back home before him.  As it turned out, he slept in. I tip-toed out of the house and started driving looking for anything open besides a Walgreen's (which BTW is where I purchased his "Perfect Push-Up Equipment: As Seen On TV" the day before Father's Day last year). I ended up finding him 2 pairs of work-out shorts. OK, truthfully, I purchased 4 pair, 2 in 1 size and 2 in a larger size because I wasn't really sure what size he wore. So, we are even on the wrong size thing. To cover up for my last minute shopping, I also picked up McDonald's breakfast for everyone on the way home. We threw Dad's on a breakfast tray and carried it upstairs to him. Distracted by breakfast, I quickly threw the shorts (guessed right with the smaller size) in a gift bag with some tissue and "ta-daa!" the perfect Father's Day morning. As he opened the package, he said "I thought I wasn't supposed to get anything." Then he immediately put on a pair.

Come lunch time, my husband automatically made lunch for us all, like he always does. And at dinner, when I offered to make something (meaning = order pizza), he only wanted leftovers from lunch. I spoiled him a bit more and reheated it for him (lol).

What I took from today is that:
I have no room to complain about lack of effort on my husband's part.
I have thoughtful kids.
My husband and I have a good thing going.

=J

Drama King

Why is it that perfectly rational, mostly independently functioning men can go completely ballistic over the most inconsequential, fleeting things and make the entire situation worse? My understanding was that women were supposed to be all emotional and irrational. I’ve always kept pretty tight control of my emotions and apparently, my reward for that is to have a spouse who flips out over nothing and is moodier than an adolescent girl (see, even I buy into the stereotypes!)

Situations that I need to handle because I can do so calmly and logically: taking vehicles in for any repairs and talking with the mechanic, returning items to stores past the return deadline, paying bills, setting a budget, teaching my boys sports, homework. All of these situations turn my husband into an emotional volcano just waiting for a “reason” to erupt. The diatribe has many nuances but the same under lying themes : “the car repair places are a rip-off”,” the gas company/tire store/grocery store etc. charges too much”, “homework is stupid it doesn’t matter anyway”, “the boys just don’t want to play sports”, “I work hard I don’t need a budget but you should be on one”, and “why don’t we have any money since we both make a good living?”

Anyhow, what is prompting this line of thinking is a common occurrence in most households. Our two boys are now ages 6 & 5. They have recently stopped taking baths together because there legs are too long. Now that there is not as much open space in the tub there are many more opportunities for invading each other’s space and wrestling around. They have been reluctant to take showers because they are scared of the water spraying at them. However, at a recent splash park, they finally realized that spraying water is actually fun. My husband took the initiative to help them with their first showers. The six-year-old went first with no problems. As the little one is getting into the shower, my husband asks me to get the tear-free shampoo. I didn’t see what the big deal was, so I said to use the regular shampoo since he already knows to close his eyes when we rinse. Unfortunately, the little guy decided to open his eyes when the soap was being rinsed and running down his face. As he rubbed his eyes, his daddy starts yelling, “OMG, OMG THE SOAP IS GETTING IN HIS EYES!” Just picture a sensitive little drama king in a shower with his daddy YELLING at the top of his lungs about soap in his eyes as though there were shards of glass shooting from the shower head. Little drama king begins screaming and Big drama king continues screaming. Screaming and chaos. I come in and of course am subjected to the accusation that this is all my fault and I have to deal with the carnage. After Big drama king storms off and I enter, putting a dry towel over the little king’s eyes, he stops crying. I ask him if he got soap in his eyes, he says, “yes”. I then ask if his eyes hurt, he says, “no”. I then ask, “why are you crying?” He says, “I’m scared because Daddy started yelling at me”. Imagine that, another completely unnecessary dramatic episode. My little king now says that he will never take a shower again. Gee, I wonder why? Post-traumatic stress syndrome caused by a big drama king.
S-)

A Fish Story

Years ago, my younger son was invited to a birthday party. While that is not unusual, the party was. The party was held in a local pool clubhouse. The parents of the birthday boy hired animal trainers to arrive with various unusual animals that the children could learn about and even touch or hold. As cool as that sounds, that is not the unusual part either. What WAS unusual, is that each child was sent home with a goldfish in a small goldfish bowl, filled nearly to the top with water. Unaware of this, I pulled up to pick up my son just in time to see some poor dad, who somehow became in charge of this day's carpool. His face contorted and eyes rolled as 5 little boys climbed into his freshly cleaned SUV with their fish. Each boy proudly paused to show him their new pet and then subsequently climbed their way in to their spot with water splashing everywhere. I could tell that some of the dad's facial contortions were the only way he could keep from having a barrage of profanity spew out of his mouth. I tried to hide that I was laughing, but I think he knew I thought it was a funny sight. It wasn't until I tried to walk back out to the car with my son that I started to gain some empathy for that poor dad. Give ANY child a bowl full of water, with or without a fish, and they will NOT be able to walk with it without spilling. Just getting to the car, about 1/3 of the bowl was empty.

I was thinking “Well, that is a good thing, now it won't spill in the car.” In reality, I quickly realized I was wrong. My son, resistant to let his new pet go, tried to climb into the car with the bowl. “Hmmm... mostly on the floor mat. Well, it will give the french fry smell a run for it's money.”

My son finally allowed me to hold it so he could get buckled up, then it went back into his hands and rested on his lap. We live ½ mile away from the party location, so I was still thinking that we might be ok. The first bump out of the parking lot proved me wrong.

“Ahhh!” I hear from the back seat as my son now has fish bowl water on his lap.

I drove that ½ mile home, with 5 turns, in a way that a surgeon could have successfully performed brain surgery. I'm REALLY glad no one was following me! If the police spotted me they would have pulled me over thinking I was an overly cautious 98 year old lady. We FINALLY make it home. The fish gets named Goldie, and finds a spot on our countertop. We soon realize, that we have nothing to feed it. Off to the local pet supply store! Do we purchase fish food and leave? NoooooOOooo. We have to buy Goldie a new bowl, and some rocks, oh, and something to play with in her tank... huh? I give in, after all, the fish was free, right? Look at my son, he is so proud and happy. This is one of those times you give in, right? So we find Goldie a cool bowl, which is really ½ of a bowl. One side is flat so it can go up against the wall. Then my son picks out the rocks and a plastic plant and we head home. Once home, we set up Goldie in her new place and everyone seems happy.

The next morning we wake up and come downstairs, to find Goldie floating at the top of her bowl.

I'm thinking, “Crap! We just bought all of this stuff and now the thing is dead! I wonder if I can return any of it?”

My son sees his floating fish, and starts to cry. He is heartbroken. I am a bit amazed by his strong reaction to... well... it's JUST a FISH. A fish that we've had for less than 12 hours! I do the right thing and comfort him.

As I do, he pulls at my heart strings asking a series of questions between sobbing. “Why did he die? Did I do it? Did I feed him too much? Are you sure he's dead? I didn't even get a chance to take a picture of him.”

Well, that last question at least, I could make him feel better about. I immediately tell him not to worry about the photo, because I took a photo of him in his new bowl. My son felt some relief, but he had me wrapped around his finger again. You guessed it, off to the pet store again with both of my sons in tow. This time to purchase a replacement goldfish.

On the way there, I'm thinking “How much could this trip possibly cost? A dollar? Goldfish come as cheap as a dime or a quarter. I'll splurge and get him a 50 cent one.”

We look around and find a 20 something girl working there. I tell her that we would like a goldfish. With that, she turns into the Fish Police on me.

Her: “What are you going to do with it?”

Me: “Um, put it in a tank?” I'm a bit confused by the question.

Her: “What size tank?”

Me: Thinking first, “ It's a freakin' 50 cent fish! What's up with the interrogation?” then I say, politely “One of those ½ tanks that you sell.”

Her: “You know, fish need 1 gallon of water for every inch long they are. EXCEPT for goldfish. THEY need 4 gallons of water for every inch of fish. Your tank is WAY TOO small!”

It must have been the “Are you kidding me?” look on my face that made her decide to EXPLAIN to me why I REALLY needed a bigger tank.

Her: “If you put goldfish in too small of the tank, it's like torturing them. It is extremely painful and they go blind.”

I look at my son, whose eyes are now the size of saucers, thinking about the horrors that poor Goldie must have endured on our countertop overnight.

I don't respond for a moment, but I'm thinking “REALLY? REALLY LADY? You just HAD to go there?”

She interrupts the silence with: “But, you know, if you WANT to. It IS just a feeder fish. If it was ANY other fish, I wouldn't allow it.”

Why did I have to find the Fish Police in this store? It really doesn't matter at this point because I know that there is NO WAY my son is going to allow another goldfish to be tortured in that bowl. I also know that there is NO WAY I'm willingly purchasing a 5 gallon tank that costs $30.00 for a 50 cent fish. It is at that moment that I look to my right and see several shelves of bright fish in tiny little plastic cups. I ask the Fish Police if it would be O.K. to put one of those Beta fish in our ½ tank. She seems to approve and confirms that we don't need anything else for it, except Beta fish food. I ask if it can eat the brand new goldfish food that we just bought yesterday. She looks annoyed, so I grab the Beta fish food. My older son has been quiet this whole time, but pipes up as my younger son is picking out his bright red $8.00 fish.

“Is he getting one of those?” he asks tentatively. I read between the lines and know what he is really saying is “You're spending all of that money on him, and now he's getting to pick out a REALLY COOL fish and I didn't complain when he got that other fish and the new bowl, or when we came here to buy him replacement fish, but now he's picking out a REALLY COOL fish and I'm not getting ANYTHING!”

Guilt overcomes me and I immediately offer for him to pick one out too.

We are all happy, until the Fish Police reminds me that they are Beta fish. “Beta fish can't share a tank. They will kill each other.”

Geesh! Isn't she full of uplifting fish facts? So we head to the tank aisle, pick up another ½ tank and rocks. We somehow agree that Beta fish don't need something to “play” with, sparing me the cost of another plastic plant. Awesome.

We get home an set up the tanks. All is well until that night, when my younger son asks if he can see the photo I took of Goldie.

My reply, “Ummm... can I show you later?”

I make up some excuse as to why I can't get to it right then. The reason? I DIDN'T take a photo of Goldie, I just SAID I did to make him feel better! Thankfully, I'm a wiz with Photoshop. Back to the pet store for the third day in a row. This time with my camera in hand, and without my sons!

In an effort to make the final photo as believable as possible, I start examining the many tanks of goldfish to find Goldie's body double. “No, too many fish to get just one.” “No, too skinny.” “No, too fat.” “No, too orange.” “No, too many spots.”

Finally, I see one that I can make work with very little manipulation! Of course, these tanks are mere inches off of the floor. To take the photo, at the right angle, I am crouched down on the floor. It crosses my mind that dogs are allowed in this store. I wonder what the odds are that a dog had relieved it's self in this location, but then I try not to think about it. As I wait for the particular fish to separate itself from the other fish and then get a good angle of it, a confused employee walks up to me. I look up slowly, hoping it isn't the Fish Police from yesterday. I'm greeted with a smile. Nope. Not the Fish Police. I explain to her what I'm doing and am left alone. I'm glad, but convinced she will be talking to her 20 something friends later on about the “crazy mom who lied to her kid”. I get several shots of the body double and head home to continue the project. Once home, I take a photo of the tank. Luckily, the new Beta fish is cooperative and is hiding over in the corner. He is easily cropped out of the photo. I get to work on the cutting and pasting, adjust the color a bit, and done! I delete any photographic evidence of other fish and tanks, then call my son over to see the photo I took of Goldie.

He was very appreciative, but then said “I don't remember Goldie being that yellow.”

Dang! I was thinking that she looked a little too yellow too. I explain it away as being a result of my camera flash making her look different. He seems to buy it.

We were told that Beta fish are supposed to live around 3 years. At about 2 ½ years after we purchased the Beta fish, my younger son's fish started to look a bit sick. I prepare my son for the inevitable. He is sad, but is prepared to face the death of his fish. He asks if we can bury it in the yard. I agree that would be a nice thing to do for such a good fish. One morning, I came downstairs before my kids. As I look over towards the fish tanks, something catches my eye. One of the tanks is completely empty! My stomach is flipping as I start to piece together what happened. I call my husband, who woke up before me and went to go work out.

Him: “Hello?”

Me: “What happened to the fish?”

Him: “It was dead.”

Me: “What did you do with it?”

Him: “I flushed it.” I run to the toilet in hopes that it didn't go down. No such luck.

Me: “WHY????”

Him: “I didn't want him to have to see his dead fish. It would make him sad.”

Me: “HE KNEW IT WAS GOING TO DIE AND WANTED TO BURY IT!!!”

Him: “Crap! I didn't know! NOW WHAT?”

ME: “You need to come home and tell him what happened.” Yeah, right, like I've been SO honest with the kid.

Him: “I know! I'll just get him another fish!”

Me: “You are NEVER going to find one that looks the same!” Unfortunately, I know this from the experience of trying to find a body double for Goldie.

Him: “Don't worry about it.”

Ah, if I had a dime for every time I've heard that! I hung up with my husband and put water back in the tank. I quietly hope that my son doesn't go over to tell his fish “good morning” today. A while later, my husband walks in from the gym with a plastic bag and a Beta fish in it. He gets points for remembering what kind and what color the fish was, but that is where the similarity ends. The fish is not nearly as bright red, has more black in it, has much smaller fins and is much smaller over all. However, I think it is sweet that my husband is concerned and wants to avoid crushing our son with the words “I flushed your fish.” Before I know what is happening, my husband starts speaking to our son.

“You know how your fish was really sick? Well, I have a friend who is a vet. I brought your fish to them today. They had to work on it a long time and had to strip away some of it's fins to save it, that's why it looks a little smaller. But, hopefully, the procedure will make it better.”

Our son seems appreciative, then says “Why does his body look so much smaller?”

We tell him it's an illusion because his fins are smaller. Darn kid, why was he born with such an eye for detail?

As we place the “recovered” fish in the tank, it crosses my mind that I will be putting food in that tank for at least another 3 years. I sigh and wonder if I should have just looked in the sewer clean out for the dead fish.

About 1 year later, our older son's fish started to show signs of being sick. I warn my husband, under penalty of something horrible (I'm not sure what that would be, but he knows I mean it), under NO CIRCUMSTANCES IS HE TO FLUSH THE FISH. He understands completely. The morning comes when the older fish is floating. We put it in a baggie with a little water and find a small box. Each one of us picks a side of the box to write something nice about the fish. It is a sweet and touching moment. My husband goes out to the yard with a shovel and he digs a hole for the burial as our older son holds the box. Our younger son goes to look for a headstone. I have my camera in hand and document the moment. Hugs all around. About 6 months later, my older son asks me why his brother's fish is living so long. I cave and tell him the truth. He can't believe his ears, but understands why we did what we did, and admits he would have been really upset if he didn't have the opportunity to bury his fish and say goodbye. I'm thankful he understands and he eases my guilt about the deception.

Over 1 year ago, the “recovered” fish started floating on it's side. I saw it as a sign of the end, again. Guest after guest has come to our house and whispered “I think your fish is dead.” Each time I walk over, tap the countertop or nudge the tank and the fish springs to back life. Along with my standard response, “Nah, he just does that.”


It has been a long time since we got the “recovered” fish. From my estimates, this fish should be in Guinness for the longest living Beta fish ever. I can't believe how many times the fish has fooled even me. I swear it's time to find another little box, and the fish wiggles a fin to let me know it's not time yet. My husband has walked by the tank and said “Dead or alive. Pick one.” Which makes me wonder, in a tongue-in-cheek way, if perhaps this fish is in some sort of “un-dead” state. It is so old, it shouldn't be alive. It eats, sometimes. It swims backwards, sometimes. It floats, sometimes. It acts normally, sometimes. The only (irrational) explanation I can come up with is that Goldie's spirit has entered the Beta fish's body and is trying to avenge her young torturous death. I'm going with that zombie fish idea for now, just because I find it amusing.

When it's time finally comes, I'm sure we will all be sad. I hope my husband refrains from flushing it, and please, someone, don't let me go back to the pet store.

=-J

Please Don't Ask To See My FOID Card

It could be an honest mistake, but it feels more like a complete betrayal. One of those things that you want to shake your husband and ask, “Do you have any idea what makes me tick?”. (Apparently not, even though he effortlessly ticks me off!) Let me back up a little. We had decided to exercise our civil rights and apply for FOID cards. I was interested, but, left to my own devices, I might never have done it. While checking off our “things I want to do before I am too old” list we both agreed that this is something we could and should do. He took the lead and went online to apply and fill out the forms for both of us. A few weeks later, my card arrives, complete with a horrible picture from my drivers license. There, below the ugly picture, are my physical characteristics: hair color, eye color, weight…but, wait a minute!!! He put my ACTUAL weight down. I can’t even believe I am seeing those numbers written right below my name. Who does that? It doesn’t matter that I have been trying to lose ten pounds for my entire adult life, it doesn’t matter that you have to sign the form asserting that all the information is true. It should matter that I have recently lost 11 pounds and am continuing to lose. What would possibly possess him to put down my actual weight? Why didn’t he ask me first? When I asked him what he was thinking, he says, “Well, isn’t it right?” I’m flabbergasted. How can he not see that the accuracy of the number is completely not the point. Somehow, however, he doesn’t notice the hipocracy when he shaves off 5 pounds from his actual vs. reported weight. What about my 5 mercy pounds?

Lucky for me, this card is good for 10 years. Yippee!

S-)

Saturday With The Girls

While reading “OhThe Places You’ll Go” by Dr. Seuss, he sagely explains that even though you’ll be surrounded by people, you’ll still be alone quite a lot. We are, after all, completely alone in our experience of this life. This feeling of isolation in our heads can exist even in the midst of families, BFFs of middle and high school, college roommates, marriage, and, of course, parenthood. All these lives and spirits are so physically close yet altogether separated.

On of the best things I have ever done that combatted this sense of “aloneness” was to commit to my friends on Saturday mornings. When we started this weekly get-together, we were almost tentative as we told our husbands. We even felt the need to justify this time by combining it with exercise (ie. walking, in-line skating). After a few weeks, my friend’s husband asked, with some trepidation, “Is this going to be every Saturday?” She responded an unequivocal “yes”. Neither one of us thought they would accept this. It was too luxurious, too selfish, too much of a special event to happen on a weekly basis. Yet, we risked their disagreement, and it has become a weekly ritual. We have continued meeting through new babies, soccer season, financial upheavals, moving, etc. What we’ve gained from these friendships is an understanding that we’re not alone. Spending time together and deepening our relationships have really opened up the floodgates of sharing all of our lives with each other. There is no topic that can’t be broached. There is no judgement, except when necessary to get us on the right track.

Some topics of conversation come up repeatedly. We need to number them to be able to refer to the details more efficiently. Frustrating in-laws, moody husbands, children’s behaviors, and financial management are the most commonly occurring. We often think that so many women are just putting on a happy face even though they are frustrated and at the end of their ropes. Not that we believe you should go through life complaining and negative, but that we, as women should be real and sincere with each other. We love our husbands, our children, and our families, but they drive us crazy. The support we receive from our friends will help us maintain our perspective and our priorities. Life is so short, we can lighten each other’s loads just by sharing our daily struggles. We can’t always offer solutions, but listening and being reassured that we are not the only ones going through a particular trial can help us to smile and continue moving forward. For this, we need to turn to our girlfriends.

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